Page 24 of 59 Minutes

MRS DABB

She follows the little lane towards the glow of the brightly lit church.

Approaching from the back, one of the huge stained-glass windows, ancient and vulnerable, is just visible through the fog.

A blur of red, blue and green, but she can picture it exactly, her memory filling it in from the hours she spent in the churchyard while her daughter was at the little church-run preschool.

Unable to bring herself to go home. Just in case.

It wasn’t until primary school, when she was seen repeatedly lurking and asked to leave the school gates, that she finally broke the habit.

It’s hard for her to settle if she sees you, Mrs Dabb, and some of the other parents are uncomfortable …

As she gets closer, she can hear singing from the belly of St Michael’s.

Nothing organised, not a proper service, just bursts of song.

Practise runs from people nervously waiting.

She slides the little car through the narrow lane, just avoiding some collapsed cardboard boxes and an old picnic basket someone is throwing away.

She picks her way around the edge of the main square, desperate to avoid anyone still out. She’d expected a police presence. They would be too busy to help her look for Bunny, and the thought of them makes her sick with nerves but to see no uniforms at all is somehow even more unnerving.

The doctor’s surgery is a few streets away and she pulls up outside the same building that she came for those humiliating and unhelpful sessions with Miranda, years earlier.

‘I sense you’re still keeping something back,’ the therapist said during the last appointment.

She could taste the replies on her tongue, each word curdling.

If I tell you what I’m keeping back, you’ll take my daughter away.

If I tell you what I’m keeping back, you might hand my daughter over to monsters.

If I tell you what I’m keeping back, you will think I’m the monster.

If I tell you what I’m keeping back, you will know I am.

‘There’s nothing more to say,’ she’d replied, standing and gathering her things. She has avoided coming here ever since.

Did Bunny pick up on her mother’s reticence, and figure she’d have to go it alone if she ever got ill? Is Bunny ill?

She climbs out of the car and rushes over to the front door. It’s locked. The windows are shuttered from the inside, but she bangs on one anyway then presses her ear to the pane to listen for signs of life. Nothing.

‘I’m looking for my daughter!’ she shouts, before moving back to the door and kicking it a couple of times. No one comes. If Bunny was here earlier, she’s not here now.

Back in the car, she reverses with a squeal and heads back out of the village towards Jasmine’s house.

Empty cars dot the roads but it’s not as bad as she thought it would be. Maybe everyone is already inside. Secured wherever they wanted to be for 5.59 p.m.

Everyone but her and Bunny.