Lie For Me Read online

  When I knock on the door, an older woman opens the door. She wears glasses, and she has dark hair. Looking at her bobbed hair, I wonder if it’s a wig. For some reason, she seems familiar.

  “Are you Suzy’s friends?” the woman asks.

  “Yes, school mums.” I introduce myself. Eva is behind me carrying a small box with fliers and posters.

  “I am Jean, Suzy’s mum,” the older woman says. She gives us a brief, tight smile, then goes up the stairs, leaving us standing in the doorway. Suzy appears soon, her expression a little harassed. I wonder if all is well between mother and daughter. I give her a warm hug.

  “These are for you,” I say, pulling out a flier and putting it on the kitchen table. “Hand them out to whoever comes to the house. I know the police have put posters out already, but more, a lot more, will not hurt. The more awareness, the better.”

  “Thank you so much.” Suzy’s eyes are glistening.

  “Don’t be silly,” Eva says. “It’s the least we can do.”

  We have a cup of tea, then get going. We decide to tackle Suzy’s street first. Eva starts at one end and I at the other. We have the T-shirts on, pink with a white box with baby’s name on it, and stop at every lamp-post, sticking on the posters with glue. There aren’t that many lamp-posts on the street, and after half an hour, we move to the next street along. The railway station is busier, and we have to see the stationmaster. He is already aware as we rung up ahead. One of the attendants helps us to identify spots with maximum visibility. We rest for a cup of coffee then carry on.

  The station is busy work, and I keep glancing at the watch. It’s almost midday by the time we finish.

  I say to Eva, “Why don’t I drop you off at yours, and we can put some posters up around our houses? Then it’s almost pick-up time.”

  Eva agrees. We say goodbye to the helpful railway workers, and get back in my car. I start to drive, and traffic is lesser now as the school and work rush is over. I glance at my rear-view and freeze. I can see the black Nissa Micra again. Its two cars behind, and the black shape of the driver is clearly visible.

  CHAPTER 7

  Fear coils inside my guts like a serpent. This can’t be a random car that I keep seeing. I am loath to mention it to Eva, I don’t want her to think I am paranoid. I keep glancing at the mirror as I drive. The Nissan follows. I drive up the hill into the village, the nice part of Richmond where the houses are wide and detached. Eva lives in one of them, one street away from the common.

  As I park in front of her house, I realise the car isn’t following me anymore. But I am wary. I sense it must be around, hiding from view. I wave goodbye to Eva, and start driving again. I keep checking, but the Nissan isn’t there.

  I get back to my house without incident. I take an armful of the posters, put them in my backpack, then get out and lock the car. Our house seems fine, and I will go in once I have put all the posters up. I walk to the end of the road. I hear a sound behind me. An engine, a squeal of tyres. In this quiet street it makes a commotion. The roar of the engine gets louder, and, although I am on the pavement, I look back, alarmed. Like a bat out of hell, the black shape of a Nissan Micra streaks past me. It takes the turning on the road at high speed, gears crashing and screeching. I almost scream as the car skids, corrects itself, then races out of sight.

  I stare at the empty road, heart pumping fast. I look up and down the street. It’s gone back to its usual quiet mode. A couple of net curtains twitch. Composing myself, I keep walking down, to the turning, and then I am at the entrance of the park.

  I can’t help but stop and stare at it. Through the bar stiles, the green expanse is verdant, dotted with trees. A peaceful place. For me, it spells danger.

  For some reason, I am drawn to it like a magnet. Will I see the person who was watching me last night? I wonder if he saw me, he must have. He knows it’s me who lives there.

  I am being watched. It’s a palpable feeling, like someone is touching my skin. I look around me, seeing nothing. Then I head inside the park. I can put some posters up on the trees. Although it’s November, families still come to the park. I push the turnstiles and go in.

  I expect danger, and my breath fogs in the air around face. My fists are clenched. To the far left, I can see the rear façade of the houses that back into the park. One of them is ours, about halfway down the row. Whoever was here last night knew exactly which one it was. I suppose it’s easy to spot the studio.

