Finding Grace(26)

Seventeen





Lucie





Sunday evening





I snap awake at a light tapping noise on the bedroom door. I can’t believe I drifted off.

In the second before the brain fog clears, I remember. Grace. Pure, undiluted fear grips my heart like an iron vice as one thought presents itself:

It’s now dark outside.

The tapping noise sounds at the door again.

‘Come in,’ I call out, sitting bolt upright in bed.

The door creaks open and DS Bean’s pale, well-meaning face appears.

‘Have they… Is Grace back?’

She presses her lips together and shakes her head. ‘They’ve let me know that Blake will be leaving the station in the next half an hour.’

I can’t think about Blake right now; all I can think of is the square of dark at the window. The heating is on but the room feels chilly. I shiver.

‘It’s already dark.’ My voice cracks. ‘What will… Oh my God, what will happen if…’

Fiona walks quickly over to the bed and sits on the edge, near the bottom. Part of me recoils at the presence of a stranger in my bedroom, but part of me welcomes the support.

The kindness in her voice when she speaks is enough to break me.

‘We won’t stop searching for Grace, Lucie. All night if we need to. The dark will make no difference.’

But it does make a difference. A big difference. It feels like the light of the day is fading in direct parallel to the hope burning inside me. If I dwell on it too long, I’ll crumble.

‘Her medication. What if she’s lost it, or… can’t use it for some reason?’ I block out what this reason might be. I can’t face even the suggestion of it. I feel like my insides are gradually tightening like a fist.

Fiona nods. ‘I know this is a real concern. Someone on the team is contacting your GP, so hopefully we’ll know more about the implications very soon.’

‘I can tell you myself how serious it could be.’ I can hear the desperation in my own voice. ‘All sorts of complications can arise if she—’

‘It’s in hand, Lucie,’ she says calmly. ‘We’ve asked your GP to come here, to speak to you and to… offer help if you need it.’

Help? I know what that means: they want to medicate me. Sedate the panic out of me. But I’m not having it. I’ve lived in that bubble before and it’s not an existence I want to go back to. I can’t help my daughter if I’m drugged senseless.

‘I’m not taking anything. I want to feel the pain, the panic. It’s what’s going to motivate me to find my daughter.’ I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. My legs feel wobbly and I sit down again and speak through locked teeth. ‘I’m not sitting here waiting. I want to be outside, helping to look for Grace. I’ve already been resting far too long as it is.’

‘You’ve been up here for about an hour.’ Fiona waves away my concern. ‘It’s a good thing you managed to get some rest. You won’t be able to help look for Grace without it, Lucie, think of it that way.’

I wouldn’t call it rest, exactly. More like purgatory, caught between the life I had when I woke up today and the hellish existence I’ve plunged into without Grace.

Nevertheless, I’m shocked how long it’s been. I feel exhausted, but I’ve no right trying to rest when my daughter is out there, alone. I push up off the bed and slowly stand again.

‘I’ll come down.’

Fiona walks over to the door. ‘I’ll wait for you downstairs.’

When she’s left the room, I sink to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees.

I can’t breathe. I drag in air, but it’s not enough.

I can’t do this, I just can’t. I can’t sit around the house doing nothing, despite what Fiona says.

I am Grace’s mother. If I go out there, search for her, I might get some kind of telepathic vibes, an invisible maternal thread of communication that only we two can feel.

It sounds mad, I know, but I don’t care. Anything that can guide me closer to my daughter is worth considering.

The one thing I’m certain of is that sitting here drinking endless cups of tea with DS Bean is not going to contribute to finding Grace. And I hate being cooped up in the house with a stranger watching my every move and reaction; it’s ramping up my anxiety to levels that are bordering on unbearable.

In the bathroom, I splash some water on my face. I scoop out the tweezers I discarded there only a couple of hours ago and glance in the mirror. The last time I looked in here earlier today, I was scanning my face for new wrinkles. Now, the dark circles under my eyes are a physical mark of the terrible events of the past hours.

I dab my face dry with a hand towel and steel myself to go back downstairs, my heart growing heavier by the second. I feel like I can’t go on. Something has to change, because I honestly feel I’m on the verge of losing my mind.

At the same time, I know it’s a waste of energy even thinking such a thing. What I want has no relevance to what will happen, because other people are in charge of my life now. Not least the person – or persons – who knows where Grace is.

I step out of the bathroom and am about to walk to the top of the stairs when I look up and see Blake’s office door facing me.