Her One Mistake

by Heidi Perks

  “Finished, Mummy,” she’d said, automatically opening her mouth wide for Harriet to check.

  “Gorgeous,” she’d told Alice. “The tooth fairies will be pleased with how sparkly they are.”

  A fresh wave of tears left Harriet clinging onto the sink again as if it were the only thing holding her up, until eventually Brian reappeared and pried her hands away, leading her back down to the kitchen where Angela was patiently waiting.

  “I need to know what she was doing when our daughter went missing,” Brian demanded as he ushered Harriet into a seat and sat down next to her. “I want to know what Charlotte was doing, because she obviously wasn’t watching Alice.”

  “I believe she was waiting in a tent right next to the Jungle Run with her youngest daughter,” Angela said.

  “So,” Brian went on, “not watching my daughter, like I said. She was probably on her phone. You see it all the time—mothers ignoring their children while their faces are stuck elsewhere. Half the time they have no idea where their kids even are. This is why I don’t understand it, Harriet. I don’t understand why you asked her to watch Alice. You always say she’s wrapped up in herself, that she lets her children run feral.”

  “No,” Harriet said, aghast, “I never said that.”

  “I’m sure you did.”

  “That’s not true,” she argued. Charlotte’s children weren’t feral. They were boisterous, full of life and energy. “Feral” wasn’t a word she would ever use.

  “You told me once you wouldn’t trust her with Alice.” He looked at her pointedly. “That her head’s not in the right place.”

  “No,” Harriet cried, a flush of embarrassment heating her face. “I never said that.” She could feel Angela looking at her intensely as Harriet tried to recall when she might have said something that Brian had misconstrued, but even if she had, she wouldn’t have meant it.

  Brian took a swig of his tea, grimacing as he placed the mug back down. It must have turned cold by now. “I’d just never have expected you to trust her with Alice,” he said.

  “There’s a few more things I really need to ask you both,” Angela said, and Brian nodded for her to go on. “Let’s start with families. Alice’s grandparents, aunts, uncles.”

  “There aren’t many,” Brian replied. “My dad died fifteen years ago and my mother—” He broke off and straightened his shoulders. “My mother left when I was young. I don’t see her. Harriet’s parents are both dead.”

  “Siblings?”

  “Neither of us have any,” he answered.

  “So your mother, Brian?” Angela asked. “When was the last time you saw her?”

  He shrugged. “Years ago, I’m not sure exactly.”

  Harriet watched her husband attempting to pass off his mother’s abandonment. She remembered exactly when he’d last seen her and she knew Brian did too. It was nearly eight years ago. He’d taken Harriet to meet her a month after they’d met.

  “And does she know where you live? Could there be any reason for her to come looking for her granddaughter?”

  “I doubt she even knows she has one.”

  “You doubt? Do you think she might?” Angela asked.

  “She doesn’t know,” Brian said. “I wouldn’t have told her.” He looked away and Harriet wondered if maybe he had once told his mother about Alice. She could imagine what reaction he’d gotten if he did.

  Angela continued to ask about other family and close friends, but it was clear their circles were painfully small. Harriet told her that she didn’t keep in touch with past colleagues and she saw some of the mothers very occasionally, but only because they were friends of Charlotte’s. It was sadly obvious there was only one person in her life whom she saw regularly, and that was the person who’d just lost her daughter.

  Brian’s life was no more interesting. He left the house at eight every morning to go to work at the insurance company he had been at for five years. He was back in the house by five thirty without fail. He didn’t do drinks, or Christmas parties, or attend celebrations, and wasn’t remotely bothered that he had no one he could call a true friend.

  Every Saturday Brian went fishing. He left early and came back at some point in the afternoon and, until today, had never mentioned anyone he met there by name.

  • • •

  LATER ANGELA MENTIONED an appeal to the public, which would most likely happen the following morning and air on all the major news channels. They also discussed the possibility of Harriet and Brian meeting up with Charlotte.

