by K. L. Slater
‘… so I apologise in advance if my questions seem unnecessary, inappropriate or invasive. Believe me, my only motivation is finding Grace. That’s the aim of anything I ask, say or do.’
Blake nods and I stare at the detective wondering why the hell we’re sitting here like this. We should all be out there, on the streets, searching for my daughter.
DS Paige takes out a small black notebook. He opens it at a blank page and his hand hovers above it with a pen.
‘I know it can seem frustrating sitting here when you’d rather be out looking for Grace,’ he says, as if he’s read my mind. ‘But your information is the most powerful factor we have in finding her. You are Grace’s parents. You know her better than anyone.’
‘She’s Type 1 diabetic,’ I say. ‘It’s really important she takes her medication regularly.’
‘We do know she had her insulin on her,’ Blake adds. ‘She should be OK for a while; she knows how to measure her blood sugar levels and administer the insulin to herself.’
‘That’s good,’ DS Paige murmurs, and it goes down in his notebook as though it’s dealt with.
But it’s not as simple as that. Grace could become very ill, very quickly, if for some reason she can’t use the insulin.
The female officer who accompanied me into the house brings some tea through. She carries the cups and the sugar canister on a tray I’d forgotten I had, covered in an autumnal print of leaves and berries. I’ve had that tray for years and never thought to use it.
DS Paige asks us if we’ve searched the house and garden. ‘I don’t mean just the obvious places,’ he adds. ‘Also cubbyholes and any garden sheds. Young children are able to squeeze into some seemingly inaccessible spaces.’
Blake shakes his head. ‘We haven’t had time to search the house, but like we told the other officers, Grace has been out all day. She was walking home from her friend’s house when it happened.’
‘If it’s OK with you, we’ll get that done right away, then.’ He doesn’t phrase it as a question.
‘Of course,’ Blake agrees.
DI Pearlman looks towards the uniformed officers in the doorway and gives a sharp tip of his head. The officers immediately disappear in the direction of the stairs.
‘It’s a waste of time,’ I say faintly. ‘Grace isn’t here.’
‘I understand that, Lucie, and I’m sure you’re right. But certain boxes have to be ticked and I’m afraid there’s no way around it. The quicker we get through this stuff, the closer we get to our objective.’
Objective?
I open my mouth to tell him about Grace Susan Sullivan. My daughter.
I want to tell him how she has too much energy to sit still for any length of time, never mind stay silent and hidden in some tiny space in the house on her own.
How she’s never hidden from us even once in her entire nine years on the planet.
‘Let them do their job, Luce,’ Blake says, and I close my mouth again.
DI Pearlman clears his throat and begins to ask questions while his colleague dutifully scribbles down Blake’s answers on his notepad.
How did Grace seem before she left home this morning? Had there been any arguments or disagreements? Is it possible she’d run away as a prank or because she felt unhappy or annoyed in some way? Could she have gone somewhere else on impulse: a favourite place or a friend’s house, perhaps?
‘This is all nonsense.’ I stand up, knocking over the untouched cup of tea at my feet. The female officer springs forward, her hands stretched out towards the spillage.
I feel dizzy and I can’t stop shivering, like I’m freezing cold. Which I’m not.
‘The tea is not what matters here,’ I screech, waving her faffing hands away. ‘Finding Grace is what’s important.’
‘Lucie, please. Just stop!’ I don’t think it’s possible for Blake’s face to grow any paler than it already is, but it does. And two little spots of heat begin to glow, one on each cheek.
I’m embarrassing him, but that’s just tough, because some things need saying.
DS Paige clears his throat. ‘Mrs Sullivan, I understand how difficult this must be. I know—’
‘But you don’t know! You don’t know anything and I’m just trying to save time here. I know Grace didn’t hide or run off. I know she didn’t go to a friend’s house. Someone took her. Do you understand?’
‘We do understand what you’re saying, Lucie, yes.’ DI Pearlman’s tone remains calm, steady.
