The Girl with the Suitcase

by Angela Hart

  I hoped our shopping trip would be as enjoyable as the walk to town. I knew from experience that girls of Grace’s age are typically becoming very self-aware and starting to worry about how they look. They want the most fashionable styles they can get away with and are prepared to scour every shop meticulously before making a final choice, even if they’ve found something they like on the very first rail. They also like to have long debates about what everybody else will be wearing instead of focusing on what they actually like themselves. I remember one girl cut designer labels out of one top to sew into another, as she said she would be laughed at if they saw she was wearing a top from a cheap shop! I had to allow it; I can remember going through a phase of being incredibly fashion conscious myself, though in my case it was all about having flares and tank tops like the Bay City Rollers!

  Anyhow, needless to say I’d endured lots of frustrating clothes shopping trips over the years with girls who just couldn’t decide what to buy and often ended up with nothing, despite trying on countless styles that looked good, fitted well and seemed perfect to me.

  As we were shopping for school uniform, I hoped I wouldn’t have too much trouble with Grace. Of all the high street shops selling primary school uniforms, most of them stocked very similar items. Usually, it was simply the quality that altered from shop to shop, and after that the only choice you really had was whether to go for a skirt or trousers.

  ‘What do you prefer, skirt or trousers?’

  ‘Skirt. No, trousers. No, wait, what’s the playground like? Are you, like, allowed on the field? Is there a yard, like, or is it grass?’

  I could see where this was going, and I had visions of Grace racing round the school field like a demon. As she was so active, trousers would be better, I thought, but she was also quite a ‘girly girl’ too. She had lots of skirts, some of them shiny and glamorous, and she liked to dress up like the pop stars she idolised. I’d discovered she could really sing, and she’d belt out her favourite songs into her toy microphone.

  ‘I thought she was going to be a tomboy when she first arrived with her pogo stick and talked about climbing trees,’ Jonathan commented when he saw her performing a Spice Girls track. ‘But I think I got that wrong!’

  I agreed and said Grace was not a child you could easily put a label on. This was no bad thing at all, but it did mean you could never quite work out which way she’d jump in any given situation!

  I reassured Grace I’d take her to have a good look around the school before term started. This had already been agreed with the head teacher, and I told Grace she’d be able to see everything for herself, including the playground and school field.

  ‘Shall we get one of each to begin with? A skirt and a pair of trousers?’ I asked. I thought that if she did choose to wear a skirt, I could always buy her a thick pair of tights, so it wouldn’t matter if she did end up dashing around or even climbing.

  ‘Am I allowed? Yes! One of each. Yes!’

  ‘Good. Do you like this pair or that? And what about that skirt?’

  Luckily, there were quite a few styles to choose from. The school was not particular about the cut of the trousers or the skirt, so long as the colour was the right shade of grey.

  ‘That one!’

  ‘Good choice. Trousers?’

  ‘Those.’

  Grace was decisive and, to my surprise and relief, both fitted well and the shop had everything else we needed in her size. The whole uniform was in the bag within about half an hour; I could hardly believe it.

  ‘Shoes next?’

  ‘Yes!’

  I wanted to make sure Grace had a hard-wearing pair of school shoes as I’d noticed all her shoes had scuffed toes; she was obviously one of those kids who was heavy on her shoes. Despite our success with the uniform, I was expecting the shoes to be a harder sell, especially if I was going to succeed in steering her towards a good, sturdy pair.

  ‘Let’s go!’ I said, optimistically adding, ‘I love buying new shoes!’ I told Grace the large shoe shop we were going to had been in the town for years and was where Dot used to work when I was at school. Dot had fitted my school shoes on many occasions. I assured Grace it was the place to go and she gave me a thumbs-up.

  The shoe shop was packed out. We had to take a ticket from a little dispenser on the wall and wait our turn, which Grace found difficult.

  ‘Why do we have to wait?’ she moaned. ‘Shall we come back?’

  ‘No, Grace, we’ll just have to wait our turn and be patient like everybody else.’

