by Olivia Levez
There are concerns for her safety.
If you have information about Willow’s whereabouts, please phone 0800 229431.
Mr Stephens is offering a cash reward for information leading to his daughter’s safe return.
So Daddy and the Handbag still went through with the wedding, then. It didn’t stop them. Didn’t make them think that, actually, it may not be such a great idea to get married when their daughter and soon-to-be stepdaughter is actually missing.
They didn’t think that she’d packed her bag and stuffed her dress inside a tree and placed herself in obvious danger by hitching a lift with a totally random stranger and had withdrawn all her savings out of her account, so was obviously not thinking of coming back any time soon!
Oh, I know, I know, it’s like The Boy Who Cried Wolf, isn’t it? But running away for the first time when you are seven is very different from a spoilt seventeen-year-old getting into a strop because she doesn’t like the idea of her rich Daddy getting married. Is that what Scally really thinks of me?
But I’m not that girl anymore, am I? Isn’t she who I’m running away from?
I think of the homeless girl at Paddington, in her grubby too-big coat; the look of fear as I leaned forward to slip Daddy’s card into her cup. I didn’t care at all about her, did I? Not really. I was only out for myself. I thought that I would get one over the police and my father by setting her up. I wasn’t giving her money; I was placing her in a trap.
I hope that she’s all right, that she’s been fed, and that people are being kind to her. Maybe it’ll be a blessing in disguise, going to prison. At least it’ll be warm. I think of my night on the seafront and shiver. At least she’ll be safe now.
Won’t she?
I stare at the picture of Willow Stephens looking back at me, and our eyes lock, and I think, I really think, that I –
don’t know
who
I am
any more.
Transcript of Telephone Conversation between DS Tracy Scallion and Willow Stephens, Friday 27 May 2016 at 10.11 A.M.
Willow: Where’s Daddy? I want to talk to Daddy.
Scallion: Your father’s not able to speak right now. We’re looking for you, Willow. We are coming to find you.
Willow: You don’t know where I am.
Scallion. Lovey, you can’t hide forever. I know that you’ll have run out of money. You’ll be lonely, even if you have found someone to hook up with. The days are long, aren’t they, Willow? And the nights are even longer. Where do you go, Willow? Do you hang out with the other lonely people, on the streets? On benches? In bus shelters? Are you cold at night, Willow? Your money’s getting low now, isn’t it, love? You’ve made your point now. Don’t you think you should come home?
Willow: I’m never coming home. No one can make me.
Scallion: You’re right, Willow. You’re your own person.
Nobody can make you do anything. But you can’t live like this.
Someday soon, you’re going to run out of money and luck. It’s dangerous out there alone, lovey.
Willow: Is she gone? Is she still there?
Scallion: [sighs] Who, lovey?
Willow: The Handbag – Kayleigh-Ann.
Scallion: Your dad and his wife are still together, if that’s what you mean. Where are you staying, Willow? Give us your location so that we can come to get you.
Willow: How much is he paying you this time?
Scallion: [pause] Your father doesn’t pay me, Willow.
Willow: Did they still go?
Scallion: Go where, love?
Willow: Did they still go? To the Maldives? On their honeymoon? They still went, didn’t they? Didn’t they?
[pause]
Call ends.
Balancing Act
Posh Pawn has a plasma television for sale in the window.
On the screen, it’s all set up for a press conference, and my heart flips as I see him.
Daddy.
It’s been three days since Suz stole my money. Two nights sleeping rough. One hour since I made that phone call. The lady with the baby was more than happy to let me use her phone when I said that my sister was ill; I desperately needed to contact her. It was easy to lie, but harder to ignore the flinch of fear and sympathy in her eyes. Did she know that I was lying? I don’t know.
There’s Daddy on TV, in a crumpled shirt and crooked tie, his hair ungelled, his eyes shadowed. He looks tired and old, as if he’s not been sleeping.
