My Little Girl

by Shalini Boland

  We eat in the kitchen as the light fades outside, a lone blackbird warbling on the roof of next door’s shed. I see Philip heading up his garden path with a drill in his hand. He’d better not start making a racket at this hour. I’m in no mood to be polite.

  Supper is nourishing but hard to swallow and I barely taste it as my mind jumps from one terrifying thought to another. I stop drinking after one glass, but Oliver’s going hard at the bottle, pouring himself a second glass and then a third.

  ‘Maybe you should slow down a bit.’

  ‘It’s just a couple of glasses of wine.’

  ‘I know, but…’ I trail off. I was going to say we should keep our heads clear in case we’re needed at the station or something, but I don’t have the energy for another argument. ‘Never mind.’

  He drains his glass and pushes his plate away. ‘I needed that. I hadn’t eaten all day.’

  ‘Want anything else?’

  ‘I’m good thanks.’ Oliver gets up and starts rinsing our plates, then loads them into the dishwasher.

  ‘I was planning to put some posters of Beatrice up around the neighbourhood. Do you want to come?’

  ‘What, now?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  He stretches and yawns. ‘Okay. It’s a good idea.’

  I nip into the office to get the posters I printed out earlier, along with some tape. Oliver gets the staple gun from the shed. We spend the next two hours flyering trees and lamp posts, and posting leaflets through doors. It’s difficult seeing Beatrice’s smiling face on each sheet of paper. In the end, I have to turn the stack over so she’s face down.

  When we eventually arrive back home, footsore and weary, the sun is almost past the horizon and the security light flicks on as we trudge up the steps towards the house. Once inside, Oliver turns to me and cups my face in his hands, then leans down and kisses me deeply. A brief reprieve from the nightmare. When I finally pull away, he studies my face and strokes his fingers through my hair.

  ‘How are you doing, Claire Bear?’

  I give him a small, sad smile and stroke his cheek without replying. I’m more than ready to collapse into bed and forget today ever existed. I have to hope that tomorrow yields some positive news. Our house just doesn’t feel like a home right now. It’s nothing more than a building with walls and a roof. A place to eat and sleep. There’s no comfort here at all. Not without the sound of Bea’s laughter filling the rooms.

  Day Five

  I wonder how Claire is taking Oliver’s daytime disappearances. Is she upset? Angry? Bewildered? I hope so. Because I’m enjoying sending him running around, thinking he’ll get his daughter back if he does exactly what I say. I mean, he won’t. Everything he’s doing is purely for my entertainment – and I’m SO enjoying being the anonymous abductor. Enjoying the fact that, for once in my life, things are going my way.

  I want it so that neither of them are there for the other. So that the wedge I drive between them will splinter their relationship apart. For good. I instructed Oliver to explain to Claire that he needed time on his own, away from her. That will really piss her off, I’m sure of it. It’s all too perfect I can hardly stand it.

  Twenty-Six

  JILL

  I nip into M&S to get a couple of pre-prepared salads. It’s a total extravagance but I’ve already done my main shop down the road at the cut-price supermarket, so I don’t feel quite so guilty about this. And things are so hellish at the moment that I can’t think about cooking right now. I justify the expense by telling myself that I need to eat healthily in order to keep my strength up for whatever comes next. I came out early to avoid the crowds, but it’s already stupidly busy.

  I make my way down the aisle, marvelling at the people who can afford to pile their trolleys high with so much luxury food. Even when Bob was alive and earning good money in his sales job, shopping here was always seen as a special treat. I come to a stop at one of the salad chiller cabinets and run my eyes across the shelves, finally selecting a feta and avocado salad that’s big enough to last two or three days, along with a smaller pasta salad. I can bulk them up a bit by adding some cheaper chopped-up veggies. That will do. I pop them into my basket along with a small bottle of fresh orange juice – I’ve got a taste for it after visiting Claire yesterday.

