by A J McDine
‘I’ll come, too,’ Melanie said. ‘We can spread out in different directions.’
I was desperate to join them. Sitting at home waiting seemed like a senseless waste of time when every second mattered. But the call handler had told me to stay put so I could meet the police when they arrived.
‘And in case she comes home in the meantime,’ he added, almost cheerily. I hoped his confidence wasn’t misplaced.
Nate and I retreated to the living room. Nate sat on the floor in the corner, hugging his knees, Anakin Skywalker between his feet. I paced the room, my phone clutched in my hand, willing Stuart to ring, to say, laughing, ‘Panic over, we’ve found her. Little monkey went to feed the ducks. We’ll be home in five.’
The phone didn’t ring.
Nate heard the sirens first, and he jumped up and ran to the window, pressing his forehead against the glass.
I tramped into the hallway, glancing in the mirror above the marble-topped console table on my way to the front door. I looked dishevelled, like I’d just stumbled out of bed. I rubbed at a smudge of mascara under my right eye and ran my fingers through my hair, wondering why I was bothering even as I did so. Outside, the sirens fell silent and car doors slammed. I opened the front door before the police had a chance to ring the bell. Two officers stood on the doorstep.
‘Mrs Cooper?’ said the older officer. ‘We understand your daughter’s missing?’
‘Please, come in,’ I said, ushering them into the living room. ‘I’ll call my husband. He’s out looking for Immy with our friends Bill and Melanie. They were over for a barbecue when she disappeared.’
‘Are you going to find her for us?’ Nate asked. At six years old, his belief in the police's ability to right wrongs and find lost sisters was unshakeable.
‘We’ll do our best.’ The older officer pushed his thick-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose and smiled. ‘Three-year-olds rarely go far. We usually find them tucked away in a hidden corner of the house or garden after a game of hide and seek.’
Nate screwed his face up. ‘We weren’t playing hide and seek today. Immy was playing Pooh sticks.’
The younger officer raised an eyebrow. ‘Pooh sticks?’
‘Two gates from our garden lead directly onto the Stour,’ I explained. ‘The children throw sticks through the first gate into the river, then race down to the second gate to see whose stick floated downstream the fastest.’
Tell them about the gate.
I cleared my throat. ‘One gate wasn’t locked. I found Immy’s Peppa Pig in the water below it.’
The two officers exchanged a look, and for a second their masks of professionalism slipped, and I saw my shock reflected back at me. The older officer reached for his radio and called for back-up.
Chapter Three
Within half an hour the two officers had searched the house and garden and the wail of sirens once again echoed down the street.
‘The inspector’s pulled out all the stops,’ the younger officer said. He spoke with a rising inflection, as if every sentence was a question. ‘He’s flooded the area with officers. They’re all looking for Immy.’
Stuart, Bill and Melanie were back, and we’d moved to the kitchen, waiting for news that hadn’t come.
‘So why haven’t they found her?’ Stuart said.
‘We’re doing everything we can, Mr Cooper.’
I flicked the kettle on for yet another cup of tea. Not that anyone had drunk their first.
‘Why isn’t the inspector here?’ I asked.
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Cleo. Don’t start,’ Stuart began.
‘I want to understand what’s going on. Is there anything wrong with that?’
‘He’s best back at the nick, Mrs Cooper. It’s easier for him to coordinate the search from there.’
‘Can I talk to him?’ I said.
The officer blinked. ‘I could certainly ask.’ He slipped from the room, returning a couple of minutes later. ‘He’s tucked up at the moment, but Sarge is on her way over.’
Nate sidled over and tugged my skirt. ‘Mummy? What’s for tea?’ His bottom lip trembled. ‘My tummy won’t stop rumbling.’
Melanie leapt up. ‘I’m sure I can rustle you up a sausage sandwich. Will that do the trick?’
He nodded. ‘Thanks, Auntie Mel.’
