Six Minutes

by Petronella McGovern

  Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine … I hadn’t realised I was counting the seconds.

  Outside the bakery, two weather-beaten farmers slapped each other on the back in what passed as a hug for that generation of men. Everyone knew everyone here. Apart from me, of course. But I did recognise a few of the locals. Through the bakery window I spotted the young schoolteacher waiting for a takeaway coffee while four elderly women ate Danish pastries at a table. Our neighbour was pinning a message to the community noticeboard outside—she was still worried that her new chickens weren’t safe in their little shed. A mother from the Tuesday playgroup was pushing a guy in a wheelchair—her husband or her brother?

  Our gardener waved goodbye to Mr Whitlaw, who was dragging three garbage bags from his car towards the church op shop. Smile and keep walking; you have to get back to Bella. But my ingrained politeness won out. I took a bag from the old man and helped him through the door of the shop. He lived further along our street and Bella would pat his Labrador whenever we saw them out walking. Since her bunny had died, she’d been asking for ‘a dog just like Napoleon’ for her birthday.

  ‘The wife has sent me down with clothes and toys from our granddaughters,’ Mr Whitlaw puffed. ‘You should have a look, Lexie. There might be some things that Bella would like.’

  A woman I’d never seen before came out from behind the counter and kissed him on the cheek. They chatted about the chance of rain as I heaved the bags onto the sorting table. Unlike Tara, they were too well-mannered to comment on my bruised face.

  ‘I’ve got to run,’ I interrupted them, trying to slow my breathing. Keep counting … ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight. ‘Maybe I’ll come back later with Bella.’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Mr Whitlaw rummaged through one of the bags, and brought out a doll almost as tall as Bella. ‘Here you go, have this one. My granddaughter loved it.’

  Dora the Explorer. Phoebe had given the DVD to Bella just after she was born, insisting that her niece grow up with a positive female role model—one who solved puzzles and had adventures instead of looking pretty and being rescued by a prince. Unpacking in the new house, Bella had rediscovered the DVD; she watched an episode of Dora almost every morning. I could imagine her playing with the doll on the couch then taking her into the garden for an adventure with her fairies.

  ‘Wow! Bella loves Dora too. I’ve never seen a Dora doll this big. Great—I’ll take it for her. How much shall I give you?’

  The shop assistant picked up the doll, put her down again and wandered over to the till. She pressed a few buttons and hummed and hawed. After not seeing anything useful there, she went to check in the toy section, lifting up a truck to see the price tag. Could she be any slower?

  ‘Is ten dollars okay?’ I held out the note. ‘I really have to go.’

  At last I could leave the op shop, with Dora shoved under my arm. But I still hadn’t bought the biscuits. A bright orange ute with its radio blaring skidded into a car space near me, making me jump backwards. What if something happens to me? Marty can’t look after Bella.

  I rushed into the small supermarket, not waiting for the automatic doors to open fully. Second aisle, biscuits and crackers. A swirl of colours and brands danced on the shelf. Two hundred and thirty-one, two hundred and thirty-two, two hundred and thirty-three … Black spots danced in front of my eyes. God no, don’t faint. I brought my hand up to the gash on my cheekbone. Pushed softly against it. I deserve this. The pain gave me a new focus. I snatched two packets of Tim Tams from the shelf and hurried to the front of the store.

  At the checkout, the twenty-something with the blue hair—Jack or Zac or Raf, I could never remember his name—squinted at my face, handed over the change and said, ‘Have a great day.’

  I can do this. I can. Three hundred and one, three hundred and two, three hundred and three.

  Clomping along the footpath, my heel caught in a crack and I fell forwards momentarily. Rocking back to equilibrium, I stopped and took a slow breath. Concentrate on Black Mountain Tower in the distance. Bella thought the tower was a rocket ready to blast off into outer space.

  Last steps, around the corner of the building and to the black gate. Put Dora down to open the child lock. Can’t see Bella through the bars … Three hundred and seventy-one, three hundred and seventy-two, three hundred and seventy-three … I’ve made it. I can stop counting now. Three hundred and seventy-three seconds. Six minutes.

  Opening the gate into the playground I saw the twins arguing in the cubbyhouse and Sammy pushing a digger in the sandpit.

