Page 28

Pete

Pete stumbles over the gnarled roots of the old oak trees making up over half the woodland, his breath coming loud and ragged in his ears.

When Emily had first come down and told him Erin wasn’t in her cot, his initial instinct had been to laugh in disbelief, then annoyance had taken over.

Had Emily checked properly?

How could Erin not be there?

But when he’d stood over the empty cot in the darkened bedroom, confusion had muddled his thoughts, causing something unpleasant to flutter in his stomach as he gripped the edge of the cot, his knuckles white.

‘Dad? I swear I checked, she’s not there.

’ Emily had followed him up the stairs, her face white as she peered over his shoulder.

‘Go downstairs,’ he’d barked.

‘Stay with your mother. No, ask Stu. Ask Stu, Mari, anyone downstairs if they’ve seen Erin.

’ He’d pushed past Emily and hurried towards his and Natalie’s bedroom.

Had Natalie taken Erin to their bed to lie down with her?

She’d done that before.

But when he’d pushed open the bedroom door the room was empty, the imprint of Natalie’s body still etched on the duvet, the press of her head ingrained on his pillow, and something cold and icy had enveloped him.

Now, he runs through the woods, half-blind in the darkness that seems to have fallen like a curtain, and half-drunk on fear as his feet sink into the damp mulchy leaves, sweat prickling at the nape of his neck.

‘Erin!’

‘Pete, wait a minute.’ Stu appears beside him, frantic and sweaty – no sign of the tipsy Stu who had laughed and taken photographs just a short while earlier.

‘Come back to the house, we’ll call the police.

’ He reaches out and grabs Pete’s arm.

‘Go back inside, Stu,’ Pete says, shrugging free and not slowing his pace, his eyes frantically scanning the trees for something – anything – that will point to where his baby is.

‘Wait with Nat, please, someone needs to be with her. I can’t …

I have to look for Erin.

’ He doesn’t look at Stu, only aware that he’s not beside him any more when he slows, his chest straining.

Pete bends, sucking in a breath and cursing the fact that he hasn’t been to the gym once this year, regretting the cigarettes he smoked earlier.

He is aware now of others in the woods, of thecrack and rustle of twigs and leaves underfoot as guests fromthe party join in the search.

Stu’s voice carries on the fresh night air, his best friend directing the other searchers, trying to take control of a situation that has already spiralled.

Pete feels helpless, a desperation to find Erin clawing at his insides.

Resting his hands on his thighs, he pulls in sharp, ragged breaths that make his chest ache.

‘Erin!’ He calls for her, even though he knows she can’t respond.

From the garden comes the sound of his daughter’s name being shouted by multiple voices, followed by the keening tones of someone crying.

Emily, he thinks; it sounds like Emily.

For a moment his blood runs cold; he thinks maybe Erin’s been found and it isn’t good news, but then Emily takes up the mantle, her voice raw as she calls her little sister’s name.

After a moment he can breathe despite the rawness in his chest, and he takes off again, his feet sliding on the wet forest floor.

The air is damp and chilly now the sun has disappeared, and he can’t help but wonder what Erin was wearing.

Did Natalie put her down in the little T-shirt and leggings she wore to the party?

Or did she change her into something warmer, something cosy to sleep in, thinking that was her down for the night?

The sky overhead is mostly clear, prickled with stars, and all he can think is that if she’s out here in that tiny little T-shirt, she’ll freeze.

Ploughing on through the trees, peering at the clusters of bushes lining the wooded trail, Pete knows his thoughts aren’t rational, but panic floods his mouth with a sharp metallic taste, and he can’t think straight.

When he’d first seen the empty cot he’d thought maybe Natalie had already been in to pick her up, even though something in the back of his mind was telling him it wasn’t possible – that Natalie had been with him; then he thought perhaps one of the guests had heard her crying and gone in to bring her downstairs.

When a sweep of the rest of the house and garden had shown no sign of Erin, Pete had glanced out of the window at the woods, an almost tangible sense of foreboding clutching at his gut.

With every haunted legend he’d heard about the woods ringing in his ears, he’d sprinted for the rusty bolt on the back gate, shoving his way through the rickety fence out into the woods, the thought that someone had taken her, must have taken her, beating like a pulse in his mind.

