by Heidi Perks
“No. Charlotte never—”
“Is it because she’s a career woman?”
“She works two days a week.”
“But that’s still not a full-time mother,” he said. “And you know that’s what you want to be, my love. She’s trying to do both and be good at it, and you know you can’t do that,” he went on, his voice rising higher. “Christ, we both know that now, don’t we?” he cried.
“Brian,” Harriet pleaded. “Stop it, please.” She couldn’t deal with this. Not now. Not tonight. Surely he must see that? “The class had nothing to do with Charlotte.”
“I worry,” he said evenly. “That it’s happening again, Harriet. You—you trust people too easily.”
“I don’t, Brian,” she said in no more than a whisper.
“Just promise me you’ll forget about this bookkeeping idea,” he said, sinking onto the bed beside her. “You must know how it makes me so uneasy that you’re even considering it.”
“I’ll forget about it,” she told him. It’s not like she ever believed it was a real possibility anyway.
“I care about you,” he said, inching closer. “You know that, don’t you? You know I’m only thinking of you. After what happened before—well, I just worry we’ll go down that path again.”
Harriet sighed inwardly. How many times would he bring up the same thing?
“I hate to bring this up,” he said, looking at her with angst. “But you have been taking your medication lately, haven’t you?”
Harriet pushed herself up and stared at her husband.
“Oh, Harriet.” Brian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, carefully trying not to sigh out loud as he exhaled. “Your medication. The tablets the doctor gave you two weeks ago. I had a horrible feeling you’d stopped. Please tell me you haven’t?”
“Brian, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have any medication.”
“Okay, okay,” he said calmly, holding his hands in the air as if he didn’t want a fight. “Don’t worry about it now. I’m sure it’s not important.”
“Of course it’s not important,” she said, “because there isn’t any medication to take.”
Brian smiled patiently. “We don’t have to think about it tonight. It just worries me that you think you’d told me your plans and you clearly hadn’t. But like you said, it doesn’t matter right now, not with everything else going on. We’ll talk about it in the morning.” He stood up and ran his hands down his shirt. “You need to sleep.” He walked out of the room, leaving the light on, and was down the stairs before she could say any more.
CHARLOTTE
One whole night passed and the following morning I spoke to Captain Hayes, who told me what I feared—that there was still no news.
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can tell you, Charlotte,” he said.
I pictured him and his team standing around their whiteboard, rubbing their chins, glancing at each other in the hope there was something they had missed. Surely the child couldn’t have vanished without anyone seeing anything, they must have said. I wondered if they knew more than they were telling me, or were at least suspecting it. There had to be stats about these kinds of things, probabilities to determine what had most likely happened. Did they think Alice was already dead?
But he told me there were still no leads yet and couldn’t even reassure me they were inching toward finding her.
The day before, Audrey had patiently listened as I clawed at the empty space between last seeing Alice and realizing she wasn’t there. I hoped that by dissecting it enough times something would come to me. If Aud went home and told her husband she couldn’t bear to hear any more, then she didn’t let on.
Karen and Gail had both called to see if there was anything they could do. Many friends had texted messages of support, a few asking if there was any news, and even mums I barely knew from Molly’s and Jack’s classes had found ways to tell me they were sorry about what had happened.
As much as I needed their support and was initially relieved that I wasn’t being judged, I began to begrudge relaying the story just to feed their curiosities with firsthand details. Each time I closed the door or hung up the phone I felt as if someone had taken away another piece of me.
On Sunday morning a neighbor had loitered on my doorstep, telling me, “I can’t even imagine what I’d do in that situation.”
I tried to remain patient as I nodded along with her.
“Still, I suppose you have to be thankful it wasn’t your own child.”
I looked at her in disbelief. “What?”
“I mean, it’s awful, obviously, but losing your own child—well, isn’t that worse?”
“No, it’s not worse,” I’d cried. “How can anything be worse than what’s happened?”
“Oh no, I don’t mean it isn’t horrendous,” she’d blustered. “I just think if it was one of yours, then . . .” she trailed off, looking desperately over my shoulder. “Where are your lovely ones, anyway?”
“Thank you for coming by,” I said. “But I really need to get back in.” I closed the door on her and pressed my back against it, shutting my eyes and silently screaming. I’d thanked her, for God’s sake. What was wrong with me? Was I so afraid of pushing people away that I was letting them eject their unwanted thoughts onto me? Was I scared of what they would say about me if I didn’t?
I was tired. Exhausted. I should never have opened the door. I’d barely slept, and when I had fallen into a confused mess of dreams, I was woken that morning at 6 a.m. with a piercing scream. I flung myself out of bed and raced into Molly’s room where, the night before, Tom had laid mattresses on the floor for Jack and Evie to sleep on.
When I’d gotten home from Harriet’s house I’d looked in on my sleeping children, my heart filled with love and grief.
“Thank you, Tom,” I’d whispered.
“For what?”
“I don’t know, just being here. Looking after them.”
