Finding Grace(55)

I looked at him as if he was mad. ‘And let Fiona report that I’m neglecting the one child I have left? Not likely. She’s already questioned me about how Oscar bumped his head.’

‘Maybe your dad ought to go home soon,’ he says carefully after I mentioned he didn’t seem himself. ‘I’m not sure it’s doing you any good having him to worry about, too.’

I didn’t react to that. After Dad saying what he had about the house, I figured he was better off staying with us for a couple more days.

Fiona ends her call.

‘Want me to do anything?’ she asks, glancing pointedly at the sink. ‘I can tidy round a bit in here if you like, or…’ She hesitates and looks at Oscar. ‘I could look after the baby while you take a shower, give your dad a break? Whatever will help.’

Downstairs is getting into a bit of a mess, I know. But cleaning is at the rock bottom of my priorities and I’ve no idea what she’s like with babies, so I’m not inclined to leave Oscar in her care when he’s so fractious.

Still, I’ll have to get myself sorted out somehow. Last time I risked looking in the mirror, I saw that the dark circles under my eyes were the worst I’d ever seen them; my skin actually looked bruised. I haven’t had a shower yet this morning, but when I do, it will literally be just a quick scrub and I’ll jump straight out.

My hair is lank and begging for a wash, but I just can’t find the will to deal with it, although I’ll have to at least try to look decent for the TV appeal tomorrow. According to the comments I’ve seen on Twitter, some people have already made their minds up that I’m a complete mess as a mother. My throat feels tight just thinking about it.

‘No need, thanks,’ I mumble to Fiona, rinsing out Oscar’s plastic bowl at the sink. ‘I’ll take a shower later when Blake gets back. Oscar will only play you up.’

‘Oh, I meant to say…’ She picks up a sheet of paper; underneath it is a phone. ‘Blake left this on the side before he went out this morning. I was on a call and he’d already gone when I went after him with it.’

‘Oh, right. Thanks.’ I take the phone and tuck it into the back pocket of my jeans. My heart is thumping and I’m instantly distracted, but I try and cover up my reaction.

Blake keeps his phone with him all the time, so I can’t believe I actually have it on my person. I’m pretty certain he’ll be back any minute when he realises he’s left it. My plans to join Dad and Oscar in the garden are quickly shelved as I head upstairs.

Up in our bedroom, I close the door behind me. The gaggle of press at the gate seems to have grown. Grace missing overnight has certainly seemed to whet their appetite for a story to grab the readers’ heartstrings. There are another couple of broadcast vans lurking around, and some of the reporters, undaunted by the lack of news, are broadcasting with the house in the background. The home of the missing girl must make a thrilling backdrop for their viewers, no doubt.

The number of times over the years I’ve sat eating a snack or enjoying a glass of wine, watching a similar news report with, I suppose, a kind of morbid fascination even though I felt obvious concern, too.

I might mention it to Blake in passing; someone going missing or a tragic incident involving a local family, but then I’d get on with my day, swallowed up in my own petty worries and concerns.

Now that I’m on the other side of it, I’ve got a whole different outlook.

I’ve been tempted to put the television on, see what’s being said on the news, but Blake has begged me not to.

‘We don’t need to know what they’re thinking, Lucie,’ he told me this morning before he left. ‘They know nothing, even less than us. And please stay offline.’

I know he’s right, but being stuck here all day, the thought keeps crossing my mind.

I take Blake’s phone out of my pocket and tap in his date of birth to gain access to the device. The screen wobbles. Password incorrect.

He’s always used his birth date on his devices, as I have, for as long as I can remember. Admittedly, it’s been a long time since I’ve tried to access his phone, but still, why change a tried and tested method?

I glance out of the window, panicking that he will return at any moment for his phone. Almost without thinking, I tap in Grace’s date of birth.

The screen blinks and his phone icons load. I’m in.





Forty





Sixteen years earlier





Nights out with Stefan and the gang had become a regular feature of her week.

Lucie had noticed that she barely woke up with anything worse than a thick head now. And that was usually sorted with a couple of paracetamol and a strong coffee. She must be getting used to the alcohol.

Last night she and Stefan had broken off from the group and gone to a club. Stefan knew the doorman and they were able to skip the long line and go straight inside.

Before they left the group, Lucie spotted Rhonda watching the two of them. She smiled and nodded to Stefan as they left but she didn’t acknowledge Lucie. Since she’d apparently looked after Lucie on that first night out, she’d kept her distance. Although not from Stefan. She always seemed to take any chance she got to whisper something in his ear when Lucie wasn’t next to him.

Wherever they went, Stefan seemed to know people. Three girls who were leaving squealed and fawned as they spotted him, tottering over on their high heels to air-kiss him in the club’s small, dimly lit foyer.