by A J McDine
Come on, mate. No one can keep their eye on their kids 24-7.
I kept scanning down.
Riley Carter’s right. People like that don’t deserve kids.
Agreed. Selfish parents have no one to blame but themselves. Shame on them.
I slammed the phone face down on the duvet, tears pricking behind my eyes. I knew these keyboard warriors would never have the guts to say these things to my face. But each vile comment was like a stab to my heart. Because they were right, weren’t they? We shouldn’t have let Immy out of our sight. We were selfish, and we didn’t deserve her.
Chapter Seven
MONDAY 14 JUNE
‘Mummy?’ said a voice in my ear, dragging me from the dreamless sleep my exhausted body had finally succumbed to. ‘Mummy,’ the voice said again. I felt hot breath on my cheek, and a small hand on my shoulder. ‘I had a bad dream.’
Immy always crept into bed with us when she’d had a nightmare. Keeping my eyes closed, I wiggled towards Stuart’s side of the bed, lifted the duvet and mumbled, ‘Come in for a cuddle.’
But as I wrapped my arms around her, it felt all wrong. All angles and long limbs, not Immy’s soft peachiness. I prised my eyes open and looked down to see Nate’s dark mop of hair on the pillow beside me.
And then memories of the day before hit me like a punch in the solar plexus. The barbecue. Stuart announcing he couldn’t find the children. The dawning realisation that Immy was missing. Sirens and police search teams. The wait for news.
Had there been any news?
I pulled myself to a sitting position, ignoring Nate grumbling beside me, and grabbed my phone. It was ten to five. I checked for missed calls, then opened Facebook. Immy’s appeal had been shared almost fifteen hundred times. Taking a deep breath, I scanned the comments. All those posted by the keyboard warriors had disappeared, and the top comment was one from Kent Police asking people to post responsibly and warning that all inappropriate comments would be removed. I wondered whose job it was to police the comments and sent silent thanks their way.
‘Nate, sweetheart, I need to get up.’ I gave him a squeeze. ‘Try to get back to sleep.’
He rolled onto his back and looked up at me with a hopeful expression. ‘Is Immy home?’
I kept my voice light. ‘Not yet. But I expect the police are already back out looking for her. They’ll find her soon, I promise.’
Nate rubbed his eyes. ‘I had a nightmare that she jumped into the river without her armbands on and she sank to the bottom because she couldn’t swim, and then she turned into a mermaid and tried to get me to jump in the river to be with her. But I didn’t, because I didn’t want to leave you and Dad.’
I bent down and dropped a kiss on the top of his head. ‘I’m glad you didn’t.’
‘Because I’m your favourite?’
‘Mums don’t have favourites. It’s the law,’ I said.
Stuart was sitting at the kitchen island, dressed in the same cargo shorts and T-shirt he’d been wearing yesterday. His face was grey with exhaustion and his hands were wrapped around a mug of coffee. He climbed down from the stool. ‘Want one?’
I shook my head. Just the thought of it made my stomach churn.
He sat back down. ‘Did you get any sleep?’
‘Not much. What about you?’
‘I gave up trying at two and went out looking for her.’
I stiffened. ‘You did what?’
‘I went out in the car and drove around looking for Immy.’
‘Oh, Stuart. The police said we should leave the searching to them.’
‘I can’t sit here waiting for news. It’s killing me.’
I went to straighten the messy pile of magazines, kids’ comics and letters on the island, then stopped. What was the point? ‘How long were you out?’ I asked.
‘A couple of hours. I haven’t been home long.’
‘Why don’t you go to bed now? I’ll take Nate to school.’
He turned to me in disbelief. ‘You’re not suggesting he goes in today?’
‘Why wouldn’t he? We should keep things as normal as possible for him.’
‘Normal?’ Stuart gave a bark of laughter. ‘Things couldn’t be less normal if we tried.’
‘He needs his routine, and he loves school.’ Instinct told me I was right, and I was prepared to fight my corner. ‘I’m not arguing about it. He’s going.’
