by Heidi Perks
Harriet nodded and stood up to get the enrolment papers from her handbag.
‘And I wonder if you wouldn’t mind getting me Alice’s toothbrush too?’ Angela said as she jotted notes on her pad.
‘What?’ Harriet stopped still and turned to look at Angela.
‘Her toothbrush. It’s just standard procedure so I have something of hers.’
‘Oh Christ,’ Brian cried, pressing the palms of his hands against the table and pushing his chair back so it screeched across the floor. ‘You’re thinking this already?’
Harriet slid out of the room, up the stairs, and into the bathroom where she could no longer hear Brian talking to Angela. Her hands shook as she clutched the basin. She knew they wanted Alice’s toothbrush for DNA. That meant they were already thinking the worst – that they would find a body instead of her daughter.
Alice’s princess toothbrush slipped through Harriet’s fingers as she reached out to take it, tumbling into the basin.
The two remaining ones didn’t look right on their own. His navy pristine brush and hers with its bristles sticking out in every direction. She grabbed Alice’s brush and stuck it back in the pot. Angela could have a new one, an untouched one from the drawer. There were two still boxed in there, she saw, as she opened the drawer and ran her fingers over the hard plastic.
‘What are you doing?’
Harriet looked up and saw two faces in the mirror. Hers was wet with tears that streamed down her cheeks in rivers. She hadn’t even noticed she had been crying. Brian’s reflection loomed over her shoulder as he placed his hands on her arms and turned her around to face him. Wiping away her tears with one stroke of his thumbs, he left a trail of dampness across her cheeks.
‘They need the toothbrush, Harriet,’ he said and reached over her to pluck it out of the pot and take it back down to Angela.
Harriet stared at the empty space he left behind, wondering how he was able to function so easily. A carelessly picked photo that was probably the first one he came across and now he was readily handing over their daughter’s toothbrush. But Brian was good at holding it together. He was only doing what was necessary to help the police find their daughter and meanwhile Harriet was left replaying the memory of Alice brushing her teeth that morning.
‘Finished, Mummy,’ she had said, automatically opening her mouth wide for her mum to check.
‘Gorgeous,’ Harriet had told her. ‘The tooth fairies will be pleased with how sparkly they are.’
A fresh wave of tears left Harriet clinging on to the basin again as if it were the only thing holding her up, until eventually Brian reappeared in the bathroom and prised her hands away, leading her back down to the kitchen where Angela was patiently waiting.
‘I need to know what she was doing when our daughter went missing,’ Brian demanded as he ushered Harriet into a seat and sat down next to her. ‘I want to know what Charlotte was doing because she obviously wasn’t watching Alice.’
‘You’re bound to have plenty of questions,’ Angela said. ‘I can’t answer that myself. Not entirely, Brian.’
‘Where did she go? She can’t have been by the inflatable or else she would have seen where Alice went.’
‘I believe she was waiting in a tent right next to it with her youngest daughter,’ Angela said.
‘So not looking,’ Brian went on. ‘Not watching my daughter, like I said. She was probably on her phone. You see it all the time – mothers ignoring their children while their faces are stuck elsewhere. Half the time they have no idea where their kids even are. This is why I don’t understand it, Harriet. I don’t understand why you asked her to watch Alice. You always say she’s wrapped up in herself, that she lets her children run feral.’
‘No,’ Harriet said, aghast, ‘I never said that.’
‘I’m sure you did.’
‘That’s not true,’ she argued. Charlotte’s children weren’t feral; they were boisterous, full of life and energy. Feral wasn’t a word she would ever use.
‘You told me once you wouldn’t trust her with Alice.’ He looked at her pointedly. ‘That her head’s not in the right place.’
‘No,’ Harriet cried, a flush of embarrassment heating her face. ‘I never said that.’ She could feel Angela looking at her intensely as Harriet tried to recall a time when she might have said something that Brian had misconstrued, but even if she had, she wouldn’t have meant it.
