Finding Grace

by K. L. Slater

  I look over at Fiona but she is still speaking in monosyllables to whoever is on the other end of the phone. Yes, no, right. Hmm. It’s obvious she’s trying not to give anything away to me regarding what the other person is saying.

  I’m trying to juggle two ice cube trays when one crashes on to the worktop and slides over the counter to where Fiona is sitting.

  Sorry, I mouth, stepping close to her to retrieve the tray. I reach across the worktop, and as I do so, I happen to glance down at the paperwork near my hand.

  I see Blake’s name written there together with Bev’s and Mike’s, and she has drawn a circle around all three of them and applied a question mark at the side.

  I snatch up the tray and don’t give any sign that I’ve seen her notes. I pop out three frozen cubes and stick them in a small dish for Oscar to have later, trying to focus on the task in hand and battling the sickly feeling that’s rising in my chest.

  Blake, Bev and Mike… what is it with those three at the moment? The vibe has completely changed around them and I no longer feel it’s my imagination that I’m being kept in the dark about certain things. Trouble is, I haven’t got a clue what those things might be or how to even broach the subject.

  Bev took the trouble to come over and show me the note and photograph she’d received. If she’s on my side, then why not mention if there’s something else happening behind the scenes? It was the perfect chance to confide in me… unless my friend has some kind of hidden agenda.

  Fiona is still on her call and seems to be doing more listening than talking herself.

  Blake is out again, canvassing the area for any information about Grace. His mother offered to come and sit with me and Oscar, apparently.

  ‘That would tip me over the edge,’ I told him, and to his credit, he agreed that having Nadine around wasn’t something I needed to put up with. ‘You could stay at home today and let me go out to speak to people,’ I added. ‘I feel so helpless, not doing anything towards finding Grace.’

  ‘It’s just that folks are far more likely to want to help if they see me in person,’ he explained. ‘Put Oscar down in his cot and take some time to try and nap.’

  I looked at him as if he was mad. ‘And let Fiona report that I’m neglecting the one child I have left? Not likely. She’s already questioned me about how Oscar bumped his head.’

  ‘Maybe your dad ought to go home soon,’ he says carefully after I mentioned he didn’t seem himself. ‘I’m not sure it’s doing you any good having him to worry about, too.’

  I didn’t react to that. After Dad saying what he had about the house, I figured he was better off staying with us for a couple more days.

  Fiona ends her call.

  ‘Want me to do anything?’ she asks, glancing pointedly at the sink. ‘I can tidy round a bit in here if you like, or…’ She hesitates and looks at Oscar. ‘I could look after the baby while you take a shower, give your dad a break? Whatever will help.’

  Downstairs is getting into a bit of a mess, I know. But cleaning is at the rock bottom of my priorities and I’ve no idea what she’s like with babies, so I’m not inclined to leave Oscar in her care when he’s so fractious.

  Still, I’ll have to get myself sorted out somehow. Last time I risked looking in the mirror, I saw that the dark circles under my eyes were the worst I’d ever seen them; my skin actually looked bruised. I haven’t had a shower yet this morning, but when I do, it will literally be just a quick scrub and I’ll jump straight out.

  My hair is lank and begging for a wash, but I just can’t find the will to deal with it, although I’ll have to at least try to look decent for the TV appeal tomorrow. According to the comments I’ve seen on Twitter, some people have already made their minds up that I’m a complete mess as a mother. My throat feels tight just thinking about it.

  ‘No need, thanks,’ I mumble to Fiona, rinsing out Oscar’s plastic bowl at the sink. ‘I’ll take a shower later when Blake gets back. Oscar will only play you up.’

  ‘Oh, I meant to say…’ She picks up a sheet of paper; underneath it is a phone. ‘Blake left this on the side before he went out this morning. I was on a call and he’d already gone when I went after him with it.’

  ‘Oh, right. Thanks.’ I take the phone and tuck it into the back pocket of my jeans. My heart is thumping and I’m instantly distracted, but I try and cover up my reaction.