  All the seats were occupied by children who were having their feet measured, or having shoes fitted, and so there was nowhere to sit.

  ‘Let’s have a look at the girls’ section while we’re waiting.’ I pointed towards two racks of shoes suitable for girls of Grace’s age and headed towards it. There were so many people in that part of the shop it wasn’t easy getting through to the relevant racks, even though they were only a few feet away.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said, squeezing past a couple with a baby in a buggy and a harassed father with a fed-up toddler who was grizzling and straining against his reins. The shop was hot and stuffy, and when I reached the girls’ shoes I felt quite flustered. I took a deep breath.

  ‘Phew! Which ones do you like the look of?’

  I turned around, expecting Grace to be right behind me, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Grace?’

  A young boy was standing over my shoulder, where I had expected Grace to be. He looked at me in confusion and sidled away. I felt my stomach lurch as I quickly scanned the children’s section. She can’t have gone far. She’d been right behind me only moments before, but the shop was so busy and I couldn’t spot her.

  ‘Grace? Grace?’

  In my panic, the shop looked twice as packed as it had before. My eyes were everywhere and nowhere. I was flicking my eyeballs from person to person so quickly everything became a blur, and I was seeing nothing and nobody in focus. I tried to breathe in deeply and calm myself down, but I didn’t succeed. I felt incredibly stressed and anxious.

  I started to walk very quickly around the shop, checking every section and looking repeatedly towards the entrance door. The worst thing would be if Grace had deliberately given me the slip and run off into town. Surely she wouldn’t do that? I figured this wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility and I couldn’t rule it out. The thought made me shiver.

  Unfortunately, the store had a large central island with seats around it, which meant you couldn’t stand in one place and see the whole shop. There was also an archway on one side, leading to the adult section, and beyond that was a sports department. Having only ever used this shop for children’s shoes, I’d never noticed before how huge it was, and I cursed its size.

  ‘Grace? Grace?’ I was calling her name louder now and people were starting to look at me.

  ‘Is everything all right, love?’ a woman asked me.

  ‘No. I’ve lost a young girl. She was with me a moment ago and she’s disappeared . . .’

  ‘What does your daughter look like?’ A teenage shop assistant was speaking to me now.

  ‘Big, curly hair, strawberry blonde. Aged ten. Dressed in jeans and a white top. No, not white. Pale pink. White hairband. White trainers.’

  ‘And your name?’

  ‘Angela. Angela Hart.’

  ‘OK, Mrs Hart.’ The young shop assistant rushed off before I had a chance to say anything else to her.

  ‘Grace? Grace?’ I continued searching the store, dashing through the sports section and then men’s shoes, but still she was nowhere to be seen.

  An announcement rang out. It sounded like it was coming through a megaphone rather than a speaker.

  ‘If Grace is in the shop, please come to the cash desk. That’s Grace, aged ten. Your mum is waiting for you.’

  The teenage assistant came back over to me and gave me a big smile.

  ‘I remember doing this to my mum when I was a little girl. Don�
��t worry, it happens all the time. Let’s go and wait by the till.’

  There was no point telling her I was Grace’s carer, not her mother.

  ‘Can you ask someone to watch the door?’

  The assistant smiled. ‘Of course, but kids never run outside. She’ll be in here somewhere. They always are.’

  11

  ‘Count to ten, Angela!’

  It was a full five minutes before I was reunited with Grace. It felt like five hours.

  A customer who heard the announcement spotted her sitting on the floor in a corner, playing with one of those foot-measuring gauges, the ones with the tape measure and the sliding rule. Apparently, Grace was totally engrossed in sliding the ruler up and down, up and down, and she was staring at it as if mesmerised. She hadn’t heard the announcement herself. The customer took her to the cash desk.

  ‘Grace!’ I exclaimed. ‘There you are!’ Relief flooded me.

  ‘Sorry, Angela. I didn’t realise you’d get worried. I was just hot.’

  ‘Hot?’

  ‘Yes. I needed some air.’

