by A J McDine
Me Tarzan, you Jane.
He knew my faults, but he loved me anyway. And that had meant everything.
Twenty years on, I was unrecognisable as the insecure girl from a Maidstone council estate who’d been so desperate to fit in. I was a successful entrepreneur, affluent and in control.
I looked at Stuart, slouched on the bench beside me. Twenty years on, he was unrecognisable, too. The muscle had turned to fat and rolled over the top of his cargo shorts. His square jaw was hidden under a full beard, flecked with grey. Never ambitious at the best of times, he was happy to put his career on hold to look after the kids.
I was mistaken when I thought Stuart would take care of me, because I was the one who ran the house, earned the money, made the decisions, looked after our family.
He deferred to me in everything we did. And I despised him for it.
Chapter Five
Stuart stumbled off towards the house, but I stayed, watching the shadows lengthen as I waited for news. Around me, police officers muttered into radios and consulted maps. If I craned my neck, I caught glimpses of them on the riverbank using sticks to poke about in the reeds. Occasionally a cry would go up and the search sergeant would hurry over. Hope would flutter in my belly until I saw him shake his head and they carried on with their search. Time was elastic. I felt as though I had been sitting on that bench, my legs crossed at the ankles and my hands clasped in my lap, for half my life. And yet I felt Immy’s presence so acutely it was as if she was still playing croquet on the lawn, just out of sight.
At some point Melanie came to find me. She approached warily, as if I was a cornered animal, liable to lash out.
‘I take it there’s no news?’
I shook my head. Melanie sat beside me, put her arm around my shoulder and gave me an awkward squeeze.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.
‘I know,’ I said, slipping out of her embrace.
She glanced back at the house. ‘Stuart’s in bits.’
‘We’re all in bits, Melanie.’
‘If only Bill had agreed to play croquet with them when Immy asked him.’
‘I didn’t know she had,’ I said. No wonder he was so distraught.
‘You know how much Immy loves her Uncle Bill.’ There was a trace of bitterness in her voice.
‘But he was too busy enjoying my champagne,’ I said, raising an eyebrow.
‘That’s about the measure of it,’ Melanie said. ‘You know Bill. I’ll put Nate to bed, shall I? Is there anything else I can do?’
With Immy missing, work should have been the last thing on my mind, but it was hard to break the habit of a lifetime. ‘I won’t make the meeting with the accountant in the morning. Not unless they find Immy soon. Can you make sure Bill’s there in good time? Sheila has all the papers.’
‘Of course. I’ll drive him there myself if I have to.’
‘Thank you. Tell Nate I’ll be up in a little while to say goodnight.’
‘I will.’
‘And then you should head home, get some rest. We’ll text you the minute they find her.’
She nodded and set off for the house. After a couple of steps, she stopped and turned around. ‘How do you stay so positive?’
I stared at the darkening sky, swallowed the hard mass at the back of my throat and gave her a small smile. ‘Because the alternative is too awful to contemplate.’
Just after nine o’clock the woman sergeant appeared, and I jumped to my feet.
‘Has something happened?’
‘I’m afraid there’s no concrete news at present,’ she said. ‘But I wanted to update you and your husband on a few things. Perhaps we could go inside?’
I nodded and followed her into the house. Stuart was sitting in darkness in the living room. I flicked on a couple of side lamps and motioned her to take a seat.
She cleared her throat. ‘The search teams are about to suspend their search of the river because of the failing light. But they’ll be back at dawn tomorrow. Meanwhile, our patrols will carry on looking for Immy through the night, and we’ll follow up any leads we get following the release of the appeal.’
‘It’s gone out?’
She nodded. ‘It’s already been shared hundreds of times from our Facebook page, and local media are running it as their top story. I expect the nationals will pick it up tomorrow if Immy’s not found overnight.’
I reached for my phone, pulled up Kent Online and stared at Immy’s picture under the headline, Police search for missing three-year-old.