  Blake keeps his phone with him all the time, so I can’t believe I actually have it on my person. I’m pretty certain he’ll be back any minute when he realises he’s left it. My plans to join Dad and Oscar in the garden are quickly shelved as I head upstairs.

  Up in our bedroom, I close the door behind me. The gaggle of press at the gate seems to have grown. Grace missing overnight has certainly seemed to whet their appetite for a story to grab the readers’ heartstrings. There are another couple of broadcast vans lurking around, and some of the reporters, undaunted by the lack of news, are broadcasting with the house in the background. The home of the missing girl must make a thrilling backdrop for their viewers, no doubt.

  The number of times over the years I’ve sat eating a snack or enjoying a glass of wine, watching a similar news report with, I suppose, a kind of morbid fascination even though I felt obvious concern, too.

  I might mention it to Blake in passing; someone going missing or a tragic incident involving a local family, but then I’d get on with my day, swallowed up in my own petty worries and concerns.

  Now that I’m on the other side of it, I’ve got a whole different outlook.

  I’ve been tempted to put the television on, see what’s being said on the news, but Blake has begged me not to.

  ‘We don’t need to know what they’re thinking, Lucie,’ he told me this morning before he left. ‘They know nothing, even less than us. And please stay offline.’

  I know he’s right, but being stuck here all day, the thought keeps crossing my mind.

  I take Blake’s phone out of my pocket and tap in his date of birth to gain access to the device. The screen wobbles. Password incorrect.

  He’s always used his birth date on his devices, as I have, for as long as I can remember. Admittedly, it’s been a long time since I’ve tried to access his phone, but still, why change a tried and tested method?

  I glance out of the window, panicking that he will return at any moment for his phone. Almost without thinking, I tap in Grace’s date of birth.

  The screen blinks and his phone icons load. I’m in.

  Forty

  Sixteen years earlier

  Nights out with Stefan and the gang had become a regular feature of her week.

  Lucie had noticed that she barely woke up with anything worse than a thick head now. And that was usually sorted with a couple of paracetamol and a strong coffee. She must be getting used to the alcohol.

  Last night she and Stefan had broken off from the group and gone to a club. Stefan knew the doorman and they were able to skip the long line and go straight inside.

  Before they left the group, Lucie spotted Rhonda watching the two of them. She smiled and nodded to Stefan as they left but she didn’t acknowledge Lucie. Since she’d apparently looked after Lucie on that first night out, she’d kept her distance. Although not from Stefan. She always seemed to take any chance she got to whisper something in his ear when Lucie wasn’t next to him.

  Wherever they went, Stefan seemed to know people. Three girls who were leaving squealed and fawned as they spotted him, tottering over on their high heels to air-kiss him in the club’s small, dimly lit foyer.

  Lucie felt a million dollars when he slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him as he chatted to the girls for a few moments. She saw the envy glittering in their eyes.

  One of them whispered something to him, but he shook his head and turned away.

  ‘What did she say to you?’ Lucie asked when they moved off.

  ‘Don’t you worry your pretty little head about a cheap tart like th
at.’ He said it in a tone that warned her not to pursue her line of questioning.

  She was happy to let it go. She was the girl on Stefan’s arm and that was all that mattered. But she did sometimes get the feeling he had matters to discuss with others when they were out. Whispered words, a nod here and there and then he’d disappear to the loo for a while. Maybe she was imagining it, she wasn’t sure.

  They stayed in the club for a couple of hours last night, spending most of their time swaying on the dance floor. Lucie stretched her arms up, linking her fingers around the back of Stefan’s neck, and he wrapped his muscular arms around her waist, pressing his whole body against her as they moved as one to the seductive beats.

  If she’d convinced herself she wasn’t interested in a relationship with Stefan, she’d now changed her mind.

  Afterwards, he came back to her room for the first time.

  She could feel the effects of the alcohol she’d consumed, but she was far from drunk. She was aware of every delicious moment together.

  They were woken the next morning by Lucie’s phone ringing shrilly.

  ‘Damn.’ She must have forgotten to turn it to silent when she got in last night.

