Free Everything She Forgot by Lisa Ballantyne Page A

the front but could still feel the heat of the lamps that the television crews had installed. It felt like his time.
    He saw it clearly now: like the crusaders, Angus had been called upon to protect the sacred. A Thurso child had been snatched, and his role was to find the person responsible, even if the child was gone. He would not give up; he would be relentless in his quest.
    He took a few moments to bask in a fantasy where he was recognized by the Queen for his services to journalism and the public. He imagined himself being knighted, feeling the gentle tap of the sword on each shoulder and a room full of people applauding.
    Several people took their seats behind a table covered in a starched white tablecloth. Three microphones had been strategically placed and there were jugs of water and glasses. Detective Inspector Black tapped the microphone three times and noisily cleared his throat and began.
    â€œAt approximately 08:45 hours this morning young Molly Henderson, of 56 Rose Street, Thurso, went missing on her way to school. It’s our belief that Molly has been abducted . . .”
    Angus focused his attention on Molly’s mother. She was unmistakable, a blur of misery and torment. Her agonized face reminded Angus of a painting by Masaccio, of Eve being cast from the Garden of Eden.
    A s soon as the press conference ended, Angus put his foot down as he sped home along the Highland roads, headlights on full beam in case a stray deer crossed his path.
    He felt different now that the child had been taken. He felt inspired. He had a calling, after all. “Thank you, dear Lord,”he said, out loud, gripping the steering wheel and allowing a small whoop of joy.
    When he reached the farmhouse, it was after eight. Hazel had his dinner in the oven and put his plate under the grill to warm as soon as he entered.
    Angus had met Hazel through the church on Barra, at the Bible study group organized for the “young folk.” Angus had liked her timidity and her piousness. She was just over five feet and Angus felt tall beside her. She had been raised in the church and had always known her place. His mother had passed already when he met Hazel, but his father had approved of the match. Hazel was an only child and her father was an elder at the church. She had been a plain, nervous girl with full hips.
    â€œI didn’t think you’d be so late,” Hazel muttered, chin to her chest. “If the potatoes are too dry I can make some fresh.”
    â€œFine,” said Angus, brushing past her. He went to the porch and changed out of his work shoes into his Wellington boots.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” said Hazel, suddenly appearing in front of him, her hands clasped before her.
    â€œWhat are you talking about, woman?” Angus spat at her.
    â€œDo you mean you’ll wait and see what the potatoes are like, or I should boil some fresh ones now?”
    â€œIs that all you care about? Are you gormless?” Angus took a single step toward her and she shrank from him, defensive but accepting, like a dog. “Boil some fresh potatoes if it pleases you. Day after day the same tripe you serve up; I’m sure I will notice no difference.”
    Hazel and Angus’s courtship had been pleasant enough, but it was after they were married and the children came that Angus became disheartened by her company. He had enjoyed both of her pregnancies, and liked to put his hands on herstomach to feel the child move. He had urged her to rest and eat well and had been delighted that his second-born was a son. Yet Hazel lacked strength as a mother, and it had fallen upon him to enforce discipline. She was a poor cook, yet had a tendency to put on weight. She failed to learn from the lessons he tried to teach her.
    Angus marched out to the barn, striding, his boots leaving large indentations in the mud.
    In the barn, Maisie seemed uncomfortable, off her food and letting out low pitiful moans as soon as Angus