by NC Marshall
I’m buying the gift partly because it’s her birthday in a couple of days’ time and partly because I want to apologise. I haven’t been totally truthful with her these past couple of months. When she arrives home from visiting Auntie Trish in Scotland, I intend to tell her that I have spent the last couple of months searching for my dad behind her back. I’ve spent hours on the Internet researching him. It took a little while, but then I found out his name. Once I had that, it didn’t take long to learn more about him.
Up until recently, I’ve had no reason to want to find out who my father is but I suppose curiosity finally got the better of me. I now know my dad’s name is Jake Saunders, that he’s thirty-eight years old, and originally from Manchester. He lived in Sandbroke where my mum grew up for a couple of years before moving and settling in Yorkshire. I have his big blue eyes and the exact same skin tone.
At first, I was excited and even thought about arranging to meet him. But then I did a bit more digging was disgusted with what I found out. I now know he isn’t a nice man in fact, he’s not far off being a monster; he has done some very bad things and he is currently in prison in Leeds. He was charged a year ago with killing his daughter. Mia was only a few years younger than me. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to have a brother or sister, not that I’m grumbling. I’ve been brought up as an only child and I can't complain about the family that I have. I know now that Mum didn’t tell me about my dad to protect me. She probably is unaware that I had a half-sister and I understand that. I wish I hadn’t started looking and that I never found out who my dad was.
I know that you have been following me for the past ten minutes. Don’t bother trying to hide because I know now who you are; I saw your picture in the same newspaper archive that told me my dad was a murderer.
I step out of the jewellers and purposefully bend to tie my shoelace to check you are still there. At first I think that you have gone, but then I catch a glimpse of you through the crowds. You’ve changed your hair colour from what it was in the newspaper photo, but I have a good memory for faces and I can tell instantly it’s definitely you. I continue walking, quickening my pace in the direction of the train station. As soon as I get there I’ll tell Mum everything and explain that I think you are here, she’ll know what to do. I try my best to get through the crowds of shoppers winding my way through the bodies in an attempt to shake you off. But I know it’s too late, I've been stupid and run out of time. You have reached me.
I know you are there before I even turn around. There's a shift in the air, the wind changes its direction ever so slightly, but just enough to make me aware you’re behind me. I don’t dare turn to look at you. I want to pretend that I’m imagining it, but the busy street is full of people and I don’t want to make any more commotion for them than is necessary.
I calmly place my bags of shopping on the pavement trying my best to avoid the stares from passersby who have noticed that something isn’t quite right. I look down at the beautifully wrapped parcel that sits on the ground, its paper packaging now soaking up the rain from the damp pavement. I was looking forward to seeing her face when she opens it. That's not going to happen now.
A little girl of about seven years old clutching a large brown fuzzy teddy bear comes out of the store next to me. Her tightly curled hair is pulled into pigtails secured with bright pink grips. She smiles sweetly, then looks puzzled as her mother mutters something, then drags her quickly away.
I still have my back to you, but I can now see a reflection in the shop window that I am standing near. The image is blurred in its rain streaked glass. I watch silently as you take a step closer to me and raise an item from inside your jacket pocket, the hazy sun shines against it and I realise it’s a small handgun. Although I’m shocked, I knew there was a possibility that this day was going to come.
Now panic sets in around us.
“It’s a gun,” I hear a man shout from somewhere close.
“Someone call the police,” another yells loudly.
People start to run. The sound of screaming rings loudly in my ears. The busy street quickly clears, now becoming too quiet and extremely eerie for a Saturday afternoon in a normally busy city centre.
“How did you find me?” I ask, still with my back to you. My voice shakes, as does my whole body.
You don’t answer.
I close my eyes. Tears start to stream down my cheeks, fear raging inside of me, or is it fury? I can hear sirens in the distance. Their noise gets gradually louder. Help is on its way, but it's too late now, you have hold of me around the neck. I don’t attempt to get free. I’m too traumatised. Too frightened. My knees give way, but your hold prevents me from falling to the ground.
Your grip is so tight I can't breathe. With one hand you grab hold of my hair, wrenching my head painfully to one side. 1,2,3 wake up, 1,2,3 wake up!
But this isn’t another dream. The silent and desperate plea to my subconscious won't work this time.
I scream out as you put the gun to my temple. The cold hard metal penetrates through my skull. Your breath is heavy and hot on my ear. Your breathing is fast, but still you don’t speak.
I close my eyes squeezing them shut as tightly as I can, waiting for the trigger to be drawn. The bullet. My death. But it doesn’t come as quickly as I thought it would.
Police sirens grow louder and blue lights now blaze behind my eyes as I wait for the sound that is going to be the last thing I ever hear. There is no bright light for me to enter. There are no angels or lost loved ones waiting—maybe they will come later. I don’t see all the significant times of my life; specific memories, important life milestones or the people in my life that I hold dearest. Instead, my mind is clear and calm. I’m not afraid anymore. I’m ready.
Then suddenly, I hear it, the deafening bang. A noise that vaguely sounds like my own voice crying out echoes in my ears as I fall towards the damp pavement. The police sirens sound fades away. The light behind my eyes weakens as I continue to fall. Then I see nothing but darkness.