  I wander down the next aisle, trying not to dwell on what she told me while I was there – the rumour about the choirmaster. I barely slept last night with it all whizzing around in my head, and when I finally did nod off, I had the most terrible nightmares that I can’t even bear to think about. I wonder if I should visit Dr Lazeby and ask for something to help me sleep. He prescribed the most wonderful tablets after Bob died that let me drift off into a haze of nothing. The only downside was that I felt awfully groggy during the day, so perhaps that’s not the best idea at the moment.

  I stand in front of the health and medicine section and see if I can find any herbal sleeping remedies. There are a few here that look as though they might do the job. I finally settle on the mildest looking one.

  ‘Jill? What are you doing?’

  I almost jump out of my skin at the sound of my daughter-in-law’s voice. She’s standing right next to me, her black hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, her skin puffy, eyes red-rimmed, dressed casually in denim shorts and a crumpled white top.

  ‘Oh, Claire, hello. I didn’t hear you creeping up on me. How are you? I’m just doing a little shop.’ I’m gabbling. My heart is going like the clappers and sweat is prickling on my lower back.

  ‘Jill,’ she hisses. ‘I saw you!’

  ‘Sorry, what?’ I crumple my brow and give her a bemused look. ‘I don’t follow what you mean. Saw me where?’

  ‘Just now.’ She comes closer and lowers her voice even further so I can barely hear it. ‘I saw you put that pot of pills into your handbag.’

  I give a small laugh of disbelief, holding myself straighter. ‘I can assure you I did not. I put them into my basket. Here…’ I rummage in the almost empty basket for the sleeping tablets, but they’re blatantly not there. I flush and shake my head.

  ‘Look in your handbag,’ Claire insists. ‘That’s where you put them.’

  I huff. ‘Well, this is just ridiculous.’ My fingers start shaking, but I make no attempt to open the large leather bag slung over my shoulder.

  Claire gives me a hard stare. ‘Look, Jill, I’m not saying you did it on purpose or anything, but if you walk out of here with something you haven’t paid for in your bag, you might get stopped by security.’

  ‘Fine.’ I slip my fingers into my handbag, but I can’t seem to locate the pot of pills, not without opening up the whole bag. Claire leans in and pulls the edges apart. She gasps before taking her hand away and giving me a look of disbelief. I purse my lips together to stop myself from crying. Because crammed into my handbag, plain for us both to see, are a tube of M&S luxury chocolates, an avocado, a small tub of feta olives and a packet of salted-caramel Florentines. The only thing that’s not immediately visible is the pot of sleeping pills, which must have slipped down to the bottom of the bag.

  ‘Oh, Jill,’ Claire breathes. ‘What have you done?’

  I quickly reach into my bag and scoop all the items into my shopping basket. There’s no point in making excuses or denying it. I know very well what I was doing and so does she. The question is what’s she going to do about it. Claire takes the shopping from my hand and places it on the floor next to her own abandoned basket.

  ‘Come on,’ she says, taking my arm. ‘Leave all that and come with me.’

  I don’t have the courage to tell her that the sleeping pills are still in my bag.

  Claire leads me out of the store and we walk up the road a little way until we reach the faded wooden bench by the bus stop, which is currently unoccupied. There’s a ringing in my ears and my legs have suddenly gone very wobbly.

  ‘That’s right,’ she says, ‘sit down next to me and take a few deep breaths.’

  I do a
s she says, but I’m finding it hard to draw in enough oxygen and I’m suddenly feeling extremely light-headed. My breathing is raspy and laboured. Claire takes my cold hand in her warm one and breathes along with me, telling me to inhale through my nose and out through my mouth. I want to tell her that I know how to breathe. I’ve done yoga and meditation, visualisation, all of that. But I must admit that hearing Claire’s voice gently guiding me through it is starting to make me feel better.

  Finally, the tingling in my body subsides and I’m back in the present, the noise of the high street and the brightly dressed shoppers coming back into sharp relief.

  ‘Feeling better?’ Claire asks, giving my hand a pat.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  She pulls a water bottle from her bag, flips the lid open and passes it to me. I take a few small sips of the cool water, wondering what she must think of me. How will I ever hold my head up around her again? What if she tells Oliver about what she saw? I’m absolutely mortified. I can’t have my son think so badly of me. Especially not after everything else.