This is all because of me, I think. He’s here because he’s afraid for me. He’s worried I could be dead. Or kidnapped. Or in danger. I’ve caused this. I’ve made his nights long and sleepless, and worry for me has raddled his face with extra lines, and made him look suddenly older than his fifty-five years, rather than much younger, like on his wedding day.
I try to feel happy about this.
It shows he cares, I think. He’s terrified I won’t ever be found. I might be dead. His only child could be lying in a shallow grave, in some wood or wasteland or ditch, and he wouldn’t know. He’s terrified about that.
I try to feel happy that I have caused Daddy this fear.
He’s sitting next to Scally, and there’s no sign of her, none at all. Scally leans close to him and mutters something, and Daddy nods, turns to face the camera.
I lean forward. I want so much to hear what Daddy’s got to say about me; to hear how much he’s missing me, that he wants me to come home.
The camera zooms in a little. Daddy clears his throat, looks straight at me.
‘Willow,’ he says.
Time stops and slows. I drink in Daddy with my eyes. Now it’s going to happen, I think. He’s going to say that he loves me, that he’s going to come and find me, that he’s going to bring me home.
There is no sign of Kayleigh-Ann. He’s left her to come here, to this crowded room, to talk to me. To plead for my safe return. For me to come back.
‘Willow, please come home. I want you to come home. I believe –’
My heart’s skittering so much I can hardly breathe.
‘I believe that we can work things out, I believe –’
But what Daddy believes, I don’t hear. Because at that moment, there’s a ripple through the row of seated people. Daddy’s eyes flicker to the right, and there’s the twitch of a smile.
And now Scally’s standing up, and other people are pressing themselves back, like at a cinema, to let someone pass, to get to their seat next to Daddy. And that someone, of course, is Kayleigh-Ann.
The reason that they need to give her a lot of space is evident immediately. Because she has really put on an awful lot of weight since I last saw her on her wedding day. This Kayleigh-Ann is looking rounded and glowing, and her serious face and Daddy’s can’t disguise the happiness they feel, and nothing can hide the way he places his hand briefly over her hand on her rounded belly, swelling under her stretchy plunge-necked top.
Daddy is still saying words, and I’m aware of his mouth moving and rounding and unrounding but I can’t hear, I can’t hear any of them, because, because –
he’s not really thinking of me at all, is he? He can’t be,
not if
not if
her hand, his hand
is placed on that bump, that belly, that
that thing
that he’s already replaced me with.
Willow, Aged Fifteen
‘Open your eyes – surprise!’ Daddy says.
I unpeel my eyes, and squeal with delight. ‘Oh, Daddy, you got him, you got him!’
He’s beautiful, just like the ones you see in the circus. He’s Appaloosa, with a white muzzle mottled with black spots. I reach forward and he comes trotting over at once, nudging my hand for food.
‘He needs a lot of work,’ Daddy smiles. ‘You’ll have to break him in. Think you can manage?’
I blow gently into Spook’s muzzle, let him kiss me back. He is so striking, I can already imagine us togethe
r at the school gymkhana. He’ll be instantly recognisable, the only spotted horse, and of course with me as his rider.
I can’t wait to take him to school to show Beanie. I’ll even let her ride him sometimes.
I fling my arms around my father. I snatch a glance in her direction, to see if she’s put out about my beautiful new horse, but she’s looking across at the field with such a look of wonder on her face that I have to look too.
‘I couldn’t resist,’ Daddy laughs. ‘I know that Ted Bailey must have thought I was a walkover, but they came as a pair really. Couldn’t separate them.’
The Handbag presses her hand over her mouth, speechless for once.
I feel my heart racing, and force my breathing to stay at normal level.
It’s my birthday, I’m thinking. It’s my birthday, not hers.
The Handbag clutches me, starry-eyed. ‘Isn’t it brilliant?’ she says. ‘Isn’t it amazing that we’ve both got spotty horses, Wills! We can train them together, get them to perform tricks like at the shows. Oh, Gazza, you’re amazing – thank you, thank you!’