  That makes me wonder. How would the person know I have a studio in the back garden?

  I shake off the thought. I am getting more bothered by this now. I take a deep breath. Right, all I need to do is put some posters up, and then leave. Behind the houses, there is only the occasional tree. But to my right, leading up to the soft playground, there is a bank of tall oak trees, and further down as well. I cannot do the whole perimeter of the park on my own, it’ll take too long.

  I pull my coat against the wind and head for the playground in the mid-distance. I will walk around, and stand in the spot where I had seen the light last night. I will force myself to do it. Maybe I can find something they had dropped.

  I shake off my backpack and take the posters out. I walk down, putting them up against the bark of the tree trunks, at eye level. The park is deserted today. The wind is cold and biting, and the sky is clouding overhead. I can’t imagine many pre-school children being out in this weather. I am almost up to the playground. I can see the swings, the monkey bars and the sand play area.

  The thick branches creak overhead as they move in the wind. It rustles through the skeleton boughs, making a slithering, whispering sound. Then I hear something else. I stop, and listen hard.

  It’s the sound of a baby crying.

  CHAPTER 8

  The wind carries the sound away, but it returns. I hear it again, wailing, soft. It’s coming from behind me. I shove the posters back in the bag, and run towards the source of the sound. There are bushes by the path, with more trees after them, and then the park fence. The cries are coming from the bush. They are about knee-high for me. I wade in, hearing the cries get louder. My eyes flick from side to side, searching desperately.

  And then I see it. A black baby seat, the type you put in a car. The handle is raised, and the seat’s covered. Inside, a white bundle. I can already see the red face scrunched up in the bundle, and the wailing is much louder now. I break into a sprint, and crouch before it.

  The baby’s head is covered in a pink cap, similar to the blankets it’s swaddled in. Baby is crying lustily, which is a good sound out here in the cold. A silent baby in this weather, outdoors, is a dangerous sign.

  “Shhh,” I say, reaching out to her. It must be a her, because the blankets are pink with a white border. I touch her, she feels tepid, but not freezing cold. She couldn’t have been here long. I coo at her, feeling her cheeks. She ignores me and carries on crying. I grab the seat handle; it doesn’t give way.

  I put the backpack on my shoulder and grab the seat handle tightly. I walk as fast as I can to the entrance of the park. What I am doing seems surreal, like I am living someone else’s life. I put baby in the back seat of my car, strapping her in. I make sure the car seat is secure, then I start driving. I head straight for the hospital. Thoughts are racing through my mind. Memories are loosened, raining on me like the stray leaves of winter. Memories I keep locked up tight.

  Whose baby is this? I hope and pray the answer is the one all of us have been looking for. It’s Suzy’s baby. Only time will tell. First things first. I need to get to the hospital and make sure she is checked over. Then I call the police. No, I call the police now.

  I ring the 101 number for non-urgent police calls. I have put my phone on hands-free, and I speak as I drive, telling the woman on the other end everything.

  When I hang up, I look in the rear-view mirror. Some traffic behind me, but I can’t see a black Nissan Micra.

  I can’t believe this is happening. At the back of my mind, I can’t s
hake the feeling that what I saw last night in the park, and now the baby, are somehow linked. Someone is trying to tie up…a dreadful thought rears up inside me.

  What if the police think I am responsible? My knuckles are white on the steering wheel. I try to rationalise. I wouldn’t bring the baby back if I had stolen it, would I?

  I try not to think too much. My brain is on overdrive, and I should just focus on getting the baby to hospital, and report to the police.

  Accident and Emergency is heaving when we arrive. I park in the visitors’ bay, and barge past the queue of people, ignoring the looks and comments. I lift the seat with baby in it on the reception counter, in front of the astonished nurse.

  “Baby left abandoned in Cottenham Park. I don’t know for how long. She could have hypothermia. Please help.”

  The nurse moves quickly. She presses a buzzer and waves me in through a double door. She takes baby off me, and soon there is a swarm of white and blue vests around the little body.

