‘But if you reported the caravan missing to the police, then surely it would be obvious that it wasn’t you who took Beatrice if she’s found in it! Plus, if you’d reported it at the time, we might have got her back by now.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s not the way we do things.’
I try to tamp down my anger as he carries on talking.
‘Look, Claire, I know it might be hard for people like you to understand—’
‘People like me?’
‘Rich, middle-class…’
‘I’m hardly rich!’
‘You know what I mean. Anyway, things like that can put us out of business. Even if it’s not our fault. You have another newspaper story with “missing child” and “travelling fair” in the headline, and the damage is already done. We’ve had one lot of headlines this week, we don’t need any more.’
Kai’s doing me a favour by telling me about this. I don’t want to piss him off, so I try to calm down. ‘Now that you’ve told me, will you at least help me look for the caravan?’
‘Nah, mate. I’m already regretting telling you.’ He’s annoyed with me for having a go at him, and I can’t really blame him. ‘So, like we said, you’re not going to mention my name, right?’
‘No. I’ll just say I had an anonymous tip-off.’
‘Okay, because you swore, right?’
‘Yes. I promise, your name won’t leave my lips.’
‘Okay.’
‘Thanks, Kai. I really appreciate it.’
He sighs. ‘Yeah, well, I’ve been thinking about your kid. I didn’t want to be the one responsible, you know.’
‘I do know. Thank you.’ Something else occurs to me. ‘What does the caravan actually look like?’
‘It’s just a white caravan. Oh, and it’s got two blue waves going down the side and maybe two on the front, can’t remember exactly.’
‘Okay, thanks. Do you know the make or model?’
‘Uh, yeah, it’s a Rio Coaster.’
‘What about a number plate?’
Kai pauses. ‘Sorry – that changes depending on who’s towing it.’
‘Okay. At least I have the make and model.’
Once the call is over, I stay where I am for a moment, beneath the canopy of soft green leaves, thinking about what Kai has just told me. My heart is still pounding in my ears, my mind racing. Could he be right? Could Laurel, or Philip, or whoever took Beatrice have stolen the fairground caravan? I’m impressed with Kai at having reached that conclusion on his own. Unless… maybe all the fairground workers are thinking the same thing. It could be common knowledge among them, but they’ve decided to turn a blind eye. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realise that’s probably the case. I shake my head over and over at the thought that none of them were willing to go out on a limb for my daughter. Thank goodness for Kai and his conscience.
I sink down onto the paving stones and sit cross-legged for a moment. My brain is in overdrive thinking about what might come next. I guess the police could deploy one of their search helicopters to locate the caravan. But what if it’s hidden beneath the cover of trees or under something else? Could they use thermal imaging? Would that even work? I don’t know. I need to stop this speculation. The police will know what to do for the best. They’re trained in this stuff.
Still sitting in the garden, I phone my husband, swearing aloud when the call goes to voicemail. I call Jill next. If Oliver’s still driving her home, she can relay the message. I grunt in frustration as her phone also goes to voicemail, but I decide to leave her a message anyway. She can tell him when she gets it.
After ending the call, I clutch my phone, head spinning with all this new information. Could this be the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for? Does this mean I’ll be reunited with my daughter soon?
Forty-Three
JILL
Although I love being with my son, I’m relieved to finally be home alone. It’s been such a stressful time I can barely think straight. I’ll make a cup of tea and try to read a few chapters of my novel, switch my brain off, just for an hour or so. Because if I don’t, I honestly think I might end up having a nervous breakdown. I already feel on the edge.
I’m ashamed to admit it, but I never used to believe in such things as nervous breakdowns, nervous exhaustion, depression and all those other ‘wishy-washy’ terms. Then, after Bob died, I realised that the reason I never believed in those things was because I’d never experienced them. Trauma and grief opened my eyes to a whole new way of looking at the world – more compassionately, I suppose.
