The Child’s Secret

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London, SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016

Copyright © Amanda Valentine 2016

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016

Cover photograph © Lauren Hammond Photography (girl); Shutterstock (letters and tree)

Amanda Valentine asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008116491

Ebook Edition © January 2016 ISBN: 9780008116507

Version 2016-11-03

Dedication

In memory of Donna Hall

‘What you see depends on what you’re looking for.’

Anon.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Six Months Earlier

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44: Endings

Keep Reading …

Acknowledgements

Q & A

About the Author

Also by Amanda Brooke

About the Publisher

1

Wednesday 7 October 2015

The muscles in Sam’s calves screamed with pain as he turned the last corner. His legs were shaking but he didn’t slow as he started up the hill that would take him home. He was in pretty good shape for forty, and more than used to pushing himself to the limit as if training for a marathon, but there would be no finishing line for Sam McIntyre. He had never been able to outrun his thoughts and today was no exception.

‘Not far to go now, boy,’ he promised the dog trotting alongside him.

Jasper, a chocolate-brown cocker spaniel, was little more than a pup and he had been struggling to match his master’s stamina. At one point that morning Sam had thought he would have to carry him, but the dog had picked up the scent of home and was now straining at his leash.

Sam put his head down as they entered the final stretch and it was only when he stumbled to a stop on the driveway that he registered the police car parked outside the house he shared with his landlady. There were two policemen waiting on his doorstep and while the one in uniform spoke quickly into his radio, the other approached Sam.

‘Mr McIntyre?’

Sam glanced only briefly at the warrant card DCI Harper was showing him. He was more interested in checking the house for signs of the catastrophe that would explain the need for a police presence. The drive was covered in a thick carpet of sodden autumn leaves with the exception of a small square next to Sam’s Land Rover. His landlady had left in her battered old Mini earlier that morning and hadn’t yet returned home.

‘What’s happened? Is it Selina?’

‘Selina?’

‘Selina Raymond. My landlady.’

‘No,’ Harper said dismissively. ‘Could we have a word with you, please?’

‘About?’ Sam asked as he raked his fingers through his short-cropped hair that was more salt than pepper around his temples.

‘Perhaps we could go inside first?’

Sam wasn’t so much followed by the police officers as he was escorted up the handful of steps to the front door of the large Georgian house. Stepping into a wide communal hallway, Selina’s ground-floor apartment was on the left and at the far end there was another door that accessed a shared utility room and the rear gardens. The curved staircase with its painted white spindles and polished oak handrail leading up to Sam’s apartment was among many of the original features which gave visitors a grand first impression of the house, but both policemen remained impassive as they headed upstairs. The only sound came from heavy police boots and Jasper’s laboured breathing.

Once inside, Sam turned to Harper who was a few years younger than Sam and a fair bit shorter and wider too. He had a round face and the kind of smile that would earn him a fortune as a used-car salesman.

‘Are you going to tell me what this is about now?’

Harper appeared more interested in taking in every detail of Sam’s living quarters than answering the question. The door to the apartment opened directly to a living room that had access to a small kitchen, a bathroom and a bedroom. The room was wide and spacious and there was plenty of light, albeit grey, coming from a large picture window to the front of the house and a smaller one to the rear. The furnishings were sparse: a small dining table, two armchairs – only one of which showed any signs of wear and tear – and a bookshelf which was almost as bare as the room itself. The floorboards were polished, but there was no rug or any other homely touches to speak of, except for a couple of garish crocheted cushions.

While he waited, Sam watched Jasper disappear into the kitchen and the sound of frantic lapping from his water bowl quickly followed.

‘You live here on your own?’ Harper asked eventually.

‘Just me and the dog.’

‘And you’ve been out for a run?’

Dripping with sweat, Sam opened up his arms and invited the detective to take in his attire. ‘Aye,’ he answered in his soft Scottish lilt, his voice sounding pleasant enough despite his instincts telling him he should be cautious.

‘How long were you out for?’

Sam glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, which was showing half past twelve, and he did a quick calculation. ‘A couple of hours, maybe.’

‘I thought runners wore watches to time themselves?’ Harper said, glancing at Sam’s bare wrist.