Melanie had packed the barbecue leftovers into Tupperware containers and stacked them in the fridge in height order. I hadn’t been back outside, but if I had, I would’ve bet my last pound that she’d wiped down the table and swept the crumbs from the patio, too. She made a sausage sandwich, squirting a generous dollop of tomato ketchup between the slices of white bread at Nate’s request. The sight of the blood-red sauce curdled the already churning contents of my stomach and I ran from the room, making it to the downstairs cloakroom just in time.
I rinsed my mouth out with tap water and gripped the edge of the sink as the water swirled around and then down the plughole. Closing my eyes, I saw a series of images. Chubby fingers curled around the twisted wrought iron rods of the gate at the bottom of the garden; red hair, wet and straggly like seaweed, tangled in reeds; a round eye staring glassily at me from the bottom of the riverbed. The images were so vivid that the cloying scent of mock orange filled the room. I slapped my cheeks, took a couple of deep breaths and returned to the kitchen.
A woman in a police uniform had taken my place at the island. The sergeant, I presumed. She stood and smiled. ‘Mrs Cooper,’ she said in a lilting Welsh accent. ‘I’ve been helping coordinate the search for your daughter. I’ve just had confirmation that the police helicopter’s on its way.’
I nodded.
‘I’m sure she’s probably toddled off somewhere, but I do need to ask about the two gates that lead to the river. I believe they’re normally kept locked?’
‘Always,’ I said. ‘We keep the keys here.’ I pointed to a key rack on the wall by the door. ‘They’re the ones with the pom pom keyring.’
‘But I understand one wasn’t locked when you checked it this afternoon? Is there a chance Immy could have climbed onto a chair and taken the keys?’
‘I don’t think so.’ I glanced at Stuart. ‘Do you?’
He shook his head.
‘How else do you access the garden?’ she asked.
‘There’s a gate that leads onto King Street,’ Stuart said. ‘It has a keypad with a code.’
‘But it’s a bit temperamental.’ I shot him a look. ‘We’ve been meaning to get it fixed.’
For a while no-one spoke. Then Bill said, ‘After you’ve searched the immediate area, what next?’
‘We’d like to issue a media appeal. The public are our eyes and ears and, frankly, the more people looking for Immy the better.’
‘Wouldn’t that alert all the local paedophiles that a three-year-old girl is out there all alone?’
‘Stuart!’ I cried.
‘We’ve found media appeals to be very effective in locating vulnerable missing people,’ the sergeant said.
‘Let’s do it.’ I leaned forwards. ‘Tell us what you need.’
‘A recent photo of Immy that we can release with her description and details of the last sighting.’
Stuart was already on his feet and heading out of the kitchen. I knew without asking which photo he would choose. He’d taken it during a trip to Botany Bay in Broadstairs at Whitsun and had placed it in a delicate silver frame on his bedside table. Immy’s red hair was tied in bunches and she was holding an ice cream, her face the picture of happiness. I’d spent most of the day on the phone to our IT guy after our server crashed, taking the website with it. I wished with all my heart that I could turn back the clock and have the day again. I would leave my phone at home and savour every moment.
The floorboards above our heads creaked as Stuart crossed our bedroom to his side of the bed. Back downstairs, he handed the photo to the sergeant.
‘What a pretty girl,’ she said, smiling at me. ‘I can see the likeness.
’
‘Cup of tea?’ Melanie said, swooping over with a mug and setting it with a clatter on the marble worktop. ‘Sugar?’ she asked, pushing the bowl towards the officer. ‘I hope it’s not too strong for you.’
‘It looks perfect, thank you. If you could email me a jpeg of the photo, I’ll forward it to our on-call press officer. She should be able to get something out within the next half an hour.’
‘So soon?’ I said, surprised.
‘Time is of the essence,’ the sergeant said. ‘The sooner people are looking for Immy, the better. Now, is there anything else you can tell me, anything at all, that might be relevant?’
‘What kind of thing do you mean?’ I glanced at Stuart, who gave an imperceptible shake of his head.
‘I don’t know. Have you seen anyone acting suspiciously in the area recently? Has Immy ever wandered off before? Would she have toddled off with a stranger, maybe even another child?’
