sense. Farmer’s son. I wondered where they’d met. I couldn’t leave it like this. I’d got nothing. ‘I’m worried,’ I said. ‘She’s disappeared. She’s taken some of her things with her. It’s like she prepared it. I need to find her.’
‘I haven’t seen her and I think I’d know if she was going to run off. You shouldn’t worry about her. Parents always worry too – ’
I interrupted him: ‘So, are you her boyfriend?’
‘I’m sorry?’
At that moment my phone rang. ‘Hang on,’ I said, and answered it.
It was Renata. ‘You need to come back,’ she said.
‘Charlie?’
‘There’s something you need to see.’
‘Can’t you tell me?’
‘It’s hard to explain. I’m not sure if I’m right. But if I am, you need to see it.’
‘I’ll be there in two minutes,’ I said, and turned to Jay. ‘I’ve got to go. Something’s up. Can I call you on your mobile?’
‘What for?’ he said.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Just in case.’
‘I guess,’ he said.
He dictated the number and I touched the digits into my phone.
‘Good luck,’ he called after me, as I ran back to my car.
There was a parking ticket on the windscreen. I looked at it: 12.26. I scrunched it up and threw it on to the back seat, then turned the key in the ignition and drove home, ignoring the speed camera that flashed at me on The Street.
‘What is it?’ I said, as I burst through the door. ‘Tell me.’
Renata called up the stairs for Jackson. ‘Your mum’s here. Come on down now. Quickly.’
My son bounded down the stairs, two steps at a time, nearly tripping on his laces. The camcorder bounced round his neck and his face was hectic with tiredness and excitement.
‘Renata, this had better be important.’
‘I don’t know what it is,’ said Renata. She had scarlet patches on her cheeks. ‘Go on, Jackson.’
‘Let me find the right place,’ he said, pressing rewind and watching as images jerked incomprehensibly backwards. ‘Yeah, here. Look, Mum.’
I stood behind him and squinted at the small screen. A blur of grey-green colour moved along it. The upstairs carpet.
‘I can plug it into the computer if it’s hard for you to see. That’s what I was just about to – ’
‘What am I looking at?’
‘Fast-forward, Jackson,’ said Renata.
‘No, it’s here.’
The camera had reached Charlie’s bedroom door. It swung up to the sign that said, ‘Knock first!’ in big block letters, then bobbed down again as the door was pushed open, presumably by Jackson. It moved in and out of focus round Charlie’s room. To the window, the strewn bed, the half-open wardrobe, the sheep clock. I forced myself to stay calm as I watched the familiar objects slide past, looming in and out of focus, all the things that I’d been sifting through so recently: the towels, the flung clothes, the CDs, the pieces of paper, the ointments and lotions, the…
‘There,’ said Renata.
The nightshirt, held in a blurred freeze-frame. It lay on the floor. I could even half make out what was written across it, and supply the rest: ‘Please do not sell this woman anything.’ I’d bought it for her last summer. She’d worn it the night before last. The camcorder moved on.
‘Go back,’ I said, in little more than a gasp.
‘Hang on, look,’ said Renata, pressed against me behind Jackson.
The camera swung over something pink and Jackson pressed pause. Out of focus, and only half in view, but indisputably Charlie’s makeup bag.
‘We looked for the washbag as well, and the purse, but there’s nothing else. We’ve gone through all of it,’ said Jackson.
‘Several times,’ said Renata. ‘It doesn’t mean they weren’t there, just that Jackson didn’t film them. Lucky he didn’t delete it all, wasn’t it? And I could easily not have noticed. It was the nightshirt that did it.’
‘Go back a bit,’ I said. ‘Yes, stop there.’
The sheep clock told me it was 11.17, and the small screen on
‘I haven’t seen her and I think I’d know if she was going to run off. You shouldn’t worry about her. Parents always worry too – ’
I interrupted him: ‘So, are you her boyfriend?’
‘I’m sorry?’
At that moment my phone rang. ‘Hang on,’ I said, and answered it.
It was Renata. ‘You need to come back,’ she said.
‘Charlie?’
‘There’s something you need to see.’
‘Can’t you tell me?’
‘It’s hard to explain. I’m not sure if I’m right. But if I am, you need to see it.’
‘I’ll be there in two minutes,’ I said, and turned to Jay. ‘I’ve got to go. Something’s up. Can I call you on your mobile?’
‘What for?’ he said.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Just in case.’
‘I guess,’ he said.
He dictated the number and I touched the digits into my phone.
‘Good luck,’ he called after me, as I ran back to my car.
There was a parking ticket on the windscreen. I looked at it: 12.26. I scrunched it up and threw it on to the back seat, then turned the key in the ignition and drove home, ignoring the speed camera that flashed at me on The Street.
‘What is it?’ I said, as I burst through the door. ‘Tell me.’
Renata called up the stairs for Jackson. ‘Your mum’s here. Come on down now. Quickly.’
My son bounded down the stairs, two steps at a time, nearly tripping on his laces. The camcorder bounced round his neck and his face was hectic with tiredness and excitement.
‘Renata, this had better be important.’
‘I don’t know what it is,’ said Renata. She had scarlet patches on her cheeks. ‘Go on, Jackson.’
‘Let me find the right place,’ he said, pressing rewind and watching as images jerked incomprehensibly backwards. ‘Yeah, here. Look, Mum.’
I stood behind him and squinted at the small screen. A blur of grey-green colour moved along it. The upstairs carpet.
‘I can plug it into the computer if it’s hard for you to see. That’s what I was just about to – ’
‘What am I looking at?’
‘Fast-forward, Jackson,’ said Renata.
‘No, it’s here.’
The camera had reached Charlie’s bedroom door. It swung up to the sign that said, ‘Knock first!’ in big block letters, then bobbed down again as the door was pushed open, presumably by Jackson. It moved in and out of focus round Charlie’s room. To the window, the strewn bed, the half-open wardrobe, the sheep clock. I forced myself to stay calm as I watched the familiar objects slide past, looming in and out of focus, all the things that I’d been sifting through so recently: the towels, the flung clothes, the CDs, the pieces of paper, the ointments and lotions, the…
‘There,’ said Renata.
The nightshirt, held in a blurred freeze-frame. It lay on the floor. I could even half make out what was written across it, and supply the rest: ‘Please do not sell this woman anything.’ I’d bought it for her last summer. She’d worn it the night before last. The camcorder moved on.
‘Go back,’ I said, in little more than a gasp.
‘Hang on, look,’ said Renata, pressed against me behind Jackson.
The camera swung over something pink and Jackson pressed pause. Out of focus, and only half in view, but indisputably Charlie’s makeup bag.
‘We looked for the washbag as well, and the purse, but there’s nothing else. We’ve gone through all of it,’ said Jackson.
‘Several times,’ said Renata. ‘It doesn’t mean they weren’t there, just that Jackson didn’t film them. Lucky he didn’t delete it all, wasn’t it? And I could easily not have noticed. It was the nightshirt that did it.’
‘Go back a bit,’ I said. ‘Yes, stop there.’
The sheep clock told me it was 11.17, and the small screen on
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