Sam shrugged. He had long since lost all desire to track the passage of time and hadn’t worn a watch in six years. ‘I don’t,’ he answered bluntly, having decided that he wasn’t going to give any more information than was absolutely necessary until the detective explained what it was he wanted.

Harper was nodding as he drew his own conclusions. ‘Two hours. That must have been some run.’

‘Nothing unusual.’

‘So how far did you get?’

‘Not that far. I ran towards Allerton, then Garston, before sweeping around towards Hunts Cross. It was the first time out running for Jasper so we walked for a while too.’

‘Did you go through the park?’

‘Calderstones? Yes, I cut through it on the way out, but we came along Menlove Avenue on the way home,’ he said as he rubbed his clean-shaven chin and neck where the sweat had begun to dry and tickle. ‘Has something happened there? I work in the park.’

‘Yes, we know. And you only left the house at about half ten, you say?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not before?’

‘It could have been nearer to ten but no earlier,’ Sam said as he sat down heavily at the dining room table, which was clear except for a single sheet of silky smooth paper. The six-inch square was dark green with a pattern of yellow flowers and he played with a corner while waiting for Harper to explain himself. His patience eventually paid off.

‘At approximately nine o’clock this morning, an eight-year-old girl was reported missing. While you were out on your run, Mr McIntyre, her parents have been frantically searching for her,’ the detective added helpfully.

Sam’s slowing pulse gathered up speed. ‘What little girl?’

‘Jasmine Peterson.’

The name was like a direct jolt to the heart but Sam kept his voice surprisingly steady when he asked, ‘What’s happened? Has she run away? Do you think she’s been harmed?’

‘That’s something I’d like to find out as quickly as possible for her parents’ sake.’

‘Have you spoken to them? Is her mum all right?’

‘Mrs Peterson is distraught, as I’m sure you can imagine,’ Harper said, and then his eyes narrowed, changing not only his demeanour but the nature of the interview. ‘When was the last time you saw Jasmine, Mr McIntyre?’

A flicker of guilt crossed Sam’s face but he hid it well. ‘It was a while ago. Two weeks, maybe.’

‘That long?’ Harper said, less concerned with hiding his own reactions. ‘But you had become very close to her, hadn’t you?’ Before Sam could respond, he added, ‘And yet you haven’t known her very long at all.’

2

Six Months Earlier

Thursday 23 April 2015

‘Does it hurt?’

Scanning the group of schoolchildren, Sam searched out the owner of the fragile voice which had been difficult to hear above the whispers and giggles of her peers. A small cluster of girls to the back of the group had turned around and he followed their gaze. The girl standing behind them was taller than many of her classmates and yet so insubstantial she was hardly there at all. Her head was dipped and her long blonde hair fell poker straight over her shoulders. Her blue eyes fixed directly on Sam and worry hung like a veil over her face.

‘Sorry?’ he said. ‘Does what hurt?’

‘The tree. Does it feel pain?’

A frown furrowed Sam’s brow as he considered his answer. He had given countless tours of Calderstones Park in his time and the Allerton Oak was one of the highlights, for him as much as anyone. The behemoth was estimated to be a thousand years old and had remained rooted to the spot while the human race rushed past towards bright futures that had quickly receded into the dim and distant past. Had the tree been an impassive observer or did it somehow absorb the trials and tribulations of the people who had taken shelter beneath its heavy boughs? Was that what the girl was asking? It was a good question if it was.

One of the boys nudged his friend and Sam knew instinctively that there was a derisive comment on its way. The Allerton Oak was the last stop of his guided tour and he had already worked out who were the troublemakers – they were easier to spot than the quiet ones. The boy in question had taken a deep breath and was opening his mouth when Sam beat him to it. ‘It does look like it should hurt, doesn’t it?’ he agreed, looking from the girl to the tree, his eyes drawing the children’s gaze away from her willowy figure and towards the giant oak with its fresh green buds that were only just peeking through gnarled branches.

The group took a few steps closer and one or two leaned against the painted iron railings that formed a square to guard the oak from the more inquisitive visitors. The trunk of the tree was at least six feet in diameter but was by no means solid. The hollow at its core was large enough for a small child to stand up in. Some said it had been a gunpowder ship called the Lotty Sleigh exploding on the Mersey in 1864 that had split the tree asunder, but age had also played its part. Like an old man leaning on crutches, the oak’s boughs were held up by giant metal props to keep it from tearing itself in two.