‘What does it say?’ Stuart demanded.
‘“Police say they are growing increasingly concerned for the welfare of a three-year-old girl who has been reported missing from her home in Fordwich,”’ I read. ‘“Imogen Cooper was last seen at her home in the King Street area of the town at 4.45pm today, Sunday 13 June. She was wearing a yellow T-shirt with a daisy on the front, denim shorts and brown leather sandals. She has long dark red hair and green eyes.”’ I suddenly found it hard to speak and gave the phone to the sergeant.
‘It ends with a quote from our inspector urging anyone who has seen Immy or knows where she is to contact us,’ she said.
‘And have they?’ I asked.
‘We’ve had some calls but no confirmed sightings as yet.’ She handed the phone back to me. ‘One other thing. We’ve arranged for a family liaison officer to come over tomorrow.’
The news roused Stuart from his torpor. ‘But you only use them when someone’s died, don’t you?’
‘Usually, but we thought you might need extra support. She’ll be able to keep you up to date with the search for Immy. Any questions?’
We both shook our heads.
‘In that case, I’d better head back to the nick. I need to brief the sergeant on nights.’ She held out a hand, and I shook it half-heartedly. Stuart didn’t even raise his head as she left the room.
‘Is there anything else we can do?’ I asked, as I followed her along the hallway to the front door.
‘Try to get some rest.’ She touched my arm. ‘It could be a long few days.’
I nodded, said goodbye, and she was halfway to her patrol car when her radio crackled into life. Her head bent as she spoke, and I strained to catch her words.
‘Where? I see. And you’re sure it’s hers? Yes, understood. I’ll ask the Coopers to confirm. OK, be with you shortly.’
I clutched the door frame, rooted to the spot. ‘What is it? What have they found?’
‘A sandal they believe may be Immy’s.’
‘In the river?’
Her eyes met mine, and she gave a small nod. ‘They need you to identify it.’
‘Show me.’
The garden was in darkness, the only light coming from half a dozen torch beams as police officers collected kit and stood in huddles. Spying the search team sergeant on the far side of the garden, we hurried over. I couldn’t drag my gaze away from the plastic evidence bag in his hands.
I sensed rather than saw Stuart by my side.
‘One of my officers located a sandal in the river around fifty metres downstream from the house,’ the sergeant said. ‘Please could you confirm if it’s Immy’s?’
He shone his torch on the plastic bag, illuminating the single sandal inside. The leather was darker than I remembered, and for a split second I felt a surge of hope, but then I realised the leather was darker because it was wet, and it was wet because police had pulled it from the river. The river I’d insisted we live next to. It was my fault, all of it.
‘Mrs Cooper?’ the officer asked. ‘It’s a Clarks sandal, size seven. Rubber sole and three Velcro straps.’
‘Cleo?’ Stuart said. ‘Is it hers?’
I didn’t need to take a second look. We’d only bought them a month before. Nate had a new pair of trainers and afterwards we had milkshakes and chocolate muffins in the cafe in Waterstones. It had been a good day, a happy day.
I nodded, then turned away, my hand shielding my face so the
y couldn’t see my tears.
Chapter Six
I heard Nate’s sobs as I climbed wearily upstairs to bed. I pushed open his bedroom door and padded across the room.
‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’
‘Is Immy dead?’ he wailed.
‘Don’t be silly. She’s just lost, and the police are helping us find her.’ I sat on his bed and stroked his clammy forehead, watching his skinny chest rise and fall with every shuddering sob.
‘Why were they looking in the river? Do they think she drowned?’
‘Of course not. They’re checking everywhere to be on the safe side.’
‘But she can’t swim without armbands, remember.’
