by Parks, Adele
‘I just thought it might be tricky for you. Since he lost your mum, he’s been distracted – perhaps he’s made the odd wrong call – but he adores you, Olivia.’
‘What do you know about him? Or me? Or any of us? Really, what do you know?’ She pauses; the moment exudes sarcasm as she stares at my blank face and her questions sluice about our history. The truth is, I don’t know an awful lot. I don’t know if Tom has feelings for me, or if he simply drank too much and blurted out a load of nonsense. I had no clue that Olivia uses the uni library or that she was heading for this sort of trouble. I know Callum plays ice hockey and that his girlfriend is called Issy but I don’t even know if he has a middle name. I know that Amy likes to dance but I’m unsure if she has a favourite cuddly toy. Olivia continues: ‘Nothing. That’s what. You’ve done everything in your power to keep at a distance. And now this! You are an idiot, Alison. An idiot. If you weren’t so sad, you’d be hilarious. To be clear, if you were the last person on the planet, I’d cut out my tongue rather than talk to you about anything.’ She stands up, pushing her chair back violently.
I’m shaking, taken aback by her anger and by the truth of what she’s saying. Have I existed in a state of perpetual shock for these past months? Why don’t I know more? Why did I shy away from them all, rather than really try to understand this family which I need to blend with? I look at her, and she looks a lot like a lost chance.
‘You know what?’ Her lip is curled, her tone is cold. ‘You should go away.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You shouldn’t have been in our lives in the first place. Dad was stupid to track you down. You have the money. You’re not tied by anything as ordinary as work. You could just move. Get right out of our lives. Pretend none of this happened.’
‘Wouldn’t you—?’ I want to say, Wouldn’t you miss us? But I have no right and, besides, I can’t bear to hear her answer, which would undoubtedly be blunt, honest. Yet suddenly I’m clear and sure. I would miss her. I see that now. Now, when it’s too late. The brutal sensation of understanding this at last leaves me mentally gasping. I’m floored by something like anxiety or adoration. Here she is, in front of me, quite magnificent. My other daughter. My once was daughter. I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. However, my palms are wet with sweat; they weep regret.
‘Do you know, in all of this, it’s Jeff I feel bad for.’
‘You don’t have to.’
She throws out another contemptuous look. I don’t mind: I can absorb it. ‘He seems to care.’ Almost sulkily, she adds, ‘I think he sees you in me. No doubt that’s why.’
Her comment is complex. She’s acknowledging that we have some similarities, although she doesn’t seem delighted by the fact. She’s right, Jeff has said as much, he does see me in her, but I also know that he cares for her in her own right. She ought to know that. ‘I think he just likes you because you are you.’
For a second her fury is abated. She looks at me carefully, warily. ‘You think?’ She’s hopeful and childlike. This girl who has already started to have sex, this girl whose body has started to make a baby, is simply a child. She’s so mercurial, just like Katherine.
‘I know.’ She gives me a small, acknowledging nod. ‘And, Olivia—’
‘What?’
‘I’m not going anywhere. I want to be near you. I know I’m not your mum, I know you’re not looking for a new mum, but I could be your friend. I want to be. If you’d let me. I like you, Olivia.’ I love her, but I can’t tell her that; she’d run a mile, laugh sardonically, perhaps crumble under the pressure.
She widens her eyes. ‘You think? You don’t even like yourself, Alison – how can you possibly like the daughter who is the spit of you?’ Then she flounces out of the café.
33
I scramble in my purse and find a twenty-pound note. I leave it on the table; I don’t wait for the change. Even so, by the time I get to the café door there’s no sign of Olivia; she’s quick, I’ll give her that. My phone rings and I see it’s Jeff. I’m surprised: I wouldn’t have expected him to risk interrupting. It’s almost as though he has a sixth sense that I need him.
‘It went badly,’ I say the moment I pick up the phone, not bothering with the formalities of ‘Hello, how are you?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry about that. Well, it’s bound to take time.’ He sounds a bit harried, as though he’s not really concentrating on what I have to say. ‘I was actually calling to see if you’d picked up Katherine from Maddie’s.’
