My Little Girl

by Shalini Boland

  I already picked up my car last night on the way home from the police station as I was under the limit when they let me go. At least I’m allowed to drive for the moment – until I’m convicted. But we’ve decided to walk to the fair this morning as parking is either difficult to find or expensive, especially on a Sunday when the fairground is likely to be busy.

  On our way to the meeting point, we bump into Leslie and Trina, friends from the museum. Leslie’s my age, a small, quiet brunette, and we get on really well. Trina’s around a decade younger than us, stocky with short ash-blonde hair. She’s a little bossy, but I let her have her way most times as her issues aren’t generally worth arguing over, and I prefer a peaceful life. I notice that Trina’s carrying a megaphone. If this weren’t such a dire situation, I’d have a giggle to myself about it.

  I introduce them both to Laurel, then they give me a hug and ask how I’m doing.

  ‘Shell-shocked. But glad to at least be doing something. I thought you were both scheduled to work today.’

  ‘We’ve closed up the museum for the morning,’ Leslie replies. ‘Thought it was more important to be out here looking for the little one.’

  Emotion bubbles up and I swallow it down before mumbling my thanks.

  ‘We also put a picture of your granddaughter on the main entrance door with your contact details, telling people to join in the search party,’ Trina adds. ‘And I popped into town to pick up some whistles. So whoever finds her can use one to let everyone know.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say. Thank you.’ I’m overcome by their thoughtfulness.

  As we approach our destination, my heart sinks at the enormous crowd gathered on the playing field to the left of the fairground, some of them sporting high-vis sashes and jackets. There’s already a heat haze rising off the patchy grass, making the crowds appear to merge and ripple. I stop walking for a moment. ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Laurel stops and turns, enveloped in a cloud of her cherry-scented vape steam.

  ‘Over there on the field. I think there must be an event on, some kind of fun run or charity race. Look at all those people. I hope we can find our search volunteers in among all that lot.’

  Trina gives me a friendly elbow in the side. ‘Silly. Those are the search volunteers.’

  I frown, sure she must be mistaken. ‘There are so many of them. At least a hundred, maybe even two hundred. I only messaged about thirty or forty.’

  ‘Brilliant.’ Leslie gives me a smile. ‘Word must have spread.’

  As we draw closer, I spot friends and acquaintances, all of whom nod or wave or give kind smiles. But many of the volunteers are strangers to me. This is overwhelming. Almost too much to deal with. Once again, I have to gulp down my emotion. This isn’t about me; this is about finding Beatrice.

  Trina might be a touch annoying to work with, but here, in this situation, she’s the sort of person you need around to take charge. Once we reach the swelling crowd of volunteers, she sets about organising everyone, using her megaphone to split people into different search parties and handing out whistles. I’m more than happy to let her get on with it. I can’t imagine that we won’t find my darling Bea, not with this many people searching.

  In a rush of optimism, I picture myself calling Oliver to tell him that we’ve found her safe and well. Bringing Beatrice back home where Claire and Oliver will be overjoyed. We’ll all go out to dinner to celebrate. Or maybe we’ll stay in and I’ll cook for everyone… But I’m getting ahead of myself. I can’t let myself hope too much. First things first – find Beatrice.

  ‘Jill!’

  I turn at the sound of a woman’s voice calling my name. She’s tall and blonde, standing with a group of people in their thirties, all of whom I vaguely recognise. I give a guarded smile, trying to place them.

  ‘Lucy Darraway,’ she prompts. ‘I went to school with Ollie.’

  ‘Lucy! Of course. Forgive me.’ I realise the group she’s with are all Oliver’s friends from school. I remember them crowding into our kitchen after lessons or lounging in the garden during summer holidays. Oliver went out with most of the girls at one time or another. But they were fleeting relationships, ultimately ending in friendship. As well as Lucy, I recognise Matthew Evans, Susanne, whose parents lived in a beautiful house at Mudeford Quay, and Freya Collins whose family owns a farm, and who’s now firm friends with Claire.

  They tell me how shocked they were to hear about Beatrice and assure me that they’ll do their best to track her down. I hug them each in turn before moving off to greet other familiar faces and thank them for coming.