It only serves to infuriates me more.
‘You don’t seem to have a bloody rush in you, sitting around scribbling in your notebooks. In the meantime, my daughter is—’
The detective speaks again, his voice level but firm.
‘There are currently fifteen officers out making inquiries on this very street, Mrs Sullivan. That number is due to be boosted to thirty within the hour as we take in the surrounding area. As we speak, the police helicopter is on standby for dispatch to begin a woodland search. The local community are gathering themselves for an organised search on foot.’
A woodland search.
An image of a small, partly clothed body and staring eyes offers itself for consideration, but I won’t let it in. I can’t.
I sit down.
DI Pearlman looks over at Blake and then back at me. His tone softens a little.
‘As Grace’s parents, you two are doing the most valuable thing of all. You’re providing us with crucial pieces of the jigsaw that nobody else can give us. The quicker you answer our questions, the clearer the picture becomes.’
‘Sorry,’ I whisper.
‘There’s no need to apologise, Lucie, no need at all.’ He looks at each of us in turn. ‘Now, if you could start at the beginning. This morning, after Grace left for the theme park…’
Ten
Before: Sunday morning
I’d enjoyed my extra hours in bed, just me and little Oscar, but the time whizzed by and I realised that soon Blake would be back and it was time to get ready for our trip out.
I strapped Oscar into his little padded bouncy chair and placed it right next to the shower. I alternated five minutes of scrubbing with flicking water over at him and watching him chuckle.
Afterwards, I quickly dried my hair and dressed simply in leggings and a soft brushed-cotton tunic top. I smeared on a bit of tinted lip gloss and applied mascara.
I changed and fed Oscar, and when I heard Blake’s car pull up outside, we were just about ready to go for brunch. I froze when I heard voices in the hallway.
As I carried Oscar downstairs, I saw that Nadine was there.
‘Mum wanted to pop in and see Oscar on her way into town.’ Blake smiled.
‘Thought I’d do a spot of shopping while I’m here,’ she said. ‘I still miss the small independent shops, living in London.’
‘Here he is.’ I handed Oscar over, but she looked startled, holding him at arm’s length and away from her pristine coat.
‘Goodness, who’d have thought a little chap could dribble so much?’ She smiled tightly. ‘Do you have a tissue, Lucie? Their chins can get quite sore if you just leave them to drool, you know.’
I bit down on my tongue and fished a tissue out of my pocket. I dabbed at Oscar’s chin. ‘There. You should be acceptable for Grandma now.’
Blake shot me a look.
‘What’s that?’ Nadine tipped her head to study the mark on Oscar’s temple.
‘Oh, he took a little tumble off the bed,’ I said, trying to keep my voice light. ‘He’s perfectly OK, but he caught his head on the bedside table, I think. I’ve smeared a bit of Savlon on it.’
‘How on earth did that happen? Weren’t you watching him?’ Nadine looked at Blake.
‘Of course I was! I just dropped something on the floor, and when I went to pick it up, he chose that exact second to roll over.’ I didn’t want to say I’d been lost in a daydream about Blake’s recently increased absence.
‘He was lucky, he could�
��ve really hurt himself.’ Blake frowned.
I knew what they were thinking, even though they hadn’t said as much.
Grace had had one or two little accidents when she was a baby, silly things that should have been prevented. One time I forgot to close the stair gate behind me and she clambered up a few steps before tumbling down. Another time she pulled at the tablecloth and scalded her hand with hot coffee.
Fortunately, she wasn’t badly hurt in either incident, but Blake and his mother had long memories, it seemed. I felt sure Aisha had never neglected Liberty for a second.
But I was going through a bad time back then; the trauma of the past had a very tight hold on me. I was dealing with stuff Blake had had no idea about… stuff he still had no idea about.
I remember being constantly anxious and suffering panic attacks. I’d often wondered if I also had post-natal depression. Anyway, I wasn’t the same person now, but try telling that to Nadine.
