‘And when they told you he might have problems – did they say why?’
‘Apparently his mother was doing time and couldn’t look after him properly. Had a drink problem, you know the sort of thing. That’s why he’d been put up for adoption.’
I take a deep breath. It makes sense. The awkwardness, the mood swings. And what I saw with my own eyes, only two days ago. The question is whether that’s all it is. Whether it stops there.
‘What does your doctor say?’
He snorts. ‘Sharon doesn’t have any time for him – says all he ever does is poke his nose in. As far as she’s concerned Leo’s just a bit of a late developer and the doctor can’t prove otherwise. She says how we bring up our kids is nobody else’s business.’
And that adds up too. The last thing Sharon would want is for ‘them’ to think she was bringing up a less-than-perfect child. Or that she’d had to resort to adoption to get one.
‘All that trouble he’s been having at school – the lashing out, the bullying – ’
Barry looks exasperated. ‘Leo just needs to stick up for himself a bit more, that’s all – not be such a wuss. Look, it’s really not that bad. Honestly. Most days, you’d hardly even know. He’s a nice kid. Docile.’
‘Until recently.’
‘Yeah, well.’
‘Do you know why? Did something happen that might have triggered it?’
‘Search me.’
‘Does he know he’s adopted?’
He shakes his head. ‘No, we haven’t told him.’
I count to ten. ‘Don’t you think it’s getting rather late to tell him something like that? He’s bound to find out sometime, and the older he is, the worse it will be.’ I should know. My parents have never told me I’m not their biological son, but I’ve carried that knowledge round with me for over thirty years. I found out when I was not much older than Leo is now, rooting about in my father’s desk where I knew I shouldn’t have been. Snoopers learn no good of themselves. But that wasn’t why I didn’t let on; I knew, instinctively, the way children do, that this was something I could never raise with them, and even now, I never have.
Barry shrugs. ‘Not my call, mate. And it’s not worth arguing about it with Sharon. Believe me.’
—
Outside the cell, I strike the wall in frustration and jar my wrist. I’m still shaking the pain away when my phone goes. It’s Everett.
‘I wanted to call you last night,’ she says, ‘but I was worried it was too late. Look, I’ve been thinking about Leo. And I remembered that email from the doctor where he referred to Leo coming in for ‘his check-up’. That’s an odd phrase to use – makes it sound like he had them all the time. That’s not normal, is it? And the doctor was really cagey – all that stuff at the end about needing authorization to release any information about the family. I think he was trying to tell us something. Under cover of doing the exact opposite.’
So she’s got there too. She’s sharp, Everett. She’ll go far.
‘I got an email from Challow this morning,’ I say. ‘The evidence in the car proves Leo is adopted.’
‘Jesus – and they didn’t tell us?’
‘Don’t get me started. It doesn’t matter, of course, if that was all it was. But it’s not.’
I tell her what Mason just told me.
‘Shit,’ she says. And then, quickly, ‘Yesterday, when I was sitting with him, he said everything was “all his fault”, but when I asked him what he meant he clammed right up. And then this morning, I came back from the shower and found him under the bed. He said he’d lost something and he’d lit a match to help him look for it. The underside of the mattress had already caught. It’s a miracle the whole place didn’t go up. He said he found the matches in the drawer.’
My turn this time. ‘Shit.’
***
Find Daisy Mason Facebook Page
There is still no news of Daisy, despite an extensive police search in the area around her home. The police have questioned her parents, and there are now reports that an unnamed teenager is ‘helping with inquiries’. If you live in the Oxford area and saw anything suspicious on the afternoon or evening of Tuesday 19 July, please please call the police. The person to ask for is Inspector Adam Fawley on 01865 0966552. This is especially important if you’ve been on holiday and haven’t caught up with the news.
Jason Brown, Helen Finchley, Jenni Smale and 285 others liked this
TOP COMMENTS
Dora Brookes We just got back from a few days away and just saw this terrible news. I don’t know what to do. I saw a man putting something into a skip on our street that afternoon, the 19th. We’re about half a mile away from the Canal Manor estate. I know it was then because it was the day we left. He had one of those bright yellow protective suits on, and a hard hat. There’s so much building going on round here I didn’t think anything of it at the time. But now I’m wondering – could it have something to do with Daisy’s disappearance? I went and had a look just now and the house is empty and there’s still no one on site. It doesn’t look like work has even started, so why would a workman have been there? What do people think? I couldn’t see what it was he put in the skip, so it may be nothing at all. But I don’t want to waste the police’s time
24 July at 16.04
Jeremy Walters I think you should call the police right away.
24 July at 16.16
Julie Ramsbotham I agree – don’t worry about bothering the police – they’d rather know, I’m sure. Then they can check it out properly.
24 July at 16.18
Dora Brookes Thanks both – I will.
24 July at 16.19
***
Richard Donnelly lives in a big 1930s semi just outside Wolvercote. It’s very much like the Rahijas’ house, in fact, but minus the deprivation, the drugs and the general dreariness. When I draw up outside I can see him emptying luggage out of the car. He has the haggard look of a man who’s just enjoyed two weeks of uninterrupted quality time with three small children.
When I introduce myself he becomes immediately wary.
‘I told you, Inspector, I can’t divulge anything about the Mason family without the appropriate authorization.’
‘I know, Dr Donnelly. I’m not going to ask you to do that. What I propose to do is to tell you what we already know, and then ask if you can give me some general background. Just basic medical information. Nothing specific to the Masons.’
He considers. ‘OK, I can live with that. Why don’t you come through and I’ll ask my wife to make some tea. Why is it you can never get halfway decent tea abroad?’
‘It’s the milk,’ I say, realizing I sound just like Sharon Mason.
The back garden is desperately in need of both a water and a mow, but there’s a bench under a pergola that has a view over Port Meadow. I can see four or five creamy-coloured horses with a scatter of brown spots. They’re standing so still, and in such perfect composition, that they hardly look real. But then a tail swishes and the illusion dispels. We brought Jake to see those horses once, after someone at Alex’s office said one of the mares had had a foal. It must have been only two or three days old, skipping and leaping and frisking its little tail. We could barely tear Jake away.
‘I had no idea you were so close to the Meadow.’
‘In the winter,’ says Donnelly, putting down two mugs, ‘from my son’s room, you can see the spires.’
I wait for him to pour the tea, and then I start. ‘There are two things we know now which we didn’t know when DC Everett first contacted you. The first is that Leo Mason is adopted. The second is that his biological mother was an alcoholic.’