by Linda Huber
‘Let’s get going, ladies,’ she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. ‘Frankie, could you help me with Mim’s things, please?’
Dejection all over her face, Frankie lifted one of Mim’s bags.
Sarah tried to sound encouraging. ‘A couple of hours can seem like half a lifetime when you’re waiting. I’m sure your mum’ll turn up soon.’
Brave words, she thought – but something must have happened to make Petra abandon her meeting and leave her daughter all this time. Communication wasn’t difficult nowadays no matter what was going on.
Sarah left Frankie and Mim by the door while she ran to fetch the car, great fat raindrops soaking through her jacket straightaway. It wasn’t the kind of day to go anywhere unless you had to. So where on earth was Petra?
Bent over the kitchen table, all he could hear was his own breathing – loud and shaky, to go with his old-man hands – and the rain battering on the kitchen window. Dark disbelief was swirling round his head. Everything that could have gone wrong with his glorious get-rich-quick plan had done exactly that. What was he supposed to do now? He had bloody abducted a woman.
The memory of the struggle in the car made him retch anew, and he stumbled across the room and spat into the shiny brightness of his lovely new sink. He would never know how he’d managed to go back to work and look normal for the rest of the afternoon. And it wasn’t over yet; this was his evening break. He still had a couple of hours late shift to go.
Unbelievable, how it had all gone so wrong. It wasn’t the first time he’d put his old lady plan into action; it had worked perfectly four times before Petra’s grandmother. Four times when no-one suspected a thing and all the lovely money was his. All he wanted was enough cash to make a beautiful home. He’d never had a nice home… He wasn’t a violent person. A sob burst from his throat.
His plans hadn’t stretched this far; getting Petra out of circulation had been the main objective. Okay, he’d done that.
He thumped the table top in frustration – he couldn’t think straight when he was this uptight. He needed time, but that was exactly what he didn’t have. People used the garage lane as a short cut to the station – suppose Petra managed to moan loudly enough to attract attention? Unlikely right this minute with the rain still pissing down, but it wouldn’t rain forever. He needed her unconscious, or…
…asleep. Brilliant – Mum’s old sleeping pills were still upstairs. Almost crying with relief, he floundered up the stairs and yanked the packet from the bathroom cupboard. Yes, yes – twelve pills, that would do very nicely.
There was no sound from the lock-up as he approached, the pills in one hand and a bottle of water in his jacket pocket. He stood in the lane, listening. Was she still alive? But she must be. He opened the door, slid inside, and pulled it shut again. This time, he’d brought a powerful torch to help the dim light on the ceiling, and he played it round the lock-up. Christ, this was like something out of a horror movie. Bare concrete walls darkened by years of grime and exhaust fumes, untidy shelves of anonymous tins and jars up one side – and a body huddling centre stage.
Petra’s chest was heaving so she was definitely alive and something told him she was awake, too – and afraid. Choking back his own fear, he knelt and checked her bonds. Good. Now for the pills.
She twisted her head away as he lifted the sack just enough to push a pill into her mouth, past the gag. A slosh of water and the pill was down. He stared at the foil pack. If… if he gave her them all, she would die… and no-one would find out about the money. Old Wilma was on the way out too. He pushed another pill into her mouth and she fought against him, wriggling and pulling her head away, making stupid little whimpering noises. He forced the bottle into her mouth and tilted it. To his horror she choked, coughing and retching, her lips turning blue in the light of the torch on the floor beside him. He jerked back; no, no, how disgusting – he couldn’t do this. Retching along with her, he covered her face again and backed towards the door, hands covering his mouth as he watched her struggle to breathe. What a coward he was. He couldn’t even give a helpless woman a few pills. He leaned against the door, sipping the water and waiting for Petra to fall asleep.
Ten minutes later her breathing was steady and deep.
Sarah parked as close to the front door as possible and hurried round to help Mim out.
‘Up you get, and in you go,’ she said, holding an umbrella above Mim’s head and grasping the older woman’s elbow with her free hand. The Fiat was low; it was a struggle to extract Mim. They should have thought about that before Rita reclaimed her Opel yesterday.