  ‘Do you want to tell me what’s going on?’ Claire looks directly at me, but her eyes are filled with compassion rather than the scorn I was expecting.

  I press my tongue against my teeth, not sure I’ll be able to speak without breaking down. ‘What must you think of me?’

  ‘I don’t think anything, Jill. You know you were shoplifting back there, right?’

  I nod several times, wincing at the same time. ‘I do. I know. I’ve been doing it for a while. Not all the time. Just now and again. I’m afraid I’m struggling a little, financially – and I know that doesn’t excuse what I did, but I’d somehow justified it to myself.’ Admitting that out loud makes it sound so much worse than when it was just in my head.

  ‘You’re having money worries?’ Claire’s face darkens and I can’t tell if she’s upset with me or for me.

  ‘My pension doesn’t quite cover the bills, so there’s not an awful lot left over for food, and my savings ran out last year.’

  ‘Oh, Jill!’ Claire leans in and gives me a hug. An actual, genuine hug. ‘Why didn’t you say anything to me or to Ollie? You know we would have helped you out.’

  ‘Well, it’s embarrassing, isn’t it? A mother having to admit to her son that she can’t manage her money.’ I don’t mention the shoplifting part again. I still can’t quite believe I’ve been doing it.

  ‘Of course it isn’t embarrassing. Look, Jill, did you not think to come to me? I’m a financial advisor, for goodness’ sake. Helping people with their money is what I do.’

  ‘Yes, well, when you put it like that…’

  ‘Ollie and I are one hundred per cent here for you. Just promise me you won’t do anything like that again.’

  ‘I won’t. I promise. If you must know, I think I’m still in a bit of shock. I can’t believe I did it in the first place. Please, you won’t tell Oliver, will you? I couldn’t bear for him to be disappointed in me, embarrassed by me.’

  She takes a breath at the same time as I do. ‘I won’t tell him about the shoplifting, as long as you tell him about your money worries, okay?’

  I nod, relieved. I feel as though I’m skating along on the surface of everything. Like I’m no longer in control of my life. It reminds me of when I was a teenager and had just passed my driving test. Careering madly along the road without really knowing how the gears worked, or even how to stop.

  We’re interrupted by Claire’s mobile. ‘I’d better get this,’ she says, pulling her phone from her bag, ‘just in case…’

  I tell her to go ahead and she stares at the screen before mouthing at me that it’s the police. My pulse instantly speeds up. Claire stands and answers the call.

  ‘Gayle, hi.’

  She paces up and down the pavement in front of me while she listens to what the officer says. Claire’s expression is neutral, verging on serious. There are no shocked or hopeful noises from her, so I doubt the news is good or bad. I slump back into the bench, mulling over my shameful morning. Hoping to goodness that Claire keeps her word not to tell my son about his disaster of a mother. What would Bob think of all this? He’d be horrified. I correct myself: No, he wouldn’t. He’d be sympathetic and lovely.

  Claire wanders back looking grim.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask, wishing I had the strength to stand, but not wanting to chance it yet.

  ‘Holloway’s alibi checked out. They don’t think he was at the fair that evening. Although it was his mother who vouched for him, so I’m not exactly sure how reliable that alibi can be.’

  ‘Holloway? You mean the choirmaster? I didn’t realise the police had been questioning him.’

  Claire nods and sits back down, slipping her phone back into her bag. ‘They searched his flat but didn’t find anything to suggest that Bea was there.’

  ‘Have they arrested him?’

  ‘No. They don’t have any grounds – they were only able to search his property because he gave them permission.’ Claire gives a frustrated growl. ‘He could be holding her anywhere. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to keep her in his flat.’

  ‘I’m sure the police know what they’re doing,’ I say, trying to soothe her, hoping that Beatrice’s disappearance has nothing to do with Holloway. Praying that my precious granddaughter isn’t anywhere near the man, if the rumours about him are true.

