by Linda Huber
In the kitchen, Sarah set the machine burbling and filled Caitlyn in on what had happened that afternoon.
Caitlyn leaned against the worktop, sipping a glass of water. ‘Poor kiddy. She must be worried sick.’
‘The police seem to think Petra’s gone off somewhere, so they’re not exactly rushing around with bloodhounds,’ said Sarah grimly. ‘She’s done something similar a couple of times before, apparently.’
‘She must be completely unfeeling. Heck, Frankie can’t be any older than my Tina.’
Sarah frowned. ‘She’s not unfeeling, just not your typical earth-mother type. It could all get a bit messy, and Mim’s afraid we’ll have tears half the night with her stuck downstairs.’
Caitlyn put her glass into the sink. ‘Do you suppose this Petra tried to get to the admin building via the tunnel system in the cellars, and collapsed, or something? It’s pretty rabbit-warrenish down there. I told you I’ve been researching an article on hospital kitchens? The other day they took me to see round the storage areas etcetera, and some of these are in the cellar. Bits of the place look like a hundred years ago.’
Sarah stood still. What a horrible idea. ‘But the general public couldn’t get down there, could they?’
‘I don’t think there’s anything actually stopping you going down the stairs and through into the tunnel system. It’s not the kind of thing most people would do, but… that was quite some rain this afternoon.’
Sarah put the coffee jug on the tray. ‘And she’d want to arrive at her meeting as dry as possible. I wonder if anyone’s checked that. I’ll call the nurse who’s been helping us, he’d know.’
She made the connection, and Nick’s voice boomed in her ear.
‘Sarah! Great to hear from you.’
Heavens, thought Sarah. Does he think it’s a social call? She outlined Caitlyn’s idea.
‘Okay – I’ll make sure someone checks that, though I don’t think it’s likely.’
‘That’ll set our minds at rest. Thanks, Nick.’ She was about to end the call when he spoke again, his voice breathless now.
‘Sarah – let’s go for coffee sometime? I think we’d have a lot to say to each other – how about it?’
Astounded, Sarah searched for something to say, aware that Caitlyn was staring at her.
‘Oh, um, great, let’s think about it when things’ve settled down, huh? Bye.’
She ended the call and grinned at Caitlyn. ‘He’s going to check the cellars. And he asked me out – I think! It was a definite suggestion that a coffee sometime would be fun, anyway. That’s the second invitation since I arrived here. And I thought it was going to be an unromantic summer.’
She lifted the coffee tray and started back to the living room. Another invitation from a good-looking man. Exactly what her self-confidence needed.
It wasn’t until she was lying in bed that night that another train of thought started. Why on earth should Nick think they had ‘a lot to say to each other’? All they’d ever talked about was Frankie and her family, and she hadn’t given him any grounds to think she might be interested in him. Could he have another reason for wanting to stay in touch with her – and Frankie?
He was right there in Ward Five, nearly every day. Maybe he knew more about Wilma’s missing money than he was letting on.
Chapter Four
Friday, 7th July
Sarah was pottering around in her bedroom after midnight when she heard footsteps padding to the bathroom, and put her head round the door. ‘Okay?’ she whispered, and Frankie nodded. The girl’s face was tranquil, so Sarah left her to it. At ten past four, however, she woke to the sound of muffled sobs in the room next door.
Sarah grabbed her bathrobe and hurried through. ‘Oh, sweetheart, everything feels worse in the night when you can’t sleep. Tomorrow we’ll be able to do more about finding your mum, and you know Mim and I’ll help you all we can.’
She sat on the bed, rubbing Frankie’s back. Gradually, the sobs died away, and the child fell asleep. Sarah left quietly. Poor scrap. It was all very well saying things like that, but in reality there was little they could do. They could phone the police and hear what was going on, phone the ward and ask how Wilma was, visit the old lady… and that was it. And in the middle of it all was Mim with her wonky knee, needing peace and quiet to get her strength back.