‘This old gent would have been around long before Calderstones was a park and even before this land was part of a great estate – long before Calderstones Mansion was built. In fact, the tree is older than Liverpool itself,’ Sam said. He looked over towards one of the teachers. ‘Isn’t that right, Miss Jenkins?’

‘Yes, and when we get back to school we’ll be looking at some old maps which show how the area has changed over the centuries,’ she said.

Miss Jenkins was standing in amongst her class and when they had first met a year ago, Sam had thought her not long out of school herself. He had said as much to her and was surprised when she told him she was twenty-eight. The teacher was slightly built with dark hair and almond eyes that always seemed to be smiling and they were smiling at Sam now, making him uncomfortable. He scratched his tangled beard, which, in contrast to Miss Jenkins, made him look older than his years.

‘Why don’t you tell the children about the tree’s special powers, Mr McIntyre?’ she asked.

Sam raised an eyebrow. ‘Now you know I’m not supposed to do that.’

The statement sounded like the perfect ruse to leave the schoolchildren intrigued, but Sam had been told on numerous occasions by his managers not to make up stories but to keep to the script approved by the park ranger services. He was meant to explain how the tree was reputedly the medieval meeting place of the so-called Hundred Court, but that wasn’t going to impress a group of eight year olds. Sixteen faces – nineteen if you included the teaching staff – looked at him expectantly. What harm could it do? he asked himself.

‘Can you keep a secret?’

When the flurry of yeses ebbed away, Sam made a point of looking around to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard. ‘Legend has it that this is a Wishing Tree. For centuries, people have written down their secret desires and placed them inside the trunk.’

‘Where?’ someone asked.

Sam pointed to one of the gaping wounds in the trunk. ‘Right there.’

‘So you just stick a bit of paper in the tree. Then what?’ said the boy who had caught Sam’s attention earlier.

‘Manners, Matthew,’ Miss Jenkins scolded.

‘And then what, Mr McIntyre?’ he repeated, sounding even less interested in the answer than he had the first time he’d asked.

‘And then,’ Sam said before clearing his throat, stepping back, and opening up his arms. He tilted back his head. ‘You close your eyes and listen.’

‘To what?’ whispered one of the girls closest to him.

Matthew blew a raspberry and the whole group convulsed with laughter, even the teachers. Sam wasn’t sure how he kept his face straight but it helped that he still had his eyes closed and his face lifted towards the gargantuan spider’s web of branches. ‘You listen for the answer!’ he said, loud enough to shock the children into silence. ‘Listen to the tree’s creaks and groans and it will tell you if it’s going to grant your wish.’

‘Let’s do it,’ someone said and they all began scribbling on their clipboards. A few children compared notes and a couple of boys broke out into an argument, but after a few minutes they all held their wishes in their hands.

‘We can’t reach the hole,’ one of the boys said and they all looked at the railings that formed an impassable barrier.

‘I can,’ Matthew announced and before anyone could stop him, he had scrunched his note up into a ball and threw it with perfect aim into the hollow. A dozen or more paper balls rained down in quick succession, some hitting their mark while others littered the ground among the haze of bluebells surrounding the base of the tree.

Sam sighed as he looked over towards Miss Jenkins. ‘That’s why I’m not supposed to tell anyone,’ he explained.

The teacher held his gaze a little longer than was absolutely necessary. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.’

Sam smiled and shrugged off the comment. ‘It’s all right, the boss will be happy that I’ve added litter picking to my long list of duties, because I do everything else.’

‘Shush,’ one of the girls said in a loud whisper. ‘We haven’t listened for our answers yet.’

Matthew and a few of the boys grumbled amongst themselves but eventually they all raised their heads to listen to the tree. It was only then Sam noticed that the girl with blonde hair had slunk back into the shadows of her own making. She was the only child who didn’t lift her head.

‘Didn’t you want to make a wish, Jasmine?’ Miss Jenkins asked when she noticed too.

Jasmine shook her head. ‘My dad says I’m too old to believe in wishes now.’

The little girl wouldn’t be persuaded and so Sam wrapped things up by thanking the children for being so well behaved and encouraging them to come back to the park. He challenged them to give their families the same tour and to see how much they could remember. It was fast approaching lunchtime and the next stop for the children was a picnic, so they all began trooping off in the direction of the walled gardens. Miss Jenkins kept one eye on her class and the other on Sam.

