My Little Girl

by Shalini Boland

  He mumbles, flinging his arm up over his face. I pull it away and tap his cheek with the tips of my fingers. ‘Oliver! I need you to get up. Come on, wake up. Ollie. Please.’

  I try a different tack, taking his hands in mine and trying to pull him upright, but he’s resisting me, his eyes still closed. I debate getting a jug of water and tipping it over his head, but I want him to listen to me, not yell at me.

  ‘What?’ he groans.

  ‘Finally! Come on, open your eyes and sit up. Something’s happened. I need to talk to you.’

  ‘What?’ he mumbles. ‘What is it?’ My words seem to be sinking in and I now have his attention. His eyes are half open and he’s squinting at me, confusion and worry drawn across his face, his hair plastered down on one side and sticking up on the other. ‘Ugh. Feel like crap. Give me two minutes, ’kay?’

  I wait while he goes to the loo and then to the kitchen to fetch himself a glass of water. He sits heavily on the sofa and takes a few sips before washing down a couple of paracetamol. I’m too focused on what I saw next door to bring up last night’s argument. Right now, I need my husband’s opinion on what to do for the best.

  ‘What’s the time?’ he asks, still bleary eyed. His phone is on the coffee table, but he makes no move to get it.

  ‘I dunno, just after six.’

  ‘Why did you wake me up, Claire? Is it something to do with Bea?’

  ‘Just listen. Last night, I couldn’t sleep, so I was looking out the window for the fox cubs. You remember we used to watch them—’

  ‘With Beatrice, yeah I know.’

  Ollie and I look at one another for a moment, our eyes bright with emotion.

  I sniff. ‘Anyway, I saw Philip from next door going into his shed and you’ll never guess who was with him.’

  Ollie shrugs. ‘Who?’

  ‘Laurel.’

  The faintest flicker of surprise crosses his face. ‘Laurel as in—’

  ‘Yeah, Laurel Palmer. Your ex-wife.’

  ‘So she and Philip were…’ He raises his eyebrows and then frowns. ‘That’s weird. Good on Phil for getting himself a woman.’ Oliver nods to himself before switching his attention back to me. ‘I would have thought you’d be pleased Laurel’s found herself someone at last. But couldn’t you have waited until I woke up to tell me this?’

  ‘I don’t care about Laurel’s love life. Or Philip’s. This isn’t about that.’

  ‘Oh, so, what is this about?’

  ‘So, like I said, I saw Philip walking up the path towards his shed. I thought it was odd to be going out there so late at night. And then I saw someone else through the shed window. Someone with long hair. For a minute, I thought…’ I swallow. ‘I thought it was Beatrice.’

  ‘Beatrice! It wasn’t—’

  I shake my head ‘No, it wasn’t her, but—’

  ‘That must have been a shock,’ he finishes.

  ‘Yeah, it was, I was ready to scream out the window at them. I came downstairs and tried to wake you up, but you were completely out of it. So I went back up and carried on watching out the window and that’s when I realised it wasn’t Bea, it was Laurel. She and Philip were in there for ages doing whatever, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was somehow related to Bea. I mean, did you know about the phone call Laurel made to your mum at the fair, at the exact moment Beatrice went missing?’

  ‘What!’ Oliver straightens, his eyes sharp for the first time since waking up.

  ‘Yeah, if you’d been sober last night I would have told you everything that’s been going on.’

  He looks down at the glass in his hands. ‘I’m sorry… What’s the deal with the phone call?’

  I give him a brief rundown of yesterday’s events. Of Jill omitting to tell the police about the call from Laurel, and about me subsequently reporting it. ‘So you can see that with what I found out about Laurel’s call, and then seeing her in next door’s garden in the middle of the night, it made me a bit suspicious.’

  ‘I dunno, it’s probably just a coincidence.’

  ‘Maybe, but I was freaked out last night so once Laurel left and Philip had gone back inside the house, I snuck into his garden and looked through his shed window.’

  ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘He’s done it out like a little den. It’s all painted and cosy. The thing that freaked me out the most was that I could see a colouring pad and pencils on a little table in there. And snacks. It looks like they might have had a child in there.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘About the child? No. But why else would they have that drawing stuff?’

