Little Face by Sophie Hannah Read Free Book Online Page A

in Felix's life. Vivienne is his mother substitute. He even calls her Mum, because he is used to hearing David call
her that.
    I'm not sure Felix realises that I am one of the grown-ups. He
relates to me as if I am another child who happens to live in the same
house as him.
    David is a conscientious father. He and Vivienne make sure that he
spends at least one whole day each weekend with Felix. He regards his
son as a test that he must pass, and would vehemently deny, if I were
to suggest it, that Felix reminds him of Laura in any way, even though,
with his shiny black hair and pale blue eyes, he is the image of her.
    David is good at denial. He will deny that he fell asleep and left the
front door open. He is an exemplary father, he will insist. He wouldn't let anyone abduct his beloved daughter, the child of his happy second marriage.
    I am impatient for Vivienne and the police to arrive. I sit here quietly, cross-legged on the bed, pressing my back, which still aches from the months of pregnancy, against the iron frame, and await these two
very different authorities. I try to imagine the next hour, the next day
or week, but my mind is one giant blank. I simply cannot envisage any
future at all. I feel as if time stopped when I walked into Florence's
nursery and started to scream.

    I wish I had cuddled her more, breathed in more of her sweet,
fresh baby smell while I could. Not to be able to hold her is torture, but
worse than the pain, far worse, is the fear. There is a horribly uncertain future ahead, one that I'm not sure I can influence in any way.
    David will tell everybody that I am deluded. Who will the police
believe? I have heard that they are, by and large, male chauvinists.
What if they decide I'm an unfit mother and call in social services? I
might not spend another night in this room, with its large sash windows and real fireplace, its view of the Silsford hills in the distance.
David and I might never again sleep side by side, here or anywhere.
When we first met, I was so full of hope for our life together. To think
of that now makes me ache with sadness.
    I will not speak to my husband again until there are witnesses present. How odd that only last night the two of us sat on Vivienne's sofa
drinking wine and watching a silly romantic comedy together, laughing and yawning, David's arm round my shoulder. The speed of the
way things have changed between us has left me dizzy with shock.
    I hear his voice downstairs. `Come on, Little Face,' he says. That's
a new one. I make a mental note to mention this to the police when
they arrive. David has called Florence `Mrs Tiggywinkle' since the day
she was born, apart from when he calls her `Mrs Tiggy' for short. `Ten
tiggy fingers, ten tiggy toes, two tiggy ears and one tiggy nose,' he has
sung to her every day, at least once. He did so this morning.
    I know that David loves Florence as much as I do. The urge to comfort him is so firmly embedded in me that it will be a struggle to fight
it. I must, though, if he continues to insist that the baby downstairs is
our daughter. I will have to learn to regard his pain with total detachment. This is what danger and fear do to a person, to a marriage.

    `Shall we lie you on your changing mat for a bit of a kickabout?' he
says now. His voice floats up from the little lounge, directly underneath
our bedroom. He sounds calm and efficient, for my benefit, I suspect.
He is playing the role of the rational one.
    A jolt of adrenaline shocks me into action. The camera. How could
I have forgotten? I leap up off the bed, run to my wardrobe and
throw open the door. There, on top of a pile of shoes, is my hospital
bag, not yet unpacked. I rummage frantically and find my camera, a
little black box with curved edges that contains the first photos of Florence. I open the back, stroke the smooth black cylinder of film with
my thumb. Thank God, I murmur to myself. Now, surely, I have a
chance of being