Brian picked up his mug and took a swig of his tea, grimacing as he placed the mug back down. It must have turned cold by now. ‘I’d just never have expected you to leave Alice with her,’ he said.
‘There’s a few more things I really need to ask you both,’ Angela said, and Brian nodded for her to go on. ‘Let’s start with families. Alice’s grandparents, aunts, uncles.’
‘There aren’t many,’ Brian replied. ‘My dad died fifteen years ago and my mother—’ He broke off and straightened his shoulders. ‘My mother left when I was young. I don’t see her. Harriet’s parents are both dead.’
‘Siblings?’
‘Neither of us have any,’ he answered.
‘So your mother, Brian?’ Angela asked. ‘When was the last time you saw her?’
He shrugged. ‘Years ago, I’m not sure exactly.’
Harriet watched her husband attempting to pass off his mother’s abandonment. She remembered when he’d last seen her and she knew Brian did too. It was nearly eight years ago. He’d taken Harriet to meet her a month after they’d started seeing each other.
‘And does she know where you live or know about Alice? Could there be any reason for her to come looking for her granddaughter?’
‘I doubt she even knows she has one.’
‘You doubt? Do you think she might?’ Angela asked.
‘She doesn’t know,’ Brian said. ‘I wouldn’t have thought.’ He looked away and Harriet wondered if maybe he had once told his mother about Alice. She could imagine the lack of reaction he’d have got if he had.
Angela continued to ask about other family and close friends, but it was clear their circles were painfully small. Harriet told her that she didn’t keep in touch with past colleagues; she saw some of the mothers very occasionally but only because they were friends of Charlotte’s. It was sadly obvious there was only one person in her life who she saw regularly and that was the person who had just lost her daughter.
Brian’s life was no more interesting. He left the house at eight every morning to go to work at the insurance company he had been at for five years. He was back in the house by five-thirty without fail. He didn’t do drinks, or Christmas parties, or attend celebrations, and wasn’t remotely fussed that he had no one he could call a true friend.
Every Saturday Brian went fishing. He left early and came back at some point in the afternoon and until today had never mentioned anyone he met there by name.
Later Angela spoke of an appeal, which would most likely go ahead the following morning and appear on all the major news channels. They also discussed the possibility of Harriet and Brian meeting up with Charlotte.
‘I can’t do that,’ Harriet said. The thought of sitting opposite her and seeing the guilt slashed across Charlotte’s face drove a knife through her stomach.
‘That’s fine,’ Angela told her. ‘You don’t have to if you’re not ready.’
‘You’ll feel differently soon,’ Brian said. She ignored his comment – she knew she wouldn’t change her mind.
But while thoughts of Charlotte and the appeal spun in her head, it was the idea of spending a night without Alice in the bedroom next to her that gnawed deeply. How would she get through it? How would Harriet function during every second that Alice wasn’t with her? Life without her baby girl was not a possibility.
All she could see was her daughter’s face, pale and frightened. ‘Mummy? Where are you?’
Harriet was trapped. Inside her own body and inside their house with no idea what she should be doing for her daughter. Sheer frustration ripped thro
ugh her like lightning, jolting her upright and on to her feet, unleashing from within her a raw, guttural scream.
Brian leaped out of his chair and to his wife’s side, holding her tightly in his arms, hushing her and telling her it would all be OK. ‘This is all Charlotte’s fault,’ he hissed to Angela. ‘After all, this isn’t the first child she’s lost.’
Charlotte
At seven o’clock on Saturday evening I had a call from Detective Chief Inspector Hayes. He phoned to say Harriet wanted to see me, despite telling me earlier she was refusing to.
‘Of course I’ll go,’ I said, when he asked if I was prepared to see them at their house, even though I’d been through every possible scenario of meeting Harriet and none of them came out well. ‘I’ll just need to get someone to look after the children.’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I can send an officer round.’