  Where’s Bella?

  The twins spied the doll and bolted over.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked the slightly taller one.

  ‘It’s Dora,’ Sammy called out. ‘Hola, Dora! Where’s Map? Is it in Backpack?’

  The boys followed me in through the screen door, crowding around me, tugging at Dora. As each child inside the room spotted the doll, they rushed towards me. Less than an hour with the kids at playgroup and the room was strewn with puzzles and blocks and dolls and clothes. Stepping around a pile of trains, I tried to find Bella in the chaos, to see her face light up and to hear her cry: ‘Dora Splorer!’

  Mel was rinsing out a cloth at the sink, Tara was rocking the pram back and forth, and Imogen was picking up some crayons from the floor.

  ‘Fantastic doll, Lexie!’ Julia had to shout to make herself heard above the children. ‘They all love it. Where did you get her?’

  I searched for Bella’s dark hair among the small bodies thronging around me, taking note of each child to see if I’d skipped her somehow—Sammy, Matthew and Thomas, Morgan and Zoe. Baby Daisy in the pram.

  ‘Where’s Bella?’

  She wasn’t in the ‘home corner’, squatting down behind the toy stove. Not in the pile of dress-ups and black starry cloaks hanging on the little rack. Nor under the mini trampoline. Not hiding beneath the child-sized tables and chairs.

  ‘She was here a minute ago. They were playing hide-and-seek.’ Julia heaved herself out of the chair and looked around the room. ‘Is she in the toilet?’

  Dropping Dora and the biscuits on the table, I charged to the kids’ toilet and pushed open the door. Empty.

  The adult toilet door was closed. A knock and a push. Not there either.

  ‘She must be outside in the cubbyhouse,’ Imogen reassured me. ‘The kids have been in and out. I’ll come with you.’

  If she’d been in the cubbyhouse, Bella would have run up to me when I’d come in the gate.

  Julia was closest to the window. ‘There’s no-one in the sandpit,’ she reported.

  Flinging open the door, I sprinted to the cubbyhouse.

  ‘Bella, where are you?’

  Down on my knees, peering underneath the wooden beams for a stuck child.

  Imogen started walking towards the little shed but I was quicker than her. I yanked apart the metal doors and stepped into the gloom. Tricycles, scooters, trucks for the sandpit, buckets, spades, a climbing frame and a gymnastics mat. No Bella.

  I scanned the small outdoor area again. A concrete path for riding bikes, a few small trees, some grass. A high wooden fence down the bottom near the lane and the car park.

  ‘Bella!’ I called. ‘Bella! Bella!’

  ‘Seriously, Lexie, she was here a moment ago.’ Julia placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘Maybe she followed you to the shop somehow?’

  The black dots were dancing in front of my eyes. Had I locked the gate properly when I left?

  ‘Where the fuck has she gone?’ Tara wailed near my ear.

  My whole body recoiled from her.

  Morgan burst into tears and the baby began to howl. The twins were climbing up a tree, hollering at each other to get higher for a better view.

  ‘Children, go inside!’ Mel screeched. ‘Matthew and Thomas, get down from there. Immediately! Julia, take them all inside right now!’

  I froze at the panic in Mel’s voice. Mel, who was
always calm.

  The images came one after the other, each one a punch, harder and harder. Bella hit by a car. Bella abducted in a van. Bella hiding in a concrete tunnel. Bella bleeding on the highway.

  ‘She can’t be far.’ Imogen squeezed my arm and directed me to the gate. ‘We’ll find her.’

  ‘Lexie, you go to the shops.’ Mel was suddenly composed again. ‘Imogen, check the lane, and Tara, walk towards the church. I’ll go to the school. I’m sure Bella will be okay.’

  I couldn’t share Mel’s optimism, not until I held my daughter in my arms again.

  Imogen unlocked the gate and I shoved past her, flying towards the footpath. Scanning, scanning, scanning for a glimpse of a pink coat.

  But before I reached the shops, Imogen called out. ‘Lexie, over here.’

  Thank God, she has found her. I’ll never leave her again. It doesn’t matter if I’m unable to let her out of my sight, as long as she’s always safe. I’ll stay by your side forever, Bella.