‘I’d better go,’ she said without moving. ‘But if you’re still around later, I wouldn’t mind a quick catch up. I’d love to see the sketches you said you’ve been working on, if that’s all right?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ he said, although he wasn’t in the least bit sure.

‘Good. Once I’ve loaded the kids back on the coach, I’ll come and hunt you down.’

The teacher’s words left him feeling slightly uneasy. He had left Edinburgh almost four years ago to make a fresh start, to begin a life that was a drastic deviation from the one he had once mapped out. He still hadn’t worked out what his new life should comprise of and his only ambition, which was a vague one at that, was not to give into the overwhelming desire to keep running away from everything – and that included very attractive young women.

Once the children and teachers were out of sight, Sam looked at the mess they had left. There was a padlocked gate to access the enclosure but he never carried the key so resorted to using a low-lying branch as leverage to climb over the railings. Before picking up the litter he stopped to rest his palm on the Wishing Tree, as if by doing so he would feel its pulse. Its bark felt warm, and as his skin melded into the wooded knots he imagined that the tree was attempting to ground him too. With his hand still pressed against the wood, he took a moment to look around, peering through the fir trees that crowded around the oak to catch glimpses of visitors pushing prams and walking dogs. He felt no connection with the world passing him by and was only aware of a constant fear that there was an axe poised somewhere out of sight, ready to cut him down – again.

Moving away, Sam wiped his hand on his trouser leg. ‘You shouldn’t be here, Sam,’ he muttered to himself as he imagined how much simpler life would be if he had chosen instead to hide away in the Highlands as a recluse. Gathering up the scraps of paper and stuffing them into his pocket, Sam had no interest in the fifteen wishes in his possession; he thought only of the one that was missing …

With his park ranger responsibilities at an end, Sam was forced to return to some of his more mundane duties, which today included potting bedding plants into various containers to brighten up the public areas around the Mansion House. Sam was a skilled horticulturist and had developed his craft working on grand estates in and around Edinburgh, and although the job in Liverpool wasn’t as senior or as well paid, it covered his living expenses and it offered its own challenges – working with inquisitive, entertaining, demanding and soul-destroying schoolchildren for one. But, in recent times, budget pressures had meant cutting back on nonessential services and Sam now spent more time on park maintenance than he did on ranger duties. In fact, the only way he managed to keep the service at Calderstones Park going at all was by volunteering some his time, but that wasn’t a problem for Sam McIntyre. He had plenty of time to give.

‘Have you had your lunch yet?’ Jack asked when Sam showed up in the courtyard to the rear of the old Coach House.

Sam gave his supervisor a shrug and proceeded to slip on his protective gloves. He picked up a spade, intent on helping Jack shovel compost into a wheelbarrow. ‘I’ll grab something later.’

‘Over there,’ Jack said, tipping his head towards a brown paper bag that had been left on top of an upturned plant pot. ‘Sheila made extra and I can’t go home with so much as a crust, especially since I might have mentioned how you’ve been skipping lunch lately. You know how she likes to mother you.’

Sam smiled and knew there was little point in arguing. He had met Jack’s wife only a handful of times and she was no older than he was, but she had felt compelled to take him under her wing. She had looked at him and recognized a lost soul who needed saving. Sam had seen the same thing that morning on the face of a little girl.

Taking his lunch, Sam chose a bench to the side of the Coach House and took out the small sketch pad he always kept with him. He had been working on the collection of illustrations for Miss Jenkins for weeks, having made the mistake of showing off his sketches one time and, as was so often the case, had agreed when she asked for a favour. He had promised to come up with some drawings to accompany the worksheets she was producing for a nature project.

And he wanted to impress her, even though he knew he was making a fool of himself. She was interested in his drawings and nothing more and that was probably for the best. Not allowing his mind to wander, Sam took out a pencil and worked on some last-minute touch-ups to sketches of pine cones and earwigs, daffodils and dandelions, seedlings and, of course, the Allerton Oak. He was working on one particular drawing of a family of ducks when someone banged into him. His hand jolted in surprise, adding a crooked smile to an unfortunate duckling.