by the fact that I wasn’t sharing it with her father.
Oh, the cheeky sod had asked if he could be present at the birth, but I’d said no, just as I’d said no when he’d suggested we get back together on learning that I was pregnant. I didn’t want to be with someone who didn’t love me, and even though he said he did I didn’t believe him. Things became strained between us just two years into the marriage, partly because he didn’t want children immediately and I did. But finding out about his affair with a colleague in the NCA broke my heart and made me lose all respect for him.
It had been tempting to succumb to getting back together, of course. He told me that he wanted to, and even my parents had urged me to give him another chance. And perhaps I would have if I’d believed it could work out between us. But the damage had been done and I wasn’t convinced I could ever trust him again.
Despite all that, I’d be forever grateful to him for giving me Molly, who was conceived the very last time we had sex. It was during our make-or-break holiday in Spain, just before the drink-fuelled bust-up that led to his confession of adultery.
It wasn’t a mind-blowing experience for either of us, but especially not for me because I was trying to suppress all the anger and suspicions that had been building up for weeks.
He came inside me while I was lying face down on the bed and I didn’t even bother to fake an orgasm. It was so very different from the lovemaking during those early months of the marriage when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other and I never imagined that he would ever cheat on me.
It was hard at first, coming to terms with the end of the relationship, especially after I learned that Adam continued to date the woman he’d had the affair with. Her name was Gemma and she was fifteen years younger than him. But Molly helped me through it. From the moment I discovered that she was inside my belly I knew that I didn’t need anyone else. She was all that mattered. She was my future, my life – my saviour.
My eyes snapped open and I was back in the present. My throat quivered and I had to force myself to breathe.
It felt like everything around me had been leached of colour. My body shivered and my heart beat like a jack hammer.
Sergeant Palmer stood on the other side of the room looking through the front window. I wondered fleetingly what was going on outside. Had the press turned up or were curious neighbours gathering to try to find out what was going on?
My watch told me it was three p.m. So surely the news had broken by now.
It was a wretched thought that seven hours had passed since Molly was abducted. I had no idea what was happening to her and it was killing me. Was she being fed? Given drinks? Was her nappy being changed? Was she being spoken to or ignored? Was she upset and confused?
I grabbed my phone and brought up the latest picture of Molly asleep in the cot. The thumb in her mouth. The pink pyjamas. The off-white sheet she was lying on. I wondered if she was awake now and if so whether she was calling for her mummy.
Mummy!
It was one of the few words she knew, along with cat, cuddle, bird, wow and no.
I loved it when she tried to speak. It was so cute and funny, especially when she struggled to explain what it was she wanted.
These past few months she had got so much better at communicating. At the same time, she’d become more of a handful. Throwing tantrums, refusing to sit quietly in her buggy, fussing over her food, waking up most mornings around five a.m. But it was all part of growing up and I’d embraced it, as mothers do. Not because I had no choice, but because it made me happy and proud and …
You’ll never touch or speak to her again. But you will see her grow up.
Oh God …
My blood turned cold at the prospect of never holding Molly in my arms again. Of never tucking her into her bed, of never wiping away her tears. And I couldn’t even imagine how painful it would be to be forced to watch from a distance as she grew from a toddler into a little girl. It would destroy me knowing that someone else was bringing her up.
I’d already had a taste of what it was going to be like if he carried out his threat to keep her while sending me photos and video clips. The two pictures I’d already received – of Molly sitting on the sofa and sleeping in the cot – had opened up wounds in my heart that would never be healed.
Jesus, it was all too much. I hunched forward, dropping my face into my cupped hands.
Suddenly Sergeant Palmer was leaning over me, a hand on my shoulder, telling me that she wished there was more she could do. But there wasn’t, not unless she could bring my daughter back to me.
I felt a sharp stab of fear and dread work its way under my ribs, and this was followed by a bolt of nausea that hit me hard.
And then the sound of my own voice, oddly unfamiliar.
‘I think I’m going to be sick again.’
Adam
Adam stood in the kitchen, his back to the sink, his stomach in knots. The blood was pounding behind his eyes and his emotions were swimming.
He had already spoken to his boss. DCI Dunlop had offered up a bunch of well-meaning platitudes and had promised that the NCA would assist in the hunt for Molly.
‘I’ve reassigned all of your casework,’ he’d said. ‘You just need to concentrate on getting your little girl back.’
Now Adam paused before making another call, distracted by the sound of Sarah crying in the living room. He shared her pain and was on the brink of breaking down himself. But he fought against it because he knew that tears would blur his thoughts and make him even more helpless than he was.
His beloved daughter had been viciously kidnapped and all he could do was wait and worry as the panic closed in around him.
Molly, tiny and helpless, was at the mercy of a ruthless predator who was on some monstrous mission. What the bastard was intending to do was beyond belief and unless he was caught there was no telling how long it would carry on. Days? Weeks? Months? There’d be no escape from the anguish, the sheer torture of seeing images of Molly and yet not knowing where she was or who she was with.
Adam felt a tightening in his chest, a sudden breathlessness, as his mind spiralled back to Saturday when he’d last been with his daughter.
Sarah had been expecting him to have her all day and into Sunday morning. But he’d told her he had to work in the afternoon and could only take her to the park for a few hours. It was a shameful lie because he had simply chosen not to reveal the truth.
Now he was consumed by a wretched guilt that was tearing him apart. How could he have been so selfish? So stupid? Molly loved being with him and he should have put her first, instead of going to that hotel in Windsor. He feared now that he would regret that decision for the rest of his life.
He wished now that he had taken some pictures of Molly in the park, but he hadn’t bothered to. He’d been too preoccupied, thinking about what was going to happen in Windsor. Another ghastly mistake. Another thing to feel guilty about.
He should have made the most of the weekend with his daughter. She’d been full of life, laughing hysterically as she ran across the grass, her eyes filled with wonder as she fed the ducks and chased the pigeons. Now he had to accept that he might never get to take her to the park again, or give her piggy-backs, or rock her to sleep before putting her to bed.
He released a long breath and mashed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. Every muscle in his body was taut, and his heart was pumping blood so fast it was making him dizzy.
He thought about what Sarah’s mother had said, how the kidnapper had suddenly turned up at the house