Frankie emerged from the back and collected Mim’s bags without being asked. Sarah smiled over her shoulder. ‘Thanks, Frankie. Come on in.’
The child looked shattered, and Sarah could sympathise. That feeling of helplessness after being abandoned was something she remembered all too well. Her anger that Gran had left her alone in the world had mingled with grief first, and then guilt because she was angry. It all added up to the worst, the loneliest feeling possible. It was just wrong of Petra, deserting her poor daughter like this. Unless… but if she’d had some kind of accident on the way to her meeting, wouldn’t they have heard about it by now?
‘Oh, Sarah, you don’t know how glad I am to be home,’ said Mim, stepping carefully over the door mat. ‘Come on, Frankie love. You’ll see a few changes since you were with us.’
Frankie shuffled inside, and Sarah glanced at Mim. The biggest change since Frankie’s time here was that Pop wasn’t around now. She followed the girl into the living room. Frankie was staring at Pop’s photo on the bookcase, and Sarah hugged her. ‘We miss Pop, of course, but – it was his time to go.’
Frankie nodded, and Sarah felt she’d said enough. To a child, sixty-four was a ripe old age, and Frankie hadn’t known Pop long enough to grieve for him.
Mim was in the doorway. ‘Where’s the little table?’
‘In your new study-bedroom. Go and have a look. Frankie can take your stuff through while I make us a cuppa.’ Sarah sighed. The bottle of Prosecco chilling in the fridge was no longer appropriate; they could hardly celebrate with Frankie sitting there worried out of her wits. Nick had said he would make some inquiries at the hospital and find out if anyone had seen Petra, but if she didn’t show up soon they’d have to phone the police.
Mim and Frankie joined her in the kitchen, and Sarah was glad to see a touch more colour in the girl’s cheeks. The best thing was to distract her until Nick phoned.
Sarah shook a packet of biscuits into the tin. ‘Not that you deserve chocolate digestives after what you did, you bad thing,’ she said severely to Mim. ‘Has she told you how she bust her knee, Frankie?’
Mim rose to the challenge and managed to make Frankie laugh with the story of the fateful bike ride home from the DIY store. ‘So goodness knows when the downstairs loo’ll get its coat of paint,’ she finished, reaching for her mug.
Frankie gazed round the kitchen. ‘I’d forgotten what a big house this is,’ she said, and Sarah wondered what the girl’s own home was like.
‘We needed it big for all you lot,’ said Mim.
Frankie stared at Sarah. ‘Were you fostered here too?’
Sarah nodded. ‘It was well before your time. I lived with my gran before, but when she died there wasn’t anyone else. So I came to Mim and Pop.’
‘What happened to your parents?’ Frankie’s eyes were wide.
Sarah bit her lip. They were back to talking about dead people. So much for keeping things upbeat.
‘They died in a car crash when I was very small,’ she said briskly, putting the mugs in the dishwasher. ‘I don’t remember much about them. Why don’t you help Mim unpack while I organise some grub? I’m sure Nick’ll track your mum down soon. Your mobile’s on, isn’t it?’
Frankie checked, her expression gloomy again, then followed Mim into the study. Sarah pulled a packet of burgers from the freezer and put three in the microwave to defrost wh
ile she washed a lettuce, listening to Mim pointing out the photos of various foster children that were sprinkled around the study.
Frankie picked her way through half a burger before putting her knife and fork down. ‘I want my mum.’ Her voice was thick.
Sarah reached for her mobile. They should call Nick now. If the police were going to be involved it should happen sooner rather than later. ‘I know, lovey. This is rotten for you. Is your dad around, Frankie? No? Right, I’ll call Nick, and we’ll see what he thinks. You could clear up here, maybe? Mim’ll remind you where things go.’
Sarah took her phone through to the living room and shut the door behind her. It might be better if Frankie didn’t overhear this conversation.
She should have asked Nick for a mobile number, Sarah realised as she waited for the hospital switchboard to answer. She asked to be put through to rehab Ward Five, and waited on, listening to canned music this time.
The voice that eventually answered the phone was brusque. ‘Neuro five, staff nurse Evan Carter.’ It was the dark-haired nurse from that afternoon.