Sarah sighed, then smiled wryly. On the other hand, peace and quiet and Mim didn’t go together. Mim would make her own decisions about how much she was involved in Frankie’s affairs, and if Sarah knew her foster mother, it would be right up to her neck. Mim was Mama Lion when it came to her foster kids.
Frankie was up and dressed in her blue tracksuit when Sarah came out of the shower on Friday morning. The girl’s face was pale, but there were no signs of last night’s tears. Sarah hugged her, remembering how often Mim had hugged little Sarah in the first days after Gran’s death. A hug was worth a hundred words, Mim said. No more, no less. And Frankie’s tense little body did relax for a second.
Sarah kept an arm round the child as they went downstairs. ‘Let’s get you some breakfast. Frankie, which school do you go to? I’ll give them a call that you won’t be in today. And we’ll phone Mr West at nine and see what’s going on.’
‘Mosshill Primary. And it’s Sergeant West,’ said Frankie, and Sarah pulled a face.
‘Bit of a mouthful, isn’t it? Let’s demote him when he’s not around to hear us.’
A smile flashed over Frankie’s face and was gone in an instant. She watched as Sarah frothed up milk for cappuccino. ‘I tried my Mum’s phone again.’
Sarah chose her words carefully. ‘I think Petra must have lost her mobile. If she still had it she’d have called you.’
Frankie scowled, and descended into a bowl of cornflakes. Sarah stood by the toaster, sipping her coffee. If Petra had merely been out on the town she’d have texted Frankie by now at the very least. It was becoming more and more evident that she either didn’t want to be found, or else something had happened to her – or her phone.
‘Morning, girls. Is that coffee?’
Sarah turned to see Mim standing with her crutches in the doorway, fully dressed in a pair of rust-coloured trousers and a cream blouse. ‘Oh, Mim love – I thought you were still asleep. I was going to help you up to the shower.’
‘I had a cat’s lick and a promise in the downstairs loo at six, and I’ve done all my exercises too,’ said Mim virtuously, sitting down beside Frankie. ‘But you could make me some toast. We’ll see what’s happening today, and plan my ablutions accordingly. Did you sleep much, Frankie?’
Frankie pushed her bowl away. ‘I want my mum,’ she whispered, two tears trickling down her cheeks, and Mim hugged her. The same bear hug Sarah remembered so well.
‘I know, lovey. Sergeant West might have more news soon.’
Sarah placed a mug of coffee in front of Mim. ‘I’ll phone him now. Frankie, you can make Mim’s toast.’
Mim’s eyes met hers, and Sarah grimaced over Frankie’s head. Mim was fearing the worst, Sarah could tell.
She went through to the living room to phone in private. A quick call to tell the school Frankie would be absent until further notice, and Sarah was punching out Harry West’s number.
His voice on the phone was brisk. ‘I’m afraid there’s still no news of Petra’s whereabouts.’
‘Right,’ said Sarah, her heart sinking. ‘But I need something to tell Frankie. I wondered about going with her to her home – she needs to pick up some clothes and so on. And she might notice something that could help find her mother.’
The idea had sprung to mind as she was talking, but it was a good one, thought Sarah. It could well be that Petra had left some sort of clue at home.
Harry West was speaking again. ‘There was nothing as far as we could see, but we’re going back there in an hour to investigate the missing money connection. You could bring Frankie then for her things.’
It didn’t sound as if t
he police had looked very thoroughly yesterday, and Sarah felt even more depressed. How could they be so sure Petra had vanished voluntarily? She wasn’t the most attentive mother, okay, but she was missing and someone needed to be looking for her.
Harry was still speaking. ‘We’ll come and report progress later today too. Can we say half past four in Mrs Dunbar’s home?’
‘Fine. But – isn’t there a chance Petra’ll be found by that time?’
There was a long pause before he spoke again, and Sarah gripped her phone, feeling it tremble against her ear. Did he know something they didn’t? That wasn’t impossible.
‘There’s no way to know for sure,’ he said eventually. ‘It would be best not to tell Frankie everything’s going to be all right, in case it isn’t.’
‘I understand,’ said Sarah dismally. ‘I’ll see you later. Thanks.’