  “I can’t do that,” Harriet said. The thought of sitting opposite her and seeing the guilt slashed across Charlotte’s face drove a knife through her stomach.

  “That’s fine,” Angela told her. “You don’t have to if you’re not ready.”

  “You’ll feel differently soon,” Brian said. She ignored him—she knew she wouldn’t change her mind.

  But while thoughts of Charlotte and the appeal spun in her head, it was the idea of spending a night without Alice in the bedroom next to hers that gnawed deeply. How would she get through it? How would she function during every second that Alice wasn’t with her? Life without her baby girl was not a possibility.

  All she could see was her daughter’s face, pale and frightened. “Mummy? Where are you?”

  Harriet was trapped. Inside her own body and inside their house, with no idea what she should be doing for her daughter. Sheer frustration ripped through her like lightning, jolting her upright and onto her feet, unleashing from within her a raw, guttural scream.

  Brian leapt out of his chair and to his wife’s side, holding her tightly, shushing her and telling her it would all be okay. “This is all Charlotte’s fault,” he hissed to Angela. “After all, this isn’t the first child she’s lost.”

  CHARLOTTE

  At seven o’clock on Saturday evening I had a call from Captain Hayes. He phoned to say Harriet wanted to see me, despite telling me earlier she was refusing to.

  “Of course I’ll go,” I said when he asked if I was prepared to see them at their house, even though I’d been through every possible scenario of meeting Harriet, and none of them came out well. “I’ll just need to get someone to look after the children.”

  “Of course,” he said. “I can send an officer round.”

  “There’s no need,” I told him. A policeman babysitting the children would only frighten them. “I can be there in an hour, if that’s okay?” I told him and hung up. I’d called Tom as soon as we’d gotten home after the fair, so I knew he’d come over when I needed him to.

  • • •

  I’D MET CAPTAIN Hayes earlier that afternoon after Audrey had insisted I leave the fair and she’d driven me and the children back in my car. I’d stared out the car window as she shunted the gears into reverse, muttering under her breath that she “wouldn’t be able to get out of the sodding parking lot.”

  “I shouldn’t be leaving,” I said. “I should be searching with everyone else.” Makeshift groups of parents were forming in clumps on the field despite police requests not to get involved.

  “No, you need to be with your children,” she said. “They need you more than ever right now and this isn’t a place for them to stay.”

  I knew she was right, but as Audrey negotiated her way between the parked cars, I felt as empty as the extra car seat wedged behind me. The space between Molly and Evie was a gaping reminder that I’d not only lost Alice, but I was now walking away from her too.

  We drove out of the car park, turning the corner with the field on our right, the tips of the inflatable palm trees on the Jungle Run no longer swaying. No one would let their children near it now since it had become a crime scene.

  “And there are enough people out there,” Aud continued. “The police don’t even want them looking. Look at this place,” she said in a whisper. “No one must want their children here now.” Two more police cars passed us, their blue lights silently flashing. “Let’s get you home,” Aud said quietly
.

  Hayes arrived at my house at 4:30 p.m. That was when he told me Harriet was refusing to see me.

  “I’ve tried calling her,” I said. “I tried as soon as I got home, but her phone must be switched off.” I picked up my phone and stared at its screen, a photo of my children smiling back at me. I’d tried Harriet a number of times. Each time I held my breath until her voice mail kicked in and I could hang up, able to breathe again.

  “She must have questions,” I said to the detective. “She must want to hear from me what happened. I know I’d want to.” I’d want to scream at me if I were her, pound fists against my chest until I broke down. Demand an explanation, beg me to find her daughter or to turn back time and change what happened.

  “Everyone’s different,” he said, and I nodded because it couldn’t have been more true.

  When Hayes phoned again at 7 p.m. I was in the middle of running the girls a bath. I finished the short call, turned off the water, and dialed Tom’s cell.

