left you. I should have pressed the alarm.'
Emma said dully, 'Why would you have? I told you not to.'
'But I shouldn't have listened. You were in no state to know what you were doing.'
Emma picked at a piece of rust on the railing. Beside her, Rafe shifted unhappily from foot to foot. One of those restless types who always had to be doing something.
She didn't attempt to make it easy for him.
'Well,' he said at last, 'I'll go, then. Give you some peace.'
He disappeared from the edge of her vision. More scuffling, as he tried to fit his rucksack back through the door. On an impulse, Emma swung around.
'Wait.'
'Yes?' Rafe turned. In the light from the sky, his eyes were a peculiar colour; so light brown they were almost golden.
He'd tried to help her, she couldn't deny that. It may not have worked, but at least he'd tried. It was far more than any of those other people, the ones who'd been outside the café, had done.
'You were in the police,' she said. 'Would you know if there's something they're not telling me? Some reason they're not looking for him properly?'
'Why would you think that?'
'Something's wrong.' Now she was saying it, it made her even more certain. 'I don't know why, but they don't seem to believe me. The newspapers aren't interested either. Ritchie wasn't in the headlines this morning, and he's a little boy who's been kidnapped, he should be in the headlines. He should be. It's like they think I've made the whole thing up. Why on earth would I do that? If Ritchie hasn't been kidnapped, then where on earth do they think—'
Her voice had been rising, and now it turned into a croak. She couldn't finish the sentence.
Rafe said, 'I'm sure for something like this, a missing child, they'd be doing everything they could.'
'Then why haven't they found him?' Emma cried.
'Why are they just here all the time, sitting in the flat instead of going out looking for him?'
Rafe looked distressed.
'Sometimes you just need a lead. I'm assuming you've been over it all a hundred times? You haven't missed anything, even something really small, that could help identify the person who took him?'
'Don't you think I'd have said if I did? I keep thinking about it. On and on and on. It's all I think about.'
'I know,' he said. 'I know.'
Emma turned away. It was hopeless. Hopeless. He was no good to her at all.
'Maybe I should get a private detective,' she said, more to herself than to him.
'I wouldn't like to say.' Rafe sounded uncomfortable.
Then he said, 'What is it? What's wrong?'
Emma was gripping the railing, staring over the balcony. At the grid of streets, the cars, the rows of wheelie bins five floors down.
'Are you all right?' Rafe asked.
'Something . . .' she said.
What had it been? She thought back, trying to recap the last few seconds. They'd been talking about the police and then . . . what? What had put Antonia into her head, flashing by, so suddenly like that? She strained to pull the image back but it fled, tapering to a dot, like a rat showing the tip of its tail.
'No.' Frustrated again, she shook her head. 'No.
It's gone.'
'It'll come back,' Rafe assured her. 'When you're ready, if
it's important, it'll come back.'
The two of them didn't have much to say to each other after that. After Rafe had left, the pain in Emma's jaw worsened, spreading upwards to her entire head.
Lindsay commented on her pale face and slitted eyes, and persuaded her to take two painkillers. Emma went to bed and lay, fully dressed, under the duvet.
She held Gribbit, puzzling again over what had made her think of Antonia like that. Something had sparked that flash of recall, but what? And there was that image of her mum again, watching television in the house in Bath. Why did she keep seeing that?
The scent of sour milk rose from Gribbit's fur. Think,
Emma. Think! There was the sense that her mind had recognized something important, and jumped with shock so that the memory had been knocked out of place. But no matter
Emma said dully, 'Why would you have? I told you not to.'
'But I shouldn't have listened. You were in no state to know what you were doing.'
Emma picked at a piece of rust on the railing. Beside her, Rafe shifted unhappily from foot to foot. One of those restless types who always had to be doing something.
She didn't attempt to make it easy for him.
'Well,' he said at last, 'I'll go, then. Give you some peace.'
He disappeared from the edge of her vision. More scuffling, as he tried to fit his rucksack back through the door. On an impulse, Emma swung around.
'Wait.'
'Yes?' Rafe turned. In the light from the sky, his eyes were a peculiar colour; so light brown they were almost golden.
He'd tried to help her, she couldn't deny that. It may not have worked, but at least he'd tried. It was far more than any of those other people, the ones who'd been outside the café, had done.
'You were in the police,' she said. 'Would you know if there's something they're not telling me? Some reason they're not looking for him properly?'
'Why would you think that?'
'Something's wrong.' Now she was saying it, it made her even more certain. 'I don't know why, but they don't seem to believe me. The newspapers aren't interested either. Ritchie wasn't in the headlines this morning, and he's a little boy who's been kidnapped, he should be in the headlines. He should be. It's like they think I've made the whole thing up. Why on earth would I do that? If Ritchie hasn't been kidnapped, then where on earth do they think—'
Her voice had been rising, and now it turned into a croak. She couldn't finish the sentence.
Rafe said, 'I'm sure for something like this, a missing child, they'd be doing everything they could.'
'Then why haven't they found him?' Emma cried.
'Why are they just here all the time, sitting in the flat instead of going out looking for him?'
Rafe looked distressed.
'Sometimes you just need a lead. I'm assuming you've been over it all a hundred times? You haven't missed anything, even something really small, that could help identify the person who took him?'
'Don't you think I'd have said if I did? I keep thinking about it. On and on and on. It's all I think about.'
'I know,' he said. 'I know.'
Emma turned away. It was hopeless. Hopeless. He was no good to her at all.
'Maybe I should get a private detective,' she said, more to herself than to him.
'I wouldn't like to say.' Rafe sounded uncomfortable.
Then he said, 'What is it? What's wrong?'
Emma was gripping the railing, staring over the balcony. At the grid of streets, the cars, the rows of wheelie bins five floors down.
'Are you all right?' Rafe asked.
'Something . . .' she said.
What had it been? She thought back, trying to recap the last few seconds. They'd been talking about the police and then . . . what? What had put Antonia into her head, flashing by, so suddenly like that? She strained to pull the image back but it fled, tapering to a dot, like a rat showing the tip of its tail.
'No.' Frustrated again, she shook her head. 'No.
It's gone.'
'It'll come back,' Rafe assured her. 'When you're ready, if
it's important, it'll come back.'
The two of them didn't have much to say to each other after that. After Rafe had left, the pain in Emma's jaw worsened, spreading upwards to her entire head.
Lindsay commented on her pale face and slitted eyes, and persuaded her to take two painkillers. Emma went to bed and lay, fully dressed, under the duvet.
She held Gribbit, puzzling again over what had made her think of Antonia like that. Something had sparked that flash of recall, but what? And there was that image of her mum again, watching television in the house in Bath. Why did she keep seeing that?
The scent of sour milk rose from Gribbit's fur. Think,
Emma. Think! There was the sense that her mind had recognized something important, and jumped with shock so that the memory had been knocked out of place. But no matter
Similar Books
