Finding Grace(30)

Dad puts down his mug and taps his fingertips on the worktop. ‘Why give yourself even more to worry about, love? You’ve got to focus on keeping yourself well, so you’re fit when little Gracie gets home, eh?’

I nod but I can tell Dad’s worried sick about Grace just like I am. He’s pale and nervy and acting out of character, like saying he hates his house.

We’re just trying to survive the great gaping hole that’s been burned out of the middle of all our lives.

Was Grace abducted? Lost and picked up by an opportune pervert? At this very second, as I heat up baby food and Dad drinks his tea, is she alone and terrified somewhere close by in a dark, locked room?

All the dark stuff nobody’s saying is stacking up in the silences between our words. It lives and breathes in the space around us where we can’t touch it, see it, or escape it.





Twenty





Sixteen years earlier





The day she finally left Nottingham for Newcastle proved to be traumatic for Lucie.

For the past twenty-four hours, her father had seemingly morphed from a proud, beaming parent who told everyone he met about his daughter’s academic prowess into a blubbering wreck who held her in an iron grasp so long on the platform, Lucie feared she might actually miss the train.

‘Promise you’ll text the second you arrive?’

‘I promise, Dad. I told you, I’ll even text on my way there. I’ll let you know what’s happening every step of the way.’

‘The rest of your stuff should be there later today, including the cleaning products. Now don’t forget, make sure you…’

‘… bleach the floor, the loo and the worktop before I move my stuff in. Yes, Dad, I know all of it off by heart. Please don’t worry, I’ll be fine.’

Her father would never have meant to, but he was really unnerving Lucie by reminding her of a thousand possible perils she might encounter on her arrival. She was already managing very nicely on her own to ruin any optimism with a heavy lacing of dread, and she didn’t need his anxiety as well.

Her dad worried about germs and nutritious meals; Lucie fretted constantly about making new friends and fitting in. Between them, they’d managed to turn what should have been an amazing experience into a probable nightmare.

Lucie finally managed to extract herself from Pete’s vice-like grip and board the train. She put the small suitcase on the shelf above her head and her bulging rucksack on the empty seat next to her.

The carriage was quite busy, although there were still plenty of unoccupied seats. Lucie noticed there were several other young people with parents standing plaintively on the platform. The other students had a look of anticipation with a touch of nervousness; like herself, she thought. Perhaps she wasn’t so different after all.

As her father took a few steps forward and stood on his tiptoes next to the window, Lucie willed the train to get going. She was genuinely in fear of him jumping aboard and begging her not to go. She’d never live down the shame amongst all these other people.

She waved, her eyes prickling with emotion as she viewed her dad from this new angle of independent university student. She saw his tired eyes and drawn expression. She saw the worn trousers and the shoes he had owned for years, and realised she couldn’t remember the last time he’d bought herself anything new.

And yet her two large suitcases, soon to be on their way up to Newcastle, were packed with new garments, courtesy of a recent shopping trip with her father.

Pete had done so much for her; Lucie couldn’t even count the ways.

She pressed her face and hands closer to the glass and blew him a kiss.

‘Love you,’ she mouthed silently.

The train gathered speed and soon the platform fell away. She watched until her father was nothing more than a waving shape amongst the other people left behind. Then she settled back into her seat, took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

‘New life, here I come,’ she murmured softly.





Twenty-One





Lucie





Sunday evening





When Blake finally gets back from the police station, he looks tired. Haggard.

‘What happened?’ I rush into the hallway, still clutching a sleepy Oscar in my arms as the shouting from the media shuts off abruptly when the front door closes. ‘What did they say?’

‘They just asked me a load of questions.’ He shrugs. ‘I answered them the best I could.’

‘Come in here.’ I lead him into the living room and notice with a flash of irritation that Fiona is drifting across the hallway too. Before Blake walked in, she was talking to Dad in the kitchen but now decides to loiter near the lounge doorway. I lower my voice. ‘What exactly did they ask you?’

‘What time did your wife go to sleep, what time did you leave the house, where exactly did you go, who did you see. Blah, blah, blah.’ He clenches his jaw. ‘Like I told them, while they’re spending their time interrogating me about things that aren’t relevant, they’re not out there looking for Grace.’

‘Blake, you…’ I falter. ‘You haven’t got anything to tell me, have you? I mean, I’d rather know… if there’s something.’