Page 3

CHAPTER 3

SALLY – D AY O NE

‘Hello, Mrs Hill. Can you hear me?’

As Sally comes to, there’s a face leaning close to her. A blonde woman. Big red glasses. For a moment, she can’t work out what’s happening.

‘Can you hear me, Mrs Hill?’

‘Yes, yes I can hear.’ And then the punch to the gut. ‘ Amelie. Oh God. I need to find my daughter.’ She tries to sit up, but a hand is pressed firmly on her shoulder.

‘Please try to keep still. Just for a minute. I’m a doctor. You fainted but I can see from your movement that your neck’s fine. Just take it gently. Breathe slowly for me. That’s it. When you’re feeling a bit better, we’ll sit you back up on the bench.’ A pause. ‘Do you have any pain anywhere?’

Sally’s so confused. Still groggy. She turns her head to find she’s on her back on the pavement. Her hand flat on tarmac. The woman who helped her earlier, the one in the red coat, is holding her feet up off the ground. Instinctively she puts her hand to her face, worrying if there’s an injury. But there’s no pain. No cuts. ‘No pain.’

‘Good. Your colour’s improving. This nice lady grabbed you as you went down. Thankfully broke your fall. It was probably the stress. And shock.’ The doctor’s glancing at the other woman, the one who called the police. She tells her that it’s OK to slowly lower Sally’s legs to the ground and Sally starts to remember more. The black dots. The sense of falling.

‘Good. Your colour’s good. You feeling a bit better? Ready to get back up on the bench so I can check you over?’

Sally nods and lets the two women help her very slowly back on to the seat just as two police officers, a man and a woman, appear.

‘You Mrs Hill?’

‘Yes. My daughter. Amelie. Has Amelie been found?’

‘Sorry. Not yet, Mrs Hill. We’re asking in the shops. No news yet. But we’re here to help you. Now, first of all, we need to make sure you’re OK. Do you need an ambulance?’ The female officer’s frowning as she speaks. ‘Because I can put in the call but I have to warn you we still have really long delays—’

‘No, no. I need to stay here. We need to keep looking . To find Amelie.’ Sally starts casting her head left and right, annoyed to be stuck. Seated.

‘She fainted but she’s fine. I’m a doctor. Just making sure nothing’s broken.’ The blonde woman gently feels Sally’s arms and legs, one by one, then asks her a series of questions. Does her head feel OK? Does she have any pain? Has this happened before? Is her head hurting at all?

‘No, no. I feel fine now. Never mind me. We need to find Amelie.’

The next few minutes are spent sharing details with the two police officers of how Amelie suddenly disappeared. There one minute. Gone the next. ‘I was on the phone but not for long.’ Sally describes Amelie’s clothes again and explains that she’s checked all the nearest shops. A couple of women step forward to say they too have coordinated a check with staff in about a dozen shops on the High Street. Nothing so far.

The male police officer quickly steps away to talk on his radio. Face grave. His expression once again sends cold shooting through Sal. She shivers and the doctor says she will stay for a few more minutes to make sure she’s OK but will need to leave then. On shift at the hospital.

Sally repeats what happened. How they were in town to buy a present. They were tight for time. Amelie was grumpy there was no time to try on a dress she liked.

Sally explains about her phone ringing. The friend bailing on the party lift. Her daughter standing just behind her, outside the clothes shop.

‘I wasn’t on the phone long at all. But when I rang off, Amelie wasn’t there. Gone. Vanished .’

The female police officer is writing all this down as her colleague confirms that back-up is on the way and that he’ll start door to door officially. Or rather shop to shop. Sally shows them a photograph of Amelie on her phone, which they copy. A smiley shot from just last weekend. Lunch by the river. Amelie’s beaming in the picture. She’d fed the ducks. The thought of it – the happiness, the normality – absolute torture now.

Sally repeats that she’s already tried all the nearest shops.

‘Does your daughter have a phone? You’ve tried ringing her?’

‘She’s eight. She doesn’t have a phone.’ Sally tries to control her tone but the irritation and the panic’s like a wave moving through her whole body again. She mustn’t let it overwhelm her. Mustn’t faint again, but she wants people looking for Amelie . Not standing around, talking. ‘We’ve said no to a phone before secondary school.’ She doesn’t add that it’s caused arguments; a couple of Amelie’s friends have been allowed phones already.

‘Does she have a favourite place in town? Somewhere she might have gone?’

‘No, no. She’s not allowed to shop on her own.’

‘And where’s your car? Might she have gone back to the car, looking for you? If she wandered. Got lost. Couldn’t see you.’

Sally can’t believe why she didn’t think of this herself. Her car’s on the second floor of the multistorey. It could be as simple as that. Amelie must have somehow lost sight of her, got disorientated, and has gone back to the car park.

And then there he is suddenly, striding down the High Street towards them. Matthew.

‘Any news?’ Her husband’s face is pale. He’s trying to keep his tone calm but his eyes are terrified.

She shakes her head, watches his face darken, and then his arms are around her and she has to fight the panic. And the anger. And the sense of fury. With him. With herself. With the world.

‘I haven’t checked the car park yet. They’re saying she might have just gone back to the car. I didn’t think of that. She’s never done that before. Do you think she’s just at the car?’