My Little Girl Page 2

  Ollie and I both agreed that we wouldn’t let Jill look after Beatrice on her own after that. And now look what’s happened! What could have possessed my husband to change his mind and let her take them to the fair? What was so important that he had to call his mother to take them instead of him, as previously arranged? I grit my teeth in fury at the fact that the two of them have obviously concocted this behind my back because they knew I wouldn’t approve. I hate being the bad guy, but it’s not because I want to be mean, it’s because I dreaded something like this happening.

  Before going downstairs, I grab a tissue from the box on my dressing table and use it to wipe off my dark lipstick. I can’t go to look for my missing daughter dressed up to the nines. It doesn’t seem right. Surely the police will find Beatrice before I get there. Unless… what if someone took her? Someone from the fair? Or a random stranger. No. Don’t think like that. My hands begin to shake, my knees buckle and a deep coldness rushes through me. I can’t let my imagination get the better of me. I have to be positive. Panicking won’t help. I punch out a text to my best friend, Freya, to say I can’t make it tonight. That Beatrice has gone missing at the fair but that I’m sure she’ll turn up any minute.

  I take a breath and hurry down the stairs into the dim hallway, the late summer light already fading. Snatching up the car keys from the hall table, I take a moment to call Oliver to see if there’s any news. My call goes to voicemail. He must already be en route to the fair. I wait for the outgoing message to end before snapping.

  ‘Ollie, what the hell happened? Why was your mum at the fair with the girls? Is there any news? Surely they’ve found Beatrice by now. I’m getting in the car but call me the second you hear anything.’ My voice is sharp and shrill. I can’t tell if what I’m feeling is fury or fear. Probably both.

  Just before I head out the door, my gaze catches on a school photo of Beatrice on the wall. It was taken a couple of years ago. She’s grinning at the camera, her eyes twinkling with mischief. My breath hitches and I blink back emotion. I have to get to my little girl.

  My phone buzzes and my heart jumps at the thought of it being Oliver with news of our little daughter. But it’s just Freya texting back, telling me to try not to worry, and to let her know if she can help in any way. I send back a quick text saying I’ll keep her posted.

  I close the door to our 1970s chalet bungalow that sits at the bottom of St Catherine’s Hill. The summer air is warm and still. The birds are singing and I can hear children’s laughter from the neighbours’ gardens. It’s a perfectly beautiful evening. But the dread in my stomach dips and roils. All I can do right now is drive to the fairground and hope that this feeling will end soon. That my bright and beautiful daughter will be home this evening and we can put this whole horrible episode behind us.

  It’ll be fine. Jill’s so scatty, she’s obviously just lost sight of her. It’s happened before. This time won’t be any different… will it?

  Three

  JILL

  ‘Is it my fault?’ Millie asks through hiccupping sobs, her blue eyes swimming with tears. We’re sitting on one of the wooden fairground benches, my arm around this little girl who isn’t Beatrice, while Oliver speaks to the police. His face is grey with worry as he runs a hand through his brown wavy hair. I’ve already told the police what happened, and now they’re letting me have a few minutes’ break while they speak to my son. I haven’t even had a proper chance to speak to Oliver myself yet, other than to give him a hug and say how sorry I am, how terrible I feel. My heart hurts that I’m the one who’s brought this distress to his door.

  I gaze down at Millie. ‘Of course it’s not your fault, Millie. Beatrice has just got lost, that’s all. The police are going to find her any minute now, just you wait and see.’ I’m trying to reassure myself as much as Millie.

  She nods and puts her thumb in her mouth, even though she’s not a baby any more. Must be a comfort thing. I feel like doing the same. I absolutely can’t believe what’s happened. One minute the three of us were all having a wonderful time, laughing and pulling silly faces in the mirrors, the next… well, it’s all a terrible nightmare.

  The police arrived quickly and set up a cordon around the whole fair, letting people out one at a time and asking them if they’d seen Beatrice. I had to send them a photo of my granddaughter from my phone. Of course, they’ve had to close the fair temporarily. Right now, they’re speaking to all the employees and asking to look in their vehicles and caravans. I was certain she’d have turned up by now. It’s crazy. Where could she have got to? She wouldn’t have run away, and I don’t understand how she could have got lost – not when she was right next to Millie. Although, being in the hall of mirrors made it very confusing.

