Finding Grace(75)

Back at the house, Nadine meets us at the door.

‘How did it go? I’m sure you were brilliant, Blake, darling.’

DI Pearlman is quietly optimistic as he leads us cleverly past Nadine and into the living room.

‘You both came across brilliantly. Intelligent and devastated,’ he enthuses, as if we might be up for an award. ‘HQ said the phones were ringing off the desks, which is exactly what we hope for in these cases.’

‘I suppose you get a lot of crank calls,’ Blake says morosely.

‘Sure. But we’ll also get valuable information, if we’re lucky. You’d be surprised at the number of people who’ve been away, or work shifts and don’t catch the news. Suddenly, something they’ve seen and thought nothing of can be the missing piece of our jigsaw.’

‘Let’s pray that’s the case,’ Nadine sighs. ‘It sounds like you both did a good job.’

I know I must have looked like a rabbit frozen in headlights in that studio. I tried my best to express how our lives have crumbled without Grace, how we can’t sleep, can’t eat, how we’re stuck in limbo just waiting for news. But it just seemed to come out as senseless babble. And I didn’t cry. I couldn’t cry in a sterile atmosphere that didn’t even seem real.

If tears from a suffering mother move the hearts of the general public, then I failed.

Blake was eloquent. In response to a probing question from a national newspaper, he explained that yes, it was true we’d allowed Grace to make a very short walk home alone, but that we’d put monitoring plans in place that we’d genuinely thought were failsafe. We were caught out.

‘I know every parent out there has made a decision in haste that they now regret. But in our case, we’ve paid the ultimate price. We’ve lost our daughter, our reason for living.’ He paused, reaching for my hand before carrying on, his voice breaking with emotion. ‘From the bottom of my heart I plead with everyone watching to please, please help us to find Grace.’

Even the press fell quiet for a moment or two, such was the poignancy of my husband’s words.

When the detective has left and Blake has gone off to make some calls, Fiona comes in, her arms full of mail. Different colours, sizes of envelope, all jumbled into a haphazard pile that threatens to spill over at any moment.

‘From well-wishers,’ she says sadly as she offloads it on to the coffee table in the middle of the room. ‘You’ve got a lot of support out there, Lucie love, remember that.’

My eyes prickle.

Fiona sits next to me. ‘I can help you look through this stuff,’ she says gently. ‘Most people are lovely and can’t do enough to help, but we do occasionally get trolls, vicious types who want to make you suffer more than you are already. If that’s even possible.’

‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘I’ll just open a few, and if there are any nasty communications, I’ll set them aside.’ Oscar is still sleeping and I can take my time looking through the mail.

The truth is, for all that Fiona is trying her best to help, I’d rather just be alone right now in my misery. I’m tired of everyone looking at me like they’re so sorry for me. I don’t want sympathy, I want news about Grace.

‘Dr Mahmoud has been in touch. He wants to come and see you again, see if there’s anything he can do to—’

‘I don’t need to see him!’ I feel so frustrated with all this fuss over me. It’s Grace that matters. She’s the only thing that matters to us.

Fiona nods and squeezes my arm. ‘I’m just in the kitchen catching up on paperwork if you need me.’ She gives Nadine a look and my mother-in-law sniffs and reluctantly follows her out of the room.

They close the door behind me and I feel the sore, contracted muscles in my chest and arms relax a little. You’d think that in such terrible circumstances as these, you wouldn’t care what people think. That you’d just break down and not give a stuff who sees you.

But in reality, you try and keep it together, develop a shell, albeit a fragile one, where you observe generally reasonable behaviour and strive to hide your true feelings.

Now, alone again at last, I can let the pain resurface.

I rub my wet face with the backs of my hands and reach for a handful of envelopes. I can see that most of these are cards. I open a couple and they are sweet and genuine. One card with a horse on breaks my heart. It’s from a girl who attends Grace’s riding school.

Dear Grace,

I heard you are missing and I hope you are OK. I have told your horse you will be back home soon and I will look after her for you until you ride her again.

Love,

Macy Price xx





There are other cards from people who live on Violet Road, expressing regret and wishing they could help in some way.

I shuffle through the pile and spot an envelope that looks too thin to be a card. Fiona’s warning about trolls rings in my ears and gingerly I slide my finger under the flap and tear it open. Inside is a scrap of notepaper.

Lucinda,

I know you’ll be terribly worried right now. But I know something you don’t know. So don’t worry about Grace. Remember the old email? You might want to log in.





I drop the note as if it’s scalding my fingers.