up and the pills inside rattled. There was a wooden elephant with a baby elephant, a ceramic plate – the first thing she had ever brought back from secondary school. I picked up the pink plastic bottle of her makeup remover. I sniffed it and the familiar astringent odour stung my nostrils.
Downstairs I dialled the number for the police station; asked to speak to Mahoney. I was told he wasn’t there, but was expected back in a few minutes and they’d make sure he got my message to call me. I put the phone down and stared at it. I didn’t want to sit and wait for ten minutes, doing nothing while scary images slid through my mind.
‘Can I make you some tea?’ asked Renata. ‘Or something to eat? You’ve got to eat. It won’t do Charlie any good if you’re starving yourself.’
‘No,’ I said, picking up the camcorder. ‘I’ve got to go to the police station.’
‘Can I come with you?’ Jackson plucked at my sleeve.
‘No.’
‘Mum – Mummy – please can I come? Please?’
‘All right, then,’ I said, abruptly changing my mind. ‘Renata, I’m on my mobile. Call me if there’s anything.’
‘I forgot – someone called Christian rang. He’s stuck on the M25, can’t move at all.’
‘Oh, well. Come on, then, Jackson.’
I took his hand in mine and we ran to the police station. It was quicker than driving. Our feet smacked against the icy surface of the road and the cold wind blew in from the east, whipping our hair on to our cheeks, making our ears ache. Jackson’s breath was coming in little sobs, but I didn’t let up. I tugged him past houses with smoke rising from their chimneys, windows strung with Christmas lights or illuminated with baubled Christmas trees. In the distance the grey sea lay beneath the grey sky. You couldn’t see the sun at all.
‘Is he here yet?’ I asked, as we clattered breathlessly into the station.
‘Excuse me?’
The woman at the desk looked at us both suspiciously.
‘PC Mahoney. Is he here? I’m Nina Landry – I called. I have to see him at once.’
‘He just got in. I gave him your message and he was going to call –’
‘In there?’
I took Jackson’s cold fingers again and marched him across to the door, knocked firmly and opened it before anyone had a chance to reply. Mahoney was standing near the window that overlooked the small car park at the back, with a polystyrene cup of coffee in his hand. He looked chilly and tired. Tinsel hung along the walls, a tiny fake Christmas tree stood on top of the metal filing cabinet in the corner, and on the desk there were several framed photographs: of him and acurly-headed woman I assumed was his wife; of a large fish at the end of a line, with glazed eye and gaping mouth; of a girl who must be the daughter he’d talked about, Charlie’s age. She wore braces and her hair was tied back in a single dark brown plait.
He looked at me in surprise.
‘I’ve got something to show you,’ I said. My throat hurt when I swallowed, my glands ached. I felt clammy and my skin prickled under my jacket. ‘Jackson, go ahead.’
Jackson started fiddling with the camcorder. His hands were shaking, with cold or fear, I didn’t know. I put a hand on top of his silky head and watched as Charlie’s door swung open on the small, smeary screen in front of us.
‘We have a patrol car looking for your daughter,’ said Mahoney. He coughed awkwardly. ‘I know it’s difficult to be patient but –’
‘Quiet,’ I said. ‘Look at this. Hold it there, Jackson.’ I gestured at the miniature screen. ‘That’s her nightshirt. Her nightshirt that’s not there any more.’
‘Ms Landry –’
‘Go forward, Jackson. There. That’s her makeup bag.’
‘Yes,’ he said cautiously.
‘Don’t you see? Look, it’s eleven seventeen. Go back, Jackson, show him the clock. There. It makes everything different. Don’t you see? We’d assumed she came back after the sleepover or the newspaper round, took her stuff and
Downstairs I dialled the number for the police station; asked to speak to Mahoney. I was told he wasn’t there, but was expected back in a few minutes and they’d make sure he got my message to call me. I put the phone down and stared at it. I didn’t want to sit and wait for ten minutes, doing nothing while scary images slid through my mind.
‘Can I make you some tea?’ asked Renata. ‘Or something to eat? You’ve got to eat. It won’t do Charlie any good if you’re starving yourself.’
‘No,’ I said, picking up the camcorder. ‘I’ve got to go to the police station.’
‘Can I come with you?’ Jackson plucked at my sleeve.
‘No.’
‘Mum – Mummy – please can I come? Please?’
‘All right, then,’ I said, abruptly changing my mind. ‘Renata, I’m on my mobile. Call me if there’s anything.’
‘I forgot – someone called Christian rang. He’s stuck on the M25, can’t move at all.’
‘Oh, well. Come on, then, Jackson.’
I took his hand in mine and we ran to the police station. It was quicker than driving. Our feet smacked against the icy surface of the road and the cold wind blew in from the east, whipping our hair on to our cheeks, making our ears ache. Jackson’s breath was coming in little sobs, but I didn’t let up. I tugged him past houses with smoke rising from their chimneys, windows strung with Christmas lights or illuminated with baubled Christmas trees. In the distance the grey sea lay beneath the grey sky. You couldn’t see the sun at all.
‘Is he here yet?’ I asked, as we clattered breathlessly into the station.
‘Excuse me?’
The woman at the desk looked at us both suspiciously.
‘PC Mahoney. Is he here? I’m Nina Landry – I called. I have to see him at once.’
‘He just got in. I gave him your message and he was going to call –’
‘In there?’
I took Jackson’s cold fingers again and marched him across to the door, knocked firmly and opened it before anyone had a chance to reply. Mahoney was standing near the window that overlooked the small car park at the back, with a polystyrene cup of coffee in his hand. He looked chilly and tired. Tinsel hung along the walls, a tiny fake Christmas tree stood on top of the metal filing cabinet in the corner, and on the desk there were several framed photographs: of him and acurly-headed woman I assumed was his wife; of a large fish at the end of a line, with glazed eye and gaping mouth; of a girl who must be the daughter he’d talked about, Charlie’s age. She wore braces and her hair was tied back in a single dark brown plait.
He looked at me in surprise.
‘I’ve got something to show you,’ I said. My throat hurt when I swallowed, my glands ached. I felt clammy and my skin prickled under my jacket. ‘Jackson, go ahead.’
Jackson started fiddling with the camcorder. His hands were shaking, with cold or fear, I didn’t know. I put a hand on top of his silky head and watched as Charlie’s door swung open on the small, smeary screen in front of us.
‘We have a patrol car looking for your daughter,’ said Mahoney. He coughed awkwardly. ‘I know it’s difficult to be patient but –’
‘Quiet,’ I said. ‘Look at this. Hold it there, Jackson.’ I gestured at the miniature screen. ‘That’s her nightshirt. Her nightshirt that’s not there any more.’
‘Ms Landry –’
‘Go forward, Jackson. There. That’s her makeup bag.’
‘Yes,’ he said cautiously.
‘Don’t you see? Look, it’s eleven seventeen. Go back, Jackson, show him the clock. There. It makes everything different. Don’t you see? We’d assumed she came back after the sleepover or the newspaper round, took her stuff and
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