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t see where Beatrice went, Millie?’ I ask again.

  She shakes her head vehemently.

  ‘Is Beatrice playing a joke, do you think? Did she tell you to keep it a secret?’

  Millie unplugs her thumb. ‘No. I want my mum.’

  ‘Of course you do. She’ll be here soon, pet. Don’t worry.’ I can’t tell if Millie’s being truthful, or if she’s keeping something from me on purpose. The police questioned her very briefly, but they’re waiting for her parents to arrive before they speak to her properly. Perhaps then she’ll be more talkative. What a mess. How did this happen? Why did I take that call from Laurel? Is this really my fault? Surely not. Even when I was talking to Laurel on the phone, I still kept one eye on the girls. I literally lost concentration for the briefest of heartbeats.

  I haven’t mentioned to the police that I was on the phone at the time when Beatrice disappeared. It’s not relevant and I know Claire would only hold it against me if she found out I was speaking to Laurel. Anyway, I’m almost certain Beatrice will turn up at any moment. The alternative is too unthinkable.

  ‘Mummy!’ Millie wriggles out from my arm and races across the grass towards a smartly dressed couple with blanched, worried faces. She throws herself at both parents, both of whom crouch down and bring her in for kisses and a hug. The woman looks over her daughter’s head and locks eyes with me. I suppose I’d better go over there and explain what’s happened. The thought makes me feel physically sick.

  I suddenly feel my age. Earlier I was congratulating myself on feeling so energetic and vibrant. Being here at the fair with these sweet girls had reminded me of being a young parent again, but now… now I feel like a doddering old granny. Someone who’s not to be relied upon. Not to be entrusted with the care of my own granddaughter. I make myself stand straighter, smooth down my dress and walk over to this family who are strangers to me.

  They both stand. Millie’s mother, an attractive blonde, holds her daughter in close, as though she’s protecting her against me.

  ‘Hello.’ I hold out my hand. ‘I’m Jill Nolan, Beatrice’s grandmother.’ No one reaches to shake my hand so I let it fall back to my side.

  ‘I’m Millie’s dad, Paul Jensen. This is my wife, Tanya.’ He’s tall, intimidating, with short brown hair and a light tan. ‘Can you tell us what’s going on? Oliver called to say Beatrice is missing. He said he wasn’t here when it happened. That you were here alone with the girls. With our daughter.’ Paul Jensen’s words are clipped; his eyes clouded and his face taut, a muscle in his cheek twitching.

  Tanya puts a hand on his arm before turning back to me. ‘Have they found her? Beatrice?’

  ‘No.’ I swallow. ‘Not yet. The police are…’ I gesture to the fairground. ‘They’re looking. Oliver’s talking to them now. We’re waiting for Claire to arrive.’ I feel as though I’m in a bad dream. Everything is wobbling around me, like the distorted mirrors from earlier. I really don’t feel good at all.

  ‘What I don’t understand,’ Paul says, fixing me with a hard stare, ‘is why you were looking after Millie. I mean, no offence, but we don’t even know you. I thought Oliver was supposed to be bringing them.’

  Oh dear, this isn’t good at all. ‘He w
as, but…’ My hands are flapping around like demented crows and I can’t seem to think straight.

  ‘Go easy, Paul.’ Tanya gives me a kind look while stroking Millie’s hair. ‘Her granddaughter’s missing.’

  ‘I understand that. But this could just as easily be Millie missing too. You’re obviously not a fit person to be in charge of two young children, least of all my daughter.’

  Tanya turns to him and pulls him back, whispering heatedly.

  I’m mortified by his attack, but I don’t have the emotional energy to stick up for myself. ‘You’re right. You’re absolutely right,’ I stammer. ‘I’m so sorry.’ My knees are giving way and I don’t want to be rude to this couple but I have to get back to that bench before I keel over. ‘I’m sorry,’ I repeat before turning and walking away.