“Of course I’m going to. I’m here for all of you,” he told me. “Anyway, they wanted to be together. Evie said she was scared and I found Jack hovering on the landing not knowing what to do with himself, so I told him to go in with the girls. By the way, he could do with some new pajamas. The ones he’s in are skimming the top of his ankles.”
How Tom thought pajamas were a priority right now was beyond me, but I told myself to let it go.
Evie was still screaming when I crawled onto her mattress and pulled her in for a hug. “What is it, Evie?” I whispered. “Mummy’s here, what’s happened? Did you have a nasty dream?”
“A bad man was coming to get me,” she sobbed. “I was scared.”
“Shhh. There’s no bad man,” I said, though by then I was certain there was, and he’d been feet away from my children.
“What’s happened to Alice?” she asked innocently.
I put a finger over my lips and gestured toward her sleeping siblings. Molly stirred and rolled over but didn’t wake. “I don’t know, honey, but the police are doing everything they can to bring her home.”
“Will she come back today?”
“I don’t know, my darling. I don’t know. I hope so.”
“Did someone take her?” she asked, solemnly looking up at me with wide eyes. I furiously fought back tears. How I wanted to reassure her that Chiddenford was still a safe place to live and she had nothing to worry about, that her dream was just a nightmare she could forget about by the time she’d finished breakfast.
“I don’t know what happened, but I promise you—” I inhaled a lungful of air that burned my chest as it sank through my body. “I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
I had no right to make such promises, but I knew I would never take my eyes off my children again. I would never let them run through the trees where I couldn’t see them or play hide-and-seek in the sand dunes where the grass was so high it devoured them. I would never trust anyone not to be lurking a breath away from me, ready to snatch my ch
ildren.
• • •
AUDREY CAME BACK to the house when I was making breakfast, at a point when we had temporarily fallen into a chaotic normality. When I opened the door to Aud, I realized how it must have looked.
“Oh, Aud,” I blustered. “I’m sorry, we were just trying to get breakfast sorted and the kids, well, you know what it’s like.” I stepped aside to let her in, taking in the view of my hallway. Molly sat crying at the bottom of the stairs, while Evie hovered in the doorway to the kitchen, dangling a sodden night nappy in one hand. The TV blared out from the playroom, where Jack had turned up the volume to drown out his sisters.
“It’s how it should be,” she said as she gave me a hug and carefully folded her cardigan on the hallway table. “I should have brought the boys round to sit with Jack. Anyway, you mustn’t stop their lives going on as normal.”
“I know but—”
Audrey held up her hand to stop me. “I’ll make us both a coffee while you sort out whatever this is about.”
I smiled gratefully and waited for Aud to head into the kitchen. “Now, Molly, what’s wrong?” I asked, crouching next to my daughter on the bottom step.
“Evie kicked me,” she sobbed.
“Evie? Is that true?”
“You forgot this,” Evie said, hurling the wet nappy across the hallway.
“Jesus, Evie, come pick that up.”
“I want my breakfast!” she said, balling her fists against her hips.
“I said come and pick this up, Evie.” I pointed to the nappy, rising to my feet.
“I want Shreddies, not toast.”
“Evie!” I shouted. “Do as you’re told. And tell me why you kicked Molly.”
“She kicked me first.”
“I didn’t, Mummy, I promise,” Molly cried.
“God!” I clamped my hands over my ears. “Will you stop arguing? What is wrong with you both? Do you really think any of your petty squabbles are important right now?”
Jack glanced over from the sofa and then back to the TV. “And will you turn down the volume, Jack?” I shouted. “I can’t hear myself think.”
“Why do you need to?” Molly asked.
“What?”
“Hear yourself think.”
I gripped the banister so tightly my knuckles went white. “Don’t talk back at me, Molly.”
Her bottom lip wobbled, and then she flung her hands over her head, dramatically curling herself into a ball and crying.
“Come and have a coffee,” Audrey said, appearing in the kitchen doorway. “Girls, why don’t you go watch some TV with your brother? I’ll bring you breakfast in there today.”
“Really?” Evie’s eyes shone as she skipped into the playroom, and eventually Molly unfurled herself and followed her in.
“Have you eaten?” Audrey asked as we went through to the kitchen. The smell of coffee drifted from the pot. “I’m making you toast if you haven’t,” she said, popping two slices of bread into the toaster.
I shook my head. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”
“You have to eat.”
“I will later.” I smiled at her gratefully and realized how good it was to have her here again, taking control. We hadn’t done this enough in the last couple of years, and we’d drifted apart since Tom and I hadn’t been together. Audrey had been supportive throughout our separation but had always made it clear she thought we should stay together for the children, so I’d stopped confiding in her. Not like I did with Harriet.
We sat on stools at the island in silence. She had folded back the doors to the backyard and a light breeze blew in, the sun shining daggers of light across the stone tiles.
“So tell me more about last night,” Audrey asked after a while. I’d called her once Tom left but had only given the briefest details.
“It was awful.”
She nodded. “How were they?”
I sighed, stretching my arms in front of me, my hands wrapped around the mug of coffee Aud had pushed in my direction. “Brian took over, really. He was the one asking all the questions and getting angry.”