  It seemed Grace had taken it upon herself to walk to the front of the store to get some fresh air. She didn’t think to tell me what she was doing. She’d stepped outside before wandering back in, and when she couldn’t see me she’d entertained herself by playing with the foot gauge.

  ‘I thought they’d call us both when our number came up,’ she said, which wasn’t an unreasonable expectation, I suppose. I stayed calm and told her she must stick with me in future, and it was up to her to look out for me as much as it was my responsibility to keep my eye on her.

  ‘OK. Sorry. Shall we look at shoes now?’

  I exhaled deeply, thanked the people who’d helped me and agreed. My heart rate had returned to normal but I had that horribly spiky feeling in my blood, the kind you get when adrenalin has coursed through you after a nasty shock.

  ‘Do you like any of these styles?’ I said when we finally stood together in front of the girls’ school shoes.

  Grace didn’t reply. She had a vacant look in her eye and was twirling on the spot, gazing around the bustling shop. If I didn’t know better I’d have thought she was being rude and ignoring me by not looking at the shoes as I’d asked her to do. However, I realised Grace had simply lost focus, as she often did.

  ‘Grace, please have a look at the shoes.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘These styles are suitable for your size and age group. Have a look, see what you think.’

  She gave a cursory glance at the row of shoes before spinning around on the spot again. She was fiddling with her hair now too, readjusting her hairband to push her curls as snugly as possible away from her hot little forehead. It felt incredibly airless in the shop, and when Grace’s eyes fell on a water cooler on the back wall she headed towards it without saying a word to me. After what had happened, my eyes were glued on her. I immediately followed her, sidestepping lots of customers. ‘Wait for me. I’ll come with you, Grace.’ She was completely oblivious to the fact I was behind her until she stopped in front of the machine and there I was, standing right beside her. Even so, she didn’t really bat an eyelid.

  ‘Grace, you can’t just walk off like that. It’s very busy. I don’t want you to get lost again.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry! Can I get a drink?’

  ‘Yes, sweetheart. But did you hear what I said? You need to keep an eye on me as much as I need to keep an eye on you. Do you understand?’

  ‘Erm, yes.’

  She clearly had no idea what a fright she’d given me and how dangerous it was to wander off, and especially to step out of a shop as she had. I had another go at getting through to her as I watched her help herself to a drink of cold water. I don’t think she heard a word I said. Her eyes were darting everywhere and she overfilled the plastic cup because she wasn’t paying enough attention.

  ‘Do we have to wait much longer? How long do we have to wait, Angela?’ She spilt water on the carpet as she drank and talked. ‘How long, Angela? It’s boiling in here. Are you hot? Don’t you want a drink? Look, you can get one, it’s free! I can do it.’

  I looked at our ticket. We were number 52 and they were only up to number 47.

  ‘We’re fifth. But hopefully it won’t be too long.’

  I let her get me a cup of water and she filled hers up to the top again.

  ‘I need the toilet.’

  ‘Are you desperate or can you wait?’

  ‘I can wait.’ She knocked back another large mouthful of water before I could suggest she didn’t drink any more.

  We went back over to the girls’ section and, when I asked her again if she liked any of the styles, Grace pointed to what seemed to be the first shoe she set her eyes on.

  ‘I like that one,’ she said vaguely, looking bored and uninterested. Then she went to study a nearby stand of bags and umbrellas. She began fiddling with the display, spinning the stand around, taking things off and clipping and unclipping the fasteners on a rucksack. I asked her to stop and she groaned.

  ‘How long now? Do you even know, Angela?’

  I ignored the cheeky tone that had crept into her voice.

  ‘We’re fourth. Look, there’s a seat now, let’s sit down.’

  Grace stayed seated for all of thirty seconds before getting to her feet and saying she needed another drink of water. I asked her not to drink any more for the time being, as she already needed the toilet. She groaned again.

  ‘This is boring! How long now? Angela, are there any trees in the . . .?’ She seemed to lose the thread of what she was saying.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Are there any trees in the . . . what?’

  ‘The playground. I mean, like, what’s it called? The school field.’