  Tanya follows and puts a hand under my elbow to guide me. ‘No, I’m sorry about my husband,’ she whispers. ‘He didn’t mean to be so rude. He’s just very protective of our youngest. He’ll be mortified when he realises how he spoke to you.’

  I nod, grateful for her help getting me back to the bench. I thank her as I sink down onto the wooden seat, the air whooshing out of my lungs. The evening is still so warm. I could really do with a nice cool breeze. I wish it were autumn already.

  Tanya squeezes my hand. ‘I’m sure they’ll find Beatrice any minute now and we can all breathe a sigh of relief.’

  ‘Tan!’ Paul calls across the grass. ‘The police want to speak to Millie in a minute. You coming?’

  ‘Will you be okay sitting here on your own?’ Her concern makes me feel older and frailer than ever. But she’s sweet to worry. A really nice woman. Millie’s lucky to have her as a mum.

  ‘My son will be over any minute, and Claire’s on her way. I’ll be fine. Thank you.’

  ‘Okay. Try not to worry. I’m sure Beatrice will be found before you know it.’

  I nod, but somehow all my usual optimism has deserted me. All I can think about is my poor darling Beatrice frightened somewhere. Alone. Or worse.

  Four

  CLAIRE

  I’m amazed I didn’t crash the car on the short drive over to the fairground. I don’t even remember the journey I was in such a daze. Before leaving, I received a text from Oliver asking me to bring a worn item of Beatrice’s clothing for the sniffer dogs to use. That text almost made me vomit. It brought it home to me that this might not be one of those everyday family dramas. That it might be something more serious. With trembling fingers, I took Beatrice’s rainbow nightshirt from under her pillow and inhaled the scent of her before folding it and putting it into my handbag.

  I park in the supermarket car park opposite the fairground, buy a parking ticket from the machine and head to the pedestrian crossing where I wait for the lights to change. There’s a steady stream of traffic; no chance of even the tiniest gap where I might dart across the road. A family standing next to me express their dismay at the CLOSED sign displayed at the entrance to the fair.

  ‘I thought it was supposed to be open until ten,’ the woman says.

  ‘It is,’ the man replies. ‘I checked the website.’

  ‘You sure you got the right day? It’s not even eight and it looks pretty closed to me.’

  ‘Look, there’s police over there.’ The man sighs. ‘Something’s obviously happened.’ Their tween girls are interrupting their conversation, asking if they’re still able to go to the fair, disappointment lacing their words. My heart stutters when I realise that their disappointment has been caused by my lost daughter. I want to tell this family to shut up, to stop being so insensitive. But it’s not their fault. They don’t know that my Beatrice has gone missing.

  ‘Probably an accident,’ the woman says. ‘One of the rides might have broken. Maybe we had a lucky escape. That could have been us on there. Hope no one got hurt.’

  ‘Let’s ask if they’re planning to open again tonight.’

  The lights change and we all cross the road together. I tune out their speculative chatter and pull ahead, walking quickly. Focusing on the fairground, I scan the area, convinced that at any moment I’ll spot Beatrice in her new red dress and everything will be right with the world again. I’ll even go easy on Jill and Oliver for their part in this. Just please let my Beatrice be okay.

  I head to the entrance gate where a uniformed police officer stands talking into his radio. It takes me a moment to catch his eye. He nods in the direction of the CLOSED sign. ‘Sorry, fair’s closed until further notice.’

  ‘I need to speak to someone. My name’s Claire Nolan. My daughter, Beatrice… she’s the one who’s…’ I break off as my voice catches in my throat.

  His eyes soften. ‘You’re Beatrice Nolan’s mother?’

  I nod. ‘Have they found her?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  My stomach drops.

  ‘Sorry to ask, but have you got any ID on you?’

  I nod again, delve into my handbag and bring out my wallet with my driving licence. The officer speaks into his radio again, letting someone know I’m here.

  He nods his acceptance at my ID. ‘Come on through.’

  I push at the turnstile and enter the temporary fairground. I feel the stares of the family who crossed the road with me. I glance over my shoulder and lock eyes with the mother. She quickly looks away and I dismiss her from my thoughts, turning my attention to the scene ahead. Straining my eyes, hoping desperately to spot Bea.

