A Family By Design Read online

  I felt sure Rosie would have spent the night at Max’s digs and I resigned myself to a quiet morning alone. She might have brought him back to the flat, but that wasn’t usually her style. But as I padded barefoot and bleary-eyed into the kitchen, the aroma of fresh coffee greeted me and I saw Rosie with a mug in her hand. She gazed wistfully out of the window.

  I rinsed a mug under the tap. “I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

  “No, me neither.” She regarded me sideways on for a moment then took a sip of her coffee. “Max and I had such a lovely stroll across campus. Then he made up an excuse about having to go home, alone, something to do with a flatmate.”

  Clearly, Rosie wasn’t pleased to have been rebuffed, and it certainly wasn’t something she experienced often. Men tended to swarm around her like bees around honeysuckle, drawn by her flirtatious self-confidence and beauty.

  She leaned against the storage heater, sipped her coffee and looked at me. “In fact, if I’m honest, what irked me was he wanted to talk about you. Though I’ll give him his due, he tried to be subtle.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you imagined it.” I poured some coffee. “Why, what did he say?”

  “You know, dropping your name into the conversation. Asking when we’d met, where you were from, blah blah blah.” Her eyes narrowed. “It’s OK Kat. I wouldn’t mind if you did fancy him.” She sauntered over and placed her cup in the sink. “I could hardly blame you. I did kinda dump you didn’t I?” Her voice became sheepish. “Sorry about that.”

  “Well, you looked like you were getting on, and anyway, I’m not ready to start dating again.” I sat at the breakfast bar and thought she looked a bit down, which was quite out of character. One of the things I loved about Rosie was her upbeat personality, and how she bounced back from any setbacks.

  In truth, I had found Max attractive and felt envious of Rosie. However, I decided she’d imagined his interest in me, and I knew I wouldn’t be doing anything to bring about a chance meeting. More importantly, I was starting my final year, and while achieving a first was probably too hopeful, I knew if I worked hard I could get a 2.1, the next best thing.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Ancestry

  When I was a child we were often short of money. However, I looked back fondly on my childhood. My parents loved one another and enjoyed spending time with my sister and me, whether we were away camping, exploring the coastline or playing epic games of Monopoly on a rainy afternoon.

  My parents had met in Oban when my Norwegian mum travelled with her two best friends and visited the Western Isles.

  Dad sometimes regaled us with his version of how they met, and delighted in the memory every time.

  “The moment your mum stepped on that ferry I was spellbound. She wore her long, golden hair in a shiny side plait, she was tall and tanned, and when she beamed her gorgeous smile right at me, I just knew she was the one.” Dad often looked wistful and dewy-eyed.

  “What your dad’s forgotten to mention is that it was me who asked him out. He was far too shy. Admittedly he didn’t take much persuading.” Mum used to tell us. “If I hadn’t asked him I’m not sure we’d be here today and neither would you two girls.”

  I never tired of hearing them talk about it and in my over romanticised mind I pictured them hand in hand on the deck of the ferry as they leaned against the rails and gazed into the sunset on the horizon.

  “Once I’d returned to Norway, being apart was such torture that one day your dad turned up in Bergen and that was it,” Mum said, and smiled like the cat that got the largest share of the cream.

  After I came along, and two years later my sister Alannah, we moved back to Oban where Dad resumed work on the ferries like he had never been away. I had a few vivid but imprecise memories of life as a young child in Norway, but I wondered if it had been the photograph albums that Mum had lovingly put together that had planted such recollections.

  Every so often, I tried to imagine what my life might have been like if they had chosen to stay in Norway. I had found it incredibly beautiful whenever we visited relatives; though, I conceded, no more beautiful than Scotland, and just as rainy.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Local Constabulary

  After another interminably long hour sitting and waiting, a stomach-churning pain continued to curve and coil through me like a surgeon’s needle had threaded its way around my every nerve and fibre. Viv laid a light hand on my arm, and as I turned to her, it occurred to me it was unfair for them to be involved.