  ‘All I’m saying is that I’d rather you didn’t vape around me. It smells disgusting.’ A deeply tanned couple in their forties are facing Laurel. The man’s wearing jeans and a white shirt. The woman is dressed in jeans, a striped Breton top and gold jewellery, and she’s currently having a go at my friend.

  ‘Yes, well, I’m not keen on your face, darling, but you don’t hear me complaining about it.’ Laurel’s high voice carries over the crowd.

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t speak to my wife like that.’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t speak to me at all, but we can’t always get what we want,’ Laurel retorts.

  ‘Hey, hey, let’s calm down.’ It’s Freya, her shoulder-length chestnut hair tied back off her pretty freckled face. She glares at all three of them. ‘This is about finding a lost child. If you’re going to cause a scene then better to go home and leave the search to people who are serious about it.’

  The couple glower and stomp off while Laurel blows steam in Freya’s face.

  ‘Very mature.’ Freya shakes her head and turns away.

  ‘I don’t appreciate patronising busybodies,’ Laurel calls after her.

  But Freya walks back to her friends without responding.

  I don’t want to appear to be taking sides in this and now is certainly not the time to be drawn into any kind of altercation, so I turn away and pretend not to have seen anything. I decide to try to find Trina again and see where she suggests I search.

  ‘Jill Nolan?’ An attractive blonde-haired man in jeans and an open-neck shirt approaches. ‘Someone pointed me in your direction and said you’re Jill, grandmother of the missing seven-year-old, is that correct?’

  I’m a little unnerved by his forthright manner so I glance around looking for a friendly face, but I can’t seem to spot anyone I know nearby. All my friends seem to be dispersing across the field within their allocated groups, either towards the distant treeline or heading off to the side streets that snake away from the field. I don’t think this man is here to help in the search and he doesn’t look like a police officer.

  ‘Hi. Sorry, who are you?’

  ‘Giles Renton with the Christchurch Daily Argus.’

  ‘A journalist.’

  ‘That’s right. We’d like to do our bit and put the word out. Help find little Beatrice.’ He beckons over another man who’s lurking beneath a leafy tree. Judging by the camera slung over his shoulder, he’s the photographer. ‘Can we get a photo of you?’ Giles continues. ‘Were you the one with her when she disappeared?’

  I realise I’m gaping at the two of them, unsure what to do next. I wish I hadn’t abandoned Laurel now. She’d know exactly what to say to these people. Unlike me. I’m completely out of my depth here.

  ‘You want a photo of me? But I look an absolute fright.’ I pat my hair self-consciously as the photographer’s camera clicks. ‘It would be better if you used a photo of Beatrice.’

  ‘It must have felt awful when you lost her.’ Giles’s blue eyes are brimming with sympathy.

  ‘It really did,’ I reply, suddenly feeling close to tears again. ‘It’s been a dreadful time.’

  ‘Well, let’s see if we can find her for you.’ He gives me an encouraging smile and I start to feel a little more optimistic.

  Twelve

  CLAIRE

  ‘Well, that was all quite strange.’ Ol
iver comes back into the kitchen after seeing Gayle out.

  I’m finally dressed, in linen shorts and a cotton strappy top, sitting at the kitchen table, the room now clean and sparkling after Gayle’s visit. The family liaison officer didn’t sit down the whole time she was here, which was basically all morning. She made tea, cleaned the kitchen and chatted virtually non-stop.

  ‘At least she was nice,’ I say.

  ‘And easy to talk to.’ Oliver joins me at the table. ‘She said she’ll be back tomorrow. Does that mean she’s coming every day until we get Beatrice back?’

  ‘Maybe.’ I shrug and shake my head. ‘I’m hoping and praying that they’ll find Bea today. How can we just sit here, Ollie? While our daughter’s God knows where? Honestly, I feel so useless!’

  ‘Me too. But this wasn’t exactly our plan. We said that this morning we were going to search the streets again. And then Gayle showed up. So we didn’t really have a choice.’

  ‘Now it’s past lunchtime! I can’t believe the police have no leads. How can they not have found her yet?’