  I see Oliver straight away, talking to a woman in a black suit, her raven hair streaked with white tied in a ponytail. Next to her, a younger, dark-haired tallish man in a grey suit is taking notes. I guess they must be police officers.

  Ollie looks stressed, agitated, his eyes hooded, his palms constantly smoothing his hair in a self-soothing motion. There are sweat patches on his shirt, and his trousers are crumpled. Please don’t let this be the beginning of a nightmare. Please let this be a short, stressful blip that will be resolved any minute now. One of those days that we’ll look back on and gasp at how close we came to losing everything. Let us get our little Bea back safely and we’ll hug her and laugh and cry and admonish her never to go wandering off again, and we’ll treat ourselves to ice cream and it will all be okay. And we’ll go home tired but relieved. Thankful.

  I stride across the grass more purposefully than I feel. Ollie blanches as he spots me, no doubt wondering how he’ll explain why his mother was looking after the kids instead of him. I can’t let my anger at him overshadow what’s important here. But at least my fury’s distracting me from the sheer terror of the situation.

  ‘Claire.’ Despite his facial expression a moment ago, Ollie sounds relieved and he takes a step towards me. He halts after one step, unsure how to greet me. I make the decision for him and give him a brief hug which he returns before introducing me to the officers. ‘This is my wife, Claire.’

  ‘Hello, Claire.’ The woman officer gives me a polite nod, a flash of sympathy in her smile. ‘I’m the investigating officer, DI Meena Khatri, and this is DS Tim Garrett. We’ve been filling in your husband on what happened here, according to his mother, Jill Nolan.’

  ‘Is there any news? Did anyone see anything?’ I stare at DI Khatri, knowing the answer already.

  ‘Not yet, but we’re hopeful. It’s only been an hour so she can’t have got very far.’

  ‘Unless she’s in a car,’ I add.

  ‘We’ve spoken to almost everyone who was at the fair at the time, and we’ve taken the contact details of everyone who was in the immediate vicinity where she was last seen. CSIs are on their way to sweep the area.’

  ‘What about CCTV cameras?’ I ask, my brain racing forward to think of anything they may have missed. I know it’s their job, but they’ll never be as invested as me.

  ‘We have instant access to local authority cameras. Private ones take a little longer. But we’ll do everything we can to get you reunited with your daughter.’

  ‘And Jill?’ I ask, glancing at my husband. ‘W
hat does she have to say about it? What actually happened.’

  ‘She’s understandably very shaken,’ Khatri says.

  ‘I think she’s in shock,’ Oliver adds.

  ‘Yes, but what actually happened?’ I repeat.

  ‘According to Mum, she was with them in the hall of mirrors and Beatrice just disappeared.’

  I try not to sneer at my husband. ‘How can she just disappear? What was Jill doing at the time? Was she with them, or did she wander off?’

  ‘She said they were looking in the mirrors and having a good time, but it was crowded and she lost sight of the girls briefly. A woman helped her search for them and they spotted Millie but Beatrice wasn’t with her. Millie doesn’t know what happened either, so it wasn’t just Mum.’

  ‘Yes, but Millie’s seven years old,’ I snap. ‘I wouldn’t expect her to be keeping an eye on Bea.’

  Oliver flushes. ‘That’s not what I meant. I didn’t—’

  ‘We’ve spoken to Millie,’ DI Khatri interrupts.

  ‘How is she?’ I ask.

  ‘A little shaken, but fine.’ I open my mouth but Khatri anticipates my question before I can ask it. ‘Millie says she didn’t see anything or anyone suspicious. Did you manage to bring an item of Beatrice’s clothing?’

  I close my mouth and pull Beatrice’s nightshirt out of my bag, reluctant to hand it over. The detective inspector reaches for it with a sympathetic smile.

  ‘Thank you. This will help,’ she says.

  DS Garrett takes it from her and says he’ll run it over to the dog handler.

  The next few minutes are spent answering questions about Beatrice’s mental health, her state of mind, was she happy, had we had any recent disagreements, was she on any medication.