  I pictured Grace’s school. I knew it well. ‘Let me think. There are, but not ones you can climb. But they do have a school garden where you can plant . . .’

  ‘What’s this?’ Grace wasn’t listening. She had picked up a small plastic ball a child must have left on the floor by accident. ‘Can I have this? Can I, Angela? Do you want to play catch?’

  She tossed the ball towards me. I wasn’t expecting it and it hit me in the face. I felt a surge of anger.

  ‘Oops, I didn’t mean to do that. Sorry, I’m really sorry, Angela!’

  She hadn’t hurt me, luckily. I told myself to be calm and said to Grace that I was OK but she must put the ball down and not throw things like that again. Then I asked her to sit down and try to stay still.

  ‘Sorry. How long now? Are we next? Are we, Angela?’

  ‘Look at the number on the display, Grace. What does it say?’

  There was a digital display, illuminated in red, showing which customer was next.

  ‘What? Why are you asking me? I asked you! I can’t work that out!’

  ‘Of course you can. It says 50. See the number 50, lit up in red? We are number 52. Oh, look, it’s gone up to 51 now. They’ll call us when it’s our turn. We’re next.’

  ‘What?’

  I patiently explained how the very simple system worked, but Grace wasn’t concentrating. By the time our number was finally called, I felt completely frazzled. I was very grateful when the young assistant asked if Grace would stay very still while she had her feet measured. Grace did as she was asked; I really felt like asking the assistant to take her time, so I could enjoy even more of a breather!

  ‘Have you seen anything you like?’ the young woman asked.

  Grace quickly scanned the shelves in front of her once more, as if for the first time.

  ‘Erm, that one.’

  She was pointing towards a different shoe to the one she’d picked out earlier. It had a crepe sole and thick, Velcro straps and to me it looked very plain and old-fashioned compared to the others. All of Grace’s sandals and trainers were much more modern. She was interested in fashion and often talked about what her favourite pop stars wore, so I was quite surpr
ised at her choice.

  ‘That one?’ the assistant said, arching one eyebrow. ‘OK. I’m sure we’ll have that in stock. We don’t sell many of those. I won’t be long.’

  ‘Do you want to pick another to try too?’ I found myself asking. I’d noticed that Grace’s attention was really on the wane, and I was worried she’d pointed at any old shoe, just to get this over and done with.

  ‘What? OK, that one.’ This time she chose one that looked like it would suit her much better.

  While we waited for the assistant to come back from the storeroom Grace sat in her socks, drumming her heels back into the wooden panel at the front of her cube seat. The beating noise this made got louder and louder, but she seemed oblivious to the racket she was making, even when people started looking over.

  ‘Can you stop that please, Grace?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Please stop kicking your heels into the seat.’

  ‘Oh!’ She stopped straight away; I don’t think she realised what she was doing.

  When the assistant returned she had disappointing news. Neither shoe was available in Grace’s size.

  ‘Can we just go?’

  ‘No, Grace. Can you tell us which shoes you do have in this size?’

  I felt like kicking myself at this point. I realised I’d gone through this rigmarole before, and more than once. You’d think I’d have learned by now that shoe shops are all but depleted of school stock at this time of year. There is no point in asking a child to choose a style; what you need to do is ask the assistant what they have left in stock in the child’s size.

  The young woman disappeared into the storeroom again.

  ‘How long is this going to take? I need the toilet.’

  ‘Can you hold on or do you need to go now?’

  ‘I need to go. Now. I’m bursting. Is there one? Where’s the toilet? I think I’m going to pee myself.’

  We ended up leaving the shoe shop before the assistant returned. I took Grace across the road to our local department store, where we had to take the lift to the top floor. It stopped at the second floor and went back to the ground floor before finally taking us up again. The ladies’ toilet was at the back, beside the cafe, which was rammed with parents and kids of all ages. There was a long queue for the toilet. Grace looked very on edge as we waited our turn. She started looking all around her, jerking her head around and jabbering on about whatever came to her mind.