Silent Cry

Chapter 9

Izzy

Friday 27 December, 3.15 p.m. Withybush Hospital

Being in the Midwifery Suite for the first time since losing Alys was right up there with getting a tooth pulled. The last time, she’d left the suite and been escorted to the Mini with a wreath of smiles, Charlie by her side, his knuckles gleaming white as he clutched onto the car seat with both hands. A new baby was a celebration just as a lost baby was a tragedy.

But Alys wasn’t missing, or that’s what Izzy kept trying to tell herself. She’d just lost her way and it was up to the person that loved her the most to find her.

She eventually tracked down Carys, the lead midwife, in her office, a shoebox of a room with breastfeeding posters on the walls. She could tell straight away that she remembered her. But that was hardly surprising. The story had made the front of the South Wales Echo within a day and the front of all the nationals by the end of that first week.

She took her time settling in her seat before lifting her bag onto her lap, more for something to hold onto than anything. Heaving a sigh, she told herself she could do this. She was here to find out about Grace, and she wasn’t leaving until Carys had told her everything she knew.

Five minutes of wrangling and word games later, and Izzy’s temper had started to rise. She didn’t care about patient confidentiality and it wasn’t as if there was anything confidential in the questions she was asking. All she wanted was some clue that could lead her to Grace. She wasn’t fussy – anything would do.

She hadn’t seen Grace since her friend had popped into the hospital with the cutest toy rabbit for Alys. There was no note, no text or message after to let her know she’d upped and left town and Izzy was too tied up with Alys and then her abduction to think anything of it. But now she needed to know and Carys wasn’t prepared to help.

‘But it’s not as if I’m asking you to divulge anything secret. I know she was living in that new block of flats opposite the bus station.’

‘I don’t know anything about that,’ she said, not quite meeting her eye. ‘Have you thought to ask the other women attending the sessions? Maybe they can help.’

The other couples? Izzy closed her eyes briefly, trying to picture them through the veil of time that had turned them into dim shadows – it was useless. She could scarcely remember what they looked like let alone conjure up a name.

‘No, sorry. I wouldn’t know where to start.’

Carys stared back, her smile softening. ‘How about if I tell you how the sessions are organised? That part is public knowledge and there may be something to help. The way the group works is by months, so all expectant mothers and their partners are invited to sessions, four calendar months before their baby’s due date.’

‘And who invites them?’ Izzy said, returning the smile, relieved that she wasn’t going to be turned away with nothing.

‘Through their GP initially. So, your friend would have had to register with a doctor’s surgery when she moved into the area.’

Carys flicked a look at her watch before shuffling the folders in front of her. ‘I do hope you find her. We were all devastated when it happened.’

Izzy made her way to the door, offering a brief thanks. Carys had been more helpful than she could have been in the circumstances and it certainly wasn’t her fault that Charlie had done what he had. She just hoped and prayed that she’d be able to find Grace after a gap of five years. She’d as good as told her he was having an affair. She hadn’t believed her at the time. Now the only question in her mind was – who with?

‘Hello, I’d like to make an appointment.’

‘Name?’

‘Madden, Mrs Grace Madden.’

‘I’m sorry. I can’t seem to find your details on the system. Which doctor did you say you were with?’

Izzy’s fingers curled around the receiver briefly before slotting it back into place, though what she really wanted to do was smash it to smithereens. She’d tried all the doctor’s practices in and around the St David’s area only to draw a complete blank. How on earth did Grace get to hear about the parenting sessions if she hadn’t registered with a GP? It was all a mystery and one she intended to solve.

‘Finished on the phone, love? You stop there and I’ll go and make you your favourite drink. There’s no need to rush off. It seems an age since we had a good old natter.’

She was around at Mam’s, simply because, after leaving the hospital, she’d been too wound up to make her way back home.

‘But I was only here a couple of days ago,’ she said, throwing her a smile over one shoulder. ‘What more could you possibly want to discuss?’

‘Nothing in particular and anyway, Christmas doesn’t really count. All that food is conducive to a bout of indigestion and not a good chat,’ her mam said with a grin, pushing a mug of chocolate into her hands, topped with marshmallows and cream. ‘Just the way you like it.’

Perhaps when she was fifteen but now wasn’t the time to say anything. Her mam was always trying to feed her up and today Izzy was just going to give in. She loved her really and, in a world that was suddenly feeling all a bit strange, that was the most important thing.