‘Whatever you say.’ Stuart stared into his mug. A single tear rolled down his cheek and splashed onto the marble worktop. It was joined by another and then another until tears were streaming down his face.
‘Come on, Stu,’ I said. ‘You need to pull it together.’
‘But it’s all my fault,’ he mumbled.
I looked up sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m the stay-at-home dad. I should have been looking after the kids. But I didn’t, I…’ He was crying properly now, his entire body juddering. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’
He made no effort to wipe the tears away, which I found unnerving. He was supposed to be the strong one, the protector, and yet here he was, sobbing like a child, drowning in self-pity. As much use as a chocolate fucking teapot.
I slammed a box of tissues on the worktop and stomped out of the room.
A rap on the door just after seven o’clock sent my heart rate soaring. It could only be the police with news of Immy. As I ran down the stairs, I played out the possible scenarios in my head. They’d found her curled up asleep in a neighbour’s shed, or a well-meaning but absentminded pensioner had found her wandering the streets and had taken her in but hadn’t thought to call the police. By the time I reached the front door, I was thinking the worst. They’d found her body in the Stour or discovered CCTV footage of her being dragged into the back of an anonymous white van.
My mouth was dry as I turned the latch and opened the door. A woman in a navy trouser suit was standing on the doorstep. She had a blonde pixie cut and a shrewd gaze, and although she was smiling, I was immediately on my guard.
‘If you’re a reporter, you can bugger off.’
‘Good morning, Mrs Cooper…’ she began.
‘Did you hear me?’ I knew I sounded belligerent, but I couldn’t care less. ‘Contact the police if you want any information. We’re not giving interviews, all right?’
Her mouth twitched. ‘I am the police.’ She pulled a warrant card out of her trouser pocket. ‘DC Sam Bennett. I’m the family liaison officer. I think the late turn sergeant told you to expect me?’
‘Not this early, she didn’t.’ I shook her proffered hand. ‘Sorry about the welcome. I didn’t get much sleep last night.’
‘There’s no need to apologise. I understand.’
I was too frightened to ask for news. She’d have told me by now if they’d found Immy, wouldn’t she? Instead I said, ‘I suppose you’d better come in. But you’ll have to forgive the state of the house.’ I led her into the kitchen where Stuart was still sitting slumped at the island. He raised bloodshot eyes to the newcomer but didn’t bother to stand.
‘This is the family liaison officer. I’m sorry,’ I said, turning to her, ‘I’ve forgotten your name.’
‘DC Sam Bennett,’ she said again, stepping forwards and offering Stuart her hand. ‘I’m here to support you during the search for Imogen.’
‘She’s called Immy,’ Stuart said. ‘And since when did the police have their own counsellors?’
‘I’m not a counsellor, although I am specially trained to work with families at times like these. I’m also your link with the investigation team. If you have any questions, I can raise them directly with the officer in the case.’
‘Investigation? Case? It sounds more like a murder inquiry than a search for a missing person, DC Bennett,’ I said.
‘Please, call me Sam. I have the same goal as you - to find Immy, the sooner the better. Isn’t that the important thing at the end of the day?’
‘Of course it is,’ Stuart said,
shooting me a dark look. ‘From that I take it there’s no news.’
‘I’m afraid we haven’t located Imogen - sorry, Immy - yet. But we’re doing everything we can to find her. I spoke to the duty manager before I left the nick, and he’s briefed me on the search so far. Patrols continued to look for her overnight, and the search teams are due to resume their search of the river and local area shortly. We’ve circulated Immy’s details on morning intel sheets across Kent and to neighbouring forces. The media appeal has received plenty of coverage locally. It’s even made a couple of the tabloids. It’s fair to say the whole of Kent is looking for Immy.’ She paused, looking from me to Stuart and back again. ‘Someone knows what happened. And the sooner we find them, the sooner we’ll find your daughter.’