My stomach lurched. ‘Oh my God, you mean like James Bulger?’
Nate looked up from his sandwich. ‘Who’s James Bulger, Mummy?’
‘A little boy from Liverpool who wandered off with two older boys while he was out shopping with his mum,’ I said. Nate didn’t need to know that the toddler’s ten-year-old assailants tortured then murdered him.
‘There’s nothing relevant I can think of,’ Stuart said.
‘Me neither,’ I said.
‘Good.’ The sergeant stood. ‘I’m going to head outside to get a sitrep. If you think of anything, any little detail that might help us find Immy, let me know. And try not to worry, OK? I’m sure she’ll turn up right as rain.’
Something about her sympathetic smile and the compassion in her voice terrified me. She thinks Immy’s already dead. A swell of tears rose up the back of my throat and filled my eyes.
‘Just find her,’ I said. ‘Please.’
Chapter Four
I was struggling to take it all in. Immy, my baby girl, was gone. One minute she was there, helping herself to a handful of crisps when she thought I wasn’t watching, and the next she’d vanished. How could it have happened in our own garden, right under our noses? It was beyond my comprehension.
Fear squeezed my insides so tightly I thought I might pass out. I sat at the kitchen island with my head in my hands, listening as Stuart and Melanie batted reassuring words back and forth. She’ll turn up… nothing to worry about… bound to be found soon.
I wished I could believe them.
My eyes burned, and I rubbed them viciously, as if it was their fault they hadn’t seen Immy toddle off to God knew where. I stopped rubbing and glared at Stuart and Melanie, wishing they’d shut up. I didn’t need platitudes; I needed that police sergeant with the lilting voice to walk in with Immy in her arms. I needed to scoop Immy up, hold her tightly and never let her go.
I dragged myself off the stool and straightened a painting on the fridge door. I’d stuck it there with alphabet magnets the day Immy brought it home from preschool.
I’d asked her what the four colourful splodges were.
‘Mummy, Daddy, Nate and Immy,’ she said, pointing to each of them. ‘My family.’
Grief squeezed my chest, and I leaned against the fridge and groaned.
‘Are you all right?’ Melanie asked.
I turned and stared in disbelief. ‘Of course I’m not all right. What a fucking stupid thing to say.’
‘Cleo…’ Stuart began.
A wave of shame washed over me. ‘Sorry,’ I muttered. ‘That was uncalled for.’
‘It’s OK, honestly,’ Melanie said.
The walls of the kitchen were closing in on me and I knew I had to get out or I’d explode.
‘I’m going to see if I can help with the search,’ I said.
‘Good idea,’ Stuart said. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No, stay here by the phone in case someone needs to get hold of us.’
‘We can take the phone with us. It’s cordless.’ Stuart touched Melanie’s arm. ‘You’ll keep an eye on Nate, won’t you?’
‘Of course. Take as long as you need. We’ll be here.’ She glanced at Bill, slouched on the sofa by the fireplace, a half-empty bottle of red and a glass on the rug by his feet.
As we stepped out of the patio doors, a whirring noise jerked our gaze skywards.
‘The police helicopter,’ Stuart said.
The whump whump of the rotors grew louder as the sleek dark blue and yellow helicopter approached. It hovered over the house for a moment, sending the trees and shrubs into a spin, then veered away to the east, following the river.
I spied the older officer with the chunky glasses poring over a map with an officer I didn’t recognise, and I marched over.
‘This is the search team sergeant,’ he said. ‘Sarg, this is Mr and Mrs Cooper, Immy’s parents.’
‘We’re here to join the search,’ Stuart said.
‘I’m afraid that’s not possible at the moment, sir,’ the sergeant said, folding the map in two. ‘We can only use trained search teams.’
‘We feel so helpless sitting in the house waiting for news,’ I said.
‘It’s understandable. But I can assure you we’re doing everything we can.’ He consulted his pocket notebook. ‘I believe you were in the walled garden having a barbecue when Immy went missing?’
‘The children were playing croquet on the lawn, like they’ve done a hundred times,’ I said. ‘The garden’s completely secure. At least we thought it was.’