‘No, you said you were going to do it.’ A flash of annoyance skitters up my spine as I check my watch. She was supposed to be collected almost an hour ago. Maddie’s mum will be wondering where we are. This is the reason I do all the pick-ups and drop-offs: Jeff is notoriously forgetful and unreliable with this sort of ‘detail’, as he calls it. Especially when he’s writing, he gets easily distracted.
‘Yes, I know I did. And I went for her, but she wasn’t there.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Maddie’s mum said she left at eight this morning.’
‘What?’
‘She told them we’d arranged to meet her.’
‘Meet her? Where?’ Anxiety immediately takes residence in my stomach. It swoops around, sloshing like a bucket of water carried by a child.
‘At the Costa Coffee on Bridge Lane.’
‘But why would we meet her there?’ Bridge Lane is close to the A road out of town. I’ve never been in that Costa and, as far as I know, neither has Katherine. ‘Is she sure?’
‘That’s what she said.’
‘Why did they agree to that? That isn’t what we planned with them.’ I’m annoyed with Katherine and I’m irritated with Maddie’s mum. Also surprised: most parents have a high awareness of the importance of sticking to plans concerning teenagers. Most have been, or expect to be, duped by teens looking for a bit of independence, thrills and spills. Generally, we’re on the same team in terms of trying to outfox and safeguard our kids.
‘She said Katherine showed her a text from me saying to meet there because we were heading off for a family day out and wanted to get ahead of the traffic.’
‘That doesn’t make sense.’
‘No, because I didn’t send a text.’
‘I know that.’ My mind is going at a hundred miles an hour; I’m considering possible reasons for Katherine taking off on her own. ‘Have you called her?’
‘Straight to voicemail. And I’ve texted. Three times. Nothing back. You?’ Jeff is talking in splintered sentences. They stutter out like gunfire: abrupt, deadly. I check my phone, but there are no messages at all.
‘Have you been there? To the Costa?’
‘I’m here now. There’s no sign of her. The staff here don’t remember seeing a fifteen-year-old girl of any description.’
‘And you’ve tried that Find my iPhone tracking thingy?’ We all have this app on our phones. I can’t tell you how many times it’s saved the day when one or other of us has believed we’ve lost our phone.
‘Yes. No joy. It just says her phone is offline.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Switched off or out of power.’
‘Oh, Jeff.’ She never lets her phone run out of ‘juice’, as she calls it. She took her charger with her to Maddie’s last night, I know she did, because I saw her pack it. She must have deliberately switched off her phone. Why? Why does she want to go off-grid? The anxiety begins to solidify, becoming a throbbing apprehension, cementing in the pit of my spine, pulling me to the ground. I stagger a bit, prop myself up against a nearby shop window, my legs and hands shaking, my brain whirling then fogging. I breathe in, deeply. Whatever Katherine is up to, she needs me to be clear-sighted, even though she might not want me to be. I have to out-think her, and she’s smart. Clearly, she’s put some thought into absconding this morning. Why? It makes no sense. If she’s meeting someone – girlfriends to do some shopping with, or a boyfriend to do God knows what with –
then she must know she’s given herself only a few hours’ head start; she must know we’ll track her down as soon as possible. This isn’t like the times when she bunked off from school; then, she had the whole day to herself, undetected. This plan doesn’t make any sense.
‘You know what, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. I bet she’s meeting some friends and planning on doing some secret Christmas shopping.’ I barely believe this, even as I say it, but I badly want it to be true.
‘At eight o’clock in the morning? Before the shops have even opened?’ Jeff articulates all the things that are in my head which I hoped he’d dismiss. I hear panic and fear in his voice. I wish I didn’t, because if Jeff is scared, then there really might be something to be scared about. I exist in a more or less perpetual state of apprehension and concern, but Jeff is invariably level-headed, considered. Throughout these past months he’s maintained that everything is going to be fine, that we’ll get through it. Although I’ve thought his constantly upbeat attitude was a bit frustrating at times, deep down I appreciated it, because an infinitesimal part of me hoped and believed he might just be right. He’s that sort of man; a man that might just be right. Now, he’s scared. That’s serious. I feel waves of panic threaten to overwhelm me, but I know Jeff needs me to be calm now, not distraught.