It was my turn to shudder, because I could hardly forget. The previous year, Immy had almost drowned. We’d rented a cottage in the Dordogne, and the kids had spent a fortnight splashing about in the kidney-shaped pool. Then one day Immy jumped in the deep end without her armbands and plummeted to the bottom like a stone. Luckily, I was sitting on a lounger watching them and dived in and pulled her to the surface before her little lungs filled with water. It still gave me goose bumps thinking about it.
‘She’s not in the river, Nate. I promise.’ I wiped a tear from his cheek with my thumb. ‘Come on, you need to get to sleep. You’ve got school tomorrow.’
Nate pulled the duvet under his chin and popped his thumb in his mouth. ‘I wish Niamh was here,’ he said sleepily.
‘Niamh? But Daddy looks after you now and that’s much better, isn’t it?’
‘Most of the time. But Daddy forgets when it’s own clothes day and that I don’t like Marmite. Niamh never forgot anything when she was our pear.’
‘Our au pair,’ I corrected him. ‘I’m surprised you remember her. She left ages ago.’
‘After Immy was born,’ he agreed. ‘Will Immy be home when I wake up?’
‘I hope so, sweetheart, I really do.’
I passed Stuart on the landing carrying a duvet and two pillows. His skin was ashen and his eyes red-rimmed.
‘I’m going to stay downstairs tonight, in case there’s any news,’ he said.
‘We do have phones upstairs, Stu.’
His face crumpled before my eyes. ‘But going to bed seems all wrong when Immy’s still missing.’
‘I know. But what else can we do?’
‘I should be out there helping the police.’
‘You heard that police sergeant. He said we should leave the search to the experts. You’d only get in the way.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’ His shoulders drooped. ‘D’you think she’s OK?’
I reached out to squeeze his arm, but grabbed a handful of bedding instead. ‘I’m sure she is. No news is good news.’
‘Is it? Is it really?’ He shook his head. ‘I wish I could believe you.’
He tramped downstairs, and I headed for our bedroom. Discarding my clothes on the floor of the en suite, I turned on the power shower. Letting the water pulse over me, as hot as my skin could bear it, I gave in to the tears I’d held at bay all evening.
My head throbbed as memories crowded in. The first time I held Immy in my arms, her face all red and puckered. Her first smile. Her first tottering steps. The way she curled herself around me when I read her a story. The sweet smell of her hair after a bath.
Tears streamed down my face and sobs wracked my body. My longing for her was involuntary, visceral. Life without her was unendurable. It was as simple as that.
How could everything have gone so wrong with the single click of fate’s fingers? One minute I’d been enjoying an idyllic family barbecue in our perfect home surrounded by my family and closest friends, and the next, a helicopter was circling over the garden and police officers were scouring the contents of our wheelie bins looking for my three-year-old daughter after she’d vanished into thin air.
Unbidden, a scenario played out in my head. Immy sulking because Nate wouldn’t play Pooh sticks. Deciding she would play anyway. Accidentally dropping her precious Peppa Pig through the gate into the river below. Charging back to the house, her jaw set with determination. Dragging a chair over to the key rack and climbing onto it. A gleam in her eye as she plucked the keys to the water gates off the hook. She’d always been fascinated by the cerise-pink pom pom keyring. If only I’d chosen a plain plastic one, maybe none of this would have happened.
The scenario played on. Immy climbing carefully down from the chair and racing back to the gate. Her tongue between her teeth as she slotted the key in the lock. A flick of her wrist. The gate swinging open, clattering against the flint and brick wall with a bang that would have taken her by surprise. An intake of breath as she stumbled and lost her footing. Arms flailing. And a scream as she slithered into the river. A scream that I didn’t hear because I was too busy having fun with our friends.
I held my palms in front of me, half expecting to see Immy’s blood on my hands. Because it was my fault she was missing. My fault she might be…
Get a grip, Cleo. The police will find her.
