to be there somewhere.
How much time had elapsed? The police asked me this later and even now I’m not sure. It could only have been a couple of minutes. I even retraced my steps, afterwards, but that didn’t really help. For one thing, I couldn’t remember how long I’d spent in the confectionery section. Not long. But how long? Two minutes? Five? And how fast was I walking then, when it all happened? From when I left her at the deli to when I really started to feel that hard knot of panic? Between five and ten minutes. That is the best I can do.
This time I was really methodical. I searched each aisle.
I found the trolley in aisle five, right next to the dog food and opposite the toilet paper. There was just one thing in it. A rolled-up package of white, greaseproof paper. I picked it up. The barcode sticker said ‘salmon fillets’. Now, as I relive the moment, I realise that wasn’t when I panicked. I don’t think it was. She had to be close. People don’t leave their trolley to go exploring the further reaches of the supermarket. They take it with them. This aisle was deserted, apart from a woman who was examining a tin of dog food. She was scrutinising the label as if it contained the key to the secret of the universe.
‘Excuse me,’ I said. We remain polite, even when the world is in the process of falling apart. She glanced up reluctantly, her face creased in suspicion as if I was about to say something offensive. ‘Have you, by any chance, seen a small girl, about eight years old?School uniform. Blue. She was pushing this trolley.’ I indicated it as if that would clear up this confusing situation.
‘Sorry, no,’ she replied, and went back to her tin.
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘That’s okay.’ I have no idea why I said that.
Maybe it was at this point that I became worried. Seriously worried. I didn’t want to run. I think I was still keeping hold of a sense of decorum, obeying social convention. What was I going to do when I ran into Phoebe in the next aisle and I’d been screaming her name? Who would be more embarrassed, her or me? This is one of the things that haunted me later. If I had yelled. If I had bellowed at the top of my voice, back there in the confectionery aisle, might she have heard me? Might the person who took her have panicked and run, leaving her behind? Was my determination to stay cool a contributory factor in the tragedy that unfolded? Others have told me this is a foolish line of thinking. I agree. It is monumentally foolish, but that doesn’t stop me.
I compromised. I moved briskly down each aisle, increasing pace as I covered the supermarket. Even then, I believed she was going to appear around the next corner. I’d be angry that she had given me the slip. She would raise her eyebrows as if I was a moron and point out that she’d been waiting for me, exactly where I’d told her to go. But she wasn’t in the confectionery aisle. She wasn’t at the deli. I went to the checkouts and she wasn’t there either. I went past the checkouts and to the front of the supermarket. At some stage I dropped the mushrooms and the dill andthe Turkish Delights. The car park was busy; folks loading their groceries into the backs of cars, returning trolleys to the bays. I caught a glimpse of a girl – the back of her head, the briefest hint of a profile – at the far end of the car park. I ran through the ranks of vehicles. Someone swore at me as I nearly collided with a trolley.
It wasn’t her. As I got close I knew it wasn’t her. She was with a woman, loading groceries, and her shape was all wrong. The school uniform was grey, for Chrissake. I skidded to a halt. A fine rain was starting to fall, though I only noticed because it made it slightly more difficult to see. I needed to think, but there were too many thoughts pushing against each other in my head. I blinked rain from my eyes and approached a couple of people, asked if they’d seen a girl wandering around by herself.
How much time had elapsed? The police asked me this later and even now I’m not sure. It could only have been a couple of minutes. I even retraced my steps, afterwards, but that didn’t really help. For one thing, I couldn’t remember how long I’d spent in the confectionery section. Not long. But how long? Two minutes? Five? And how fast was I walking then, when it all happened? From when I left her at the deli to when I really started to feel that hard knot of panic? Between five and ten minutes. That is the best I can do.
This time I was really methodical. I searched each aisle.
I found the trolley in aisle five, right next to the dog food and opposite the toilet paper. There was just one thing in it. A rolled-up package of white, greaseproof paper. I picked it up. The barcode sticker said ‘salmon fillets’. Now, as I relive the moment, I realise that wasn’t when I panicked. I don’t think it was. She had to be close. People don’t leave their trolley to go exploring the further reaches of the supermarket. They take it with them. This aisle was deserted, apart from a woman who was examining a tin of dog food. She was scrutinising the label as if it contained the key to the secret of the universe.
‘Excuse me,’ I said. We remain polite, even when the world is in the process of falling apart. She glanced up reluctantly, her face creased in suspicion as if I was about to say something offensive. ‘Have you, by any chance, seen a small girl, about eight years old?School uniform. Blue. She was pushing this trolley.’ I indicated it as if that would clear up this confusing situation.
‘Sorry, no,’ she replied, and went back to her tin.
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘That’s okay.’ I have no idea why I said that.
Maybe it was at this point that I became worried. Seriously worried. I didn’t want to run. I think I was still keeping hold of a sense of decorum, obeying social convention. What was I going to do when I ran into Phoebe in the next aisle and I’d been screaming her name? Who would be more embarrassed, her or me? This is one of the things that haunted me later. If I had yelled. If I had bellowed at the top of my voice, back there in the confectionery aisle, might she have heard me? Might the person who took her have panicked and run, leaving her behind? Was my determination to stay cool a contributory factor in the tragedy that unfolded? Others have told me this is a foolish line of thinking. I agree. It is monumentally foolish, but that doesn’t stop me.
I compromised. I moved briskly down each aisle, increasing pace as I covered the supermarket. Even then, I believed she was going to appear around the next corner. I’d be angry that she had given me the slip. She would raise her eyebrows as if I was a moron and point out that she’d been waiting for me, exactly where I’d told her to go. But she wasn’t in the confectionery aisle. She wasn’t at the deli. I went to the checkouts and she wasn’t there either. I went past the checkouts and to the front of the supermarket. At some stage I dropped the mushrooms and the dill andthe Turkish Delights. The car park was busy; folks loading their groceries into the backs of cars, returning trolleys to the bays. I caught a glimpse of a girl – the back of her head, the briefest hint of a profile – at the far end of the car park. I ran through the ranks of vehicles. Someone swore at me as I nearly collided with a trolley.
It wasn’t her. As I got close I knew it wasn’t her. She was with a woman, loading groceries, and her shape was all wrong. The school uniform was grey, for Chrissake. I skidded to a halt. A fine rain was starting to fall, though I only noticed because it made it slightly more difficult to see. I needed to think, but there were too many thoughts pushing against each other in my head. I blinked rain from my eyes and approached a couple of people, asked if they’d seen a girl wandering around by herself.
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