  “Shall I try ringing Max?” she said.

  “There’s no point. I’ve left enough messages,” I said, and then added, “You don’t have to stay.”

  “But we can’t leave you on your own. And we want to know Lyssa is all right,” she said.

  As I looked into her eyes, I realised they were already emotionally involved, despite it being mere chance they were here with me at all.

  “If you swap numbers you can keep in touch,” Inspector Keir suggested. “I’m sure Mr O’Donnell will arrive soon.”

  Even though we’d only met a few hours ago, we hugged like close friends.

  “Please call if we can do anything to help. Even if only to drive you somewhere, or to look after Louis.” Pete said, and wrote down his number.

  “You’ve been so kind,” I said.

  “I only wish we could do more.” Viv clasped my hands, and tried to smile through the tears that threatened to unveil her composure. “Have hope and faith, Katriina.”

  I stood at the window and watched Viv turn to me with the faintest of smiles and a small nod before getting into the car.

  “The incident room is up and running, and forensics are out back going over the van,” said Inspector Keir.

  I felt increasingly bewildered as officers passed the open doorway. They talked with urgency and gave the impression of making strenuous efforts to pinpoint Lyssa’s whereabouts. A couple of them introduced themselves and explained what they were doing to help. If they were trying to reassure me, it wasn’t working.

  An officer walked in. “I’m Constable Lynne Pearce. Inspector Keir has asked me to sit with you until your husband arrives.” She closed the door behind her.

  I would have preferred the door remained open, but I didn’t have the presence of mind to object. As she drew up a chair, I wanted to tell her she was wasting her time and should be out there doing her job. She shot me a sympathetic smile and talked to me, no doubt to divert my thoughts.

  I had seen her a few times around Lochinver, but not in uniform. She was instantly recognisable with her pretty, chocolate-box face and jet-black hair, tied back neatly. I assumed Inspector Keir didn’t dare leave me on my own, fearing I might succumb to full-blown hysterics. Her upbeat words did nothing to reassure me.

  “So my Danny’s at school with Louis, year above.” She nodded. “Has Louis got a girlfriend?”

  “No,” I said. I didn’t add that if he had I would probably be the last person to know.

  “My Danny’s been seeing Jo for over a year. She might as well live with us. They’re never apart. No matter how often I tell him he needs to focus on his studies, all he’s interested in is seeing her. That won’t help him get into University will it?” She tutted and pursed her lips.

  “No,” I mumbled, and was curious as to why she kept referring to him as my Danny. I wondered if she’d had a custody wrangle with his father.

  “She’s a lovely girl though.”

  “Who is?” I asked, in a tone that I hoped would deter further conversation.

  “Jo, my Danny’s girlfriend.”

  Why wasn’t she asking about Lyssa? Hadn’t she been trained to investigate a crime?

  Shrouded by morbid thoughts, I abandoned the small talk and zoned out from her nervous chatter. My stomach made peculiar noises, and I felt queasy again, although now I wasn’t sure if it was down to stress or a continuation of what I’d felt earlier.

  Word must have got out about Lyssa, and I no
ticed a couple of reporters with cameras and microphones hovering outside. I watched as one of them, a young woman, tried to get into the station, presumably to better suss out the gory details, and when that failed, she commandeered anyone willing to stop and join in the drama. They prowled around like wild dogs, ready to pounce on any unsuspecting victim. The sight of them sickened me, and I wanted to scream at them all to bugger off.

  Finally, three hours after I had first rung him, Max’s Range Rover screeched to a halt in front of the station. Constable Pearce hurried through to the lobby and brought him in.

  “Is it true, you’ve lost Lyssa?” His look of disbelief showed that my messages hadn’t sunk in.

  I cried again, but felt a hint of relief to see him. I reached out to hold him; I wanted him to tell me everything would be fine.

  He stepped away.

