Matilda and Pat were sitting in the Meagan’s living room nervously waiting for Sally to join them. She’d been in the shower when they arrived. Philip showed them in then went upstairs to fetch his wife.
Woody remained in the living room with them. He’d taken to Pat in the months she had been coming to visit and she always had a treat for him in her handbag. Treat eaten, belly scratched, he curled up on the floor beside her, his head on her foot.
Matilda looked around the clean, spartan living room. Carl seemed to be looking out at her from every picture frame. She looked at him in the silver frame on the mantelpiece in a snap taken one Christmas morning. His eyes were dancing in excitement, his smile wide as he marvelled at the mountain of beautifully wrapped presents in front of him. A picture of happiness tinged with sadness. When Matilda looked at the photo now, she saw a sad little boy, asking her, pleading, begging to find him and bring him home.
Sally bounded into the living room. She’d hastily dressed in skinny jeans and a white sweater. Her hair was still damp and tangled. It was obvious she was struggling to hide her excitement at the thought Carl might actually be on his way back to Sheffield.
‘Philip said you had some news.’ She sat down on the sofa opposite. Philip sat next to her and they held hands. Their mouths were agape. Philip was more restrained, but Sally had already made up her mind that Carl would be sleeping in his own bed tonight.
Matilda closed her eyes to compose herself. She took a deep breath.
‘I’m so sorry, Sally. The boy in France isn’t Carl.’
Sally took a deep breath and gripped harder onto her husband’s hand. Her bottom lip began to wobble. She wanted to speak but was clearly afraid to open her mouth in case a torrent of emotion fell out.
‘Are you sure?’ she eventually asked.
Matilda nodded. ‘The DNA results came back two days ago. I wanted to have a few more questions answered before I let you know. The British ambassador has been in touch with Police Nationale to find out why this boy said he was Carl when he clearly wasn’t.’
‘But he looked so much like him,’ Sally said, her voice shaking.
‘He didn’t look that much like him, Sally,’ Philip said.
‘The boy in France has a disturbing mental illness. His parents have moved so many times they’ve lost count. He accuses neighbours of abusing him, school friends and teachers of hitting him. He’s gone into police stations many times to say his parents have kidnapped him. He always seems very genuine in his claims so the police have had to look into each allegation.’
Sally had turned red. ‘Jesus! Shouldn’t he be locked away or something?’ she fumed.
‘Sally!’ Philip chastised.
‘I’m sorry, but someone like that shouldn’t be allowed on the streets. Doesn’t he realise what he’s putting people through with his lies?’ She stood up and went over to the mantelpiece. She picked up the photo of her son. ‘I genuinely thought we’d found him. I really thought he’d be coming home this time.’
‘I know you did. I did too,’ Philip said. He went over to her and put his arms on her shoulders.
‘This is heart-breaking,’ she cried. ‘I move on, you know. I don’t forget. I’ll never forget, but I’m able to function, to a degree. Then something like this happens and it’s like I’m right back to square one. My son is out there somewhere, I know he is. I can feel it.’
Pat dug in her handbag for a tissue and wiped her eyes. Matilda remained impassive on the sofa.
Sally stepped away from her husband and went back to the sofa. ‘So, what happens now? There hasn’t been a sighting for months. The emails have all but dropped off. I’m running out of things to do.’
‘I do have one idea,’ Matilda said, leaning forward. ‘I can arrange for you and Philip to do an interview for the media; you can talk about this past week, the boy in France, how your hopes were raised then dashed, mention the other sightings too. It will bring Carl back into the public eye and we can get the story printed in papers here and in France.’
‘No offence, but it’s not really a story, is it?’ Philip said. ‘We’re not saying anything fresh. Who would be interested in printing that?’
Matilda thought of Danny Hanson. ‘I know a guy who owes me a favour or two,’ she said with the hint of a smile.