‘Thanks Mam, love you,’ she said, lifting the mug and letting the explosion of sugar assault her tongue with all the finesse of a sledgehammer. After all, there was nothing quite like chocolate to lift the spirits and it was meant to be good for you, although perhaps not with quite so many marshmallows.

‘Love you back,’ she replied, and they shared a smile as the years fell away. The drifting apart since losing Alys seemed to fade and it was just like it was in the old days before Charlie, before everything.

Hot chocolate finished, they hugged the table with their elbows, their knees nearly touching under the warped Formica, the same table Izzy used to sit at to do her homework. The same table she’d laughed and cried all over with this woman by her side. Her mother’s periwinkle-blue eyes were a little dimmed by time, the skin edged with wrinkles. Her hair was still a deep auburn mainly thanks to her fortnightly visit to the hairdresser. She put Izzy to shame with her smart matching lambs-wool jumper and skirt, the diamond hoop earrings Dad had bought her for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary glittering in the weak sun. But now wasn’t the time to bemoan the state of her own wardrobe. Izzy had more important things to think about.

‘Mam, did you ever hear me speaking about a Grace Madden?’

She’d finally decided to share her concerns with someone and who better than her mother. Bethan was too tied up with the farm and the boys and there was no one else.

‘You mean that stuck-up piece that dropped you when Alys went missing?’

Izzy placed her mug back on the table with a careful hand before meeting her gaze. ‘That’s unlike you. You’re usually the most mild-mannered woman I know,’ she said, a frown appearing.

‘Well, what of it? It’s true. I’ll never know what you saw in her. Your dad and I couldn’t have been happier when she did a runner. You’re so much better with that nice Rebecca Walker for a friend. A bad influence is what that Madden woman was with her airs and fake tan to match her fake accent.

‘You never said.’

‘What do you expect? You had more than your hands full with Charlie and then the baby.’ She leant forward and pressed her hand. ‘Not a day goes by when I don’t think of Alys and I still hope that Charlie will come to his senses and get in touch.’ She shook her head, rooting for the tissue that always lived up the sleeve of her jumper. ‘You’ve gone and locked yourself away in that house of my mother’s and we barely see you.’

‘I’m busy with the business.’

Her mam sat back in her chair. ‘Really? Busy all day every day? We only live a few miles down the road and, if that’s too far, we’re on the end of the phone. It’s always us that have to do the running. I don’t mean to nag, love, but it’s been as hard for us as it has for you. Not only have we lost Alys we also seem to have lost you in the process. You’ve changed from a fun-loving girl to a shadow where there’s work and little else. Charlie was a nice enough lad, but the world is jam-packed with men and here you are living the life of a nun.’

‘How do you know I’m not out with a different man each night of the week?’ Izzy said, managing to conjure up a weak smile.

‘Well, are you?’

Izzy blushed, shaking her head.

‘Just promise me you’ll try and think on what I’ve said. Your dad and I are worried about you.’ She went to push herself up from the table only to pause, her hands squared flat against the top. ‘Come on, enough of this talk. You were telling me about Grace?’

‘I saw her last week in Swansea,’ Izzy said, choosing her words carefully. ‘I saw her and now I don’t know what to think.’

‘I don’t know what you mean? I thought she left the area.’ Her mam narrowed her eyes. ‘I think that’s what you told me.’

‘I’m not sure it’s that simple, Mam,’ she said finally. ‘The truth is she just disappeared without a trace, around the same time as Charlie and Alys.

‘But why would she?’

‘I don’t know. But there’s one thing for sure. I intend to find out.’

It was nearly nine o’clock by the time Izzy finally got up to leave.

‘You’ll be careful on the roads, won’t you? You’re sure you don’t want to stay the night?’

‘I can’t, Mam, Bucket would never forgive me,’ she said, dragging her into a hug before heading out to the van.

She’d always hated driving at night, especially at this time of year when the only light was from the odd house along the barely inhabited stretch of A487. But, for once, she didn’t spare a thought for the journey ahead. If the car broke down, she’d just phone someone. It wasn’t as if it was a long trip or anything, and her mind was too full of the past to be bothered by something so inconsequential.