  Running down the footpath next to the playgroup fence, I couldn’t stop myself from crying out her name. Behind the playgroup sat a small lane with a row of townhouses and six parking spots, including my Honda CR-V. Maybe Bella had wanted something from our car.

  I needed to hug my daughter, to tell her: ‘You gave me such a fright, Tinker Bell. I love you to the moon and back.’

  Imogen was standing near the road.

  Alone.

  Something dangling from one hand.

  My boots pounded the bitumen.

  Blood pounding. Head pounding. Stomach churning.

  Finally, I was close enough to see.

  A sparkly wizard hat.

  This time, I couldn’t fight the black dots.

  4

  MARTY

  MARTY CHECKED HIS LIST AND FIGURED HE HAD A FEW MINUTES TO take a leak before seeing the next patient. God, he’d love a coffee, but there was no time for that. Walking down the corridor towards the toilet, a passing wardsman smiled at him. No-one had smiled in the hospital at Manchester.

  He’d gone to Manchester to escape—to run away, if he was being brutally honest. At first, it had worked. Everything had been new: fresh faces and different systems. But then the doubt and the second-guessing had crept in. Even though he’d been cleared. One of the admin staff was a dead ringer for Nurse Natalie, the same glossy black hair swishing as she strutted into the canteen, braying hello to everyone she passed, determined to be noticed. In his dreams, the two of them merged together, Nurse Natalie opening her mouth, that wide deceptive smile, but a northern English accent coming out.

  He never told Lexie; he prayed that she wouldn’t accidentally run into the woman at the supermarket or the bus stop. But Lexie had to deal with his nightmares and the thrashing about under the covers. Sometimes, she’d leave him to it and he’d wake, sweating, to an empty bed and his wife asleep in Bella’s room. Other times, she’d bathe his forehead with a washer and softly talk him to consciousness.

  When they were living in Manchester, he’d considered surprising Lexie with a long weekend trip to St Petersburg. It had been the final stop on their honeymoon, but they’d run out of energy and spent the last day in bed instead of at the Hermitage Museum. Through sheer determination, they’d both managed to get three weeks off work for their honeymoon. They began by watching the sunset over the Aegean Sea from a hilltop in Santorini before continuing on to Turkey to see the Roman ruins in Ephesus, the Byzantine grandeur of Aya Sofya and the underground cities of Cappadocia. Marty’s previous travels had involved skiing or ticking off the main city sights around a paediatric conference. On their honeymoon, Lexie told him stories of ancient times, great empires, epic battles and impressive constructions. She’d studied these empires in her degree and, while she’d been to Pompeii and the Great Wall of China, she’d never made it to Turkey.

  In a hot-air balloon floating over the stone houses of Göreme, they had discussed bringing their future children back here to see the strange, magical villages built into the rock.

  ‘We’ll give our children a love of travel and history and art,’ Lexie had declared.

  ‘And science and medicine?’

  ‘I guess they’ll have to pay for the travel somehow. It’s harder on an artist’s meagre wage.’

  ‘But not on a curator’s salary.’ He winked at her. ‘Shall we celebrate your pay rise again tonight?’

  ‘Assistant curator,’ she reminded him. ‘Okay, the raki and mezze are on me tonight. At least I can afford to pay for dinner in Turkey!’

  Although they were married now, their finances were still separate and slightly complicated. Her salary was much lower but his had to cover child support for Victoria and the mortgage on the old family home, which still hadn’t been sold. His ex-wife was no longer living there but she’d wanted to keep it as an investment and sell it at the right time. Marty felt the right time was now. At the thought of creating a new family home, he pulled Lexie into a tight hug.

  ‘We’re going to have gorgeous children.’ He kissed her nose. ‘Smart, fun and beautiful—just like you.’

  Marty’s mobile rang as he was leaving the gents, his mind already on the next consultation. He frowned at Lexie’s name on the screen. She rarely called him at work; knew he was too busy. Had Bella got sand or water inside her cast? Lexie had been asking him about it this morning. In fact, it was the first time she’d spoken more than three sentences to him since the incident.

  ‘Hi, sweetheart,’ he said quickly into the phone.