‘Can you be any more precise about the time you last saw her? It helps to know when I’m drawing up the search parameters.’
I cast my mind back. I’d been too busy running in and out of the house with snacks and salads and plates of meat to take much notice of the kids. In fact, I wasn’t even sure Immy had stayed for dessert, come to think of it. Even though she loved pavlova.
‘She wouldn’t have wandered off on her own,’ I said.
‘What makes you say that?’ the sergeant asked.
‘Because she loves my pavlova. She’d been looking forward to it all day.’
‘You know Immy,’ Stuart said. ‘Butterfly brain. I expect she forgot.’
‘In the initial account you gave to officers, you mentioned the children enjoyed playing Pooh sticks. Where do they do that?’ he asked.
‘They throw sticks through the first water gate into the river, then race down to the second gate to see whose stick floated downstream fastest.’
‘The second gate being the one you found unlocked this afternoon? The one where Immy’s toy was located?’
‘That’s right.’ I swallowed. ‘I don’t know how it came to be unlocked. The key’s on the hook where it always is.’
He must have heard the despair in my voice, because he said, ‘Most children your daughter’s age turn up within an hour of the report coming in.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Right, if you don’t mind, I need to brief the team.’
Stuart followed me over to a bench under the arbour. I picked at a loose thread on the hem of my skirt and tackled the elephant in the room. ‘Should we have told them about Immy?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s not relevant.’
‘But what if…?’
‘Don’t, Cleo. Just…. don’t.’
I held up my hands. I had a feeling the police would think it was very relevant, but Stuart was adamant, and I didn’t want anything to hold up the search. ‘All right. Have it your way.’
We watched in silence as the search team sergeant called five officers in black jumpsuits over and opened the map on the table we’d been sitting at a couple of hours earlier. I checked my watch. Three hours earlier. Which meant Immy had been gone at least three times longer than most other missing children. Briefing over, the officers fanned out towards the river.
‘Why do I feel as though they’re all judging us?’ I said.
‘Probably because they are. Our three-year-old child disappeared from our own garden while we were getting piss
ed with friends. You’d be the same if it happened to someone else.’ Stuart buried his face in his hands. A tear trickled through his fingers. ‘We’ve fucked up, Cleo. We’ve lost our little girl.’
I’d never seen my husband cry, not even at his own mother’s funeral, and for some inexplicable reason the sight infuriated me. I was trying so hard to hold it together. Why couldn’t he?
‘Please, Stuart, don’t.’
His hands fell away from his face and he stared at me as if I was a total stranger. ‘Don’t you care that Immy’s out there, all alone, wondering why we haven’t come to find her?’
‘Of course I care! But falling to pieces won’t help anyone. Crying won’t find her. We have to stay strong. For Immy.’
Stuart wasn’t always so spineless. When Bill first introduced us in the student union bar at the start of our second year at uni, I’d been a little in awe of him. I knew Bill from an accounting module we’d both taken. Stuart was Bill’s best friend, and he wasn’t like any other boy I’d dated. I’d always been attracted to tall, geeky, uptight guys with Elvis Costello glasses and skinny jeans. Pseudo-intellectuals with emotional hang-ups. Like Bill, Stuart played for the university’s 1st XV rugby team. He was five foot ten, solid and muscular, with a broken nose, a wicked sense of humour and a laid-back attitude to life.
We ended up in bed that first night, and it would have been just another one-night stand, but for one fact. As I’d lain in Stu’s narrow bed with his beefy forearm wrapped around my waist, I’d felt safer than I’d ever felt in my life. I knew that with Stuart I’d never have to pretend to be someone I wasn’t. I wouldn’t have to maintain the charade that I was cool, confident and together. The girl who had everything. I could admit to the crippling self-doubt, the feelings of inadequacy and the fear of failure that plagued me.
Even after one night, I could tell there were no sides to this huge, uncomplicated bear of a man. You knew what you were getting. And he was exactly what I needed.
He’d treated me like a princess in those early days, and I’d thought that was how it would always be. He would take care of me.