Her horse is very like mine. I have to listen as she runs through hundreds of ridiculous names for him, finally settling on Spotty.
I want to spit and bite. Instead I pose as Daddy takes a photo of the four of us, and make myself smile as the Handbag takes a horse-and-rider selfie to post to her friends.
Then I watch as she leaps onto Daddy to hug him, wrapping her legs around him as if she’s ten years old, not fucking twenty-four.
Lucky Dip
‘Come on then, girls. Scream louder – you know you want to!’
A man’s voice, twangy vowels and smirky through the loudspeaker. A clutch of girls on the Scream Machine kick their legs and squeal. One of them leans forward and looks down as the gondola is slowly ratcheted upwards. Above them, the drop tower blinks with a thousand lights.
I keep thinking I see her, on the carousel, on the dodgems.
‘She has my money!’ I want to shout. ‘She took all of it.’
I go up to the man in the ticket booth of the Scream Machine. He’s swiping at his phone, all the time keeping up his patter – ‘Scream, girls, screaaaaaaaaaammmmmm!’
‘I wonder if you’ll send out a message?’ I say.
His eyes slide over to me. ‘What’s that, darlin’?’
Now he’s looking at me properly, and I force myself to smile. Bright as glass. He smiles too, but it is slow and creeping. I remember that I am wearing red lipstick. Dig my nails into my hands.
‘I need to find my friend,’ I say. ‘She’s got blonde dreadlocks’ Speaks with an Australian accent.’
He flaps his hand at me. ‘Gotta just do this one,’ he says. ‘Aaaaannnnnnd, screammmmmm!’ He drops a lever, and the gondola, which is perched high at the top of the tower, plunges rapidly in a shriek of cries and kicking legs.
‘Well?’ I say. ‘Have you seen her? Will you help me?’
He laughs silently, watching. ‘And why would I help you?’ he says, without taking his eyes off the girls as they scramble off, brushing their skinny jeans and denim miniskirts down.
‘Well,’ I say, leaning closer to his booth. ‘Maybe you could buy me a drink…’
He smirks. ‘Now you’re talking.’
I fidget, scanning the crowds of kids and couples, as he speaks into the Tannoy.
‘And now a message for anyone who’s seen a blondehaired girl with dreadlocks, usually seen playing with fire, please come to the ticket booth. Her friend desperately needs to talk to her.’ He turns to me. ‘That all right, darlin’?’
I snap on my smile. ‘Oh, yes, thank you,’ I say.
I hover beside the ticket booth for the Scream Machine for over an hour, all the time thinking I can see her. I’m also waiting for a hand on my shoulder, for someone to recognise my face. But I don’t look like Willow Stephens, a voice inside me says. Not any more.
You are the girl named Frog. The girl in the yellow coat.
‘I am no one,’ I whisper. Suz, of course, doesn’t come. Neither does anyone claiming to know her whereabouts. She is as invisible as me.
‘Clocking off now, darlin’.’ A voice at my shoulder. It’s Ticket Booth Man, come to claim his reward. He lays his hand casually on the base of my back. ‘How about a little drink at The Mermaid for starters?’ he says, and his voice slides down my spine like engine oil.
I wriggle away. ‘I don’t think so,’ I say. ‘But thank you anyway.’ I don’t stay to hear the name he calls me as I slip off through the crowds, dodging around a man carrying a child on his shoulders and a woman pushing a double buggy. Instead, I spend my last coins on a hot chocolate and a bag of doughnuts, eating them sitting on the steps of the ghost train.
There’s someone following me along the boardwalk. It’s raining now; I can hear it falling in great splatters, but through it, a sound: panting, breathing.
I swing round.
It’s the fairground man. He’s hunched against the rain, in a black jacket, but I can see the whites of his eyes. He bares his teeth at me. I look above him, at the promenade, and wish I had chosen to walk along the road, where there’s traffic a nd chip shops and people. Here, beside the beach, there’s nothing but bristling sea on one side, and the dark arches on the other. A few fishing boats, rotten and dead, tilt in chains halfway along the beach.
