Page 23 of The Memory Wood

She didn’t mean to shout. And now, suddenly, she can’t look at him. Throwing down her coat, she hurries up the stairs. In the bathroom, behind a locked door, she perches on the toilet. When she closes her eyes, she sees a girl in a red feather boa. She recalls Lena Mirzoyan’s words in the hotel manager’s office:This is Elissa. My daughter. My life.

Mairéad’s mouth fills with saliva. She wheels around, yanking up the toilet seat just in time. Watery bile spatters against porcelain. Her stomach spasms, again and again. Her eyes feel like they’ll pop right out of her skull.

Afterwards, unfastening her bag, she takes out her pharmacy purchases: ten Clearblue pregnancy tests.

Mairéad opens the bathroom cabinet. She stacks nine of the boxes inside. The tenth one she opens. Pulling down her underwear, she sits on the toilet. At first, it’s difficult to pee.Eventually, her bladder lets go. She places the Clearblue’s tip in the flow and counts to five. Then she replaces the cap.

Now, the wait. Three minutes, according to the leaflet.

Mairéad can hardly breathe. She balances the kit on the side of the bath. Standing, she consults the bathroom mirror. A wraith stares back at her. Bloodshot eyes and mushroom skin.

Mairéad’s stomach is knotted, but no longer from nausea. This is fear, pure and simple.

Two minutes.

She recalls something else Lena Mirzoyan said:I know you’ll try. All of you – I know you will. But you’vegotto succeed. You’ve got to bring her back. Promise me you will. Promise.

Mairéad knew the dangers, which is why she remained quiet. But the promise, even though it never passed her lips, is implicit.

Outside, a gust of wind shakes the branches of a nearby tree.

Mairéad takes a breath, exhales. She wonders what Lena Mirzoyan is doing right now. A Dorset-based FLO accompanied the woman home and will stay there until the Wiltshire force appoints someone local. But however many people are with Lena right now, she’ll still feel desolate.

One minute.

Mairéad looks at her watch: 01.26. Sunday morning already. Over eleven hours since Elissa was taken. If the investigation team had discovered anything, they would have shared it.

She examines the Clearblue test. On the LCD display, a tiny hourglass is winking. Her chest feels empty, as if everything’s been scooped out.

The hourglass disappears. A message appears.

Pregnant3+ weeks

Mairéad takes a shuddering breath. She reads the message again, up close this time, just to make sure she’s got it right. Three-plus weeks is as accurate as the test can go, but she knows she’s closer to nine.

In the corner of the bathroom is a foot-pedal bin. Mairéad prods it with her toe. The lid jumps up, revealing a magpie’s nest of discarded Clearblue kits. More are stacked along the windowsill.

It’s a terrible waste of money and plastic. But in the eight years they’ve been trying for a baby, Mairéad’s miscarried twelve times.

No one’s ever been able to tell her why. It’s not hormonal. It’s not genetic. She suffers no uterine problems or cervical weakness. Once, one of the many highly paid specialists she’s consulted told her she’s simply been unlucky. But to Mairéad – and, she knows, to Scott – it feels like a lot more than bad luck. It feels like a tragedy.

Of her twelve failed pregnancies, only three progressed past six weeks. None of them ever went past eight. Which means thatthislife, cupped like a flower petal inside her womb, faces odds as desperate as the girl she’s trying to find.

Mairéad thinks of Scott and how he must be feeling, knowing the scale of the task she’s just taken on. But if she doesn’t save Elissa Mirzoyan, what chance can she offer this tiny bundle of cells? Perhaps, if she can rebuild one family, she’ll get to build one of her own.

It’s a terrible thought. She tries in vain to dismiss it.

Downstairs, the TV comes on. Sounds of gunfire and screaming echo up the stairs.

Mairéad stares at the Clearblue kit with a terrible, clutching foreboding.

Elijah

Day 3

I

The afternoon that I first meet Elissa, I’m walking through the Memory Wood with no idea of how much my life’s about to change.

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