Finding Grace(23)

I stand behind the curtain to watch the growing group of people outside. I recognise a few locals, some of whom are talking to the press.

I turn away and lie down on the bed. My body feels taut and bruised, tender wherever my clothes touch it. I take a few deep breaths in and blow long, extended breaths out, but it doesn’t seem to change anything.

If wishing hard could turn back time, I’d be transported back to this morning, when Grace sat on the edge of this very bed with her bowl of cereal. I keep constantly wishing – willing – for the chance to make different decisions and of course it doesn’t work. I should’ve learned by now.

In this life, we’re all encouraged to support other people. We tell them they deserve another chance if they make a mess of things. It only seems fair, and yet when life itself deals a blow, it often has unchangeable consequences.

This morning, my daughter sat right here, munching her breakfast, too excited to finish it. Now she is missing.

So far, nobody seems to know anything. Violet Road is not the busiest street, but it is lined with houses.

Surely someone saw something?

My mind is constantly searching for a reason this has happened to us. Surely the stuff of nightmares always happens to someone else, on the TV?

I really, really need a reason. I simply can’t accept that it’s arbitrary, that some random child disappears off the face of the earth, and it happens to be my daughter.

I need to put a frame around it, give it some kind of context.

An uncomfortable ache starts up in my solar plexus. It’s the place I often feel the first rumblings of anxiety when something is wrong.

I will it to go away, but there’s no chance of that.

I wiggle my jaw from side to side when I realise I’ve clamped down so hard on my back teeth it’s making my headache even worse. But I have a reoccurring thought rattling around my head that I can’t get rid of.

I think this might be my fault.

I’ve tried to be a good person all my life. I made one mistake, many years ago, but it wasn’t my fault. Truly, I would never wish to harm another person.

Sometimes people find themselves in impossible situations. Sometimes you have to decide in a split second whether to do the right thing and go under, or fight to survive.

That’s what I did. I made a decision to survive.

The ache in my belly grows stronger still.

What happens to the bad things people have done? Does that negative energy just dissipate, never to be seen again, or does it rack up and follow you around until you’re forced to face it?

I’ve spent the last sixteen years refusing to acknowledge what happened when I was younger, but I’ve always known it’s still there, lurking in the ether. Waiting to make a comeback.

Living my life in the shadows seems to have worked so far. Until now.

Now, I can’t help wondering if the moment has finally arrived. Has some greater power finally decided that the price I must pay, is losing my daughter… my entire world?





Fifteen





There’s no way I’m going to be able to rest up here. I honestly doubt I will sleep again until we get Grace back. Until we get her back, not if. The word ‘if’ leads to madness; I instinctively know that and refuse to even think it.

I run through the detectives’ questions again in my mind. The way Blake seemed adamant he didn’t want to go to the station and then appeared to do a 360-degree turn and asked them to take him in.

At first I felt annoyed he seemed to be more concerned with his professional image and the perception of the local community and press. But now I remind myself just how much he – and we as a family – has sacrificed to build his successful political career. He’s making a fantastic success of being a councillor and attracting the attention of all the right people.

‘I’m just a step away from going to Westminster, Luce. I can feel it here,’ he’s said more than once, tapping his chest. ‘If I can pull it off, it will transform our lives.’

Anyone who reads newspapers or takes a passing interest in the popular news sites online will know how the slightest seed of doubt or whiff of scandal can ruin a career, regardless of actual guilt being proven.

This was the reason Blake was reluctant to go to the police station. I shared his trepidation that pictures of him being led out of our house to a marked police car would instantly be splashed all over the local newspapers and online. No doubt to be snapped up by the nationals within the hour. So to hear him volunteering to go in made no sense to me at all.

Blake is one of the most moral, principled people I know and I trust him implicitly. Why, then, is this worm of suspicion burrowing into my imagination? What could Blake possibly need to talk to the police about that he can’t say in front of me?

His assertion that it was to keep the focus off me and away from the house didn’t really wash. Anyway, the press haven’t followed him to the police station; they’re all still out there, watching the house like vultures.

I close my eyes and try to relax, naming each part of my body as I learned to do in the days when I still attended yoga classes. I might not be able to sleep, but if only I can ease the physical pain I feel in every single inch of my flesh, I’ll be able to think more clearly. I can’t – and won’t – stay stuck in the house waiting passively for them to bring me news. Grace is out there somewhere. The thought both tortures me, because I’m lying here doing nothing to find her, and comforts me, because while she’s out there and hasn’t turned up injured or worse, she may still be safely found.