  She glanced at the screen to see it was her father ringing. Of course it was!

  She was about to reject the call when she felt a sharp twist of guilt. She couldn’t keep avoiding him like this, it wasn’t fair.

  Stefan was still dead to the world beside her, so she slipped out of bed and answered the call in the tiny bathroom.

  ‘Lucie? At last! I was on the brink of coming up to Newcastle.’

  ‘Sorry, Dad. I… I’ve been really busy with mock exams and stuff.’

  ‘So busy you can’t afford to take two minutes out to call your old man? And why are you whispering?’

  ‘My… friend is here.’

  ‘Friend? What friend comes over at seven thirty in the morning?’

  Lucie bit back a sigh. She was nineteen years old and was heartily sick of her father trying to rule every last detail of her life.

  ‘We’re going to our early lecture together,’ she said tightly. ‘Look, Dad, I have to finish getting ready or I’ll be late. I’ll call you tonight, I promise.’

  ‘Right you are, love.’ Pete sounded suddenly deflated. ‘I just worry when I don’t hear from you, that’s all. I’m proud of you working so hard, you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Dad.’

  ‘Well then, I’ll look forward to chatting later. I’m out with Bob this lunchtime, just a pie and pint and we’ll probably watch a couple of races at the bookie’s.’

  ‘Hmm. Got to go now, Dad. Speak later, love you.’

  She grimaced when she realised her father hadn’t quite finished saying goodbye before she ended the call.

  ‘You’re going to have to do something about your bloody dad, you know.’

  Stefan sat up in bed, lazily smoking a cigarette. He looked like he belonged in one of those sexy Armani adverts.

  ‘He’s my father,’ Lucie replied tartly as she climbed back into the tiny bed. ‘I’m afraid I’m stuck with him.’

  ‘You said it, doll. He’s your father, not your keeper. You’ve got to show him you’re a big girl now.’

  ‘I know. I just feel bad, I think he’s lonely and—’

  ‘Shh.’ Stefan’s hand disappeared under the covers and snaked down her flat stomach.

  She groaned with pleasure. ‘Stop. I have to get up now or I’ll miss my business finance lecture and I didn’t turn up last week. I can’t—’

  Stefan’s phone rang and she felt him hesitate.

  ‘Leave it,’ she whispered.

  A few more rings and the phone stopped.

  And almost immediately rang again.

  ‘I’ll have to get this,’ he said regretfully and turned away from her.

  ‘Yes?’ he answered curtly.

  Lucie heard a panicky-sounding voice on the end of the line. It was definitely a female voice, but she couldn’t hear the details what was being said.

  ‘When did it happen?’ Stefan’s face darkened as he got a reply Lucie was unable to decipher.

  ‘Who was that?’ She looked at him expectantly but he didn’t meet her eyes.

  ‘Where are you now?’ The voice on the end of the phone seemed to rise up an octave.

  ‘I’m on my way.’

  He sprang out of bed and pulled on his clothes.

  Two minutes later, he’d kissed her on the cheek and was gone.

  Forty-One

  Lucie

  Monday afternoon

  Blake has organised his icons in different places to my own iPhone, and even though we have the same model, it takes me a while to find his messages and click into them.

  When they load, the screen displays the most recent texts. I fume as I scan the last few, a conversation between Blake and his mother.

  Lucie seems so stressed. Is she still leaving the baby with her father all the time?

  She’s fine, Mum. The FLO is here to help, she knows Luce is struggling.

  I can come over. Somebody needs to clean that house up and I’m concerned about Oscar’s wellbeing.

  Thanks, Mum, but it keeps her busy. And stop fretting, Oscar’s fine.

  How bloody dare she? What does she expect? Of course I’m worried about Oscar. He might be tiny, but he can sense when things aren’t right. Nadine should also be totally stressed that her granddaughter is missing.

  She seems to forget that Dad is Oscar’s grandparent, just the same as she is. She’s so bloody hierarchical, can’t bear to think Dad gets to see him more than she does.