‘No, there’s no need,’ I said. A policeman babysitting the children would only frighten them. ‘I can be there in an hour if that’s OK,’ I told him and hung up. I’d called Tom as soon as I got back to the house after the fete so I knew he’d come over when I needed him to.
I’d already met DCI Hayes that afternoon. Audrey had insisted I should leave the fete and she’d drive me and the children back in my car. I’d stared out of the car window as she shunted the gears into reverse, muttering under her breath that she ‘wouldn’t be able to get out of the sodding car park’.
‘I shouldn’t be leaving,’ I said. ‘I should be searching with everyone else.’ Makeshift groups of parents were forming in clumps on the field despite police requests for them not to get involved.
‘No, you need to be with your children,’ she said. ‘They need you more than ever right now and this isn’t a place for them to stay.’
I knew she was right but as Audrey negotiated her way between the parked cars I felt as empty as the extra car seat wedged behind me. The space between Molly and Evie was a gaping reminder that I’d not only lost Alice but I was now walking away from her too.
We drove out of the car park, turning the corner with the field on our right. The tips of the inflatable palm trees on the Jungle Run, visible at the furthest edge of the field, were no longer swaying. No one would have let their children on it now, even if it hadn’t become a crime scene.
‘And there are enough people out there,’ Aud continued. ‘The police don’t even want them looking. Look at this place,’ she said in a whisper. ‘No one must want their children here now.’ Two more police cars passed us, their blue lights silently flashing. I watched them in my side mirror as they pulled over.
Hayes arrived at my house at four-thirty p.m. That was when he told me Harriet was refusing to see me.
‘I’ve tried calling her,’ I said. ‘I tried as soon as I got home but her mobile must be switched off.’ I picked up my phone and stared at its screen, a photo of my children smiling back at me. I’d tried Harriet a number of times. Each time I held my breath until her voicemail kicked in and I could hang up, able to breathe again.
‘She must have questions,’ I said to the detective. ‘She must want to hear from me what happened. I know I’d want to.’ I’d want to scream at me if I were her, pound fists against my chest until I broke down. Demand an explanation, beg me to find her daughter or to turn back time and change what happened.
‘Everyone’s different,’ he said and I nodded because it couldn’t have been more true.
When Hayes phoned again at seven p.m. I was in the middle of undressing the girls and running them a bath. I finished the short call, turned off the water and dialled Tom’s mobile.
‘Any news?’ he asked as he picked up.
‘Not yet,’ I told him.
‘Oh, Charlotte. Are you sure there’s still nothing I can do?’
‘Actually, there is. I need to go and see Harriet. Can you come and sit with the children?’
‘Yes, of course. How is Harriet?’
‘I haven’t spoken to her yet. When can you get here?’
‘I don’t know, um, half an hour?’
‘That’s fine,’ I said.
‘So you’ve heard nothing about Alice at all?’ he asked again.
‘No, nothing.’
‘It’s been on TV. I’ve just seen it on the news.’
‘God,’ I sighed. I’d already had two calls from journalists, but as DCI Hayes advised me, I told them both I had no comment.
‘I’m sorry, Charlotte – I don’t know what to say.’
‘Don’t say anything. Just come round so I can get over there.’
I sat on the edge of my bed and waited for Tom as the bath water slowly went cold in the room next to me. My phone flashed again with another text message from a class mum. ‘Is there any news? Is there anything I can do to help?’ I picked up the phone and threw it behind me. Sooner or later I was going to have to respond to all the messages I’d had since I’d left the fete but I couldn’t do anything until I’d got through this evening. With the curtains pulled, I was in semi-darkness as I brooded over one question: What the hell do I say to Harriet?
I would have to look both her and Brian in the eye and tell them I had nothing that could make it any easier. No explanation, no excuses. Not even one suggestion that might bring them relief. They’d ask me what happened to Alice and I’d have to confess I didn’t have a clue.
She ran behind the Jungle Run with Molly.
Then what? they’d ask.
I don’t know. I just don’t know what happened to your daughter.