She put the phone down and sat for a moment, her shoulders drooping. Should she have mentioned those vague suspicions she’d had last night about Nick? But that’s all they were, suspicions. And the police would be interviewing the ward staff soon, surely – she could leave it to them.
And how was she supposed to put this ‘new’ information together in a way that wouldn’t send poor Frankie straight into the depths of despair? At least it was going to be a busy day. The more there was to do, the less time the girl would have to brood.
‘No real news yet, Frankie, but the police are going to your flat to look for clues,’ she said, joining the other two at the kitchen table and trying to sound encouraging. ‘We can go there in an hour and collect some stuff for you, and we’ll hear the latest there. Mim, how about if Frankie and I do that, then we’ll pick you up and we can all visit Wilma?’
‘Yeah,’ said Frankie, sounding more or less normal. ‘We’re on the third floor and sometimes the lift’s off.’ A moment later, however, she turned to Sarah with big eyes. ‘What did you mean, “no real news yet”?’
For a moment Sarah felt like crying. There was no reassurance she could give the child, but she had to say something that didn’t sound completely hopeless.
‘It means they haven’t found your mum in any of the places they’ve searched so far. You know, restaurants and hospitals. So they’re still very busy looking for her. They’re going to come and see us at half four and they’ll tell us more then, unless of course they find her before that. Try not to worry, Frankie.’
Everything was black, pitch black, and there was a terrible pain somewhere close by, but Petra couldn’t localise it because her head was buzzing like it would explode any second. She must have been taken ill, but she couldn’t remember… Why couldn’t she remember? Fear made her throat tight. Waves of dizziness were circling round her head and her limbs were too heavy to move, but – something else wasn’t right. The smell. It was a disused kind of smell – old cars and petrol and dirty rags. Befuddled as she was, the smell was screaming at her that she was in the wrong place. She forced her eyes open, but – hell no – had she gone blind?
She breathed deeply, forcing back panic. How cold she was; her feet were freezing, and oh hell, she’d peed herself. Hot shame as well as horror flushed through Petra. What was happening to her? Think, stupid… Why couldn’t she think clearly?
She strained against the fog in her brain, and chinks of the previous day flashed into her mind. She’d been out in the rain, hadn’t she? Yes, she was wearing her leather jacket because of the rain. The fuzziness began to recede and she remembered; she’d been on her way to see the hospital administrator, to complain about Wilma’s missing cash.
Petra’s stomach heaved, and the pain in her head increased tenfold. No, no – she was going to be sick. She should shout for Frankie to bring her a bucket to be sick into and a cloth for her head, and to do something about this disgusting smell.
But… no. Frankie was at the hospital, waiting for Wilma to come back from physio. But this wasn’t the hospital because hospitals didn’t smell of oil. Unless she’d got lost and fallen into the machine room or something. Did hospitals have machine rooms?
Nausea swept through Petra again and she retched; oh God, she couldn’t be sick here. She tried in vain to turn on her side but her limbs were weak and uncooperative. Was she paralysed? Blind? A shriek of disbelief rose in her throat, but the only sound she made was a high-pitched whimper as darkness descended once more.
Frankie’s home was in a not particularly affluent area near the town centre. Sarah parked in front of the ten-storey block and stared. No hanging baskets with cheerful geraniums were here to interrupt the grey concrete, and a depressing amount of litter and dog poo was scattered around the parking area in front of the entrance.
The lift was working, though smelly, and Sarah followed Frankie out at the third floor, where six flats were strung along a graffiti-covered landing. A little crowd of neighbours had gathered at the far end, and the uniformed officer standing beside one door made it painfully obvious which was Frankie’s home.
Sarah introduced herself and Frankie, and the officer disappeared inside, closing the door behind him.
‘Why do we have to wait?’ said Frankie, her voice high-pitched. ‘I live here – why can’t we go in?’
‘They’re only doing their job.’ Sarah kept hold of Frankie’s arm.
After a moment Harry West came out. ‘Morning, ladies. Frankie, I’d like you to have a look round with me and see if you notice anything unusual, because that might help us find your mum. And then you can take your stuff, but we don’t want you packing anything that has a big fat clue to your mum’s whereabouts sticking to its other side, so PC Mandy will help you. Okay?’