The bolt on the gate.

Pete’s feet slow momentarily as the clouds overhead part and bright puddles of moonlight stretch through the gaps in the leaves of the trees.

It was open. As he had reached for it, his fingers fumbling in panic, the gate had swung open easily, adding fire to his panicked thoughts.

He remembers hearing Emily call his name before they cut the cake, and stubbing out his fag before heading back into the garden, but he doesn’t remember whether he pulled the bolt safely home or not.

Erin could be out here.

Someone could have taken her.

To his right is the stream, usually barely more than a trickle at this time of year.

Now, though, Pete becomes aware of the sound of rushing water, the stream swollen to the size of a small river with the heavy rain earlier in the day.

What if she’s in the water?

The thought makes his limbs liquefy and he calls again, his voice breaking as he scans the dark horizon.

‘Erin? Erin!’

As he reaches the edge of the woodland path, only patchy blackberry bushes and mounds of damp leaves separating him from the stream, Pete pauses, straining to hear any sound at all that might be Erin.

The stream really is more of a river as he looks out over it, moonlight rippling over the swirling water, not sure if he’s hoping to see something or not.

It’s swollen to the very banks, water beginning to lap at the edges of the blackberry bushes.

Another burst of heavy rain and the harmless stream will erupt over the forest floor.

Panting, his pulse crashing in his ears, Pete looks out over the stream, but there is no sign of Erin.

No familiar ear-splitting wail.

No cries or shouts at all, and Pete realises he can no longer hear the calls of Erin’s name from his own back garden.

Following the trail alongside the stream, Pete slips and slides in the mud, the movement of the leaves releasing the papery stink of rot.

That, combined with the silty tang of the river on the air, makes his stomach turn.

There is something about that smell, sulphurous and thick, that makes him think of caves and drains, dark places from which there is no escape.

Pete makes his way along the woodland path, his shoes picking up mud and leaves.

There is a glimpse of white from the corner of his eye and he whips his head in that direction, only to see a barn owl taking flight from the branches of an oak tree, its wings wide and majestic as it swoops across the sky.

Owls mean mice and rats, and Pete’s stomach turns again.

He knows these woods are full of vermin – they’d had a rat problem at the house not long before Natalie had fallen pregnant.

When the pest control guy turned up and informed Pete they had rats, not sweet little field mice, Pete had made the conscious decision to tell Natalie it was just mice.

Nothing to worry about.

Another lie , he thinks, his brain feeling scrambled.

Is Erin’s disappearance payback for all of the awful lies I’ve told?

There is a pain in his chest as he struggles on, branches and thorns clawing at his arms as he battles his way through an overgrown patch, his ears ringing with the effort of drawing in enough oxygen to keep going.

‘Erin!’ Pete’s voice rings out in the heavy silence, broken only by the rush of the stream.

His feet are cold, damp seeping in through the tops of his trainers, the suede ruined, and all he can think is that if Erin is out here, hidden somewhere among the bushes, moss and fallen trees, there isn’t much time left to find her.

Reaching the turn in the path leading out towards the village, where Eve’s house sits on the other side of the trees, Pete slows to a jog.

This is the path everyone uses to cut through the woods towards the main road, and his heart double-beats in his chest painfully.

If someone took Erin, it would only be a matter of minutes from this point before they could be out on to the main road and into a car, speeding her away, never to be seen again.

Pete pushes the thought away, not wanting to entertain what that could mean for himself and Natalie, for their family.

He’s far enough away from the house now that he can no longer hear the calls for Erin, the sound of Emily crying for her little sister.

Behind him, something cracks – a twig or a branch.

Pulse racing, Pete turns, only to see the bushy tail of a fox disappearing into the undergrowth.

Owls, rats, foxes, badgers.

There is no end of animals and pests in this wood that could harm Erin, but still Pete finds the idea of Erin being here, in the dark, damp woods, preferable to her being stolen away in a stranger’s car.

Cold, sick, and with a throat raw from screaming Erin’s name, Pete pushes on, following the rough track littered with the remnants of the season’s bluebells towards the village, the same thought beating inside him like a drum as the distant wail of a siren fills the air.

How could this have happened?

How could Erin have disappeared from her own bed, in a house full of people?

And more importantly, who could have taken her?