Molly and Jack had told me they’d taken their shoes off behind the inflatable, but that in their excitement neither of them had stopped to help Alice, waited for her, or even noticed whether she’d got on. ‘You’re ten, Jack,’ I’d cried earlier. ‘Why didn’t you check the girls were safely on it like I asked you to?’
Jack looked at me with a doleful expression. I knew I couldn’t expect my son to consider other children. Why did I presume he would do it then? Jack has a heart of gold but he’s the last kid you give responsibility to.
‘Molly,’ I turned on my daughter. ‘She was running after you. Why didn’t you help her on? What did you do – literally race on after Jack and forget she was even there?’ I knew I shouldn’t transfer my guilt on to them but still the words spilled out of my mouth.
Molly’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m sorry, Mummy,’ she cried.
I pulled her to me and said that no, I was sorry. This was not her fault. ‘I’m not saying you did anything wrong,’ I told her, though of course I had implied it.
There was only one person whose fault this was. Who had lost herself in texts and Facebook and maybe looked up occasionally but never enough to spot Alice. I knew deep down I hadn’t seen her tumble down the slide. It was only ever my two I’d spotted from the shade of the tent. Which meant, as PC Fielding said, she’d most likely never got on the run in the first place.
As soon as Tom arrived, I kissed the children goodnight and told them I’d see them in the morning. Then I tried leaving the house before we could get into a conversation but he stopped me before I got to the front door.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked.
I shook my head, pressing my fingernails into my palms so I didn’t start crying. ‘Of course not, but I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘It was headlines on the news.’ Tom rubbed his hands together uneasily. ‘To be expected, I suppose.’
‘Yes, well it would be. Something like this—’ I stopped. ‘I really just need to go, Tom.’
He nodded and I knew there was something else he had to tell me but I opened the front door, not wanting to give him the chance. ‘I just saw Chris Lawson as I was coming up the drive,’ he said. ‘He told me they’d called off their drinks party tonight.’
‘I really couldn’t care less if they have or not.’
‘No, I know, I’m just saying. They’re still your friends and neighbours. They want to support you.’ I stepped into the front ga
rden and he took a step too.
‘Where are you going with this, Tom?’ I knew him well enough to tell there was something else he wanted to say.
‘I just—’ Tom paused and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up in tufts on the top of his head. ‘Chris mentioned some things have been said on the internet, that’s all. I don’t want you suddenly coming across them.’
‘What kind of things?’
‘Stupid people with nothing better to do, that’s all. Not your friends. Not anyone who knows you, Charl.’
‘What kind of things?’ I asked again, feeling my throat burn with dread.
‘Just …’ He sighed ruefully. ‘What were you doing when she went missing? How come our kids are OK?’
I took a step back, as if he’d slapped me.
‘Oh, Charlotte,’ he said, reaching out and taking hold of my arms.
‘I can’t do this now,’ I cried, jerking myself out of reach.
‘I’m sorry.’ Tom gaped at me as if he were hurt or worried, or maybe even both. ‘I should never have said anything.’
‘Well it’s too late now, isn’t it?’ I snapped and ran to the car before he could utter another word.
I’d rarely been to Harriet’s house because she always preferred coming to mine. She’d often sit at my kitchen island and run her hands gently across its oak surface as if it were made of the most precious wood.
‘Harriet, you don’t need to worry,’ I once laughed as she carefully placed her coffee mug down, checking for rings under it when I hadn’t given her a coaster.
‘Habit,’ she murmured, smiling sheepishly.
‘Well, I’m not worried about stains,’ I told her. ‘The kids make plenty of those.’ But still she would swipe her hand across the surface and tell me everything she loved about my home, while inside I was begging her to stop.
In contrast Harriet’s house was small and unbearably dark. The first time I visited she apologised for its lack of light, leading me quickly to the kitchen at the back.
‘Don’t be silly, it’s lovely,’ I told her. ‘I can’t believe you painted all this yourself.’