LITMIR.BIZ

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      Chapter Nine

      Now

       Hyde Park, London

      Hurrying through the bitter drizzle, I’m annoyed at myself for running late. I know how keen Jack Serrovitz has been for today to happen, and I promised I wouldn’t allow Maddie’s ability to drone on to get in the way of making a good first impression. I’m sure there’s probably a more direct route from London Bridge to Marble Arch, but I’m not a Londoner and I’m not yet au fait with how the underground network operates. I know there are different lines and a bazillion stations, but how they all interconnect is still beyond me. In fact, there probably was a quicker pedestrian route I could have taken, rather than relying on a black cab, but given everything that’s happened so far this morning, it was the simplest choice – and God knows I could do with some simplicity in my life right now.

      I asked the driver to drop me at Marble Arch station, as Rachel had told me that was a short stroll from the entrance of Winter Wonderland at Hyde Park. Of all the places Jack could have picked for us to meet, this one is certainly picturesque… if not ridiculously overcrowded. Reaching the main entrance, I can see nothing but tourists, wrapped up against the cold, hustling and bustling past me. Checking my phone, I can see Jack has messaged to say they’ll wait for me by the ticket booth but I’ve no clue where that is, and I find myself being swept along and in through the entrance by the crowd. It’s only when I feel a firm hand on my shoulder that I realise Jack has located me, and he steers me out of the tide of tourists.

      ‘You made it then,’ he declares, though there really isn’t any need for the conversation to be awkward.

      ‘Yep,’ I reply, equally uncomfortable.

      I’ve known Jack for a little over three months, since he helped me in the hunt for missing seven-year-old Cassie Hilliard. Jack was the police liaison that was organised for me to review the historic casefile, and despite a bumpy start, something like friendship has started to blossom since. He’s a nice guy – handsome, funny at times, and I know we wouldn’t have successfully located Cassie without his help and support.

      But this is the first time Jack and I have seen each other since we visited Turgood at HMP Stafford. I wince as I recall the moment Jack informed me that pictures of my sister had been discovered on the hard drive, and then Turgood’s sneer appears behind my eyes again.

      ‘He wanted to rile you,’ Jack said afterwards, ‘but you shouldn’t let him get the better of you.’

      Easy for him to say!

      All I have left are three facts: my sister went missing twenty years ago, she was still alive when the video was made four years later, and Turgood knows more than he’s sharing.

      Jack shuffles from one foot to the next as a cold breeze blows between us. He promised he would do whatever he could to make Turgood talk and wouldn’t stop until he’d helped me find Anna, but he’s not been able to offer anything more than words of encouragement. Turgood’s major heart attack eight weeks ago hasn’t helped matters. He’s currently considered ‘too ill to be interviewed’, from what Jack has told me. Too convenient if you ask me. At least karma appears to be in play for that belligerent monster.

      The reason for today’s meeting is because Jack has been begging me to come and meet his daughter Mila. She’ll turn seven on Christmas Eve, which is less than a week away now, and I think it’s why he’s chosen Winter Wonderland as the venue for our introduction.

      As we make it through the crowd and to a small clearing just beyond the ticket booths, it’s only now that I see Mila is holding his hand. Dressed in a faux-fur coat, leggings and ankle boots, she looks much older than her six years, but when she turns to face me, she is one of the prettiest girls I think I’ve ever seen. Her long dark hair hangs straight and loose down her back and when she smiles, I can see she has inherited her father’s goofy grin.

      ‘This is Mila,’ Jack gestures. ‘Mila, this is Daddy’s friend Emma.’

      Mila extends her small hand, and does a half-curtsey as we shake.

      ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Mila,’ I say, with my most welcoming smile.

      ‘Are you Daddy’s girlfriend?’ she asks, without a trace of malice.

      ‘Um, well… no,’ I reply, thrown by the directness of the question, and glancing at Jack for help.

      His cheeks have taken on a beetroot hue too, as he quickly stammers, ‘No, we talked about this, Mila. Emma is just a friend. Remember?’

      ‘We’re just friends,’ I concur.

      ‘Emma is that famous writer I was telling you about,’ Jack adds. ‘Remember? You said you wanted to meet her because you want to be a writer one day too.’

      ‘Oh yeah, I’ve decided I don’t want to be a writer any more,’ she corrects. ‘Seems like too much hard work.’

      ‘And what do you want to do instead, when you’re older?’ I ask inquisitively.

      ‘I’m going to ride horses at the Olympics, and then I’m going to be an actress.’ She says it so matter-of-factly that you’d think it had been pre-ordained from upon high and etched into a stone tablet.

      In fairness, I never thought I’d end up writing professionally. I was a major bookworm when I was younger, but in hindsight I think it was just easier getting lost in a book than having to deal with the fallout of Anna’s disappearance. Reading made me want to write stories of my own, where I could control the narrative and the course of the characters; some would say that means I’m a bit of a control freak, but I would counter that I’m just a sucker for a happy ending.

      ‘You can’t even ride a horse,’ Jack chimes in, still confused by Mila’s self-predicted future.

      ‘Not yet, but when Santa brings me a horse for Christmas, then I’ll have to learn to ride, won’t I?’

      I don’t know where to look; the expression on Jack’s face makes me want to howl with laughter, as he stutters to explain that Santa is highly unlikely to bring Mila a horse for Christmas. He stops short of telling her the truth about the big guy dressed in red.

      ‘Besides,’ he concludes, ‘a horse won’t fit down your mum’s chimney, will it? Plus, her garden isn’t big enough to accommodate livestock.’ He turns to face me, keen to change the subject. ‘Shall we go in now?’

      I nod, stifling the laugh. Once through the entrance, we find ourselves in a muddy thoroughfare, with market-like stalls on both sides, already encouraging visitors to part with their hard-earned money. There are stalls with bespoke tree decorations, handmade fudge, speciality cheeses, and carved wooden ornaments. I have to be honest, I’m already starting to feel more relaxed and festive, and I have to catch myself before I get swept up in the atmosphere.

      I feel awful for leaving Maddie to handle Sergeant Daggard’s questions alone, though I was relieved to see her showing him her certificate of training as I was leaving. She definitely didn’t do anything wrong in my eyes, and if necessary I’ll phone Sergeant Daggard myself and tell him as much. Whipping out my phone, I fire a message of support to Maddie, offering to return after this catch-up with Jack. I’m due to stay at Rachel’s flat in Ealing tonight, but we haven’t agreed a specific time for me to be home and I’m sure she’d understand my not wanting to leave Maddie alone after what happened. Undoubtedly, the suicide has already made the news headlines across the capital; certainly there were photographers gathered at the entrance to the building when I left. Thankfully, a small tent had been erected over where Natalie must have landed, so hopefully the front pages won’t be plastered with a gory shot.

      ‘Are you okay?’ Jack asks when we’ve made it through the stalls. ‘You seem distracted.’

      I’m conscious that Mila can probably overhear anything we discuss and I don’t want to ruin her day. ‘I’ll tell you later. I’m sorry I was late arriving.’

      ‘You

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