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Pete

Pete jumps into the waiting Uber and tells the driver to get him home now .

He feels sick, disgusted with himself at ever taking a second look in Vanessa’s direction, but underneath that there is a swirl of confusion, a foggy cloud where he can’t make head nor tail of anything any more.

He had been so sure that Vanessa was responsible for Erin’s abduction, that the lipstick on the blanket must have belonged to her.

For Vanessa to flat out deny it, and then throw Natalie’s name in his face, should really make him want to defend his wife to the ends of the earth, but deep down, if he’s honest, there’s a tiny part of him that thinks it’s not impossible.

Natalie has been so erratic, so completely unlike herself, that he can’t honestly say it’s an impossibility.

It’s a thought that makes sour bile rise in the back of his throat, and he wishes he’d drunk that whisky after all.

The Uber pulls up outside the Maxwell house a short while later, and Pete is relieved to see lights blazing in the downstairs windows, his heart lifting at the thought of seeing his girls, of laying eyes on them and knowing two of his children, at least, are OK.

He checks his phone as he slips out of the Uber and makes his way up the front path, his heart skipping a beat as he sees there is a missed call from Natalie.

His breath catching in his throat, his fingers shake as he calls her back, suddenly sure that she was calling about Erin.

That something dreadful, the worst possible thing, has happened.

He turns to see the tail lights of the Uber wink as the driver reaches the end of the cul-de-sac and gets the urge to raise a hand, to tell the driver to wait.

Natalie’s phone rings three times before her voicemail cuts in, and Pete hangs up without leaving a message, intent on checking on the girls and getting back to the hospital as quickly as he can.

Letting himself into the hallway, he is aware of the muted conversation coming from the kitchen.

The detritus of the party is still littered around the house, empty glasses and paper plates left stagnating on the coffee table in the sitting room, although it does look as though someone has made a cursory effort to tidy up a little.

He wonders if whoever it was, was told to stop cleaning in case of removing evidence, and the thought of his home being a crime scene makes that sour bile rise up again.

‘Dad?’ Emily turns as he enters the kitchen.

The family liaison officer is at the kitchen worktop, making a round of tea, and Jake hovers by the sink, an uncertain look on his face.

Emily flies across the kitchen, burying her face in his chest and wrapping her arms around him so hard he feels winded.

‘Hello, love,’ he manages to choke out.

‘How is Erin?’ Emily lifts a tear-stained face up to look at him.

‘Is she OK? Where’s Mum?

Are they coming home?’

She looks to the kitchen door as if expecting Natalie to walk in carrying Erin at any moment.

‘They’re … ahh … They’re still at the hospital, love,’ Pete says gently.

‘The doctors are taking care of Erin as we speak.’ His gaze flickers towards Jake, who looks away and begins to wipe over the draining board with a damp cloth, just for something to do.

‘Where’s Zadie?’

‘I managed to get her into bed, but I don’t know how long she’ll stay asleep.

She fell asleep on the sofa and Jake carried herup.’

‘What’s he doing here?’

Pete asks Emily in a low voice.

‘I thought—’

‘I called him and asked him to come back,’ Emily says at full volume.

‘Sorry, Dad, I just didn’t want to be here on my own.

Sorry,’ she says to the FLO, who just smiles.

‘Well, that was good of you, Jake,’ Pete says graciously.

Jake nods and takes a cup of tea from the worktop, handing it to Pete without meeting his eyes.

‘Thanks.’ Pete takes the tea, a flicker of suspicion sparking to life in his veins.

Why won’t Jake meet my eye?

Is it purely because he is embarrassed over the way he behaved in front of me earlier?

Pete feels a wave of shame when he thinks about the way things played out.

Or is it something more sinister?

He thinks again of the scrape of Emily’s window at night, when both she and Jake think he and Natalie are asleep.

Jake couldn’t have done that this evening, as Emily’s window backs on to the garden and everyone would have seen him, but …

Pete takes a sip of the tea, his eyes never leaving Jake’s face, as Jake looks at Emily, at the floor, anywhere except Pete’s face.

Could he have sneaked in through the front door?

Pete has no doubt that Emily will have given Jake the code to the key safe at some point before now, so what would stop him from letting himself back into the house after Pete threw him out?

The thought raises conflicting emotions for Pete – relief that perhaps Vanessa didn’t do this, thereby relieving Pete of some of the burden of guilt, mixed with disgust that this boy could be responsible for hurting two of his daughters this evening.

Pete’s chaotic thoughts are derailed by a muffled cry, and he turns to see Zadie in the doorway.

‘Daddy?’ Her eyes are full, her thumb wedged into her mouth, and as Pete turns towards her he catches the acrid scent of urine rising from her direction.

Her pale pink pyjama bottoms are darkened with it, and Pete wants to cry.

‘Come on, Zade, let’s get you upstairs for a bath, and I’ll sort your bed out,’ Emily says, moving towards an exhausted but upsetZadie.

With a glance towards Jake – Pete still thinks he could be responsible; after all, didn’t he say he’d make Pete regret things?

– Pete steps forward, reaching out and wrapping his hand around Zadie’s wrist. ‘I’ll do it, Em.’

‘You’re sure?’ She looks at him uncertainly and it’s as if she’s stuck a knife in his chest. How absent, how disconnected, must he have been that Emily feels it automatically falls to her to sort Zadie out after an accident?

It’s his job, Zadie is his responsibility.

‘Of course, Em. I’m her dad.

I’ll get her all cleaned up and then I’ll head back to the hospital to see Mum and Erin.’

He gives her a quick kiss on the cheek.

‘Drink that tea and then try and get some sleep, OK?’

Upstairs, Pete runs Zadie a quick bubble bath and strips the wet bedding from her bed, replacing it with fresh sheets from the airing cupboard.

The door to Erin’s bedroom stands open, and as he pulls the sheets from the cupboard he finds he is unable to look in that direction.

He is unable to look at the empty cot, the cushions on the nursing chair still crumpled and squashed from where Natalie leant against them for Erin’s last feed, and as he moves to the bathroom he reaches out and pulls the door closed.

In the bath, Zadie is subdued.

Usually – or at least, the times that Pete can remember; it’s been a while since he did bathtime – Zadie is exuberant, at her happiest in the water.

She clowns around, making beards and Mohicans out of the bubbles, telling stories about dolphins and mermaids.

Not now, though. Maybe it’s just that she’s tired, but Pete’s heart hurts at the thought that Zadie is upset over Erin.

‘All clean, pickle,’ he says, reaching in to pull out the plug.

He wraps her in a towel, scruffing her hair in the way that usually makes her shriek with laughter, and then helps her with her pyjamas.

As Pete lifts her into bed, she smells of strawberry shampoo, the way she always has since she was a tiny baby.

‘You go back to sleep, OK? I’ll be home in the morning when you wake up.’

He hopes so, anyway.

‘Daddy?’ Zadie’s voice is muffled, the duvet pulled right up past her chin.

‘What is it, Zade?’

‘Is Erin going to die?’

Pete’s ears ring at the words, his stomach turning over.

‘No, darling, of course she’s not.

She’s going to be just fine.’

Pete feels the sharp sting of tears behind his eyes and blinks rapidly before he leans over and kisses her, praying that it’s true, and as he pulls the door gently closed, his phone begins to ring.