She couldn’t get the three of them out of her head: Charlie, Alys and Grace. She also couldn’t stop thinking about her own paltry existence. It suddenly felt as if she’d let life slip her by while she set up her business and expanded her customer base. Her life had turned into a pale image of what it could have been. Instead of having a family, all she thought about was where the wool for her next design was coming from and how best to photograph her latest project. She was a one-woman master-crafter with a strong online following and a growing business. If things carried on she’d have to take on more than the handful of local women she already employed to help her turn her hand-spun wool into works of art. She’d pushed aside all thought of what her life was meant to be. She’d turned her back on trying to meet another man just as she’d turned her back on trying to find Alys …

Maybe some music would help to keep her brain from performing somersaults. She turned on the radio and started fiddling with the dial to find a station playing the latest tunes, anything to keep her thoughts at bay. But they wouldn’t be quietened. She tried to convince herself that she hadn’t forgotten, that she hadn’t given up on Alys, but it was all a lie. She should have still been out there everyday hunting the streets and banging on every door. If she could turn back the clock, there were so many things she’d change. Her life had gone off on a tangent where work had tried to fill the place of her child.

She blinked rapidly, before flipping the radio off. Listening to Adele telling her how much she missed her was just what she didn’t need – she had enough darkness in her soul without her interference. She was pleased beyond belief when she finally reached the turning for home – the tangled ivy, twisting up the brickwork, glistening in the light cast from her headlamps.

A sigh escaped. She wasn’t one of those romantics that found enchantment around every corner, but this house was so much more than simply bricks glued with mortar. It was both her haven and refuge. The place she used to come every Wednesday when Granny picked her and her sister up from school. She’d let them dump their bags and shoes by the back door before trailing through to the kitchen for homemade Welsh cakes, still hot from the griddle.

She slammed the door closed on her memories and placed her shoes in the basket before hanging her coat and beret on the old mahogany hat stand. The front door opened straight into the lounge, which meant she had to be extra tidy in case of impromptu visitors. Bucket jumped down from the back of the sofa to wrap himself around her ankles, a deep purr and gentle meow telling her in no uncertain terms that he was hungry.

‘All right, boy. Time for supper.’ But before she made her way into the kitchen, Izzy ran through the list of evening checks she’d carried out by rote ever since she’d moved in.

Van locked and keys in the bowl on the table. Front door locked and security chain fastened. Windows secure in the lounge although, as she hadn’t opened them in what felt like months, there was little chance of them having been left open. But that didn’t stop her from checking. She couldn’t remember the number of times she’d snuggled up in bed only to remember she’d forgotten to check one of the windows or doors.

Izzy eyed her mobile, sitting on the table. She really should phone Rebecca for a catch-up. It was funny in a way that she now counted Rebecca, a friend from her school days and the antithesis of Grace, as her closest friend. But Rebecca understood her where Grace never had. Izzy wasn’t interested in make-up or trying to make the best of herself. She dressed how she wanted and relished nothing more than the thought of her own company. When they met they talked non-stop but they’d often go days or even weeks without a word. She took a step forward only to pause and head for the stairs. For once she felt in need of a chat – the only thing stopping her was the fact that Rebecca was Rhys’s little sister.

The house boasted three bedrooms, all situated in the roof space, so boiling in summer and far too cold and expensive to heat in winter. She ignored the room on the left; it held too many bitter memories of those first two exciting days after her homecoming. Oh, there weren’t many. Alys had never spent a night there, her place being in the crib by her side of the bed. But it was where she’d changed her nappy, the changing table angled under the window in the eaves so that she could stare out at the rolling hills behind. It was where she’d stored her tiny selection of clothes – clothes she’d finally bundled up into sacks and dropped off at the local charity shop. The room might be empty of everything associated with Alys, but it would never be empty to her.

Lying back in bed, her hands behind her head and Bucket by her feet, Izzy’s thoughts continued to interrupt any idea of rest. With the arrival of Grace things were changing, small things like Mam telling her what she thought for once. She hoped the change continued because returning to a life where work played the dominant part wasn’t going to be enough anymore.

Chapter 10

Gaby

Friday 27 December, 6.05 p.m. The King’s Arms.

‘So, what was that you were saying about Rhys and Isabelle Grant?’

‘Shush, keep your voice down. If either Bill or Shea hear, I’ll be mincemeat.’

Gaby and Amy were sitting around a large table in the back of the pub, nursing large glasses of Chenin Blanc while Bill and Shea hugged pints of lager to their chests, all their attention on the game of rugby on the TV screen hanging on the wall.

‘Sorry,’ Gaby said, taking a large sip of wine before placing it carefully back on the table. She’d been looking forward to joining Amy for a drink ever since she’d suggested it in the office earlier. It was just her luck that a couple of the other detectives had decided to tag along at the last minute.

‘There’s no need to apologise,’ Amy said, lowering her voice to a whisper, her eyes flickering to the men opposite. ‘I just wouldn’t put it past either of them to let Rhys know that we’ve been gossiping about him.’