“Really?” Audrey asked. A teaspoon of sugar hovered over her mug as she looked up at me.
I nodded. “It frightened me. I know that’s a daft thing to say, given what he’s going through. I suppose I should have expected it.”
“And Harriet?”
“Harriet,” I sighed, taking a sip of my coffee. “You put sugar in mine?”
“I thought you could use it.”
I frowned but took another sip anyway. “Harriet very obviously didn’t want to see me in the first place.”
“I thought she asked for you to come?” Audrey said.
“She did. The detective made a point of telling me she’d changed her mind and was asking for me. I don’t know, maybe she changed it again, or maybe just seeing me was too much for her. Whatever it was, she couldn’t bear to look at me.” I winced at the memory, still raw with its ability to slice through me as if it were happening now. Audrey sucked in a breath. “What is it?” I asked, looking up.
“I just can’t begin to put myself in her shoes,” she said softly. “The first time she’s ever left that little girl and the unthinkable happens.”
“I know. And I was always encouraging her to let me have Alice. That’s what makes it so much worse,” I added.
“She must be thinking she was right to be so bloody paranoid all along.”
“Aud, she wasn’t paranoid.”
“Oh, she was. The poor woman is plagued by worries. She makes me nervous just talking to her.”
“She was never that bad,” I sighed. “You just didn’t know her, didn’t want to know her.”
I could feel Aud staring at me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look up. “I never disliked Harriet,” she said. “You know that. I just wondered why you two got so close. She’s very different to us. She never wants to do the same things.”
I didn’t want to get into this now. How Harriet had genuinely wanted what was right for me and I could tell her anything. How she’d never judged me. But right now it was Audrey I needed, and I was so very grateful she was here.
“Harriet might not know it right now, but she’ll want to see you again.”
“No.” I gave a short laugh and shook my head. “I’m the last person she needs and I can’t blame her.”
“Charlotte.” Audrey leaned across the countertop. “You can’t give up trying. Tell me honestly who you think is going to get her through this?”
I sank my head into my hands. “Brian? You could see how much he was trying to protect her.”
“She’s going to need a friend as well as her husband.”
“I know,” I cried. “Don’t you think I realize I’m the only friend she has? And that that’s what makes all of this so much worse? The guilt that I have because Harriet left Alice with me,” I sobbed, placing a hand over my heart. “Me,” I said, balling it into a fist, this time slamming it hard against my chest. “She’d never wanted to leave her before, you’re right, but I was always telling her she should, and I know she has no one else, Aud, but what can I do about it when I’m the one who’s done this to her in the first place?”
“Oh, Charlotte.” Audrey came to my side, folding her arms around me. “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry. Maybe you’re right and Brian will be what she needs,” she said, straightening up.
I raked my hands through my hair. “I know you don’t believe that, but I really don’t know what I can do when she doesn’t want me in her house. Harriet isn’t as weak as you think,” I said, when Audrey reached for the coffeepot and refilled her cup. I held a hand over my own mug and shook my head.
“I’ve never said ‘weak.’ Fragile, maybe.”
“I felt worse after being in their house.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Not just because it was so hard, but I felt this despair as I was driving home,” I said, my voice breaking at the memory. “On the one hand the
y were both clawing at hope and desperate for me to tell them something that would give them an answer. But on the other hand it felt like there was no hope left. I walked out of there feeling like the worst had already happened.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know.” I thought back to the dark oppressiveness of the living room and the way the walls had felt like they were closing in on me. “Oh God, Aud.” I buried my head in my hands again. “How’s this going to end?”
“Alice is going to be found,” Audrey said, looking at me over the rim of the mug.
“But what if she isn’t?” I whispered.
“She will be.” Aud was resolute, and I willed myself to believe her.
“How was Tom?” Audrey asked me after we’d fallen into a brief silence.
“He’s . . . Tom,” I said dismissively, and then shook my head. “No, that’s not fair. He’s been very good; he just doesn’t always get it right.” I needed to change the subject. “I want you to be honest with me. Would you leave your children with me again?”
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
“I need you to tell me the truth,” I insisted.
She rolled her eyes. “You know I would.”
I didn’t answer as I sipped my coffee.
“Charlotte,” she said, her voice firm, “there are friends you trust with your children and ones you don’t. You are definitely one I would. You know that.”
We had talked about it once at a barbecue at Audrey’s. She and I were both tipsy when Aud gestured toward Kirsten, a neighbor of hers who was never less than fifteen minutes late picking her children up from school.
“I left the twins at her house the other day,” Audrey had told me. “When I went to get them, her oldest, Bobby, was on the glass roof of the conservatory. They’d laid a mattress on the grass and he was jumping onto it. Thankfully my two weren’t being so stupid. Or maybe I just got there in time.” She’d laughed. “I won’t be leaving them with her again. Even if my leg’s falling off, I’ll wait for you to come over before I go to the hospital.”
Audrey smiled and said, “I’d still wait for you first, if that’s what you’re thinking.”