Matilda picked Pat up from her home in Bradway. She was smartly dressed in black trousers and a cream jumper, heeled shoes and a long black cardigan. She’d styled her hair and put on a touch of make-up. Her fragrance was sweet and not too overpowering. Beside her, Matilda felt like she’d spent the night sleeping in a bus shelter.
‘Without sounding too much like a young World War II bride, any more news from France?’ Pat asked as they set off from outside her home.
‘No. They won’t tell us where the boy is or if they’ve found the couple he was travelling with.’
‘What about the DNA samples?’
‘We’re still waiting. I’m hoping they’re going to mark them as urgent and not post them second class,’ she said, giving a slight chuckle.
‘I saw the press conference on the news. How are you doing?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m trying not to think about Carl too much, to focus on finding Keeley, but it’s not easy.’
‘No. I saw that leech Danny Hanson asking you questions about Carl. He’s got one of those faces you’d like to smack with a hot frying pan.’
‘Pat!’ Matilda admonished.
‘Sorry. I’m right, though. How are Keeley’s parents coping?’
‘Her mother isn’t. She’s a mess. Craig’s trying to be supportive and strong for her, but he’s just bottling it all up; you can see it in his face. I dread to think what’s going to happen if we find a body.’
‘Have you ruled them out?’
It was a while before Matilda answered. ‘I’m not ruling anyone out.’
Pat gave a hint of a smile. ‘Good to hear. This is a difficult case for you, Mat, don’t let your heart rule your head.’
They pulled up outside the black gates at the bottom of the Meagan drive. Neither of them had called ahead. Secretly, Matilda hoped they’d gone out for the day, or better still, had decided to go on a world cruise and wouldn’t be back in Sheffield for another six months. By then, hopefully, France would have sent the DNA samples over.
Matilda wound down the window and pressed the intercom button. It rang several times. Matilda’s heart thumped loudly in her chest. She wished and prayed and hoped it wasn’t answered.
‘Hello Matilda,’ Sally’s distorted voice came out of the speaker. ‘Come on in.’
Sally’s voice: soft, a light Yorkshire accent, a hint of a lisp; it was a voice Matilda had heard many times overlaid by an array of harrowing emotions, but despite a warming in their strained relationship, Matilda always felt she could hear an accusatory tone. It made her feel guilty all over again. The gates slowly began to open. Matilda looked over to Pat and gave a nervous smile.
‘I’m dreading this,’ Pat said.
‘So am I.’
She drove up the drive and parked the Range Rover outside the front door. As they climbed out of the car, the door opened and out bounded Woody. He headed straight for Pat who took a Bonio out of her pocket. He immediately sat down and offered a paw. He took the biscuit gently from her, allowed her to scratch behind his ears and ran back into the house, snack in his mouth.
‘He’s a wonderful guard dog, isn’t he?’ Pat said.
‘A burglar wouldn’t need to bring any tools, just a box of Bonio,’ Sally said with a smile. ‘Come on in, kettle’s on.’
Matilda and Pat followed Sally into the large house. The hallway was spacious and tastefully decorated in whites and creams. The kitchen was warm and cosy – a large range at the top of the room, solid oak cupboard fronts and worktops giving the room a country-cottage feel.
Sally went about making the coffee while Matilda and Pat sat on the stools at the island. In the corner of the room, Woody chewed loudly in his bed.
‘Philip in?’
‘Yes, he’s just getting changed. I had a feeling you’d be visiting. I saw the press conference. Is the ransom thing really a hoax?’
‘We think so.’
‘My heart goes out to the parents. I know exactly how they feel.’ Sally had her back to them. Matilda heard a slight catch in her voice.
‘Sally, Linda wants me to pass on her apologies for—’
Sally quickly turned and held her hand up to silence Matilda. ‘There’s no need for an apology. I was absolutely petrified when she approached me, but looking back, I could see in her eyes she was acting out of desperation. If there’s anything I can do, maybe talk to her, offer some advice, I’ll gladly do it.’
Matilda smiled. ‘That’s very generous of you.’
Sally shrugged. ‘Not generous at all; just practical.’
‘Hello you two,’ Philip said, entering the room. He was wearing skinny black trousers and a black polo shirt. Philip was tall and thin. His hair was grey and receding. He looked healthier than the last time Matilda had seen him. He no longer looked gaunt and had a bit of colour in his cheeks.
Matilda watched as Philip went over to Sally. He put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her on the cheek. They smiled at each other. She poured him a coffee from the cafetière and as he reached for a sugar cube from the bowl, she slapped his hand. They giggled.
Matilda smiled. It was heartening to watch them as a normal, happy couple. She hoped they weren’t acting, and that this was a genuine display. She knew they both still missed their son and they hadn’t forgotten him and moved on, but they’d adapted to a life without him, for now.