  “Someone’s taken her Max. Got in my car, there was a van. It drove off. I don’t know where she is.” I was shaking and babbling incoherently.

  “You’re not making sense.”

  “OK. OK.” I took a breath. “I stopped in a layby because I felt sick and dizzy. And when I was down the bank a white van pulled up. They’ve taken my car and Lyssa was in the back.” I took Max’s hand, but he yanked it away.

  “You left the door unlocked and the keys in the ignition, with Lyssa inside?” His eyes sharpened.

  Max blamed me. Was it my fault?

  “But I wouldn’t put her in danger, and you know it.”

  “But you did.”

  I saw a muscle twitch at the corner of his mouth. His face was bitter, his features suddenly ugly and unfamiliar.

  Constable Pearce tried to diffuse the argument brewing in front of her. “Max, I understand you’re upset. Inspector Keir wants to speak to you to see if you know anything that could help.”

  Furious, Max turned on her. “I wasn’t there was I? What the hell do I know? You’re wasting time when you should be out there looking for her.”

  As he protested, Inspector Keir walked in and closed the door behind her.

  “Chief Inspector Keir,” she said, and extended her hand.

  Max’s hands remained firmly at his side.

  I thought it was the shock that made Max behave rudely.

  “It’ll only take a few minutes, and rest assured, I have no intention of wasting anyone’s time. I’ve already questioned Katriina. We often find out vital information where no one expects to, so if you’ll come with me we won’t be delaying the investigation one bit.”

  Max scowled and nodded once, signalling his reluctant but unavoidable compliance.

  I moved to follow them, but Constable Pearce took my arm.

  “He won’t be long, and sometimes it’s useful to talk to family members on their own.” She sat down, swept up a strand of black hair and tucked it back into her ponytail.

  “I don’t know what he can tell her,” I said, and shrugged “He’s right, he wasn’t anywhere near us.”

  I slumped back onto my seat and felt helpless. Surely it was better if the police were out driving around and searching for her? Anything was better than sitting at the station and wasting precious time. I felt as if I was going mad with fear. Maybe whoever had stolen my car didn't want a terrified eleven-year-old girl with no idea what would happen to her. Perhaps they'd already let her go; left her alone at the side of the road.

  Please let that be it, please.

  Then I thought, what if - what if he did want an eleven-year-old girl?

  My mind raced from one horrific scenario to the next, and I cast my thoughts back to cases of missing children. I remembered a child abduction in Cornwall. A seven-year-old girl was snatched as she walked to a friend’s house a few doors away. It took the police two days to find her small, bruised and broken body lying in a ditch only a few miles away. The accused man awaited trial.

  I recalled several more heart-breaking cases and I couldn’t remember a single one of them that ended well. The only instances I remembered that hadn’t turned into murder investigations, happened where teenage girls had run away with older men. Most of them had been paedophiles, but in their twisted minds they justified their actions because the girl had gone of her own accord. Perhaps my distrust of online social media, particularly concerning the potential dangers for young people, was justified. I thought, at least there was sometimes a better outcome for the child in these circumstances, though they would always live with the long-term psychological and physical effects.

  Where did that leave Lyssa? So young and innocent, so entirely naïve when it came to anything relating to men and sex. At school, they’d had a few carefully placed lessons on sex and the dangers of grooming, and I had contrived a few discussions with her myself to introduce the world of womanhood and relationships, still several years away. Even so, such discussions couldn’t have prepared her pre-teen mind for anything of that nature.

  Another monumental tidal wave of anxiety rose up in me, and I hoped to God such pessimistic thoughts weren’t warranted.

  Max returned. Without a word he sat down, hung his head and sobbed – loud and rasping.

  I pushed my chair back and knelt down in front of him.