I turn on the kettle and rinse out my favourite mug. It’s actually Bob’s mug. On it are the words: World’s Best Dad. Oliver bought it for Bob years ago when he went to London on a school trip. He bought me one that said World’s Best Mum, but it broke some time ago. I only ever drink out of Bob’s mug when I’m alone. It brings me comfort.
My phone buzzes from the kitchen counter where it’s charging after running out of battery from its night at the police station. I glance over to see that I have a voicemail from Claire. As I listen to it, I pace the kitchen, my heart rate increasing with every word:
‘Jill, listen, I’ve just found out that someone stole a fairground caravan before the fair set up in Christchurch last week. I think the thief could be the same person who took Beatrice – maybe it was Laurel, maybe not, we don’t know. So if we can find that caravan, we might find Beatrice. If you’re with Oliver, can you tell him? Also let him know that I’m heading to the police station right now, okay? They need to locate that caravan as soon as possible. It’s white with a blue wave design down the side. Thanks, Jill.’
Oh my goodness. I’m in a right old dither now. I walk across the kitchen and sink into the armchair, thinking about what Claire’s message might mean. My heart lifts for the first time in days and I get to my feet again as adrenaline floods my veins. If Beatrice is in that caravan then we really and truly might have a chance of getting her back today.
I’d better get down to the police station ASAP. I’ll meet Claire there.
Thankfully, I still have my driving licence for a few more days, so I unplug my phone – which is only seven per cent charged – and hurry down the road to where my Nissan Micra is parked. My earlier exhaustion and anxiety have vanished, to be replaced with a cautious optimism. Just imagine if I get to hug my precious granddaughter today. That will surely be the best moment of my life.
Forty-Four
CLAIRE
‘Claire!’ It’s Freya calling through the back door. ‘Claire? Are you still out here? Lunch is ready when you are.’
I heave myself to my feet just as she’s coming up the steps.
‘There you are!’ She smiles and shakes her head. ‘I thought you’d disappeared. Everything okay?’
Back inside the house, I relay everything I’ve just learned to Freya – minus Kai’s actual name; I did swear an oath to him after all. Freya listens with a growing expression of shock on her face.
‘So obviously,’ I continue, ‘I’m going to have to go straight to the police station to tell them about the caravan.’
‘Of course! Did you tell Ollie yet?’
I shake my head. ‘I think he must still be driving Jill home. I left her a message to tell him I’m going to the police station.’
‘Do you want to bolt down some lunch first?’
‘No thanks. I need to get the police on the case.’ I close and lock the back door and swig some water. ‘Sorry to run. You stay here and finish your sandwich.’
Freya grabs her bag from the counter. ‘Don’t be daft, I’ll drive. You can eat on the way. You need to have something to keep you going.’
‘You sure?’
‘Totally.’
I grab a couple of Tupperware boxes from the cupboard and dump our sandwiches inside, trying to go as quickly as I can. Then I hug my friend, relieved that she’s offered to drive. I’m so jittery, I’m afraid I’ll have an accident if I get behind th
e wheel. I realise that I could simply call Gayle with the information, but I want to tell them face to face. I need them to act on this straight away, and I want to be there while they do it. This information is too important to relay over the phone.
Freya and I leave the house. I climb up into the passenger seat of her Land Rover and fasten the seatbelt.
‘Sorry there’s no air con,’ she says. ‘We’ll open the windows, get a breeze going.’
‘No worries.’ I open up the sandwich box and take a bite of my Cheddar and cucumber sandwich, knowing I need to keep my energy up. ‘Thanks, Frey. I don’t know what I’d have done without you this past week. Honestly, you really find out who your friends are when bad things happen.’
She nods, her eyes on the road ahead. ‘Any time, Claire.’ She has a distracted look on her face.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.
‘Would you mind if we just swing by the farm before we go to the station? It’s not too far out of the way. I forgot to drop off a tyre pump for my dad.’