  The nurse comes back and stands in front of me. “Are you the mother?” she asks.

  I am surprised as I have already told her where I found baby. “No, but you know about the missing baby, don’t you?”

  Her eyes widen.

  I say, “I have already called the police.”

  She rushes off and speaks to the group of carers milling around. I get up, feeling restless. The police will be here soon. But there is something else I have to do first.

  I dial Suzy’s home number. She answers after five rings. Her voice is low, tired. “Hello?”

  “Suzy, this is Emma. I need to know something. Before baby went missing, did you wrap her in a white fleece blanket with a pink border?”

  The tone of my voice, and the question must have stunned Suzy. I listen to the hiss of static for a few seconds. Then she speaks, urgent and fast. “Yes, yes. On the top-left border, the letters MLE are sewn in gold letters. Margaret Louise Elliot. Why—”

  I cut her off. “Hang on.” I put the phone in my pocket and approach the group around the cot she has been placed in now. The car seat is on the floor. I look inside the cot, baby is still wrapped in the white fleece. One of the nurses is slowly removing it, while another supports the tiny body.

  “I need to see that fleece.” I point at it. “I am the person who found her.”

  The nurse hands it to me, and it strikes me that all this handling has wasted valuable evidence the police might have wanted. It’s too late for it now. I look at the top-left border, and my heart soars.

  The initials MLE are right there. I pick up the phone. Suzy is still holding.

  Without telling her what I have found, I ask, “Does baby have any birthmarks?”

  “Yes. She has a brown mole on the back of her neck. Quite big, you can’t miss it. Emma, what’s going on?”

  “Let me call you back.”

  I ask one of the doctors who checked for me. I join him as he leans over, and with one gloved hand, lifts baby’s neck up gently. I duck down peering at the back of her head, and then the neck comes into view. There is a pea-sized brown mole in the centre of the neck part of her spine, and it is unmistakable.

  Baby is more comfortable now with a bottle of formula milk at her lips. She is chugging away, content. The doctor has seen the mole now as well and we exchange a glance.

  My breathing is fast and jerky, and surging blood is clogging my throat. I ring Suzy back.

  “Get to the hospital. Paediatric A/E. Come fast, I think we found her.”

  I can’t speak anymore. Suzy gives out a shriek that’s between a mortal wound and wild panic, and the phone goes silent.

  I slump on the chair just as the doors burst open and uniformed police walk in.

  CHAPTER 9

  A man wearing a black suit is standing in front of me. A woman hovers behind him, also suited. They arrived with the police, so I guess they must be detectives. Uniforms now stand in front of the double doors of the entrance, and several more are strolling around the rest of A/E. Nobody wants to see baby go missing for a second time.

  “My name is Detective Chief Inspector Charles Rockford,” the man says and shows me his badge. It’s a raised gold relief of the London Met Police Force symbol, on a leather base. Rockford is in his forties, I guess, but he could be older. He is tall, Afro-Caribbean, with more than a passing resemblance to Idris Elba. His chestnut brown eyes focus on me and I don’t look away.

  “Are you the lady who found the baby in the park?”

  It sounds like my new name. Lady who found park baby. I nod. He pulls up a chair, but the woman behind him remains standing. She is blonde, slim, with sunken cheeks and a frazzled expression like she’s drunk too much coffee or smoked too many cigarettes.

  Rockford introduces his colleague. “This is Detective Inspector Shelly Ingram.” Ingram gives me the briefest of nods, and a slight twitch of her lips.

  Rockford says, “What were you doing in the park, Mrs…” He looks at the paper in his hands. “…Emma Mansell?”

  I clear my throat. “Yes that’s me. I was putting up some posters for baby Margaret, as it happens.”

  “And?” Rockford speaks slow, measured. The hectic atmosphere in the place doesn’t seem to affect him.

  “I heard a baby crying. I ran over, then brought her here.”

  “Hmm.” Rockford is silent, and Shelly stares at me with her arms folded.

  “Where do you live, Mrs Mansell?”

