‘Ring around her friends, the school.’ My voice reached a crescendo. ‘Should I call the police?’
‘No, not yet, lovey.’ April touched my arm. ‘They won’t bother unless it’s been a few hours. Little ’uns tend to be just hiding somewhere or playing mischief. They always turn up, and Rose will. Let me knock on a few doors and then bring us some lemon biscuits.’
Rose wasn’t a toddler, she was nine. She knew where we lived and how to cross a road and to avoid strangers. She knew our number so could call home. I decided I was going to buy her a basic mobile phone. I’d resisted until then, the old-fashioned part of me sure a nine-year-old didn’t need one. But it was different now; she was ill – that was the only way to describe it. Her body was weaker than usual, her mind a mess, and her emotions in turmoil.
What if she was unconscious somewhere? What if she’d collapsed?
I was rooted to the spot.
April said, ‘Look inside and let me check the street.’ I’d explained to her a few days earlier about the diabetes. She’d looked upset and I was touched. She had grown-up daughters who didn’t visit very often, grandchildren I knew she hardly saw, and a husband who’d died years earlier.
‘The green bins,’ I said, my mind a waterfall of worried thoughts.
I ran and opened every one, wincing at the rotten rubbish odour.
‘Natalie!’ cried April. ‘Stop, lovey! She won’t have gone in there!’
I kicked one over and went back inside, stood in the middle of the kitchen. At the cluttered table, I saw Rose yesterday, eating Coco Pops amidst my unwashed supper pots and piles of unread newspapers. I’d said as kindly as I could that she shouldn’t be having those now, they were too sugary – Bran Flakes would be better. So she’d eaten them faster, faster, faster , until brown milk had dripped down her chin and chocolatey chips stuck to her cheek like fat beauty spots, and I’d pulled away the bowl. When she tried to escape before I’d got the injection, I grabbed her arm, too roughly, and she turned on me, said she’d ring ‘socialist services’.
Who could blame her?
‘Rose!’ I screamed now.
I searched the house again, looking in the airing cupboard and my wardrobe. Then I called Hannah’s mum, and Jade’s. Both women said their daughters had gone off to school as usual, no sign of Rose, but that they’d ring me immediately if she turned up there. Hannah’s mum paused and added, ‘I’m so sorry to hear about Rose. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you.’
I called Rose’s school, in case she’d woken and decided to head there without telling me, but the headmistress, Mrs White, assured me she’d not been registered that morning, and promised to call should she turn up.
‘Rose!’ I screamed again.
Find the book .
The words appeared in my head, like soldiers on the horizon, just as in the hospital when I’d gripped the bed end while hearing, You’re going to be picked up . I didn’t think these phrases: they marched into my head.
A knock on the front door and I rushed to it, heart expectant and arms ready for Rose. April stood on the step with a biscuit tin. She’d made an effort to apply blue mascara but most of it had clogged in the corner of her eye.
‘Well?’ I willed her to have good news.
‘I couldn’t find her.’ She came into the hall, utilising my dilemma and gaining access to a house she’d previously tried to enter with promises of gossip and homemade wares.
‘Shit.’ I didn’t think I could bear another minute of worry.
April followed me into the kitchen, sniffed at what I knew was the stench of old food and pursed her lips at the overflowing sink, as though my slovenliness was the cause of Rose’s disappearance. I’d fallen into lazy habits, leaving pots in the sink for days and forgetting to turn taps off, so water flowed down kitchen cupboards. I had found Rose one afternoon watching my forgotten froth and whispering softly. I
‘No, not yet, lovey.’ April touched my arm. ‘They won’t bother unless it’s been a few hours. Little ’uns tend to be just hiding somewhere or playing mischief. They always turn up, and Rose will. Let me knock on a few doors and then bring us some lemon biscuits.’
Rose wasn’t a toddler, she was nine. She knew where we lived and how to cross a road and to avoid strangers. She knew our number so could call home. I decided I was going to buy her a basic mobile phone. I’d resisted until then, the old-fashioned part of me sure a nine-year-old didn’t need one. But it was different now; she was ill – that was the only way to describe it. Her body was weaker than usual, her mind a mess, and her emotions in turmoil.
What if she was unconscious somewhere? What if she’d collapsed?
I was rooted to the spot.
April said, ‘Look inside and let me check the street.’ I’d explained to her a few days earlier about the diabetes. She’d looked upset and I was touched. She had grown-up daughters who didn’t visit very often, grandchildren I knew she hardly saw, and a husband who’d died years earlier.
‘The green bins,’ I said, my mind a waterfall of worried thoughts.
I ran and opened every one, wincing at the rotten rubbish odour.
‘Natalie!’ cried April. ‘Stop, lovey! She won’t have gone in there!’
I kicked one over and went back inside, stood in the middle of the kitchen. At the cluttered table, I saw Rose yesterday, eating Coco Pops amidst my unwashed supper pots and piles of unread newspapers. I’d said as kindly as I could that she shouldn’t be having those now, they were too sugary – Bran Flakes would be better. So she’d eaten them faster, faster, faster , until brown milk had dripped down her chin and chocolatey chips stuck to her cheek like fat beauty spots, and I’d pulled away the bowl. When she tried to escape before I’d got the injection, I grabbed her arm, too roughly, and she turned on me, said she’d ring ‘socialist services’.
Who could blame her?
‘Rose!’ I screamed now.
I searched the house again, looking in the airing cupboard and my wardrobe. Then I called Hannah’s mum, and Jade’s. Both women said their daughters had gone off to school as usual, no sign of Rose, but that they’d ring me immediately if she turned up there. Hannah’s mum paused and added, ‘I’m so sorry to hear about Rose. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you.’
I called Rose’s school, in case she’d woken and decided to head there without telling me, but the headmistress, Mrs White, assured me she’d not been registered that morning, and promised to call should she turn up.
‘Rose!’ I screamed again.
Find the book .
The words appeared in my head, like soldiers on the horizon, just as in the hospital when I’d gripped the bed end while hearing, You’re going to be picked up . I didn’t think these phrases: they marched into my head.
A knock on the front door and I rushed to it, heart expectant and arms ready for Rose. April stood on the step with a biscuit tin. She’d made an effort to apply blue mascara but most of it had clogged in the corner of her eye.
‘Well?’ I willed her to have good news.
‘I couldn’t find her.’ She came into the hall, utilising my dilemma and gaining access to a house she’d previously tried to enter with promises of gossip and homemade wares.
‘Shit.’ I didn’t think I could bear another minute of worry.
April followed me into the kitchen, sniffed at what I knew was the stench of old food and pursed her lips at the overflowing sink, as though my slovenliness was the cause of Rose’s disappearance. I’d fallen into lazy habits, leaving pots in the sink for days and forgetting to turn taps off, so water flowed down kitchen cupboards. I had found Rose one afternoon watching my forgotten froth and whispering softly. I
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