  “Any news?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” I told him.

  “Oh, Charlotte. Are you sure there’s still nothing I can do?”

  “Actually, I need to go see Harriet. Can you come sit with the kids?”

  “Yes, of course. How is Harriet?”

  “I haven’t spoken to her yet. When can you get here?”

  “I don’t know, um, half an hour?”

  “That’s fine,” I said.

  “So you’ve heard nothing about Alice at all?” he asked again.

  “No, nothing.”

  “It’s been on TV. I just saw it on the news.”

  “God,” I sighed. I’d already had two calls from journalists, but as Captain Hayes advised me, I told them both I had nothing to say.

  “I’m sorry, Charlotte—I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything. Just come round so I can get over there.”

  I sat on the edge of my bed and waited for Tom as the bath water slowly went cold in the bathroom next to me. My phone flashed again with another text message from a class mum. “Is there any news? Is there anything I can do to help?” I threw the phone behind me. Sooner or later I was going to have to respond to all the messages I’d had since I’d left the fair, but I couldn’t do anything until I got through this evening. With the curtains pulled, I was in semidarkness as I brooded over one question: What the hell did I say to Harriet?

  I would have to look them both in the eye and tell them I had nothing that could make it any easier. No explanation, no excuses. Not even one suggestion that might bring them relief. They’d ask me what happened to Alice and I’d have to confess I didn’t have a clue.

  She ran behind the Jungle Run with Molly.

  Then what? they’d ask.

  I don’t know. I just don’t know what happened to your daughter then.

  Molly and Jack had since told me they’d taken their shoes off behind the inflatable, but in their excitement neither of them stopped to help Alice, waited for her, or even noticed whether she’d gotten on. “You’re ten, Jack,” I’d cried earlier. “Why didn’t you check the girls were safely on it like I’d asked you to?”

  Jack had looked at me with a dolefully blank expression. I knew I couldn’t expect my son to consider other children. Jack has a heart of gold, but he’s the last kid you give responsibility to.

  “Molly.” I’d turned on my daughter. “She was running after you. Why didn’t you help her on? What did you do, literally race on after Jack and forget she was even there?” I knew I shouldn’t’ve transferred my guilt onto them, but still the words spilled out of my mouth.

  Molly’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Mummy,” she’d cried.

  I pulled her to me and said that no, I was sorry. This was not her fault. “I’m not saying you did anything wrong,” I’d told her, though of course I had implied it.

  There was only one person whose fault this was. Who had lost themselves in texts and Facebook and maybe looked up occasionally but never enough to spot Alice. I knew deep down I hadn’t seen her tumble down the slide. It was only ever my two I’d spotted from the shade of the tent. Which meant, as Officer Fielding said, she most likely had never gotten on in the first place.

  • • •

  AS SOON AS Tom arrived, I kissed the children goodnight and told them I’d see them in the morning. Then I tried leaving the house before we could get into a conversation, but he stopped me before I got to the front door.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  I shook my head, pressing my fingernails into my palms so I didn’t start crying. “Of course not, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “It was the lead story on the news.” Tom rubbed his hands together uneasily. “To be expected, I suppose.”

  “Yes, well, it would be. Something like this—” I stopped. “I really just need to go, Tom.”

  He nodded, and I knew there was something else he wanted to tell me but I opened the front door, not wanting to give him the chance. “I just saw Chris Lawson as I was coming up the drive,” he said. “He told me they’d called off their party tonight.”

  “I really couldn’t care less if they have or not.”

  “No, I know, I’m just saying. They’re still your friends and neighbors. They want to support you.” I stepped out and onto the front lawn and he followed.

  “Where are you going with this, Tom?”

  “I just—” Tom paused and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up in tufts. “Chris mentioned some things have been said on the internet. I don’t want you suddenly coming across them.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Stupid people with nothing better to do, that’s all. Not your friends. Not anyone who knows you, Char.”