‘You up for a good time, sweetie?’
‘Go away. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go to the pub with you.’
I try to push past him, to where the steps are.
He stands in front of me, and the boardwalk shudders. In the light of the lamps above, his eyes glint like granite. For a small man, he fills up a lot of space.
‘I need to go now, please.’
The air is thick with menace, dark as a threat.
Fairground Man laughs. Then he whistles.
Another figure sidles up from nowhere, from the shadows of late evening, when day sinks into dark.
A boy, nineteen or so. Blurry tattoo on the side of his neck, skinny hands like a lady’s. He would be beautiful, if it weren’t for his eyes, which are bright and mad.
‘Piss off,’ I say.
An outbreath, forced through laughter. The boardwalk rocks as he jiggles on the soles of his trainers.
‘I don’t like people who change their mind,’ says Fairground Man. ‘It’s not fair, is it, Hash?’ Teeth flash silver. His eyes are cold and dead.
‘Not fair…’ echoes Hash, in a high, soft voice. He moves for ward, and places his hand on the wall of the arches. The hairs on the back of his hand are pale. He is holding something.
I look for somewhere to run. I am fit and strong. I can get out of this.
Turns out I can’t.
I always knew this was coming. You can’t keep running without expecting one day to get caught.
There’s danger in men’s smiles. Who was it said that? Lady Macbeth? Or was it daggers? Hash has a knife, I see that now. He has a little knife hidden in his fist, and the mean edge of it glints, just enough for me to see. He wants me to see, I realise.
‘Want me to keep you warm?’ Fairground Man says, smiling. ‘I know a place.’
I need to find somewhere to hide. I need to run –
But it’s too late for that. Two men and one girl is no match. Sudden as a shriek, they’re onto me, pushing, pressing me against the wall of the arches. Above, traffic hums and roars. Somewhere, an engine throbs.
I writhe and kick and fight – try to bite the hand that clamps me. For some reason I think of the Haunted House. Three tokens per person! it says, in letters which drip blood. There’s a picture of the Grim Reaper with his scythe. The rain streams, and there is nobody to see me. My only weapon, my scream, is trapped like a bird behind a rough hand. Fairground Man’s signet ring digs into my cheekbone.
I can’t let them push me down.
There’s a bizarre dance shuffle and gasp as they try to move me into the shadows where we can’t
be seen. Beneath us, the boardwalk shudders.
I can’t fall, mustn’t let them push me into there, where the day’s been sucked into night; I must stay out, near the sea. Can’t let them push me over.
Scuffling shoes. Breathing. The sour bite of a fleshy hand.
‘Bitch bit me –’
Can’t hold, can’t hold them away much longer.
‘What the–?’
A whoosh of something bright and hot and flaring. The smell of Kerosene and smoke.
Another dark figure, small and wild. Hair dancing like snakes.
‘Ouch – get it away from me –’
A whirligig of flames, ribboning great arcs through the ripped darkness.
Howls and sparks and madness. A burning brand is pushed up under Hash’s chin. Through the flames, a pair of glinting eyes, smoke-maddened. Dancing crazy patterns. Broken tooth, black mouth, swinging dreads.
A voice. ‘Get off her.’
That voice. I’d know it anywhere.
Suz.
She’s back.
One of the men laughs, but uncertainly. The flames zither over his skin.
‘Get off her or I kill you.’
Now they stop. Just to snigger.
‘It’s a little lady.’
‘Hello, laaadyyy.’
There is a swooshing sound, and something lands by our heads. The man twists round to see, and splutters, swears.
‘What the –’
Another missile flies, bounces against the boarding, and lands in a thud of sparks. I wrench myself free from Hash’s hand, and back away. Wooden slats bounce as I stumble to the ground. My hands find wood, not flesh. I stay there for a moment, on my hands and knees, breath screaming.
Free.