Chapter Eight
Nate clumped down the stairs and into the kitchen. His eyes widened when he saw Sam Bennett sitting at the island, sipping from a mug of tea.
‘Who’s that lady?’
I gave him a bright smile. ‘This is Sam. She’s a police officer helping us find Immy.’
He nodded and climbed onto his favourite stool. I poured Shreddies into a bowl and took a carton of milk from the fridge, glad to have something to do with my hands. Sam had spent the last half an hour going through the events of the previous afternoon, making lots of notes and asking even more questions. It was unnerving, that penetrating gaze of hers. She was like a lab technician, staring down a microscope at a particularly poor example of motherhood. Was it unusual for Immy to be out of your sight for so long? Can you explain how the gate to the river came to be unlocked? Did you not think it strange when she didn’t appear for pudding? But I answered her barrage of questions as best I could, because she was there to help. So I told myself, anyway. Even though I had a niggling suspicion her actual role was to feed information back to her colleagues at the police station.
Nate was still in his pyjamas, and after he finished his cereal and orange juice, I shepherded him upstairs to get dressed.
‘Cleo thinks he should go to school,’ Stuart told Sam.
‘I think she’s right. It’s important to maintain the status quo in situations like this.’
‘I’ll agree to disagree,’ Stuart said, pushing his mug away and standing. ‘And as it looks as though I’ve lost the argument, I’d better make sure he cleans his teeth properly.’
I slid the box of Shreddies back in the cupboard and stacked Nate’s bowl and glass in the dishwasher.
‘Where does Nate go to school?’ Sam asked.
‘Junior King’s,’ I said. It was an expensive private school in Sturry, a five-minute drive away. ‘He loves it there.’
‘Does Immy go there, too?’
I liked the way she used the present tense. It gave me hope. I nodded. ‘Three mornings a week. Stuart has been a stay-at-home dad since she was a baby. He still does some freelance ecology work, but I’m the main breadwinner.’
‘Where do you work?’
‘FoodWrapped. The organic meal kit company.’
‘I know it,’ she said. ‘My brother and sister-in-law have been having boxes for years. What do you do at FoodWrapped?’
‘Actually, I run the company with my business partner, Bill Harrison.’
‘The friend who was at yesterday’s barbecue?’
I nodded. ‘We’ve known Bill and Melanie since we were at university together. Bill and I started the business the year we graduated.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Wow, I’m impressed.’
‘Thanks. We don’t have the reach of the big boys, but our retention levels are among the best in the industry.’
‘My sister-in-law’s always on at me to sign up, but I’m on my own since my son went to uni and I work such long hours it doesn’t seem worth it.’
‘We do boxes for singletons, and they’re the perfect solution for busy people who don’t want to compromise on quality.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Sorry, too salesy. Force of habit.’
Sam laughed, and her cerulean eyes crinkled, and I found myself thawing towards her.
‘You’re doing very well for yourselves,’ she said, looking around.
‘We do all right,’ I said with a modest smile.
In fact, we did more than all right. Sixteen years on, our little start-up company had an annual turnover of £1.8 million. FoodWrapped had paid for Stour House and Bill and Melanie’s converted barn, my Porsche Taycan and Stuart’s Audi E-ton, holidays to the Greek Islands, Tuscany and the Dordogne, the statement marble worktops and limed oak cabinets of our Smallbone kitchen.
Sam drained her mug and set it on the island. ‘Did you go part time after Nate was born?’
I shook my head. ‘There was no way I could have left Bill to run the business on his own. It’s a two-man job. We had a nanny for a couple of years, and when she left, we took on an au pair for a while. But when Immy came along, Stuart said he would hand his notice in and be a full-time dad. We muddle along but it seems to work most of the time.’
‘I’ll need the names of your nanny and au pair.’
I froze. ‘You don’t think either of them could have anything to do with Immy’s disappearance?’
‘No, but I like to tick all the boxes.’ She grimaced. ‘I have a bit of a reputation down at the nick for being tenacious.’
‘Nothing wrong with that. You’re looking for my daughter. I’d rather tenacious than flaky any day of the week.’