The four of them sat around the island and engaged in pointless small talk. Matilda noticed Sally kept stealing glances towards her. She knew their visit wasn’t a social one, that Matilda had news, but was waiting for the perfect moment to say it.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sally said, placing her cup down in its saucer. ‘I don’t mean to sound rude, but you’ve obviously come here for a reason.’
‘We have,’ Matilda said.
‘It’s about Carl, isn’t it?’
Matilda gave the smallest of nods. Sally reached out and grabbed Philip’s hand.
‘On Monday, a young boy walked into a police station in France and showed the officer a missing persons poster. He said he was the boy in the picture. He said he was Carl Meagan.’
‘Oh my God,’ Sally said. Her entire body shook. ‘He’s alive. I knew he would be.’ Tears began to roll down her face. ‘How is he? Is he well? Is he all right?’ She couldn’t speak fast enough; her words were tripping over each other as they fell out of her mouth.
‘We’ve been told he’s been well taken care of.’
‘This is amazing news. This is wonderful.’ She slapped a hand to her chest and took a deep breath. ‘I can’t believe it. When’s he coming home?’
‘Right now, he’s in a secure location and being looked after by Police Nationale,’ Matilda said. ‘They’re sending over a DNA sample so we can test it against the sample we have of Carl’s to make sure it’s a match.’
‘You don’t think it’s Carl, do you?’ Philip asked, looking intently at Matilda.
‘What?’ Sally butted in. ‘Of course it’ll be Carl. He’ll know we’ve been looking for him. He’ll have seen the poster and gone straight to the police. He’s a good boy. He’s done the right thing.’ She couldn’t stop smiling.
‘I’m keeping an open mind,’ Matilda told Philip. ‘I genuinely hope it is Carl, but I’m not getting my hopes up until the DNA results come through.’
‘This is amazing,’ Sally beamed, not listening to a word Matilda was saying. ‘Do you think we should go out to France?’
‘Hold your horses, Sal,’ Philip said, trying to calm her down. He turned to Matilda. ‘Did the police in France send a photo through of this boy?’
‘Yes, they did.’
Matilda took her phone out of her pocket and unlocked the screen. She went into the photos app and scrolled through until she found the one of the boy claiming to be Carl. She placed the phone on the island, turned it around and slowly edged it towards them.
Sally cried. She wrapped herself around Philip’s skinny right arm and rested her head on his shoulder while looking at the phone through eyes blurred with tears. Philip’s face remained blank.
‘He’s grown,’ Sally eventually said. ‘He’s lost his chubby cheeks.’ She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. ‘He looks well,’ she smiled.
‘Philip?’ Matilda asked.
‘He looks nothing like Carl.’
‘What?’ Sally said firmly. ‘How can you say that?’ She grabbed the phone and held it up to him. ‘Look at him. Look at his eyes. How can you not tell he’s your son?’
‘Because it’s not him, Sally,’ he said quietly, tears forming in his eyes.
‘You’re wrong. It’s Carl. I know it is.’ She looked deep into the photograph. ‘I’ll admit he’s changed, but it’s been almost four years, he’s bound to have changed. He’s eleven now. He’s had a growth spurt; it’s what happens with kids. It’s him. I know it is. I can feel it in my heart.’
‘Sally,’ Philip said, looking down at the floor.
‘What happens now? I know you said you have to wait for the DNA results, but how long will they be? When can we bring him home?’
‘I’m hoping the results will be with us any day. It shouldn’t take long to have it confirmed or not.’
‘I’d better prepare his room. Do you think we should get the decorators in or do you think he’d prefer it the way it was?’ Sally asked her husband but didn’t wait for a reply. ‘No. I think we should leave it and let him choose how he wants his room to look. We can decorate it together. This calls for a toast.’
She jumped down from the stool and ran into the utility room where the wine fridge was.
‘Why don’t you think it’s Carl?’ Pat asked.
‘His eyes are wrong. His lips are thin. Why did you have to tell us? Why couldn’t you wait until you have the DNA results?’
‘It’s the French police who are dealing with this. They could release the information to the press that they’ve found a child who claims to be Carl. I didn’t want Sally hearing about it on the news.’
He nodded. ‘I understand. She’s seeing Carl because she wants it to be him.’
‘Children do change,’ Matilda said, placing a hand on top of his. ‘There is every possibility this is Carl.’ Of course, Matilda knew the opposite was true, too, that this boy might not be Carl. It didn’t matter how many times Matilda looked at that photograph on her phone, she couldn’t make her mind up.
‘Matilda’s right,’ Pat said. ‘What would be the point in lying? In this day and age, we’d find out soon enough if he was lying, and then he’d been in so much trouble. I can understand your reaction, Phil, but there is a chance.’
‘Let’s just wait until the DNA results come through before—’
Matilda was interrupted by the sound of a champagne cork popping.