  Claire crosses her arms and scuffs at the pavement with the heel of her sandal. ‘I’m tempted to question him myself!’

  ‘Please don’t do that, Claire. He might be dangerous. Not to mention, you might jeopardise the case.’

  ‘If there even is one,’ she snaps. Claire stares off into the distance, her eyes like chips of flint, her jaw tense.

  ‘Claire, promise me you won’t do anything stupid.’

  ‘It’s not stupid to want to find my daughter.’

  ‘I know, I didn’t mean—’

  ‘It’s fine, don’t panic, I won’t do anything.’ Her face droops and it looks like she might be finally listening to reason. I’m still worried she might do something reckless. Something that could end badly. For all of us. I try not to dwell on the fact that up until now it isn’t my daughter-in-law who’s been reckless.

  Twenty-Seven

  CLAIRE

  What the hell is Lang doing here again? I’m in the car, about to leave the house, when my client’s Volvo pulls up outside. I’m tempted to pretend I haven’t seen him and just drive off, but he’s already out of the car and headed up the drive. If I reverse now, I’ll end up knocking him over. After my morning with Jill and her supermarket incident, I could do without having to deal with Stephen Lang right now, harmless though he may be.

  I take a breath and buzz down the window. ‘Stephen, hi. How are you? I’m actually just off out.’

  ‘Oh.’ His face falls. He’s wearing a similar outfit to the last time he called round – belted shorts, a short-sleeved shirt that still has the creases from when it was in the packet, and canvas deck shoes. ‘I, uh, just wondered if there was anything I could do to help. It occurred to me, after I left the last time, that you may need manpower, either to search for your daughter or to run errands or, uh, some such thing and I thought I might be of use to you.’

  His face flushes beetroot and I realise that Lang might have a crush on me. The thought is disconcerting and I hope it isn’t true. Although I can’t deny that it’s very generous of him to offer his time like this.

  ‘That’s so nice of you, Stephen, thanks. I’m in a bit of a rush right now, but I’ll chat it over with my husband and if we need any help, I’ll certainly give you a call.’ I hope I’m being polite and grateful enough. I don’t want to offend him, but at the same time, I can’t deal with any weirdness. Offers of help are one thing, but Stephen Lang gives off a decidedly creepy vibe.

  ‘Oh, yes, of course. I’ll, uh, I’ll get out of your way, Claire.’

  The polite part of me wants to say that any other time I’d invite him in for
a cuppa, but I don’t want to encourage his visits. I feel like a total cow, brushing him off like this when he’s being so thoughtful. ‘Thanks so much, again. It really is very kind of you.’

  Lang steps back from the car and gives me a little wave as I reverse out into the road. He’s parked so close to our driveway that the turn is tight and for a moment I think I’m going to scrape his wing. I glance up to see him watching me intently before I straighten up the car and drive off. As soon as I’m on my way, I push Lang from my thoughts.

  I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to give Ollie a bit of space each day, so that he doesn’t feel overwhelmed. I also realise that a little time apart will do me some good as well. We both need to protect our mental health. To deal with this in our individual ways. We don’t know how long it will take the police to find our daughter, so we need to pace ourselves, and be kind to ourselves and to each other. I know that’s easier said than done and that we’ll inevitably take things out on one another from time to time. But at least we’re both trying. To this end, Oliver’s gone to visit his mum today – my suggestion.

  Before I left, I told Ollie that I’d bumped into Jill in town this morning. True to my word, I didn’t mention a thing to him about her shoplifting debacle. I’m not sure if that was the right call or not, as I don’t make a habit of keeping secrets from my husband. But I gave my word to Jill that I wouldn’t tell him, so I’ll try to honour her wishes.

  Thank goodness I caught her in the act before she tried to leave the store. The last thing any of us need is for Ollie’s mother to be arrested for shoplifting, on top of everything else. I think the two of us may have reached a bit of a truce. I feel like maybe I’ve been a little hard on her these past couple of years. I never realised she was so stressed about money.