Signs of the continuing police search for Immy were apparent as I drove the five minutes to Nate’s school. In the car park of the George and Dragon a PCSO was talking to an elderly man with a labradoodle, and as I drove over the bridge into Sturry, I glimpsed the black jumpsuits of a couple of search officers scouring the grassy riverbank.
Nate saw them, too. ‘Are they looking for Immy?’
‘They are. Hopefully, they’ll find her before you’re home from school.’
He nodded and turned back to the window. ‘Does Miss Henderson know Immy’s gone?’
Shit. Why hadn’t it occurred to me I ought to have let school know?
‘I’ll give the school office a ring and explain what’s happened,’ I said.
‘Can’t you come in with me and tell Miss Henderson?’
‘Not now, sweetheart. I need to pop into work. But I’ll make sure she knows.’ I went to ruffle his hair, but he squirmed away.
‘What if people ask me where she is?’ he said as we drew up outside the school gates. ‘What do I say?’
‘Just tell them we’re looking for her.’
‘But you won’t be looking for her. You’ll be at work. You’re always at work.’ He unclipped his seatbelt and let himself out of the car. I watched him march in, his shoulders taut. On the rare occasions I did the school run, he always blew me a kiss before I drove away.
Not today.
FoodWrapped’s headquarters were in a small business park a couple of miles north east of Fordwich, in the former coal-mining village of Hersden. It was here that our ten-strong team packaged our organic recipe boxes and sent them out to customers across the country. I’d found the vacant warehouse not long after we moved to Stour House, and as soon as I saw it, I knew it was perfect for us. Newly refurbished with office space, a chilled storage unit and a purpose-built pack-house, it would also reduce my commute to less than ten minutes.
I parked beside Sheila’s Fiat 500, irritated to see there was no sign of Bill’s Range Rover, even though he’d promised he would be in early to prepare for the meeting with the accountant. I collected my laptop and bag, locked the car and stabbed the six-number passcode into the keypad on the wall beside the side door. Sheila looked up from her computer as I walked in. Worry lines furrowed her forehead.
‘Any news?’ she said, handing me the blue box file containing my copy of the yearly accounts.
I’d called her before breakfast to tell her about Immy, and she’d sounded as dazed as I felt. I shook my head. ‘They’re still looking.’
‘Oh Cleo, I’
m so sorry. Do they have any idea where she might be?’
‘They think she let herself out of the gate and fell in the river while she was playing Pooh sticks.’
‘You said they found her shoe in the water. Why haven’t they found her yet?’
‘I wish I knew.’ I ran a hand through my hair. ‘And all the time they’re focusing on the river, they’re not considering the possibility that someone took her, and that’s what terrifies me.’
‘It sounds as though they’re doing everything they can,’ Sheila said. ‘I wish there was something I could do to help.’
‘Don’t be silly. You’ve got enough on your plate. How’s your mum?’
‘Nothing broken this time, thank the Lord. But I will use a couple of hours’ flexi to get off early this afternoon if that’s all right? She’s still very unsteady on her feet.’
I waved her request away. ‘You don’t need to ask. Is everything set for the meeting?’
She nodded. ‘Bill’s asked me to sit in and take the minutes.’
‘To save him from making notes.’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘He takes advantage of you.’
Her hand fluttered to her neck. ‘Oh, I don’t mind.’
‘No other issues?’
‘Everything is tickety-boo,’ Sheila said, echoing one of Bill’s favourite expressions. Her smile froze. ‘I’m sorry, what a thoughtless thing to say when everything’s far from tickety-boo.’
‘It’s OK, there’s no need to tiptoe around me.’
Sheila opened her mouth to speak, paused, then said, ‘How do you do it?’
‘Do what?’
‘Stay so together? I’d be in bits if my little girl was missing. But you’re so calm.’
‘Someone has to be,’ I said, hugging the box file to my chest. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go. Send me the minutes of the meeting before end of play, yes?’