Sarah gave her name and asked for Nick.
‘He’s busy with a patient. Do you want to leave a message?’
Sarah made a face. An overworked, bad-tempered nurse relaying a message wasn’t ideal. But then the line crackled and Nick’s voice sounded in her ear.
‘Good, I was about to call you. Someone saw Petra fixing her hair in the ladies’ loo down at the cafeteria around three o’clock, but that’s all. She didn’t arrive in the admin building. There’s a reception desk on the ground floor there and the secretary’s adamant about it. Petra’s not answering her phone, and she’s not in A&E because I checked there too. With a child involved I think we have to phone the police. Shall I do that, as she disappeared from here?’
Sarah’s heart sank. ‘Yes please. What on earth’s happened to her?’
‘Lord knows. She could have gone anywhere after she left rehab. I’ll get onto the cops now, and call you back.’
‘Tell them –’ Sarah hesitated. Mim would certainly insist on keeping Frankie, if the need arose, even though she wasn’t functioning like a normal foster mother. ‘Tell them Frankie can stay here for a day or two if necessary.’
She put the phone down and rubbed her cheek. Something very odd must have happened to Petra. She might have had problems in the past, but you could see she cared about her girl.
Uneasiness churned in Sarah’s stomach as she went back to the kitchen. It was such a big thing, calling the police in. There didn’t seem any way she could give Frankie this news without alarming her. They were admitting that Petra really had vanished.
Frankie, however, saw things differently. ‘Oh good – they’ll soon find her, won’t they?’ she said, her face brightening. ‘I mean, they’ve got radios and stuff and dogs to search for people, haven’t they?’
‘I guess so,’ said Sarah, trying not to show her anxiety. ‘We’ll wait until Nick calls back. Look, the rain’s stopped. Why don’t you go and see if Thomas is in the garden? I’m sure he’ll recognise you.’
Frankie vanished through the back door, and Sarah told Mim about her conversation with Nick.
‘Of course she must stay, if it comes to that,’ said Mim immediately. ‘I suppose Petra couldn’t have gone somewhere to collect something, had an accident and been taken to a different hospital?’
‘Brockburn General’s the only accident and emergency hospital round here, isn’t it? But that’s something the police’ll be able to find out.’
Mim looked sober. ‘Sarah – Petra lost the plot when her partner left her back then, but she was devastated when Frankie was placed here. It was the start of getting her life back. I’m sure she’d never do anything that would mean losing her child again.’
The landline rang ten minutes later. Sarah was half expecting it to be the police, but Nick’s deep voice greeted her once again.
‘Just to let you know the cops’ll be coming round to see you soon. They were pretty non-committal, but they’ve sent someone to check Petra’s flat and they’ll contact Social Services about Frankie. Oh, and we haven’t said more to Wilma. No point worrying her before we know what’s going on.’
Sarah blinked, startled. Could Petra be lying at home unconscious? They should have thought of that as soon as they realised she was missing. Sarah relayed the conversation back to Mim, who banged her fist on the table.
‘I wish I was fit and able to help properly. All this sitting in the kitchen is getting right up my nose already.’
Sarah stepped out the back door. Frankie was hunched on the bench outside, Thomas clutched on her lap. Sarah dried a piece of seat with a tissue and perched beside the girl.
‘He’s a big smoocher, isn’t he?’
Frankie scratched round Thomas’s ears. ‘I’ve always wanted a cat but Mum says it wouldn’t work. We’re on the third floor.’
‘Yes, that makes it difficult,’ said Sarah. ‘Frankie, the police are coming round soon. I expect they’ll have some questions about where your mum might have gone.’
Frankie’s voice was petulant. ‘How should I know that?’
Sarah heard the doorbell ring inside. She pulled Frankie to her feet, rudely ejecting Thomas. ‘That’ll be them now. Come on.’
To Sarah’s initial consternation Mim was already at the front door. But then, the physio had said exercise was good for her. Sarah put a hand on Frankie’s shoulder as they went into the living room behind two police officers, an older man and a young woman, as well as Mrs Jameson from social services.