I don’t feel myself hit the ground.
Chapter 33
The police are waiting for me by the time I get to the station exit. Mark has done his job well; they are fully briefed on my case and eager to find my daughter as soon as possible. They quickly usher me into the back of a parked patrol car.
“Hi, Emily, I’m Police Constable Reynolds, Northumbria Police,” a youngish looking girl, with pinned-back mid-length blonde hair says to me. She turns in the front of the car so she can make eye contact from the front seat as the car pulls away. “And this is Sergeant Callaghan.” She points to the older officer driving the car next to her who has a shaven head and an overly stern look on his face. His uniform is stretched tightly over a huge set of shoulders and broad torso. I can't help thinking that on first appearance, he looks like he should be on the opposite side of the law to the one he chooses to enforce as a profession.
“Inspector Logan has been in touch and told us what has happened. Can I take a look at the photo you told him you received?” asks Reynolds.
I nod and pull my mobile from my pocket to hand to her. She inspects it then passes the phone to Callaghan, who takes a quick look at the photo of Lucy and hands me back the phone over his left shoulder before setting his eyes back to the road ahead.
“The photo was taken just over an hour ago Serg,” says Reynolds to Callaghan, who nods in response.
“Looks like it was taken just off Northumberland Street,” adds Callaghan. “What makes you think something has happened to your daughter, Miss Moore?” His voice is softer than I imagined it would be, given his size. Though it comes nowhere close to settling me.
“I've been trying to call her but she’s not answering, I just know something isn’t right. They sent me the photo to warn me they are watching her.”
“Is there anybody you know who would have any reason to want to harm your daughter?”
“No, I thought it could be her father, but I was
wrong.”
“Well, you’ve done the right thing. Hopefully whoever this is has not approached her.” Officer Reynolds gives me a reassuring smile which doesn’t work. I rub at my eyes that are sore and swollen and tug at the collar of my shirt that seems to be threatening to strangle me. My head is banging, tension cuts through my shoulders and up my neck like a tightening vise. Officer Reynolds begins to ask me questions about Lucy as we near the street where her photo was taken; height, weight, and clothes she is wearing. Her voice seems distant and slow like she’s trying to talk under water. Although they have now seen the photo, to them it’s not very obvious. The photo isn’t in very good focus and the quality of it doesn’t look like it was produced on an expensive, flashy camera phone like everyone is used to seeing these days. Mark did say that Ali’s old phone was just a cheap model, so it makes sense that this could be from the phone that was more than likely stolen from her. To me, the photograph is as clear as crystal.
I’m aware that I need to call my mum and dad, at the same time I don’t want to worry them unnecessarily and I am conscious it will take up valuable minutes.
“Five-two, petite, slim build, long blonde hair, blue eyes, wearing blue stone-wash skinny jeans, a plain white vest top, looks like she has her pink hoodie tied around her waist and she’s wearing her white Converse trainers.” I’d worked overtime at the restaurant for a month to save up to get those trainers for her. You would have thought I had given her a thousand pounds, she was so grateful when I presented them to her last month. I wipe at my watery eyes and finish rattling off Lucy’s description as Sergeant Callaghan bends and speaks into a radio.
We continue through the city centre. I carefully study every young girl I see who looks even a little like Lucy as we pass, hope builds and then quickly drops, breaking just like the ocean waves at Ceaders Bay on a rough day.
“Do you know where Lucy was heading?” asks Reynolds.
“She said she was doing some shopping.” I move the seatbelt away from my neck, finding it increasingly more difficult to breathe.
“Do you know which shops she was going to?”
“No idea. Her grandpa was dropping her in the centre at noon.” I think of my dad and how hard it has been cutting the apron strings when it comes to Lucy. The fact he had even let her go looking around the shops alone for a couple of hours is a pure miracle.
“She didn’t mention what she was shopping for?” asks Reynolds.
“No. It's my birthday in a few days, so it was probably a present for me.” Guilt rips through me painfully. “She was coming to the station to meet me off the train, but she would have been there by the time the train got in; she’s never late.”
“Okay, well, we have an officer at the station, just in case,” Callaghan says.
“Thank you.” I turn back to the window to continue looking for Lucy.
There is a loud crackling on the radio attached to Reynolds. It continues loudly for a few seconds, then stops before it sparks back to life and I hear a voice. I can't quite make out what the person on the other side of the radio is saying. It’s a mixture of police terms and a language that I am sure is English, but my sheer state of despair won't allow me to decipher. Officer Reynolds turns to face me, a concerned look now on her face. I instantly start to panic.
“What's wrong, what's happening?” I ask. Callaghan steps on the accelerator and the car shoots forward as he presses something and a siren starts to sound. That’s the moment I learn that there’s been reports of a suspect with a gun, pointing it at a young girl on a road based near the city’s main shopping district matching Lucy’s description.