‘How was Steph’s mum?’ I tried changing the subject.
‘A bit subdued, bless her.’ Blake pulled a sympathetic face and tickled a now-jolly Oscar under the chin. ‘She’s usually out and about litter-picking with the Rushcliffe ramblers on a weekend, but she’s got to get her strength back up before venturing out in the cold.’
‘Well, I don’t want to keep you.’ Nadine unceremoniously handed Oscar back to me.
‘Why don’t you come with us for a spot of brunch, Mum?’ Blake suggested.
I held my breath.
‘Thank you, but no, darling. I’m afraid huge breakfasts don’t suit me.’ She patted her flat stomach with a gloved hand. ‘Us girls have to work at keeping slim.’
I didn’t meet her eyes, but I reckoned I could make a good guess at what she was thinking. Well stuff the bloody diet. I was looking forward to a good nosh-up.
After air-kissing us all, Nadine finally left.
We wrapped up warm and tucked Oscar snugly into his pushchair, then made the ten-minute walk from our house to Copper Brasserie on Central Avenue. Blake unbuckled Oscar and took him inside the café while I grabbed his changing bag and followed them in, leaving the pushchair outside under the Perspex canopy of the external seating area.
While we were waiting for our food, predictably, Blake talked about his work.
‘I’m really excited by the local support, Lucie. The chief executive of the council told me off the record that she honestly thinks I could run for MP once my term is up.’
I nodded, sipping my latte and watching his amber-flecked hazel eyes light up as he spoke about the changes he’d already been able to instigate since being appointed councillor for the Trent Bridge ward a year ago.
He’d already told me last week about the chief exec’s comment. He was so full of bounce and enthusiasm, he often forgot what he had and hadn’t mentioned.
‘See, the higher up the ladder I get, the better I can make people’s lives.’ He took a gulp of his cappuccino, which left a line of froth on his top lip. ‘And the better our lives will be, Luce. With you, Grace and Oscar at my side, I feel like nothing can stop me.’ He caught my expression and frowned. ‘What?’
I ran a finger across my own top lip, and he grinned and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
He started talking about local transport links to the city and beyond, and I’m ashamed to say I felt myself listening a little less closely. Oscar bashed his rattle on the high-chair tray as if he’d had enough too.
Zoning out was how I often dealt with Blake’s unerring passion for his job. Of course I was interested in his work, but sometimes his relentless vigour exhausted me. He just never stopped doing. And when he wasn’t actually doing, he was talking about it.
As his wife, I was often pulled into local initiatives like the Great Litter Pick, and I helped out at least half a dozen church and school fetes throughout the year.
I didn’t mind, really. I was happy to play the good wife and I’d much rather remain in the background than the spotlight.
The waitress brought our food over. Eggs Benedict for me and a full English for Blake. She rushed back to the kitchen and reappeared thirty seconds later with my fresh orange and Blake’s tomato juice.
I’d brought half a jar of fruit puree for Oscar even though I’d fed him before we left, but he seemed more than happy bashing his tray and beaming at the other customers sitting around us.
As I began to tuck into my breakfast, Blake seamlessly recommenced his rant about rising train fares. I made sure I raised my eyebrows and nodded in all the right places.
Blake’s ambition and drive fascinated me, always had. This was partly because I was so utterly the opposite. I tended to shy away from anything that took up too much of my time, family aside: events, meetings… particularly a career.
I hadn’t always felt this way. There was a time when I was quite the academic, collecting consistently high grades in my GCSEs, then my A levels, enabling me to win a place at Newcastle University studying for a BA in accounting and finance.
My dad was so proud. He told everyone how he’d known I’d be bright right from when I was small, and that I had ambitions to open my own accountancy firm once I’d gained some experience in the field. He framed the local newspaper’s photograph of my sixth-form college graduation, where I won the annual Student of the Year award, and hung it in the hallway at home.
