LITMIR.BIZ

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it was brand new, only got it the day before. Plus her hair is red too, her dad said she only dyed it a couple of weeks ago.’

      ‘Yes, I noticed,’ the detective said.

      ‘So we have to assume whoever took this photo,’ Estelle said, ‘is with Poppy right now. They know me; they’re threatening me.’

      ‘I wouldn’t call it a threat,’ the detective said.

      ‘Not exactly nice though, is it? If they’re with Poppy, they—’

      ‘Calm down, Miss Forster,’ Detective Jones said, interrupting her. ‘We’re confident Poppy just ran away, she’s done it before.’

      Estelle frowned. ‘So she’s unhappy?’

      ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ PC Thorburn said gently. ‘You’d be surprised at the number of well-adjusted happy kids who run away. I guarantee she’ll be back in the next couple of days, always the way.’

      Estelle fell silent. She thought of the tiny baby she’d given up, the aching she’d felt as she’d handed her over. She’d hoped in the days, months, years afterwards she might one day see that child again. But with age came acceptance. She probably wouldn’t and that was a good thing. The life she would have given the child would have been a shadow of the life a couple desperate for children could have given her. And looking at the happy family photos she’d seen, maybe she was right.

      But if Poppy was so happy, why would she run away? She wasn’t sure about PC Thorburn’s statement, it felt like she was appeasing her.

      ‘But in the meantime,’ Detective Jones said, interrupting her thoughts, ‘if Poppy turns up here—’

      ‘Turns up here?’ Estelle asked him in alarm. She hadn’t even considered that. How would she begin to explain it to Seb?

      ‘If she is your biological daughter and she found out who you were, it makes sense she might try to seek you out.’

      ‘But how on earth would she know? Other than the authorities, only two people know I gave a baby up for adoption.’

      ‘So the father and—’

      ‘No, the father doesn’t know.’ Estelle swallowed.

      The police officers exchanged surprised looks.

      ‘Just Autumn and Max Garland, my foster parents,’ Estelle said. ‘I – I never told the father.’

      Guilt threaded through her. It felt cruel now, with hindsight. But it had felt like the right thing to do at the time. She could barely admit the pregnancy to herself back then, let alone him. It had come as such a shock – she was only fifteen. She’d thought she’d finally found her place in the world, there in the beautiful tourist town of Lillysands with the Garlands. And then suddenly there was a child growing inside her, a threat to it all … and to his future as well, on a cusp of exciting things. That’s why she’d kept everything from him, including the fact she’d given their baby up for adoption.

      ‘Can you tell us the father’s name?’ the detective asked her.

      ‘Why do you need to know?’ Estelle replied, heart thumping.

      ‘Same reason,’ the detective said. ‘If the girl is indeed yours, she might have run away with the intention of tracking her parents down.’

      Estelle took in a deep breath. ‘Aiden. Aiden Garland,’ she said reluctantly.

      The detective’s eyebrow shot up. ‘Garland?’

      Estelle swallowed, looking down at her hands, cheeks burning with shame. ‘He was my foster brother.’

      ‘I see. And the Garlands knew he was the father?’

      Estelle shook her head. ‘No.’

      Autumn and Max had no idea her and Aiden had slept together – that they even had any attraction to one another. As far as they were concerned, the father could have been one of several boys, from what Estelle had allowed them to think. She’d hated that, them thinking she’d slept around. But what choice had she had? Better that than know their son was the father.

      ‘Will you be talking to Aiden?’ Estelle asked.

      ‘Maybe.’

      Panic took hold of Estelle. ‘Can I talk to him first if you do?’

      ‘You’re welcome to call him. Right,’ the detective said, snapping his notepad shut and standing up. ‘I think that’s everything. Do keep us posted if you receive any more of these,’ he said, gesturing towards the photo, which PC Thorburn was zipping up into a plastic bag.

      ‘So what’s next?’ Estelle asked. ‘Will you do tests on the Polaroid photo, see if there’s any DNA on them?’

      ‘Well, I doubt that—’ the detective said.

      ‘But Poppy’s missing!’

      ‘She ran away, Miss Forster. Right now, it’s a waiting game. The last time Poppy ran away, she was back within twenty-four hours. We’re hopeful that she’ll be back before long. We’ll be in touch if we need any more information.’ He looked her in the eye. ‘Try not to worry, Miss Forster. Usually runaways return within a few days, a bit hungry and tired, but fine otherwise.’

      ‘But their birth mothers – if I am her birth mother – didn’t receive Polaroid photos like I did.’

      Detective Jones nodded. ‘True. But then most birth mothers aren’t internet stars. For all we know, other celebrities might be receiving similar Polaroid photos. You’d be surprised at the things people do for kicks.’

      ‘That would be quite a coincidence, I’m not that well known. Will you keep me informed?’ Estelle asked as she followed them down the hallway. ‘I know you can’t divulge much information. But—’ She took in a deep shuddery breath. ‘If she really is my daughter, I have a right to know, don’t I?’

      ‘I’m afraid you relinquished all your rights when you gave her up for adoption,’ the detective said matter-of-factly. Estelle flinched and the detective’s face softened. ‘Sorry, that sounded harsh. I was just stating the facts. I’ll do what I can. Obviously, if we can ask you to keep this to yourself, that would be good.’

      ‘Of course.’

      He gave her a pointed look. ‘It benefits both of us, not saying anything, especially with your book coming out soon.’

      Estelle frowned. How did he know about her book?

      ‘Your boyfriend told us,’ the PC added, sensing her confusion.

      ‘All that matters is Poppy returning safe,’ Estelle said.

      ‘Of course.’

      After they left, Estelle stayed where she was for a few moments, taking in some deep breaths. After all these years, today, that moment, she knew who her child was. Knew what she looked like. Knew what had become of her.

      Knew that she had run away from her seemingly perfect family.

      She blinked away tears and strode into the kitchen, getting her laptop out and searching for information on Poppy and her new family. They clearly had money: her father a TV presenter, her mother an interior designer. She learned they lived in a huge house overlooking Richmond Park. My God, they’d been living less than a half-hour train ride from each other! Poppy attended one of the UK’s top schools and was a keen hockey player. There were photos of Poppy with her father. A beach shot. Another of them walking through muddy puddles as they laughed. There was the dog again too, a golden Labrador puppy.

      Poppy had a good life with a well-off family who could provide her with everything she needed. If anything came out of this, Estelle reassured herself, it was that she’d done the right thing giving her up for adoption. There was no way a fifteen-year-old Estelle could have offered the kind of perfect life the O’Farrells had.

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