A Special Relationship by Douglas Kennedy

Author:Douglas Kennedy [Kennedy, Douglas]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Modern
ISBN: 9781439199138
Publisher: Arrow
Published: 2003-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Nine

IT TOOK ME several minutes to force myself up off the bed. I had no idea where this story was going. All I knew was: I had just walked into a nightmare.

The kitchen. It was the one room in the house I’d yet to check. I stood up. I went downstairs – and immediately saw that the sterilizer, all baby bottles, and the high chair we’d bought were gone. So too was the entire stock of formula, diapers, baby wipes, and all other infant paraphernalia.

I couldn’t fathom it. Someone had come along and expunged every trace of Tony and Jack from the house. No sign of them remained whatsoever.

I grabbed the phone and punched in the number of Tony’s mobile. I was instantly connected with his voice mail. My voice was decidedly shaky as I spoke. ‘Tony, it’s me. I’m home. And I must know what’s going on. Now. Please. Now.’

Then I rang his office – on the wild off-chance that he might be in at seven-something in the morning. Again I was connected to his voice mail. Again I left the same message.

Then I rang Cha. No voice mail this time. Just a computer-generated voice informing me that the mobile phone I was ringing had been switched off.

I leaned against the kitchen counter. I didn’t know what to do next.

The front doorbell rang. I ran towards it, hoping against hope that Tony was outside with Jack in his arms. Instead, I found myself facing a large beefy guy in his late twenties. He was in a tight, ill-fitting suit, a white shirt open at the collar, a tie dappled by food stains. He had no neck – just a straight roll of fat from his chin to his collar bone. He radiated greasy menace.

‘Sally Goodchild?’ he asked.

‘Yes, that’s me,’ I said.

‘Got something for you,’ he said, opening his briefcase.

‘What?’

‘I’m serving you with papers,’ he said, all but shoving a large document in my hand.

‘Papers? What sort of papers?’

‘An ex parte court order, luv,’ he said, thrusting a large envelope into my hand.

Job done, he turned and left.

I tore open the envelope and read. It was an order given by The Honourable Mr Justice Thompson, yesterday at The High Court of Justice. I read it once, I read it twice. It didn’t make sense. Because what it stated was that, after an ex parte hearing in front of Mr Justice Thompson the court had granted Anthony Hobbs of 42 Albert Bridge Road, London SW11 ex parte interim residence of his son, Jack Hobbs, until a further order was given.

I ran down the street until I caught up with the process server, getting into his parked car.

‘You’ve got to explain this to me,’ I said.

‘Not my job, luv,’ he said.

‘Please,’ I said. ‘I need to know …’

‘Get yourself a solicitor, luv. He’ll know what to do.’

He drove off.

I went back to the house. I sat down at the kitchen table. I tried to re-read the court order again. Three sentences into

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