Everything She Forgot by Lisa Ballantyne Page A

hardback books from the bookcase and pretend that she could read them.
    Kathleen dried her hands and glanced outside to see if it was raining, just as the telephone rang.
    â€œHello?”
    It was John. He stopped for a tea break at ten and would often call her.
    â€œYou’re lucky you caught me.”
    â€œYou don’t have to tell me that. I’ve always known I’m a lucky man.”
    â€œYou know what I mean,” she said, elbows on the bunker, raising her eyes and smiling as if she were talking to him face-to-face. There was a paperweight by the telephone, which Moll had also crafted: a smooth, heavy stone that she had found on the beach. She had painted MUMY in green acrossit and often told Kathleen that she hated it because it was spelled incorrectly. Her daughter frequently asked for the gift to be returned so that she could paint over it, but Kathleen wouldn’t allow it.
    â€œYou can find another stone and paint it with the correct spelling if you want, but I like this one.”
    â€œI won’t ever find another stone that flat.”
    Kathleen and John talked for a few minutes, low murmurs into the telephone. They had nothing new to say, but simply enjoyed the sound of each other’s voices.
    â€œI’m meeting Fiona for lunch.”
    â€œWell, you enjoy your day.”
    â€œWhen will you be home?”
    John sighed. “After six, I should think. We’ll see.” She could hear the stress returning to his voice.
    â€œSee you later, then.”
    â€œTatty-bye.”
    K athleen put on her jacket and was counting the money in her purse when the phone rang again.
    â€œAre you bored today or something?” she said, laughing, expecting it to be John again.
    It was not her husband, but the head teacher of Ravenshill Primary.
    â€œMrs. Henderson, is that you? It’s Barbara Wainwright.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” said Kathleen, tossing her bag onto the kitchen bunker. “I thought it was . . . How can I help you? Is everything OK?”
    â€œI don’t want to alarm you at all, but I’m just checking that you didn’t ask for Molly to be collected from school this morning by a friend or family member?”
    Kathleen’s lip stiffened. “Moll? Collected by whom? I saw her off this morning.”
    There were a few seconds of silence on the line and Kathleen’s thighs began to tremble.
    â€œMoll didn’t make it to school today, and some classmates witnessed her talking to a strange man and getting into his car. We’re going to call the police . . .”
    Kathleen hung up the telephone. She had tried so hard to listen as Mrs. Wainwright spoke of the next steps, but the only thing she could think about was finding Moll. A notepad hanging on the wall next to the telephone listed important numbers. Kathleen’s forefinger shook as she found the one for John’s work. She misdialed twice because she was trembling so badly, but finally got through.
    His secretary answered.
    â€œI need to speak to John right now.”
    â€œKathleen, is that you?”
    â€œI need to speak to John.”
    â€œHe’s at the plant. I can try to get a message passed but it might take some time.”
    â€œI need to speak to him now . Right now.”
    â€œKathleen, love, is everything all right?”
    She hung up, her hand over her mouth. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t happen to her. She’d read about little girls being taken, but it couldn’t happen to Moll. No one would hurt Moll.
    She felt as if her skin had fallen off; raw, she ran out into the street and toward the school, following the steps her daughter had taken when she waved her off this morning. Kathleen could remember her small wet lips against hers and the uneven strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail, which Kathleen had tried to straighten on the doorstep. She could imagine everylast pore of her—bone, skin, hair, and smell. Tears