Frankie was escorted inside, and this time the door was left open. Sarah waited on the landing, watching the search. From what she could see the furniture was all either very old or very cheap. The place didn’t feel in the least homey, but that might be down to the police and the mess they were making. The contents of a large wall unit in the living room were being lifted out, searched through, and deposited on the coffee table and the floor. It seemed the police were taking Petra’s disappearance seriously after all. Or were they looking for the missing money? Troubled, Sarah averted her gaze. The scene before her was like something in a TV crime series – bringing Frankie here maybe hadn’t been a good idea.
It wasn’t long before the girl reappeared in the hallway, her chin wobbling.
Harry West ushered her out to Sarah. ‘We’ll come and report progress this afternoon. See you later.’
Frankie had packed two large sports bags, and Sarah gripped one and led the way back to the car. ‘You can have a nice shower after lunch,’ she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. ‘You’ll feel better with a proper change of clothes.’
The child was silent all the way back to Allington Road, and Sarah could find nothing to say that would help her. It must have been horrible, seeing policemen rifling through her home. Everyone said possessions were only things, but things as well as people made up a child’s world. So as well as missing her mother, Frankie had been forced to witness the rape of her home. Every bit as bad as burglars. And there was nothing Sarah could do, except hand out more of Mim’s hundred-word hugs.
Mim was waiting, and they left for the hospital as soon as Frankie had taken her bags upstairs. Wilma was in occupational therapy, but Nick sent a student nurse down to fetch her back.
‘We’ll go into Vicky’s office,’ he said in a low voice. ‘All Wilma knows is what we said yesterday, that Petra didn’t go to her meeting, and it’s anyone’s guess if she remembers that now. She’s pretty awake this morning so we should grab the chance to talk to her.’
Sarah couldn’t remember hearing Wilma speak intelligibly. ‘Is her speech okay?’
‘Yes. Her right brain was affected so her left side’s paralysed. Speech is controlled by the left brain. The problem is she’s so weak and sleepy much of the time.’
Wilma was wheeled in and sat peering from one face to the other while Nick expl
ained that Petra was missing. Sarah couldn’t tell if she understood or not. And those thoughts she’d had about Nick – if she was right, the man should be given an Oscar for this performance. The caring nurse… On the other hand, nurses did have to ‘act’, didn’t they? They couldn’t bring their private lives to work with them. She knew nothing about Nick. Or Vicky. Or the bad-tempered nurse. And the hospital staff would have had the best opportunity to get hold of Wilma’s cash.
When the old woman spoke she sounded breathless and weak, but the words were clear enough. ‘She was always flighty. Frankie should go to Adam.’
‘Oh, Gran, Dad’s in Boston,’ said Frankie, sounding exasperated. ‘Anyway, he hasn’t seen me for years. I don’t want to be with him.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Wilma. ‘He was here… last week. Why did you bring me back? I was waiting… for tea downstairs.’ She closed her mouth in a tight line.
‘Okay, Wilma, I’ll get someone to take you back down,’ said Nick, glancing at Sarah and Mim. He pushed Wilma out of the office.
‘I suppose your dad hasn’t come back to this country?’ said Sarah.
Frankie shrugged. ‘I’m sure he’s in America. Gran might have been thinking about Bert. He was Mum’s boyfriend till Easter. Though he won’t have been visiting Gran either.’
Nick came back. ‘She’s probably confused about your dad,’ he said, looking at Frankie. ‘It’s the effects of the stroke.’
Sarah remembered something. ‘Petra said Wilma was still pretty sharp. Was she wrong?’
Nick pulled a face. ‘She was still very with-it after her first stroke, but she’s had a couple of smaller ones since. I’m afraid we can’t rely on what she says.’
He walked them to the lift and shook hands all round, holding on to Sarah’s a shade longer than necessary. Sarah put an arm round Frankie as the lift descended. The child’s mum had vanished and her grandmother was confused. All the hugs in the world couldn’t compensate for that.