  Oliver’s phone buzzes. He reaches over to the table and picks it up. He swipes the screen and his face drops.

  ‘What is it? Who’s that?’

  He huffs. ‘It’s Mum. She wants me to go over.’

  ‘Oh, right. Well we need to deal with this first.’

  He gets to his feet. ‘There’s nothing to deal with. Phil’s shagging Laurel, end of story.’

  I stand up too, annoyed that he’s not seeing what I’m seeing. ‘What about the snacks and the paper and coloured pencils?’

  ‘Laurel’s an artist. They’re probably hers.’

  ‘Yes but—’

  ‘I’m sorry, Claire, I have to go.’

  ‘Go? You’re not going out again. You’re not leaving me to deal with all this on my own for the fourth day in a row.’

  ‘Mum needs to speak to me.’

  ‘So do I. I need to speak to you. Me. Your wife. The mother of your missing child. I need you here.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’re sorry?

  ‘Just know that I’m not doing this on purpose. I’m not…’ He growls in frustration.

  ‘You’re not what? Speak to me, Ollie. Tell me what the hell’s going on with you. Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve already checked out. Like you’re running away.’

  ‘I promise you I’m not. But right now I have to go.’

  I feel helpless as my husband runs upstairs to change and then comes back down still with the intention of leaving me to go to his mum’s instead of staying here and deciding what to do about next door. He leans in to kiss me on the lips, but I don’t reciprocate, turning my head so his lips graze the side of my head instead.

  ‘Sorry,’ he mutters.

  ‘Yeah, so am I,’ I reply pointedly.

  He pauses, and it looks as if he might say something. As if he might even change his mind and stay. But then he walks away, the front door closing firmly behind him, and I realise I’ve never felt so alone as I do right now.

  Thirty-One

  JILL

  The kettle is on and I’m preparing toast with scrambled eggs. Oliver’s on his way over to see me. He sounded quite grumpy on the phone when he called to say he was stopping by, but I’m hoping that a home-cooked breakfast might help. I bet he’s been eating rubbish – crisps and pot noodles, most likely. He can’t function properly if he doesn’t keep his strength up. I must admit his phone call woke me up from the deepest sleep, but it’s worth the rude awakening to have a rare breakfast with my boy.

  ‘Hello?’ Oliver’s voice wafts into the kitchen.

  I peer down the hall to see that he’s already let himself in. I’m so lucky to have him living such a short distance away. Some of my friends have children who have emigrated to the other side of the world; that must be so hard. Oliver says that Claire misses her parents terribly since they moved back to Scotland. I thank God every day that Oliver decided to stay in Christchurch.

  ‘Hi, Ollie, darling, come through. It’s so lovely to have you come over, even if it is rather early.’

  ‘Hi, Mum, I can’t stay long.’

  We hug and, despite his stubbled jaw and a faint sour smell that tells me he didn’t shower this morning, I don’t want to let him go. I want to squeeze him tight and kiss his cheeks like I used to when he was a boy. Like I do with my little Bea. He follows me into the ki
tchen where I get a better look at him, and I absolutely don’t like what I see. His face is blotchy, his eyes bloodshot and he definitely looks like he’s lost weight. ‘Oh, Ollie, you look so tired. Are you getting enough sleep?’

  ‘I’m fine. Don’t fuss, Mum.’ His phone buzzes. He pulls it out of his pocket and frowns at the screen.

  ‘Would you like tea or coffee?’

  ‘Just a quick coffee would be great. One sugar, no milk.’

  ‘That’s not how you normally have it.’ I spoon coffee into two mugs and pour on boiling water.

  ‘I need the sugar, and I can’t face the milk – had a bit too much to drink last night.’

  ‘Oh, Ollie.’ I stop myself from saying any more. I don’t want him to think I’m nagging. I want to be here to support him.

  He holds his hands up as he sinks into the armchair. ‘Yeah, I know.’

  I bring our coffees over and head back to the kitchen area to finish making breakfast. ‘I’m doing us some toast and scrambled egg, unless you’d prefer something else?’

  ‘Sorry, Mum, but I won’t be able to stay that long.’

