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chapter 63
alex
From my hidden vantage point, I watch Lottie run down the beach, her blonde hair streaming like a bleached flag behind her. She’s pretending to be a plane, or a bird perhaps: her arms are stretched wide as she swoops and dives across the sand.
No one is with her. No one is watching her.
Except me.
Lottie stops suddenly, plopping down on her fat bottom in the sand like a much younger child. She tugs off her sandals and flings them into the cold, grey sea, laughing with delight as the tide quickly whips them away. Watching her, it’s hard not to smile. Even at nearly six, she’s still young enough to be unfettered byshouldandought. She’s impulsive, living in the moment, just as I remember. She skips joyfully along the chilly beach in her bare feet, her skirts flapping wetly around her calves, and I wonder briefly at what age we stop skipping and surrender to the pedestrian discipline of walking and running.
I’m glad she’s having so much fun now, because I know she’ll be frightened when I take her. I can’t help that, but I’ll make sure the scary bit is all over as quickly as I can.
Lottie veers closer to the shoreline, oblivious to my presence as I emerge from the rocks behind her, and I quell my instinct to pull her back from the water’s edge and tell her to be careful,that the tide is stronger than it looks. Life is dangerous. If she doesn’t know that by now, she soon will.
And the biggest threat to her doesn’t come from the sea.
It comes from someone like me: a stranger to her, lurking in the shadows.
My pulse quickens as I step out from behind the rocks. I’m about to cross a line and set in motion a train of events from which there’ll be no going back.
The first year I was at Muysken Ritter, one of the partners represented a French woman whose baby son had been snatched from his pram when he was ten months old. Four years later, he was found in Johannesburg, being raised by a couple who’d innocently adopted him after he’d been trafficked to South Africa. The High Court in Pretoria decided it was in the boy’s best interests to stay with the only parents he’d ever known. The biological mother was permitted to see her son once a month and even those visits were supervised, in case she tried to snatch him back.
Four days ago, I promised my dying mother I’d bring Lottie home. I’m not waiting for the police to act, for the courts to grind their way towards a decision that might give my baby to another woman. I’ve got nothing left to lose, now.
I’m done playing by the rules.
It’s a crisp, sunny morning and unseasonably warm, one of those rare November days that feels more like early autumn. The beach is dotted with dog-walkers and local families taking advantage of the watery sunshine. I deliberately waited till Saturday to do this in the hope there’d be people around, so Lottie and I would be able to blend in more easily, but I’ve been luckier than I dared dream. I choose to take it as a good omen. A last gift from my mother.
Lottie looks up from her playing and sees me. She hesitates a second, and then raises a finger to her lips:ssssh.
My heart turns over. She remembers me.
She has no idea who I really am, of course. To her, I’m just the lady from the café, the lady who returned her toy. But when I beckon, she comes to me, her eyes bright with curiosity.
My daughter, just three feet away.
She should know better than to go so willingly to a stranger, but she’s always been one of those children who likes breaking the rules. I fight the urge to pull her close. More than anything, I want to touch her, to know she’s really here, but I hold myself in check.
‘No Squishmallow today?’ I say.
‘Not at the beach. I don’t want him to get wet again.’
‘Of course. Silly me.’
She laughs.
‘I have a little girl your age,’ I say. ‘You won’t believe how many Squishmallows she has. And something even better.’
‘Even better?’
‘Even better.’
‘Like what?’
I shrug. ‘Oh, you’d have to see it.’
‘Can you show me?’