My heart sinks. I know she’s doing me a favour by driving, but I’d rather have driven myself than waste time going to her farm first.
She senses my reluctance. ‘I promise it’ll be really quick. I’ll drive fast. I know how important this new information is.’
Sure enough, she has her foot hard on the accelerator, driving almost recklessly.
‘Careful!’ I cry as she almost takes out a cyclist.
‘Oops.’ Freya winces. ‘Don’t worry, he’s fine.’ As Freya takes the turning towards Hurn, she navigates the narrow lanes with ease. I take a few more reluctant bites of my cheese sandwich before giving up altogether. This delay has made me lose my appetite.
She puts a hand out to squeeze my arm. ‘You okay? Honestly, this won’t take long, I promise. Dad’ll kill me if I forget – he needs it for one of the tractors. Why don’t you just call the police now?’ Freya suggests. ‘That way, we won’t be wasting any time.’
I perk up a little at the suggestion. ‘I’d rather tell them in person, but you’re probably right. I think I will.’
She turns to me with a sympathetic smile. ‘It’ll be okay. You’ll soon find out where Beatrice is and then things can go back to how they should be. This will all turn out to have just been a terrible blip.’
‘I hope you’re right.’ I reach into my bag for my phone but, annoyingly, it’s not in the little pocket where I normally keep it. It must have slipped down to the bottom. I rummage through the contents of my bag, but it’s not there. ‘Damn.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Freya’s eyebrows quirk up in the middle.
‘I think I’ve left my phone at home. Ugh, I don’t believe this.’
‘I hate it when I do that. Feels like a limb’s missing.’
‘I know. Can I use yours?’
‘Well, you could have, but the battery’s dead. Sorry. I should have charged it up at yours.’ She screws up her face. ‘We’ll be at the farm in a minute. You can use the landline.’
‘Okay, thanks.’ I try to loosen my shoulders, but my whole body is tense and quivering with impatience. I’ll be glad once I’ve told the police, at least then they can start the search. I notice that we’ve now bypassed the main farm and are travelling alongside one of the fields. ‘Can I quickly stop off at the house and make the call?’
‘Don’t worry, there’s a phone in the barn you can use.’
‘Okay, cool, thanks.’ Luckily, I have Gayle’s card in my bag, otherwise I’d have to dial 999 and wait while they put me through to the right department.
Freya turns into one of the field entrances, hops out, unlocks the gate and hops back in again. The field is massive but empty, the patchy, dry grass suggesting it’s not being used for anything at the moment. We clatter over a cattle grid and then bump along a dirt track towards a dilapidated stone barn at the top of the field. Freya pulls up outside the barn and gets out of the Land Rover. She grabs a heavy-looking cardboard box from the rear of the vehicle.
‘Come on, this won’t take long.’
Forty-Five
JILL
I slip into the driver’s seat and call Oliver to let him know what’s happening. But my call goes straight to his messaging service. I wait impatiently for the beep.
‘Ollie, darling, it’s Mum. Not much battery left in my phone. Just to say I’m en route to the police station. Claire’s discovered something about a stolen caravan. So head to the police station and we’ll see you there and fill you in. See you soon, lots of love.’
I start up the car, my hands shaking with the anticipation of finally finding Beatrice. I know I should temper my excitement, but I can’t help it. We have to keep positive, don’t we? How else would we get through days like this?
I pull out of my parking space and drive carefully along the road towards Soper’s Lane, the site of the fair where all this began. I’d rather not drive past it, but it’s on the way to the police station, so I don’t have a choice. I turn right out of my road and cruise along the lane which, thankfully, isn’t too congested right now. To my left, the green grass of the park is filled with people all the way to the border of dark trees in the distance. Patches of yellowed turf are the only trace that the fair was ever here.