I rubbed my face and tried to shepherd my spiralling thoughts away from Immy. Instead, I pictured Nate in his bed, his dinosaur duvet cover tucked under his chin and his thumb in his mouth as I kissed him goodnight and told him I loved him to the moon and back. Once he was fast asleep, I tip-toed out of his room. Hopefully, he’d have at least a few hours’ respite from this nightmare.
I turned off the shower and wrapped myself in a bath towel. It was strange for Nate to mention Niamh after all this time. He was only three when she left us to work for a family in Rochester. We’d taken her on after Astrid, the Swedish nanny we’d had since he was a baby, had announced she’d fallen in love with an Australian backpacker and was following him to the Gold Coast.
An inch short of six foot with the chiselled cheekbones of a Viking warrior, Astrid was everything I admired in a person. Assertive. Punctual. A perfectionist. Crisp and reserved, and not afraid to voice her opinions where Nate was concerned. Stuart loathed her.
‘Not another ball-breaker,’ he pleaded when I started looking through CVs for Astrid’s replacement. ‘Let’s have an au pair this time. Someone who can be part of the family. And, think about it, we’d have a babysitter on tap.’
This had clinched it. Astrid had been pretty much perfect, but by God did she give me an earful if I was late home from work. If we had a live-in au pair, I could work as late as I liked. I signed up with an agency there and then.
I whittled down the options to two choices. A twenty-year-old from Spain and an eighteen-year-old from Ireland. There was nothing between them, so I let Nate choose.
‘That one,’ he said, pointing to the Irish girl. ‘She has pretty hair and kind eyes.’
Niamh O’Sullivan was the antitheses of Astrid. Diffident, softly spoken and as eager to please as a Labrador. I’d wanted someone to run the house. Having Niamh was like having a second child. Only one I had to pay.
But Nate adored her, and I adored Nate, so she got to stay. And in the end, I got more than I bargained for.
The bedroom was stiflingly hot, so I opened the two sash windows as far as they would go before climbing into bed. Stuart was right. It felt all wrong trying to sleep when Immy was out there somewhere. It was also absurd to think there was even a chance of drifting off when my body was surging with adrenalin. I was about to roll up the duvet and join Stuart downstairs when I changed my mind. If I was struggling to contain my own emotions, I couldn’t prop him up, too.
Instead, I picked up my phone and checked my inbox. There were forty-two unopened emails. I scrolled through them, grateful for the distraction. They were mostly from food producers, touting for business. I stopped scrolling when I came to one from my secretary, Sheila.
Cleo,
Sorry I couldn’t drop the accounts off this afternoon, but Mother had another tumble before I was due to leave, and we ended up in minor injuries. Nothing broken, thank goodness, but by the time we left the hospital it was
too late to pop round. I’ll have them on your desk first thing tomorrow. You have my word.
Best,
Sheila
I was about to tap out a reply when something made me hesitate. It wouldn’t be fair to let Sheila know about Immy by email, and it was far too late to call her. I decided to phone her first thing and keep my fingers crossed she wouldn’t see the police appeal in the meantime.
I closed down my inbox and checked Kent Online to make sure the appeal was still their top item. I opened the Kent Police Facebook page and was astounded to see the appeal had been shared over five hundred times. It was surreal to think that thousands of people across Kent knew my little girl was missing.
Over a hundred people had left comments.
I hope little Imogen is found safe and well.
Shared Gravesend area.
Hope she turns up soon. My thoughts and prayers are with her family.
Thought I heard the police helicopter over Sturry earlier. Must have been looking for this little girl.
Shared in Dover.
Is she still missing?
I clicked on the police’s reply, even though logically I knew we’d be the first ones they told if they found her.
We’re afraid Imogen is still missing. Thanks for your concern.
I continued scrolling through the newest comments. Someone called Riley Carter had posted:
What kind of parent lets a three-year-old out of their sight? IMO this little girl is better off without them.
Underneath, a barrage of replies.
Have some compassion, dickhead!
Followed by five angry face emojis.
OMG what a knob. Shut ya face, loser.