I check my watch again, even though I know what it says. My daughter’s whereabouts have been unknown for nearly four hours. I tell myself that’s not the same as her being missing.
‘Or perhaps a boy,’ I offer, trying to hide my distress. One with dreadlocks, or a skinhead, complicated tattoos all the way up both arms, acne on his chin, a condom in his pocket. Right now I’m desperate for it to be this level of deceit. Praying for it. ‘She probably hoped to carve out a few independent hours and then arrive back at ours at eleven, giving us some story about Maddie’s mum dropping her off, hoping we’d be none the wiser.’
‘Then why didn’t she come home?’
‘A boy might make her lose track of time.’
‘Alison.’ Jeff sounds frustrated with me for not articulating the dreadfulness that must be on both our minds. It’s a first that he’s chastising me for not looking at the worst-case scenario. How can I pretend there isn’t a life-defining test result looming? How can I pretend she isn’t confused about her parentage? Has she run away? Who would blame her? Part of me would like to run away from this chaos, too, but I wouldn’t because I’d never, ever leave her. I’m a parent, though; she’s a child. She doesn’t have the same responsibility towards me. Oh God, Katherine, where are you, you silly, gorgeous child?
‘I’ll call Tom and see if he’s seen her.’
‘You think she might have gone to Tom’s?’
‘Well, Olivia turned to you, didn’t she? The whole business with the library card. Her father thought she was out with a boyfriend.’ It’s not the moment for me to dwell on the fact that Olivia was exceeding Tom’s expectations, nor is it the moment to ask myself why neither of them had turned to me. ‘You start calling her friends.’
‘Where are their numbers? On your PC?’
‘Yes, but there’s also a hard copy of the year list pinned to the kitchen noticeboard. Use that.’ For once, my zealous organisation seems to be useful.
‘OK. Alison, do you think we should call her counsellor?’
‘Yes. If you don’t get any news via her friends within the next hour or so, we’ll call Betty. And the hospitals.’ I force myself to keep my voice very calm and clear.
‘OK. I’ll meet you at home. Be as quick as you can.’ I hear the need in his voice.
I run to my car, my breath never making it to and from my lungs but instead taking harbour in my throat. I’m suffocating. I call Katherine’s number. As I feared yet expected, it goes straight through to voicemail. I leave her a message. ‘Darling, I don’t know where you are but I know you are not at Maddie’s. You are not going to be in trouble. I’m not angry, but you must call me. You must.’ I am angry, but I’m not as angry as I am scared. The moment I’m in the car I call Tom’s number. It rings for an infuriating six, seven, eight times before he finally picks up.
‘Hi, sorry, just making pancakes. Couldn’t find my phone in among the debris of the batter and eggshells and—’
‘Have you seen Katherine?’ I cut sharply across his languid explanation. He can’t fail to hear the panic in my voice. Oddly, I don’t feel a need to protect and support him the way I did with Jeff. I’m not sure if this impatience has something to do with his actions last night or simply because I don’t have the resources to support them both right now. I know only one thing. I have to find Katherine.
‘Katherine? No. Should I have? Is she on her way over?’ The excited warmth of his voice, which normally pleases, disappoints. It’s like he’s punched me.
‘Oh my God. Has she called you today?’
‘No.’
‘Or texted?’
‘I haven’t heard from her. What’s wrong, Alison?’ Tom’s tone has changed to one of concern.
‘She was at a friend’s for a sleepover last night. Jeff went to pick her up this morning and she had already left.’
‘So she’s walking home.’ He sounds instantaneously relieved, a little bit incredulous that I’m so riled. This is because he doesn’t know her as well as we do.
