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Samantha can’t stop crying. Christine keeps her arm around her, tells her over and over that everything will be all right.
‘Do you want to call your partner?’ she asks after a moment.
‘Yes. Yes, thanks.’
But Peter’s phone is still off. Anger explodes in her chest. Where the hell is he and why isn’t he picking up? It’s been hours. She calls back, leaves a message.
‘Peter, it’s me again. It’s after eight.’ Her voice cracks. The flashing thought comes to her – she should leave him to stew, let him suffer, suffer like she has, but she pushes it aside and goes on. ‘Emily’s safe. The police have found her and they’re bringing her home.’
Christine takes updates over the police radio. ‘They’ve taken Suzanne in for questioning. She’s cooperating.’
‘Why?’ Samantha asks. ‘Why did she do it?’
Christine shakes her head. ‘We won’t know until she gives her statement. Sounds like she had some sort of episode. Not sure if there was any logic to it. We just need to be grateful it didn’t go any further.’
They leave that there.
‘She planned it,’ Samantha says after a moment, the thought crystallising as the words leave her. ‘Last week she was getting cosy with the nursery staff. And with me. The first time she saw me with Emily, she knew her name, I’m sure she said her name … or maybe she didn’t, oh, I don’t know! But she made sure the nursery girl saw us together, you know, chatting like friends.’ Her face burns with realisation. ‘I wondered why she was being so familiar when she’d been so quiet in class. She was getting more confident, maybe preferred being outside the classroom, that’s all I thought. Oh my God.’
‘We don’t know that. Let’s see what she has to say, eh?’
Samantha’s phone rings. Peter.
‘Sam?’
‘Where the hell have you been?’ She bursts into tears, her voice shrill. ‘I’ve been out of my mind. Peter; it’s been hours. Where the hell were you?’
‘Calm down, Sam. It’s been stressful for you, I understand that.’ Peter’s voice does not change, not in pitch, not in volume. He sounds exactly as he would if he were ordering a meal or attending to an innocuous yet irritating enquiry. ‘I was in a conference,’ he continues with dogged calm. ‘I never have my phone on if I’m lecturing, you know that.’
‘She took Em,’ Samantha sobs. ‘She took our baby, Peter. I thought I’d never see her again. And you were nowhere …’ She is gasping for air, the words a slurred mess. Christine gives her shoulder a squeeze.
‘What happened exactly?’ Peter asks. ‘Where is she now?’
‘They’re bringing her home.’
‘Who? The police?’
‘Yes.’ She can’t stop her nose from running, her eyes from leaking down her face. Fat tears run into her blouse, her bra. Peter’s voice is a switch, a valve. One word from him and relief is pouring endlessly from her. Everything she’s heard about him today is meaningless. It’s in the past. What matters, all that matters, is that their child is safe and Peter will be here soon.
‘Where was she?’ he asks. ‘Who took her?’
‘Suzanne, one of my students. Emily was in the crèche. Look, just come home. We can talk about it when you get here.’
‘I’m in the car now. I’ll be there by ten, latest. Have you got someone with you?’
‘Christine. She’s the policewoman. Just get here, Peter. I need you.’
Samantha rings off, buries her face in her hands. Christine rubs her shoulders, shushes her, tells her it’s all over. But something is knocking at her, the branch against the kitchen window of the farm. Some tenebrous thing:tap,tap,tap.
‘Excuse me a moment,’ she says and leaves Christine on the couch.
Tap,tap,tap. Suzanne’s earnest expression –Do you want me to make sure she’s settled?Something in the set of her eyes, her brow. Her chin, perhaps, when she turned to the side. Something.
In their bedroom, Samantha opens Peter’s bedside cabinet drawer and pulls the photo wallet from beneath the rest.Tap,tap,tap. The branch knocks louder, quicker against the darkened pane. She knows which picture she’s looking for. She knows exactly. And she finds it.
Twenty schoolgirls stand around an adored, good-looking young teacher. Samantha stands up, walks to where the overhead light is brightest, holds the photograph under it. She looks. She looks and looks. Twenty schoolgirls, having the time of their lives. The handsome teacher, arms around them. A school trip to York, a day out – laughs and larks, trying a little cheek because you’re not in the classroom now. It’s not so long since Samantha herself was that age.Hey, sir, what’s your first name? Hey, sir, how old are you? Sir, have you got a girlfriend?
One girl is not looking at the camera. One girl is looking at Mr Bridges. She is laughing with shiny-eyed delight. The line of her jaw, the profile of her nose … The handsome teacher has his arm around her around her around her; he has chosen her, oh the bliss.