I hated disappointing him.
I can still remember the small, plaintive cry of despair at the end of the phone when I told him I was pulling out of university.
‘I can’t handle it, even for another single day. I’m just not cut out for it, Dad.’
It was like a grieving process for him. First came the denial, then the anger, followed by a period where he seemed really depressed, and I felt so, so guilty.
Finally, he did accept it. He really had no choice when I moved lock, stock and barrel back home. I knew it had finally sunk in when he took down my award photograph.
Dad, friends, neighbours… none of them could understand it. The local golden girl who’d showed so much promise; such a waste of talent to just throw it all away like that.
But of course that was because none of them knew the real reason why.
Eleven
‘Earth to wife,’ Blake called, looking at me quizzically. ‘Your food is getting cold, Luce.’
‘Sorry!’ I picked up my cutlery.
‘You weren’t half deep in thought there.’
‘I was just thinking about what you were saying.’ I cut another piece of toasted muffin and broke the yolk of the egg with it. ‘I don’t know how you find the energy for it all; you’re amazing.’
Blake speared a bit of sausage with his fork.
‘Couldn’t do it without my family. You three are my world, you know that.’ He popped his loaded fork into his mouth, then leaned across the table to squeeze my hand. ‘Anyway, since we have a little time alone, I wanted to run something past you.’
I nodded slowly, hoping the sinking sensation I felt inside didn’t show. More often than not when Blake wanted to talk, it was to secure my consent to help out at some event, or to agree to him taking on yet another commitment in the local community.
‘Do you fancy going on holiday, somewhere abroad, over Easter? Grace will be off school, and if I put it in my diary now, nobody can spring anything on me at the eleventh hour.’
I put down my fork. ‘Really?’
We’d holidayed in the UK for the last five years. Blake had always wanted the least fuss possible. No airports or foreign currency. We’d toured Cornwall in all weathers, camped in Wales. I had to accept he just wasn’t good at switching off and relaxing on a sunbed. So the thought of a holiday abroad sounded like heaven to me.
He grinned. ‘I take it you like the idea?’
‘I love the idea.’ I grasped his hand. ‘But how will we afford it? I know money is—’
‘Let me worry about that. I’ve had news of a bonus I didn’t know was coming; councillors sometimes get
them apparently.’
A warmth spread into my chest as I realised there was a real possibility the fantasy of sunshine and sand and family time together could become a reality.
‘Grace will be so excited. Do you think Oscar will be OK on the plane?’
‘Course he will!’ Blake tickled him under the chin. ‘You’ll be absolutely fine, won’t you, little man?’
Oscar gurgled in agreement, making us both laugh.
We should come out together for breakfast more often, I thought. I felt like I’d actually got my husband back for a short time.
‘When we get back home, we can look online and decide where to go before we price some packages up. How’s that sound?’
‘Brilliant!’ I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. ‘Do you fancy Portugal? Apparently the west coast is—’
‘I hope you’re bloody well pleased with yourself!’ A strident voice cut through my sentence, and I looked to my left, where a ruddy-cheeked middle-aged woman in a waxed jacket stood, glaring at Blake.
‘Good morning, Mrs Charterhouse,’ my husband said calmly, before nodding to the wiry man hovering uneasily some way behind her.
I’d seen this rather brusque woman a few times out and about. She’d always been quite pleasant and nodded over in acknowledgement of me, as if we were somehow acquaintances. But today, her belligerent focus was firmly pinned on Blake.
‘Do you ever stop to think about the people behind your vicious little protests? Isn’t it far more charitable to give folks a fighting chance?’ She placed weather-worn hands on the edge of our table and looked at me, before turning back to Blake. ‘You’ve got yourself a nice comfortable life, I’m sure. Wife who doesn’t need to work, two spoilt children enjoying all the privileges you so virulently disapprove of in others. Why interfere with our livelihoods?’