‘No. She’d never do that. Never has. Maddie lives eight miles away. Besides, she specifically told Maddie’s mum that she was meeting us at a Costa.’
‘Why would she say that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Have you called her?’
‘Yes, obviously. It went straight to voicemail. I’m going home now to help Jeff call her friends, her counsellor and the hospital.’
‘Oh, Alison, don’t get too stressed. I’m sure she’ll be home before you are.’
I think of Tom’s reaction when Olivia stormed out of his house yesterday. He was chilled, certain it was nothing more than a teenage strop, positive she’d resurface as soon as she calmed down, and he’d been right. But this is a different case. This isn’t a teenager, shocked and emotional, reacting to finding her father in a clinch, this is a pre-planned thing. What is she thinking?
‘I hope you are right,’ I mutter. I want to get him off the phone. Even though I have a hands-free gadget in my car, it’s hard to concentrate on driving, I’m so anxious. ‘You promise you’ll call me if you do hear from her? The very moment?’ I demand.
‘Definitely, and you’ll do the same for me.’
‘Yes, Tom, I will.’
There’s a moment. ‘Look, Alison, about last night.’
‘Not now, Tom. This really isn’t the time.’
34
Jeff and I spend an hour and a quarter on the phone calling most of the homes of the seventy girls in Katherine’s school year. We know some of the parents very well; invariably, they do not take our claim that Katherine is missing at all seriously. They say, ‘While I’ve got you on the line …’ and they try to talk to me about fixtures, dinner dates and even my views on the newly proposed PE uniform. It takes every iota of strength I possess to remain civil, but I’m not effusive and once I establish Katherine is not at their house, that they haven’t heard from her, I cut them off sharply. On to the next one. I have never spoken to some of the parents before and those calls are excruciating, peculiar. A couple of the numbers are engaged or the families are out. No one can help. No one has any news.
I look online and read that the first few hours are often vital in offering up clues in a missing-person case. I keep checking the wall clock, my watch and the clock on my iPhone; they all say the same. Time is passing.
‘I can’t just sit here.’ Jeff jumps up and starts to walk into the hall.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’ll walk the streets. I’ll do a check of the places she likes to visit.’
‘Where?’
‘The school playing fields, the leisure centre, the ice rink. Her favourite shops.
’
‘I’ll come with you.’ I stand up, too, and reach for my coat.
‘Shouldn’t one of us stay, in case she comes home?’
I don’t know the answer. She has a key, she could let herself in, but that’s not the point. Someone ought to be here to greet her. ‘Maybe,’ I admit reluctantly.
I watch Jeff drive away and I’m devastated. I’ve never felt so alone in my life. I, too, want to be doing something to bring her home. I want to be out there looking for her. It’s not enough just to sit and wait, wait and see what happens. I feel I’ve been doing that for too long.
It is the longest three hours of my life. I am on a knife edge, racking my brain for ideas of where she might be. Jeff calls regularly to give me updates but they’re disheartening, he can’t do more than tell me where he’s been. He is scouring the streets, going from door to door between her friends’ homes – most of whom we called this morning – asking again if they’ve seen her, heard from her, how she’d seemed to them the last time they saw her. He tells me that, this time, people’s concern is tangible. No one tries to talk about fixtures or tartan PE skirts. Some of her schoolfriends burst into tears, as teenage girls are wont to do; they are still allowed to show their confusion and dread. Meanwhile, I call Jeff’s family, our friends and the headmistress of the school. I text Rachel. I know she can’t help, but I feel a need to reach out to everyone. Jeff’s sister says she’ll find someone to look after her kids and come and sit with me. She can be here by six. I tell her not to bother. We both agree that Katherine will probably be home by then.
When Jeff calls me at 4 p.m. I say, ‘We have to call the police, Jeff. It’s getting dark. Where can she be?’ I imagine him nodding slowly. Sadly.
‘I’ll come home now. We’ll do it together.’
The moment I hang up the landline starts to sing. I snatch up the receiver. Hopeful.