I continue on my way to the station, trying not to let my mind wander, concentrating on the road and the traffic because I can’t afford to have an accident right now. Not when we’re on the verge of such a huge breakthrough. I’m about to take the turning towards the police station when my attention is taken by a blue Land Rover up ahead almost knocking over a cyclist. The man on the bike manages to avoid being hit by mounting the pavement at the last minute. He yells something rude at the Land Rover, and I can’t say I blame him. Poor man must be shaken up.
I consider pulling over to see if he’s all right, but then I realise that it’s Freya’s Land Rover. Silly girl seems to be driving quite recklessly. She’s not alone in the vehicle either. I speed up a little until I’m close enough to see that her passenger has straight black hair. It’s Claire. Freya must be driving her to the police station. That’s kind of her, and must be why she’s driving so fast. I hope they don’t get into an accident.
To my confusion, instead of heading towards the station, Freya takes the turning towards Hurn. If I remember correctly, that’s where her family farm is situated. Why would she be going there with Claire? I slow down. Should I continue on towards the station, or should I follow Claire? Maybe there’s been a new development. What should I do?
Forty-Six
CLAIRE
I peel myself reluctantly out of the vehicle and follow Freya across the scrubby grass towards the old stone barn. I’m still slightly annoyed with her for wasting precious time instead of heading straight to the police station. But at least I’m nearly at a phone now.
Freya sets down the cardboard box while she fumbles with the huge padlock on the solid wooden door to the barn, cursing before she finally manages to insert the key and turn it. She heaves open the door, picks up the box and inclines her head, urging me to follow her inside.
The interior of the barn is dark, with shadowy corners and a damp feel, despite the heat outside. A thin rectangle of light spills in from outside and onto the dusty stone floor, but it’s not enough to illuminate the vast space. The scents of diesel and dry grass tickle my nostrils. As my eyes gradually adjust, I make out a jumble of old farm equipment in the far corner. I follow my friend as she crosses the stone floor and deposits the box next to a large metal storage bin. She stoops over the bin and starts poking around. Freya uses her free hand to point at the nearby wall. ‘The phone’s just there. Help yourself, I won’t be a minute.’
I look across to where she’s pointing at a grubby-looking olive-green phone fixed to the wall, complete with a circular dialling pad. It looks like it started out life in the seventies.
Freya laughs at my doubtful expression. ‘Don’t worry, it’s old but it works. Mobile signal’s patchy up here, so
it’s handy to have a landline sometimes.’
‘Okay, thanks.’ I march over to the phone and pick up the dusty receiver, cradling it between my ear and my shoulder while I squint down at the phone number on Gayle’s card, trying to make out the tiny digits in the gloom. I quickly realise with a beat of annoyance that there’s no point deciphering the number because the phone at my ear is dead. There’s no dial tone. Nothing whatsoever. I press the phone cradle several times, exhaling in frustration.
I’m about to tell Freya about the dead phone, when I feel a sharp and sudden pain on the back of my head followed by nausea, dizziness and then… nothing.
Forty-Seven
CLAIRE
I try to open my eyes, but they’re sticky and heavy, as though they’ve been glued together. My chin is pressed into my chest, my arms ache terribly and I feel sick and groggy. I try to bring a hand up to rub my eyes, but I can’t seem to move it. I try the other hand, but it too appears to be restricted somehow. Eventually, I manage to open my eyes.
Wherever I am, it’s gloomy. My head is slumped onto my chest and as I attempt to lift it, a violently sharp pain rips through me, making me so dizzy that I almost throw up. I make myself stay very still for a few moments until the spinning stops, my chin no further up off my chest than before.
Fragments of memory come back to me. I’m in the Collins’s barn… Freya brought me here… why am I here…?
I suddenly realise that my hands are tied together in front of me with white nylon rope. My feet are also tied, but I can’t see what they’re tied to. I’m sitting on some kind of box. Maybe a packing crate. I remember Freya, and a green phone. I was about to call the police. Is Freya still here? Is she hurt too?
My Little Girl Page 25