  Disappointment tugs at my chest. ‘It will only take two ticks.’

  He glances at his phone again.

  ‘Are you waiting for a call?’

  ‘What? No,’ he snaps in irritation before softening his expression. ‘Sorry. No, I’m just checking in case of, you know, any news about Bea.’

  ‘Of course, I understand. It’s just unbelievable that we haven’t got her back yet.’ My voice catches and I try to mask my emotion by clearing my throat.

  ‘You okay, Mum?’ Oliver shoots me a worried look.

  I need to be strong for my son. The last thing he needs is for me to start crying all over him. I blink and give him what I hope is a bright smile. ‘I’m fine, darling. I’m sure the police are doing everything they can. Darling Bea will be home before we know it.’

  Oliver mutters something under his breath. I try to recover my equilibrium. I’m desperate to be strong and supportive, to say something wise and soothing that will comfort him. But all I seem to be able to do is worry, irritate or nag him. I can’t find a way to connect. Have I lost my son as well as my granddaughter?

  ‘Are you sure you can’t stay for breakfast? Just fifteen minutes or so to catch your breath and rest. We don’t even have to talk, if you like. You can sit and eat in peace.’

  ‘Mum, please.’ He sucks air in through his teeth and I notice his fists are clenched. It’s torture to not be able to fix things for him. To be the one who caused this in the first place.

  Ollie’s phone buzzes again and he almost jumps out of the chair. He checks the screen and gets to his feet. ‘Mum, I have to go.’

  ‘What is it? Have you had some news?’

  ‘No, I… I just have to go, okay.’

  ‘What about your coffee?’ He hasn’t even taken so much as a sip.

  ‘Sorry.’ He leans down and plants a swift kiss on my cheek. ‘I’ll call you.’

  I get up, not understanding what’s going on, why he’s leaving already. I have to stop myself from begging him to stay. ‘But you only just got here. Let me put your drink in a flask at least. That way you can take it with you.’

  ‘Sorry, no time. Got to go, Mum. Bye.’ He can’t even manage a smile as he heads back down the hall. The front door closes behind him and I’m left standing in an empty room.

  Thirty-Two

  CLAIRE

  I seriously consider crawling upstairs to bed and refusing to engage with anyone or anything else. After experiencing Oliver’s total disregard for me and the whereabouts of our daughter, all I feel like doing is sleeping for the rest of the day. I can’t make excuses for him any more. Yes, it’s a nightmare situation that is pushing us both to our limits. But we can’t simply run away and pretend it isn’t happening. Our daughter deserves more than that.

  An image of Beatrice’s face floats into my brain – her infectious smile and bright eyes – and I know I could never give up on her. The thought that she might have been trapped in next door’s shed the whole time, that she might even be in Philip’s house right now, spurs me on. So, I drag myself upstairs and into the shower, get myself dressed and call Gayle, while making a strong, hot cafetière of coffee.

  Gayle listens on the phone while I tell her about my visit to next door’s shed. She doesn’t pass comment on my admission that I crept onto Philip and Sue’s property without permission. She simply says she’ll pass the information to the DI and that they’ll probably want to come over.

  While I’m waiting for DI Khatri to make an appearance, I drink my coffee and make myself some Marmite on toast and wolf it down, surprised by how hungry I am. Everything in my body is screaming to rush next door and demand they let me in so I can search for my daughter. Reason tells me this would be a bad move. That I should wait a little longer for Khatri to arrive so they can go in there to do a proper search.

  The wait is killing me. It’s now 7.15 a.m. I tell myself I’ll wait until eight, and if the inspector hasn’t arrived by then, I’ll go round there myself. If there’s a chance my daughter is there, then I can’t just sit here waiting. No parent would be expected to do that. I almost wish I smoked, just to give me something to do. You see people in TV dramas smoking, sucking in nicotine and puffing out plumes of smoke. It looks satisfying, relaxing, instead of this tense grinding of teeth and digging my nails into my fingers. I suppose I could make myself another coffee, but I’ve already been to the bathroom three times.