  ‘At least they’re looking.’ Oliver shakes his head. ‘At least they’re doing something. I mean, they had their search dogs and the helicopter and they questioned all the fairground staff…’

  ‘But it’s not enough. Questioning them isn’t enough. They need to cross-reference things.’ My brain suddenly clears, like wipers across a dirty windscreen. ‘They need to look at whether any other kids have gone missing wherever the fair last set up, or the place before that. Are the police doing that?’ My blood is heating up, my hands trembling. I just feel so helpless. I hate things being out of my control at the best of times, but this situation with Beatrice… it’s torture. ‘I just don’t trust that they’re doing everything in their power.’

  ‘We’ll ask Gayle,’ Oliver replies. ‘I’ll call her. See if she knows.’

  I finally get to my feet. ‘Why didn’t I ask her while she was here? I feel like I’m only just waking up. And I wish Phil would give it a bloody rest!’ Our neighbour, Philip Aintree, is a DIY nut. He’s in his forties and lives with his eighty-year-old mother, Sue. He’s a nice enough guy but doesn’t understand that people just might want a bit of peace and quiet at the weekend. His hammering has been intermittent all morning. The worst part is when he stops and you’re on edge waiting for him to start up again. Sue’s hard of hearing, so it doesn’t bother her in the slightest.

  ‘Want me to have a word with him?’ Oliver’s being particularly helpful today. Normally it’s me calling people and sorting stuff out. Maybe he’s feeling guilty.

  ‘Ugh, don’t worry about it now. We should grab some food and go out again. I checked online and the fair’s only in town for another two days, so maybe we should go and have a snoop around.’

  ‘You think she might be there?’

  I grow cold just thinking about it. ‘I don’t know, but we can’t rule out anything, can we?’

  My husband’s slate-green eyes fill with anxiety as the thought of where our daughter might be sinks in. ‘I can’t even… Right now I just want to punch the wall.’ He gets to his feet and starts pacing, his fists bunched, the muscles in his jaw flexing.

  ‘Are you going to ring Gayle, or do you want me to do it?’

  He glares at me. ‘I said I’ll do it.’

  He snatches up his phone as the doorbell rings. We lock eyes as hope softens our gazes for a moment. The mere fragment of possibility that Beatrice might be standing outside makes my heart stop.

  I follow Oliver into the hall, towards the front door. I hold my breath as he opens it.

  ‘Ollie!’ A woman’s voice. She throws her arms around my husband and holds him tight. ‘How are you? How’s Claire? God, I’ve been worried to death about you both. About Beatrice. What can I do to help?’ It’s Freya, and I realise that although I’m gutted it’s not Beatrice at the door, I’m really, really relieved to see my friend. ‘I bought some supplies in case you haven’t had time.’ We follow her through to the kitchen where she plonks two shopping bags on the table. ‘Some eggs and milk from the farm, a homemade lasagne and some ready meals from M&S so you don’t have to think about cooking for a couple of days.’

  ‘You’re an actual angel,’ I say.

  ‘Thanks, Freya.’ Ollie’s reception isn’t as warm as mine. Although they went to school together, she’s become more my friend than his, and he gets fed up with our chats about clothes, work, TV shows, local gossip and anything and everything else we talk about. Ollie is more of a listener and a thinker than a talker. He turns to me with a frown. ‘Are we still going out?’

  Freya tightens her chestnut ponytail and flicks a blue-eyed gaze from Ollie to me. ‘Did I come at a bad time? Are you going out?’

  ‘Yes, but have a seat for a minute.’

  ‘I still can’t believe what’s happened.’ Freya sits at the table and I slide in opposite her, watching Ollie shift impatiently. ‘You two must be beside yourselves. I thought I’d see you down at the playing fields this morning.’

  ‘Playing fields?’ I don’t know what she’s talking about.

  ‘You know, Jill’s search party at the fair.’

  I frown and glance up at Oliver, who stops fidgeting for the moment.

  Freya continues. ‘They’re still all going strong down there, but I thought I’d nip up to see how you’re both doing. I left messages, but…’

  ‘Sorry, back up.’ My frown deepens. ‘What search party are you on about?’

  ‘Your mum.’ Freya looks up at Oliver. ‘She got all her friends together to arrange a search party for Bea. This one friend of hers – a right mad bitch – you’d hate her, Claire, she’s got a megaphone and a clipboard and all these whistles. It’s like some kind of military operation down there. Honestly, they’re covering some serious ground though, so I guess it’s pretty good. I’m planning to head straight back down there.’