‘Fat chance of that.’

‘Exactly. As if we don’t have better things to gossip about.’ Amy nudged her with her elbow, her eyes gleaming, all her attention now focused on the couple of hunks walking across the bar. ‘You can have the balding one on the right.’

‘Great!’

Gaby was surprised by how nice it was sitting there, the warmth from the log fire adding an extra layer of atmosphere to the traditional pub with oak beams strung with an assortment of golden horse brasses. She’d never been one for close female friendships. For a start she’d always been too tied up with work. She’d been a loner as a child and that had continued into adulthood. But Amy seemed different. Maybe it was because of her career choice as family liaison officer but, whatever the reason, she appeared to have an insight and perception far in excess of her years. From the look of her clear skin and bright gaze, she’d guess her at being mid-twenties – so probably a good five years younger than her own twenty-nine years – but with a maturity of twice that age.

She drained the rest of her glass and, lifting her black leather bag, stood to her feet. ‘We still have half an hour before the taxi comes – fancy another?’

‘Why not. I’ll give you a hand.’ Amy turned to Bill and Shea. ‘The same again, boys?’

‘Now, where were we? Oh, yes – Rhys and Isabelle Grant.’

Within seconds of them arriving at the bar, a pair of leggy blondes descended as if out of nowhere and whisked both men away from under Amy’s nose. But she just shrugged her shoulders with a laugh before hopping onto one of their vacated bar stools and throwing Gaby a smile.

‘You win some …’ she said, rolling her eyes before picking up her glass and taking a sip. ‘Oh yes. Rhys.’ Her voice dropped a level. ‘I’m not sure how the rumour started, probably right from the beginning of Baby Grant’s disappearance although, now I come to think of it, he wasn’t even part of the initial investigation. It was meant to be Bill’s case, but Rhys’s old man soon changed that.’

‘Rhys’s old man,’ Gaby repeated, peering at her over the top of her glass. Of all the things she’d expected her to say that wasn’t one of them,

‘The DCI,’ Amy replied, lowering her voice. ‘I thought you would have known. Brazil-North has only been here about three years. Up until then Elijah Walker was the guv and a right stickler too. Ex-military. You know the type. Very strict on the uniform. He even had us lining up for daily inspections. The whole station breathed a sigh of relief when he decided to take early retirement and move to Yorkshire. Well anyway, I’d only just joined straight from university and was completely wet behind the ears but even I could see that his father was booting Rhys up the rungs of the ladder super quick.’ She threw a quick glance across at Bill and Shea before continuing. ‘Not that he wasn’t up for it. From the beginning I was struck by the hours he was spending on the case. Okay, so his father was right behind him making sure he did a proper job but he barely left his desk in the early days and when she tried to top herself—’

‘What?’ Gaby said, her eyes widening. ‘Why didn’t anyone tell me? I know there are a few boxes left to work through but …’

‘Sorry, I thought they had. It was kept out of the papers, thanks to Rhys. She was crazy with grief, around the station all the time even when she wasn’t needed. Not eating. Not sleeping. Not washing. A disaster on legs. She had to be driven back home most days that first year. And he was always there for her. Never a harsh word. It was tea and sympathy laced with that little extra something he couldn’t hide no matter how hard he tried. We all knew that it wasn’t about finding Alys. It was all about finding Izzy’s child, only that. I know that sounds like the same thing but, believe me, it’s not. If there was a reward for effort he’d have won it hands down,’ she said, gesturing to the barman. ‘It was personal and, despite the five-year gap, it’s still personal.’ She rummaged around in her bag for her purse before withdrawing a twenty. ‘He won’t give up unless we find her and, of course, what real chance is there after all this time?’

Gaby shifted back on the bar stool, mulling over Amy’s words. Rhys was quite a bit older than Izzy Grant, ten years or more and yet he’d never married. Was that the reason for him nearly barking at her when she’d asked about the case? Unrequited love. She frowned, her thoughts stepping into the cesspool that she still struggled to cope with. But with her, it hadn’t been unrequited. Her hands clenched, her nails biting deep as a picture of Leigh Clark escaped the locked compartment of her mind. Leigh Clark, the tall, broad-shouldered man she’d given her heart to in Cardiff only to find that it wasn’t love, not on his part. It had taken a visit from his heavily pregnant wife for Gaby to come to her senses. With her personal life imploding along with her professional one, she’d had no choice but to leave.

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