  I hear the back door open and slam shut. That’ll be Dad and Oscar back from the garden, so I need to get on with the task in hand.

  Focus, Lucie, I tell myself, clicking out of Nadine’s pathetic messages and into the main listing of texts.

  There are so many names of people I’ve never heard of here, but then for a councillor, I suppose that’s entirely normal. I click into a couple and predictably they contain meeting details, links to articles online and appointments for Blake’s regular surgery.

  I’m trying to work out how to find the text he received yesterday at around 4.30, when he went out to meet Grace. Then I spot that the time and date of the last text received by each person is displayed on the list of names.

  I scroll down, past the texts he’s received today, most still unread, to the messages logged as being received yesterday.

  There are ten people Blake texted or received texts from yesterday. Straight away, my eyes gravitate to one particular name and I feel my scalp tighten.

  I click on it and open the text message that my husband received from Bev at 4.32 p.m. yesterday, the exact time he was distracted by his phone and slipped on the mossy path.

  Mike knows. It’s time for us to come clean.

  My tongue feels like a dry piece of leather in my mouth as I scroll down with trembling fingers but there is no reply sent from Blake. Probably because he slipped and fell as he read it. Now I can see why he was so distracted when he was supposed to be watching out for our daughter. The utter bastard.

  And her, too! Having the bare-faced cheek to come over here, to embrace me this morning, to cry in pretence of feeling my pain.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I knew it. I knew it!

  It’s all fitting together. Blake and Bev are obviously having an affair and somehow Mike has found out. No wonder he felt so uncomfortable around me.

  I feel sick to my stomach. My friend… our friends. And Bev had the audacity to slap Mike’s face when it’s obviously her who’s playing away.

  I start as I hear Dad calling upstairs. ‘Got a little man here who’s filled his nappy!’

  ‘I’ll be down in two minutes, Dad,’ I call back.

  I stare again at the text message that distracted my husband from his parental duty.

  The police must already be aware that something is going on between the three of the
m, hence Fiona drawing a circle around their names with a question mark in her notes.

  I think about the note and the photograph Bev showed me. What if she’s trying to push me over the edge? She could’ve faked the note, and she comes around here regularly. What’s to stop her popping upstairs to our bedroom and rifling through my things? That photo could have been one of many I’ve bundled away in my wardrobe. I haven’t looked at them for years.

  I’m devastated. Not because they’ve been having an affair, although that’s bad enough, but because of what the consequences were. My daughter, missing because of those two sly, underhand…

  ‘Luce?’ I jump at Blake’s voice calling up to me as he climbs the stairs. ‘I’ve come back for my phone.’

  I stand up and tuck the phone back into my jeans pocket.

  Blake pushes the bedroom door open wider.

  ‘Fiona said she gave it to you.’ He doesn’t sound nervous, but he probably is.

  I turn around and take the phone out of my pocket.

  ‘I just want you to listen without saying anything,’ I say, watching his face. It doesn’t change.

  I feel surprisingly calm. It’s surreal. My daughter is missing and my husband is having an affair, and this is what it feels like. A nothingness inside. I’m numb, everywhere.

  ‘I’ve seen Bev’s text. I know you two are having an affair.’

  ‘What? No! Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘I said listen!’ I raise my voice and he closes his mouth. ‘I’ve sensed the tension between you all, between you and Mike and between Bev and Mike. How long has it been going on?’

  He reaches for his phone and I snatch it behind my back.

  ‘Lucie, you’ve got this all wrong. I swear to God, there’s nothing happening.’ He’s putting on a good act, I’ll give him that.

  ‘She sent you a fucking text yesterday saying that Mike knows, that it’s time to come clean! I saw it with my own eyes. It’s crystal clear what’s happening, so don’t even try and deny it.’ I swallow back a sob. ‘I don’t care. Do you understand? I don’t care about anything but getting Grace home again, but this text’ – I jab the phone at him – ‘is what distracted you from watching for my daughter. It stopped you keeping her safe. You prioritised your mistress over our beautiful Grace.’ I spit the word ‘mistress’ out like a rancid scrap of food.