  “What kind of things?” I asked again, feeling my throat burn with dread.

  “Just . . .” He sighed ruefully. “What were you doing when she went missing? How come our kids are okay?”

  I stepped back as if he’d slapped me.

  “Oh, Charlotte,” he said, reaching out and taking hold of my arms.

  “I can’t do this now,” I cried, jerking myself out of his grasp.

  “I’m sorry.” Tom gaped at me remorsefully. “I should never have said anything.”

  “Well it’s too late now, isn’t it?” I snapped, and ran to the car before he could utter another word.

  • • •

  I’D RARELY BEEN to Harriet’s house because she always preferred coming to mine. She’d often sit at my kitchen island and run her hands gently across its oak surface as if it were made of the most precious wood.

  “Harriet, you don’t need to worry,” I’d said once, laughing as she carefully placed her coffee mug down, checking for rings under it when I hadn’t given her a coaster.

  “Habit,” she’d murmured, smiling sheepishly.

  “Well, I’m not worried about stains,” I’d told her. “The kids make plenty of those.” But still she would swipe her hand across the surface and tell me everything she loved about my home, while inside I was begging her to stop.

  In contrast, Harriet’s house was small and unbearably dark. The first time I visited she had apologized for its lack of light, leading me quickly to the kitchen at the back.

  “Don’t be silly, it’s lovely,” I’d told her. “I can’t believe you painted all this yourself.”

  “Well, there isn’t much to paint, really. It’s not very big,” she had said. “Not like your beautiful home.”

  The next time Harriet was at mine I found myself pointing out the chipped skirting board, the table that needed fixing, and the crack that ran along the length of the living room ceiling.

  I made things up, too. Little harmless stories to show the perfect life she thought I had wasn’t really that perfect. I complained that Tom was always working too hard and I never saw him, how I hated my job some days and wished I could leave. I told her she was so lucky to be married to Brian, who was always home by 5:3
0 p.m. so they could have tea as a family.

  I wasn’t lying when I told her dinner wasn’t an enjoyable experience in our house. None of the children liked the same food and most nights I ended up giving them fish fingers or pizza because they were the only meals none of them complained about. But I omitted that Tom only added to the suffering at mealtimes, so it was easier for me to endure them alone. I didn’t say that the idea of him walking in the door at five thirty every night without fail would actually be my idea of hell.

  But Harriet had seemed to be placated when she said, “Yes, I’m very lucky that Brian never works late.”

  I turned off the main road out of town to where the houses were packed much tighter together. “Crammed in,” Tom would say. Even at that time of night, Harriet’s road was busy. I was forced to drive past the house to find a parking space between two dropped curbs on the other side of the road.

  There were a handful of journalists hanging around outside Harriet’s front lawn, so I’d been given the number of the liaison officer to call when I arrived, who would come out to meet me. I looked back at the house, its windows darkened by pulled curtains. The thought of them sitting inside, engulfed in a misery that I had created, made me want to restart the engine and speed off. But I didn’t have that luxury. Swallowing the lump lodged in my throat, I tapped out the number and told the woman who answered, Angela, that I was there.

  • • •

  AS SOON AS I walked into the room the air felt heavy with misery. Inside the boxed walls, its stuffiness did nothing to suppress the shiver running the length of my spine. “Someone has stepped on your grave,” Tom would have said.

  Angela maneuvered me toward an armchair in the corner of the room that faced the sofa. On that, Harriet and Brian were glued together. In his lap Brian had his hands protectively wrapped around one of Harriet’s. His fingers played, pressing into her hand, splaying then scrunching like a nervous child.

  As I stumbled across the room and awkwardly perched in the seat, Brian’s eyes followed me. His body was curved around Harriet’s, a wall of protection to shield her from me. Within his enclosure, Harriet was deathly immobile. Her glassy eyes stared out of the window and didn’t once venture in my direction.