  I tell him. He knows the area well. “That’s on the same road as the park, right?”

  “Yes, my house backs onto the park.” As I say it, I realise how odd it sounds. I feel hairs prickle at the back of my neck.

  “Was there anyone else in the park, Mrs Mansell? When you found the baby, I mean.”

  “No.”

  He taps the pen on the piece of paper he’s holding, staring down. Then he looks up and purses his lips. “Would you mind coming down to the station to give a statement?”

  “No. I mean yes, I can come.”

  “Good.” Rockford’s eyes are friendly but watchful. He stares at me like he has a lot of time on his hands. “Detective Ingram will take some more details from you, and bring you back to the station, if that’s OK?”

  “I have a school pick-up in an hour and a half.”

  Rockford stands up and exchanges a glance with Ingram.

  “That should be fine, Mrs Mansell,” Ingram says, her tone brisk. “If you’re not driving then we can also drop you off at the school.”

  “I will be driving, but thanks for the offer.”

  Ingram opens her mouth to speak but the doors burst open for the second time. Suzy, her mother and Eva burst in, eyes wild.

  “Where is she?!” Suzy screams at the top of her voice. All heads swivel in her direction. I point her towards the cot, and without a second look in my direction, she flings herself at it. Two nurses and a female doctor hold her as she strains for the cot. All of a sudden, it’s pandemonium.

  “My baby…”

  “Miss Elliot, please calm down. Margaret is fine…”

  Eva hurries over to me. She hugs me, then looks at me with a puzzled expression. “Did this really happen? I mean, you just found her?”

  “Yes, I did.” I tell her what happened, and Eva listens with eyes wide.

  My heart sinks as I consider the implications. If my best friend finds it weird, what do the police think?

  Then I realise it’s Eva who can vouch for me. I was with her most of the day till I went to the park. Rockford and Ingram are watching us, and I introduce Eva to them. One of the doctor’s ambles over.

  “The DNA swab has been taken, from both baby and mother. Miss Elliot has identified baby, but we have to wait till tomorrow for the swab results to come back.”

  In the crowd, I can’t see Suzy anymore. Other children have been moved away from this corner, and the uniformed police have now formed a human cordon around us. Two senior doctors with badges that say Accident and Emergency Consultan
ts have appeared, and they’re in intense conversation with Rockford and Ingram.

  Ingram peels away from them and turns to where Eva and I are standing. “Mrs Mansell, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” She glances at me. “In private.”

  I walk away and watch as they talk. In front of me the tangle of paediatric nurses and doctors is unravelling, and I catch a glimpse of Suzy. Her cheeks are streaked with tears and she is clutching the precious bundle tight to her chest. A lump arrives at my throat and I find it hard to swallow. Our eyes meet and my heart melts a little when Suzy’s lips quiver, and she beckons me over. She doesn’t move Margaret from her chest but manages to give me a hug anyway.

  “Thank you. How can I ever thank you?” she cries.

  It’s making me well over, and I bite my lower lip and disengage from her. “I’m so glad we found her.” And I am. The relief is washing over me in waves.

  And so are the pangs of doubt. It’s too much of a coincidence. The light in the park last night, beamed right at our house. At me. And this morning the baby left in the same park. Then I remember the black Nissan Micra. How it followed me around, then streaked around the corner of the street…

  I didn’t take the number of the car, and I feel stupid. All of it now seems a rush, a blur. One surreal event has merged into another, like clouds fusing in a stormy sky.

  Is it my fault that Suzy and her baby were targeted? I can’t help the feeling that someone is sending me a message, after all these years.

  “Emma.”

  I turn to see Suzy staring at me. “What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing,” I lie. “Just glad I was there at the right time.”

  She shakes her head, her nose tip red. “I know, what are the chances, right? God knows how long she had been there for.”

  I notice Suzy’s mother isn’t around. I am about to ask her if she needs help getting back when I feel Detective Ingram come and stand at the entrance of the open cubicle.

  I nod and turn to Suzy. “I have to give the police a statement.”