  Instead, I lurch into my office and stare out the front window. The couple opposite are getting into their respective cars to go to work, a guy cycles past on a racing bike, freewheeling down the hill. A woman with two cocker spaniels walks up the road towards the footpath which leads onto the heathland. Beatrice is always going on at me to get a puppy, but I’ve so far managed to resist her and Oliver’s pleas. I chastise myself for being so sensible. So mean. Once we get Beatrice home, I’ll get her a whole litter of puppies. I don’t even know why I said no in the first place. I mean, I work from home, we live at the bottom of a nature reserve, for goodness’ sake. It’s a dog-walker’s paradise.

  Thankfully, I only have to wait twenty more minutes for the police to show up. My heart thumps as a grey Volvo pulls into the drive behind my Toyota. Two officers get out. I recognise one as DS Tim Garrett, but the other isn’t a face I’ve seen before – he’s young and, unlike Garrett, is in uniform. I’d hoped to be dealing with Gayle or Khatri. I’m suddenly nervous that these guys won’t take my concerns seriously. That they’ll think I’m an irrational parent who’s clutching at straws. I wish Ollie had stayed to back me up.

  I move away from the window as the officers climb the steep front steps. After the doorbell sounds I wait a beat and take a breath before going to answer the door.

  ‘Hello, Claire.’ Garrett stands on the doorstep next to his colleague. ‘Sorry DS Hobart or the DI couldn’t come this morning. You’re stuck with me and PC Morgan today.’

  ‘That’s fine. Thanks for coming round so quickly. Please, come in.’ At the last minute I decide to usher them into my office rather than the kitchen. My office is a place where I feel in control. Where I usually know what I’m talking about. Maybe it will give me some confidence. I sit behind my desk and gesture to the officers to take the other two chairs. Garret takes a relaxed seat, his broad frame filling the space. Morgan is stiffer in his slightly-too-big uniform. I don’t offer them a drink as I’m desperate for them to go next door to see what they can find.

  Garrett clears his throat. ‘I spoke to DS Hobart earlier, and she says you saw some children’s colouring things in your neighbour’s garden shed. His name’s Philip Aintree, is that correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She also said that he was in there with your husband’s ex-wife, Laurel Palmer. Is that also right?’

  I nod, thankful they haven’t brought up the fact that I was trespassing over there. ‘It just felt
a bit suspicious, after hearing that Laurel called Jill at the exact moment my daughter went missing.’

  ‘Does Mr Aintree have any children or grandchildren?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware.’

  ‘Does he live alone?’

  ‘No, it’s his mum’s house – Sue Aintree. She’s in her seventies. Are you going to go over there? Ask to have a look round? I’m concerned he might have Beatrice in the house.’ I’m making myself speak calmly and professionally, not wanting to come across like an irrational crazy person, but it’s so hard not to ask them what they’re waiting for, to tell them to rip Philip’s house apart until they find my daughter.

  The officers glance at one another before Garrett replies in a soothing voice. ‘Let’s not jump the gun. We’ll go and have a word next door.’

  ‘Should I come with you?’

  ‘That won’t be necessary. Stay here and we’ll pop back afterwards, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ I nod, wishing for the millionth time that Oliver was by my side. That he was here to calm me down. Keep me from spiralling. We’ve always been there for one another. Apart from now, when it really matters.

  Somehow, I get to my feet and see the two officers out of the front door. I watch through the office window as they traipse down the steps and along the pavement, their mouths moving as they talk in low voices – hopefully about their plan of action. They stop and talk for a while longer before trudging up next door’s sloping driveway.

  Through the window, I hear the muffled ring of Philip and Sue’s bell. A pause, and then the door opening, voices, followed by the thud of their front door closing. My heart is beating so fast. I daren’t hope that they’ll find Bea there. That this nightmare might soon be over.

  I rush upstairs to our bedroom and partially close the curtains, leaving a gap for me to peer out. I should have asked them to make sure they looked in the shed. I don’t want to give Philip the chance to clear out any evidence. I needn’t have worried. Minutes later, Philip appears in his back garden and starts marching up the path, his body rigid and awkward. Following him are the two officers. They stand and wait while Philip unlocks the shed door and stands to the side ushering them in with what looks like an angry sweep of his arm.