Chapter 34
The siren blares. Blue flashing lights reflect brightly against the rain drenched ground. By the time we get there, I can barely breathe and am furiously fighting against passing out. I hear the gunshot as we round the corner to get to the street where Lucy has been sighted, and scream out loudly. It seems to take an eternity for us to get to her. Once there, Sergeant Callaghan brings the car to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road. He gets out of the car and runs to the scene now directly ahead of us. Officer Reynolds holds back and turns to check on me.
“I need air,” I hear myself say. She hesitates briefly before she gets out of the car and opens my door. I throw up violently on the roadside as soon as the fresh air hits me. God, let my daughter be ok.
In the distance, a little farther down the street, Sergeant Callaghan reaches a group of police officers already at the scene where he tries to help to control a growing crowd of people who have started to gather around the area. There are numerous police cars dotting the road and an ambulance is parked farther back on the pavement. I struggle at first to see what the crowd of people is focusing on, then I see a body covered over by a green sheet in the centre of the path. No, please, no.
Without thinking, I start to run. I can hear Officer Reynolds shouting at me, but that just makes me quicken my pace. I use all the force I have to burst through the crowds of people until I reach a group of officers at the front who stop me dead in my tracks. Sergeant Callaghan appears next to them and takes me lightly by the arm, moving me to one side. “We are trying to find out exactly what has happened,” he says calmly. More police arrive and soon the area is starting to clear as people are quickly evacuated from the street as roads are closed and the area is cordoned off.
“I need to see my daughter,” I shout at Callaghan. I can't take my eyes off her body on the ground, small and fragile. I see now that there is blood mixing into the surrounding puddles turning them a deep shade of crimson. I imagine Lucy underneath, her beautiful long golden hair now patched in red soaking up the muddy water from the puddles that have formed. I bend over and clutch my stomach.
Officer Reynolds appears from nowhere by my side and Sergeant Callaghan leaves me again, heading towards the ambulance.
“Who did this?” I scream at Reynolds. “Who killed my daughter?” I look at her, pure despair pulsating through my veins, willing to accept nothing more than a truthful direct answer. When she doesn’t answer immediately, I feel myself getting hysterical again.
“What are you still doing here? Why aren’t you trying to catch the person that did this?” I shove Reynolds hard in the chest, forcing her to stumble backwards. She steadies herself and moves quickly back to my side before draping her arm over my shoulders. I’m aware of a horrible, high pitched voice wailing my daughter’s name over and over, and it takes a little while to realise the awful noise is coming from me. Then I hear another sound, at first I think I’m imagining it. Most likely my mind playing tricks on me, allowing the impossible to happen; for time to turn back on itself.
“Mum.” I whiz around, confused, trying to detect where the noise is coming from, setting my sights once again at the body on the ground. “Mum.” There it is again, louder this time. Then I see Sergeant Callaghan again, making his way over from the ambulance. He has his arm around someone—Lucy. My legs lose their support and I fall helplessly to my knees on the damp pavement as Lucy shakes off Callaghan’s grip. She reaches me within seconds and flings her arms around my neck. She’s crying and clearly distraught, but other than that she doesn’t seem to have a scratch on her.
“Your daughter's fine, Miss Moore,” says Callaghan, reaching us. Lucy buries her head into my neck and continues to weep.
“Thank you, thank you,” I shout to nobody and everybody at the same time.
“The suspect did grab Lucy.” He lowers his voice and moves away slightly as if trying to prevent Lucy from hearing him. “But then they turned the gun on themselves. Your daughter fainted, but otherwise she is unharmed. She wasn’t fully conscious when the shooting took place.” He moves in front of us to purposefully block Lucy’s view of the body on the ground. I’m crying loudly now, tears of joy and sheer relief that she is unharmed. That she is alive.
“I’m so sorry for leaving you,” I whisper into Lucy’s ear.
“It’s alright, Mum, I'm fine
, honestly,” she answers, pulling back and wiping the tears from her face. There she is, my strong little girl. Officer Reynolds steps forward and rubs Lucy affectionately on the arm.
“Let's go and get you a cup of tea and a seat,” she says to Lucy, taking her and guiding her away from the scene. “I’ll make sure Inspector Logan is updated too,” she adds.
“Thank you,” I mouth, this time only to her as they disappear behind the ambulance. The area has now been completely evacuated, apart from police and myself.
“Who is under that sheet?” I ask Callaghan, finally managing to compose myself a little.
“We were hoping you could tell us,” he answers.
I nod, understanding what he is asking of me.
“We don’t have to, if you don’t feel up to it,” he adds.
“No, I’ll do it.”
Callaghan steps forward and pulls up the incident tape cordoning off the section of pavement where the body lies. He holds it for me to pass under, then kneels down at the body and slowly lifts the blanket. He only needs to move it a few centimeters before a gasp catches sharply in my chest and for me to know the identity of the person underneath.
Chapter 35
Mark
I hang up the phone after speaking to the police in Newcastle. Chrissy enters the office and hands me a cup of tea.
“Cheers Chris.” I rub at my head. It’s been banging since Ali disappeared, or at least, since we were led to believe she had disappeared. Whoever was behind this was doing a damn good job of keeping us all on our toes.