‘Hello, Sarah,’ said Mrs Jameson warmly. ‘I hear you’re home for a few weeks.’
‘Just until Mim’s biking round again,’ said Sarah. ‘We timed it rather well, all things considered.’
‘You did. This is Sergeant Harry West and PC Mandy Craven.’
The senior officer must have been about forty, with thick dark hair and no expression at all on his face. Sarah could feel Frankie trembling beside her on the sofa, and reached for the girl’s hand. Sergeant West summarised what Nick had told him, then spoke directly to Frankie.
‘We’ve had a look in your flat, and your mum isn’t at home. Did she mention any other meeting, or appointments she had today? No? Do you know what she was planning to do after her meeting at the hospital?’
Frankie shook her head.
‘Does she have any special friends she goes out with in the evenings? Any boyfriends, man-friends? Any favourite nightclubs or restaurants you know about?’
Frankie was one big head-shake. Taken aback, Sarah hugged the girl’s thin shoulders. Couldn’t the man be a little more sympathetic? And why all the questions about nightclubs and man-friends when Petra had disappeared on her way to meet the hospital administrator? The sergeant’s next question returned them to Brockburn General, however.
‘Can you tell me what this hospital meeting was about?’
‘Business,’ whispered Frankie, glaring at the floor. ‘Gran lost some money in the hospital and Mum’s trying to find it.’
‘She told me about that,’ said Sarah, and went on to outline what Petra had said.
The sergeant looked thoughtful. ‘We’ll look into that too. He turned back to Frankie. ‘Tell me, how old are you now, Frankie?’
‘Nearly twelve,’ said Frankie, sticking her chin out.
Mrs Jameson leaned forwards in her chair. Her voice was gentle. ‘We can see you’re old enough to understand, but the thing is, Frankie, it’s against the law to leave a child your age alone all this time. And this isn’t the first time it’s happened. You know my colleague was called in by your neighbour twice last year.’
A little shock ran through Sarah. So that was the why of the questions. Poor Frankie.
‘But there was nothing wrong!’ cried Frankie. ‘Mum was at a dance, both times, that’s all! I was fine at home!’
Mrs Jameson gave Mim and Sarah a meaningful look, and turned back to the girl. ‘Well, we’ll have t
o find you a temporary home until we know what’s going on.’
Mim leaned forwards. ‘She’s got one right here.’
The social worker looked relieved. ‘That would seem best, if you’re sure it’s not too much for you. We’ll know more tomorrow, so we’ll leave the paperwork until then.’
‘But – aren’t you going out looking for Mum?’ cried Frankie, staring wildly at the two police officers. ‘She might be lost, or hurt, or – anything!’
Sergeant West stood up. ‘We’ll be looking, don’t worry. But it’s odds-on your mum’ll turn up when she’s ready.’
Sarah accompanied the three visitors to the front door, her mind in a whirl. She couldn’t share the sergeant’s confidence. If Petra had been planning to go out clubbing she would hardly have left her daughter in a hospital TV room. That was asking for trouble.
A little worm of apprehension twisted in Sarah’s middle as she watched the police car drive off. Maybe something bad had happened to Petra.
She was about to go back inside when Caitlyn jogged round the corner into Allington Drive. Sarah went down the path to meet her by the gate. It might be as well to let their neighbour know what was happening.
Caitlyn’s face was alarmed. ‘Sarah, is everything all right? I saw the police car.’
‘It’s a fostering thing. One of Mim’s previous kids is back because her mum’s gone AWOL. Come in and say hello to Mim.’
She led Caitlyn into the living room, where Mim was on the sofa, her leg on a cushion on the coffee table. There was no sign of Frankie.
Caitlyn went to kiss Mim’s cheek. ‘Good to see you home and looking so well. But what’s with the fostering, Mim? You’re not exactly at your fittest.’
Mim pulled a wry face. ‘I couldn’t say no – remember Frankie? She’s not in a good place at the moment.’
Sarah craned her neck to see into the kitchen.
‘It’s all right, she’s outside with the cat,’ said Mim. ‘Why don’t you two go and make coffee? I’m parched and Caitlyn looks like she could do with something to drink.’