  What could I say? Words were futile.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Sly Fox - 1997

  Exactly a fortnight after that first night in the Student Union bar, I saw Max again. I’d been a member of the University hiking club since my first year, and for our first weekend expedition of the year, fourteen of us would head up to Loch Lomond and the Trossachs National Park. James, our club chairperson, had planned a route up Benn Arum on the edge of Loch Leven, one Benn amongst a spectacular range of ancient volcanic mountains.

  We loaded our rucksacks and camping gear onto the minibus, took our seats and, full with excitement, chatted about the trip.

  James stood at the front looking official with clipboard and pen. “Welcome everyone. It’s great to see such a fantastic turnout, and some new members too. We’re gonna get going in a minute, but does anyone know Max O’Donnell?”

  “I think I know who you mean, but I don’t have his number or anything, sorry,” I offered.

  “OK, we’ll give him a few minutes. I’ve not heard anything to say he’s backing out.”

  As James finished speaking a white mini pulled up, exhaust blowing, and a painted Irish flag across the roof. The door swung open, and Max stumbled out with an enormous rucksack the size of an African elephant.

  He staggered onto the minibus. “Sorry I’m late guys. Couldn’t get my rucksack in the car.”

  “Really?” James smiled warmly. “Max is it?”

  “Yup, that’s me.” Sheepish, he looked down at his rucksack and with a chortle said, “I guess I’ve over-packed. I was a bit unsure of what to bring.”

  “Or what to leave behind?” James said. “No worries mate. Bring it to the back . . . if you can.”

  We tried, without success, to suppress our amusement. Max could barely lift it, let alone carry it on tomorrow’s fifteen-mile mountain route.

  Tactful, James tried to alleviate Max’s embarrassment. “You know Katriina don’t you?”

  Max looked over and smiled. “Yeah. Hi Katriina.”

  He took a seat in front of me and twisted round as the minibus moved off.

  “Settling into your course OK?” I asked.

  “Yeah, it’s grand. Pretty full on, but exactly what I was looking for. The profs are truly amazing.”

  It felt wonderful to catch up with the club members, most of whom I hadn’t seen since before the long summer break. Georgina, a petite, fitness obsessed redhead and one of my favourite walking buddies, was desperate to find out all of my news, especially about my split with David over the summer. By all accounts David had complained about me, and I felt relief that he’d given the hike a miss. Max slipped into the conversations going on around him. He had a gentle way about him, was unpretentious, at times self-effacing and very funny.

  As we drove
into the hills, the sun sank, unhurried, behind Benn Arum and the sight of the magnificent mountain, with great dark shadows that fell in-between the scarps and wide ravines caused me to sigh in admiration at the natural beauty.

  Max interrupted my gaze. “It was the promise of views like this that made Strathclyde a natural choice.”

  “Isn’t it incredible? And that peak there is our target tomorrow,” I said, and pointed to the summit, currently clear of cloud and sharply radiant beneath the setting pomegranate sun.

  Max let out a long low whistle. “That’s one mammoth mamma.”

  I smiled. “And as we’re taking our camping gear, we’re in for a tough climb. I’m gonna leave what I can behind, and I think maybe you should do the same?” I lifted an eyebrow.

  He laughed. “Maybe you could help whittle my bag down?” he asked.

  His smile broadened; full of humour and sincerity and I thought he had attractive features. His smoky eyes and thick wavy hair, combined with a dark stubble, made for a striking appearance overall. He didn’t look like the rugby-playing type, but his long nose had a slight kink in it as though he’d broken it at some point.

  “Sure, happy to help.” And I felt a spark of energy flicker deep within me.

  Max was easy to talk to, and I relaxed in his company. I realised I’d flirted with him, which took me by surprise.

  We were staying at a hostel near Benn Arum, which made it the ideal starting point for our first day’s hike. We clambered off the minibus and lugged our rucksacks up the gravelled path. I thought how the hostel looked like one of the finest I’d stayed in. It was a large old grey stone building set back from the road and had beautiful original sash windows. It was functional inside, freshly painted, clean with well-lit rooms and high ceilings.