  ‘Uh, no, sorry—it’s not Lexie. This is, um, Imogen from the playgroup.’

  Marty gripped the phone to his ear and tamped down the first tingling of fear. Was Lexie having a panic attack? A breakdown? Some kind of alcohol-related psychosis?

  ‘She’s wandered off,’ the woman sniffled down the line. ‘We can’t find her.’

  ‘Lexie?’

  ‘No, Lexie fainted.’

  Marty couldn’t understand what this woman—Imogen—was trying to tell him. He imagined he was in the consult room, forced himself to stop and listen.

  ‘She was playing hide-and-seek. We’ve called the police.’ Imogen choked on the last word. ‘They’ll be here any minute. We’re sure Bella can’t have gone too far.’

  Two police cars were parked on the grass verge. Marty gulped hard and licked his lips.

  So this was playgroup—an enclave of mothers and children in a small building near Merrigang shops. The first week she’d joined, Lexie had commented to him on the safety of the equipment, the hygiene levels and the lock on the gate.

  Marty pulled up the black child lock and let himself into the playground. The lock was in working order, he noted.

  Through the windows, he could see inside the room. Two women were sitting in chairs, one pregnant, one holding a baby on her lap. If he could see in and they could see out, how could Bella have gone missing?

  A police officer introduced himself, shook Marty’s hand firmly and propelled him back into the playground, away from the other mums and kids. Surely this pimply policeman was only fifteen years old.

  ‘Where are you looking for her?’ Marty demanded. ‘How many officers have you got searching?’

  But before the officer could answer, Marty had leapt to the next question.

  ‘How could Bella get out of the playground?’

  ‘We’ve been advised that Mrs Parker went to the shop. Bella stayed at the playgroup with the other mums. One possibility is that the gate was left unlocked and Bella tried to follow her mother.’

  What do you mean Lexie went to the shop? Marty stopped himself from asking the question out loud. She never leaves Bella with others.

  The officer, whose name he’d already forgotten, told him it was ‘early days’.

  ‘Most children who are reported missing are found safe and sound very quickly. I’m sure we’ll find Bella in no time.’

  Coming from a youth who looked like he’d only started shaving last week, the reassur
ance fell flat. And where was Lexie? Out searching somewhere? She would be going crazy with worry. He couldn’t have his wife and his daughter missing.

  Turning his back on the police officer, Marty dialled Lexie’s number. He hoped Imogen had stayed with her. Had Lexie hurt herself when she’d fainted? Marty half expected to hear the phone ringing nearby, to find his wife collapsed in shock in the cubbyhouse or under a gum tree.

  Instead, her voice came through his mobile: ‘Have you found her?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m checking the pedestrian tunnel near the school. Pick me up here.’

  Lexie had sounded so controlled on the phone that Marty was surprised when he saw her. Her face puffy, smudged with dirt, her eyes rimmed red. She had bits of leaves and twigs stuck to her jumper and scarf.

  ‘Where can she be?’ Lexie stared at him, terror written in the lines across her forehead.

  ‘We’ll find her,’ Marty assured his wife, holding his arms out to draw her into a hug.

  She pushed him away. ‘The police didn’t want me out looking but I couldn’t just sit there,’ Lexie explained between short, sharp breaths. ‘I’ve checked all around this road and the underpass. We can search the other way in the car.’

  Lexie darted past him and clambered into the passenger seat, motioning for him to hurry up.

  ‘Can you tell me what happened?’ Marty asked as gently as he could.

  ‘I don’t know. She was there. Then she was gone.’

  ‘At the playgroup?’

  ‘Yes, at the goddamn playgroup.’

  As they drove, Lexie muttered the same words over and over. ‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, where are you, Bella, where are you?’

  She only broke off to tell him to go left or right. These streets all seemed to go in circles. No-one was out walking on the footpaths. And there was no sign of Bella in her pink coat. Marty swallowed down the acrid taste of bile. How could his tiny little girl be missing?

  ‘Why don’t we go back to the playgroup?’ he suggested. ‘The police will be wondering where we are.’

  ‘No,’ Lexie barked, her eyes glued to the roadside. ‘We’ll find her, I know we will.’