  I feel my hackles rise at the thought of all this going on while I’ve been left here in the dark. I swing my gaze to Oliver. ‘Did you know about this?’

  ‘What? No, course not. Why would I have kept that from you?’

  ‘Sorry, have I just put my foot in it?’ Freya’s tanned face reddens. ‘Jill probably just wanted to leave you in peace. Maybe she thought you’d be too upset to join in.’

  ‘Too upset to search for our missing daughter? Who, by the way, she lost.’ I unclench my fists and exhale.

  ‘Sorry.’ Freya raises her hands. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’ She lowers her hands again. ‘On second thoughts, shoot away. You have every right to be angry with everyone today.’

  ‘You’re being a bit harsh on my mum, Claire,’ Oliver interjects, a hurt expression that makes my chest pang with guilt clouding his face. ‘I’m sure she’s only trying to help, with this search party. She didn’t lose Bea on purpose.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Ollie. It’s just… your mum seems to be dropping bombshell after bombshell this weekend.’

  ‘I know it seems that way…’

  ‘It is that way.’

  ‘Well, I think Freya’s right. Mum probably thought we had enough on our plate, especially after last night when I didn’t pick her up.’

  Freya raises a questioning eyebrow at me, but I just shake my head. I’ll tell her about Jill’s drink-driving debacle some other time when it’s just the two of us.

  She stands. ‘I should get out of your hair, get back to the search. I won’t stop until we’ve found her.’

  ‘It’s fine, you stay for a bit, Freya.’ Ollie wipes the crumbs from the side of his mouth and turns to me. ‘I may as well join in Mum’s search party. Why don’t you both catch me up in a while after you’ve had a chat.’

  I give a half nod half shrug. There’s no way I’m joining Jill’s search party. I just can’t face seeing her at the moment. In the meantime, I want to quiz Freya about it, find out who’s there and how it’s going. I want to hear if she’s got any theories or suggestions. I also want to blow off s
ome steam about my mother-in-law, and I obviously can’t do that while Ollie’s around. Besides, I wouldn’t mind crying on my best friend’s shoulder about Bea disappearing. Freya’s a good listener.

  Oliver’s mad at me, and I can’t blame him. Bea going missing seems to have removed my politeness filters. I’m spewing every thought that comes into my head without any consideration. I’m so stressed that I don’t even care. I only hope I don’t end up pissing off Freya too.

  The stubborn, annoyed part of me doesn’t want to join in Jill’s search party, but more than that, I don’t feel up to talking to people right now – especially not Jill and all her friends. Answering questions about what happened and how I’m doing. So I’ll call Ollie a little later and tell him I’ve changed my mind. And then I’ll go searching for Bea by myself. Perhaps I can cover the area around here and maybe even up St Catherine’s Hill. I suppose there’s the tiniest possibility that she may have tried to get home, but got lost, even though I know that’s highly unlikely.

  Oliver kisses me goodbye, which I’m hoping means we’ve made up after our embarrassing display of bickering. As the front door closes behind him, my body droops a little.

  ‘You okay, chick?’ Freya starts putting the groceries away, stacking the ready meals in the fridge. ‘Silly question I know. You must be… I don’t even know how you must be feeling. Anything you need, just tell me, okay? And I mean anything. Mum and Dad send their love too.’

  I nod and murmur a quiet thank you. ‘I don’t even know what happened last night. Ollie was supposed to be taking the girls, not Jill. So when I found out she’d lost Bea, I was furious. Don’t get me wrong, Jill’s lovely and she absolutely adores Beatrice, but…’ I throw up my hands, tired of repeating the same things over and over again.

  ‘She’s scatty,’ Freya finishes for me. ‘I get it.’

  ‘I don’t even think it’s her age. It’s more her personality. She thinks she’s this free spirit and that Beatrice should have her freedom and not be micro-managed. I mean, in an ideal world, I agree with her. I’d love to live in a society where kids play out on their own and have as much freedom as we did when we were kids. But things aren’t like that any more. Aside from the traffic, there are just too many bad people out there. Too many people who… if they got hold of Bea…’ I stop talking because I can’t bear to vocalise my fears.