Finding Grace(4)

‘Sorry,’ I mutter, mortified with myself. ‘Sorry, I…’

‘Lucie?’ Bev touches my arm. ‘The police are here.’

I turn to see two police cars behind us. Mike is helping a limping Blake across the road and back over towards us. Bev steps forward and identifies herself as the person who called in ‘the incident’, as the policeman refers to it.

She moves next to Mike, but I watch as she reaches out to Blake, grasping his hand. They don’t say anything, just look at each other, and I can almost see the pain radiating between them.

A police van pulls up and a platoon of uniformed officers emerge, their faces grim and focused. Their uniforms are dark; most of their faces are white. They all look the same, like a small army drafted in to help.

I feel frozen, as if I’m standing on a flimsy platform of ice that could give way at any moment. I just can’t move.

I watch, my throat burning with stomach acid, as Mike and Blake join Bev in talking to the officers. They all turn and glance at me, then look back at each other and nod.

I bring the cuff of my sweatshirt up to my mouth and blot my vomit-spotted mouth.

Blake limps over, envelops me. His arms feel cold, unyielding. I want him to stop holding me, but I can’t find the strength to push him away.

He looks at me, his eyes pleading, his face impossibly pale and drawn.

‘They want us to get into the police car, Luce. They’re going to take us home.’

‘No,’ I say with steely determination. ‘I’m not going home without Grace.’

‘We have fifteen officers out here looking for her and carrying out door-to-door inquiries, Mrs Sullivan.’ The uniformed officer looks young, as if he’s just finished university. ‘And most of the local community are out too, by the looks of it. If Grace is here, we will find her.’

If. He said if Grace is here.

Blake reaches for my hand, grips it so I can’t easily slip away. He starts to lead me to the police car, but I stand firm.

‘And if she’s not here, what does that mean? Someone has taken her into a house, or driven her away in a car?’ I can’t dampen down the panic that’s filling my chest. ‘She could be on the motorway by now. She could be anywhere!’

Suddenly I’m wailing. Pushing concerned hands away. My face is wet with tears and I’m coughing so hard it feels like I’ll rupture my windpipe.

I can’t do it. I can’t leave this place until I find Grace.

People surround me, in a supportive but firm manner. We’re all moving together. Hands on my back, my shoulders. Words of reassurance murmured in my ears.

I feel weak with desperation, with rage. Sound and movement flicker in and out of my circle of attention like an ebbing tide. None of this feels real. None of this can be happening… It just can’t.

I’m sitting down in a soft seat. I’m in the police car, and Blake slides in next to me. Doors are slammed, concerned faces line up outside the window.

An engine starts, purrs as the car starts to move.

We’re going home. Just Blake and me, without our little girl.

Without our precious Grace.





Four





Before: Saturday afternoon





I stood by the riding school practice field, watching as my daughter’s party guests paraded past us parents.

I could hardly believe Grace had turned nine today. The years had passed in a blur, like a long car journey where people and buildings seemed to merge together and lose their sharp detail as you watched them from the window.

My Grace was bright, clever and kind. Our world turned on her smile, and seeing her happy was as vital to me as the air I breathed.

I took a step back from the fence and inhaled a deep breath of fresh air mixed with damp earth and the unmistakable aroma of horse manure and hay. Grace had left ball ponds and bouncy castle parties behind a while ago; yet another sign she was growing up fast.

I smiled and waved as she trotted past on her sleek black horse, side by side with her best friend, Olivia. Both girls were perched perfectly on their placid mares. Grace’s eight other young invited guests followed in procession, supervised by the two riding school staff.

My dad had offered to look after Grace’s baby brother, Oscar. Dad suffered from emphysema, the legacy of working in a chemical factory for nearly forty years. He put in the requisite claim after being hounded by legal companies hungry for a cut, and after nigh on two years of wrangling, he did receive a modest payout. But nothing to compensate for the restricted quality of life he now endured.

Of all the variables that could affect his health, cold weather was the worst. He could barely walk a few steps these days before he was gasping for air. So when Grace begged for a riding party, I knew Dad would struggle to attend.

Little Oscar was just getting over a bad cold himself, and when Dad suggested, quite rightly, that he was better off staying wrapped up warm at home while we celebrated at Grace’s party, Blake and I both readily agreed.

Life had been busy for us, especially since Oscar came along unexpectedly, and to be honest, we’d both thought it would be nice for us to focus on Grace for a few hours on her special day.

It sounded trite, but I did feel blessed. Two gorgeous kids and a husband who cared deeply about us all; it was honestly far more than I ever expected for myself. The empty black space inside myself felt soothed, even if it could never be fully healed.