The Other People(66)
He heard sirens, and an ambulance flashed past on the hard shoulder. There must be an accident ahead. Someone’s routine journey suddenly cut short by a momentary lapse of attention, a missed lane change, a fractional delay on the brakes.
The traffic crawled forward another few feet. He felt his frustration inch up another notch. He saw a sign coming up. The next junction. Half a mile. It wasn’t a quick diversion, but was it better than sitting in traffic? He drummed his fingers. Could he cut across the lanes in time? Or should he just wait it out on the motorway?
The same dilemma he had faced three years ago. He couldn’t afford to make the wrong decision again. The traffic edged forward. The slip road was fast approaching. A few cars had already turned off. He was leaving it too late.
He debated with himself, then quickly slammed on the indicator and darted into the inside lane, in front of a lorry, which hit the horn and flashed him angrily. He ignored it. The slip road was running out. He yanked the steering wheel to the left, felt the wheels of the camper van bump over the white hazard lines, and he was off.
He hoped that, this time, he wasn’t too late.
Where was he? The activity books had been discarded; crumbs and empty cups littered the table. Katie had given Sam and Gracie her phone to play with, to ward off the boredom whines, but she could sense that they were getting restless. Alice sat, ostensibly engrossed in a word puzzle, but Katie noticed that she hadn’t filled in a single letter in the last ten minutes.
She checked her watch again. Over an hour since she sent the text. The phone told her that it had been delivered. He hadn’t replied or tried to call, not that she would have answered. Some conversations needed to take place in person. Maybe he hadn’t read it. Maybe he thought it was some sort of cruel prank. Maybe he wasn’t coming.
What to do? How long should she wait?
Her eyes scanned the coffee shop again. She tensed. Two men in fluorescent jackets and police uniforms walked up to the counter. Her heart beat faster. Were they just stopping for a coffee or here on more official business?
She jumped as Alice gripped her arm. “I know,” Katie whispered.
The police officers appeared to be talking to the girl behind the counter. As Katie watched, one of them turned and surveyed the café. Was he looking for someone—for them? Katie had chosen a table behind another couple and partially shielded by a pillar, but if the police officers started to walk around, if they were looking for a woman on the run with three children, then their little group—in hoodies, pajama bottoms and boots—stood out like a sore thumb.
She nodded at Alice and then whispered: “Sam, Gracie, get your coats on.”
“Why? Where are we going?”
“We’re just going.”
They grabbed their coats. The police officers were still at the counter. Katie motioned with a finger to her lips and they pushed their chairs back and rose from their seats.
The police officers turned. Katie froze…and then spotted the two large takeaway cups of coffee. She felt her heart sag in relief. The officers smiled, waved to the girl behind the counter and sauntered out of the coffee shop.
“It’s okay,” she said. “False alarm.”
She turned to Alice. But Alice wasn’t looking at her.
She was staring at another figure walking slowly toward them. A tall, thin figure with straggly dark hair and a tired face. His gait was slightly lopsided, and he clutched his side as if he had a stitch. His eyes searched the café and then, as if drawn by some magnetic force, they fell on Alice.
Shock. Disbelief. The man stopped, raised a hand to his face, dropped it again and took a faltering step closer.
His mouth opened, but nothing came out. It looked like he was searching for a word, a name he hadn’t used in a very long time. Katie willed him to find it.
But Alice got there first.
“Daddy?”
All this time. All these years. All the moments he dared to let himself imagine this.
And for a fraction of an instant, he thought it was all a big mistake.
Her hair was dark and longer than he remembered. She was so much taller. And thinner. Those once-stocky limbs had lengthened and become lanky. Her cheeks had lost their plumpness and her eyes had changed. He could see in them a wariness, a hurt. He couldn’t equate this skinny young girl, dressed in an oversized hoodie, pajamas and Ugg boots, with his chubby-cheeked, blonde-haired daughter.
And then she spoke:
“Daddy?”
The years fell away. Like a dam breaking. He surged forward and wrapped his arms around his daughter, ignoring the painful twinge from his stitches. She stiffened briefly and then collapsed against him, her frail body surprisingly heavy.
He held her as tightly as he dared, scared he might crush her with the strength of his emotions. Three years. Three years of searching for a ghost, and she had been brought back to him. His daughter. In his arms. Real, substantial. Alive.
“Izzy.” He buried his face in her hair, breathing it in. “I’ve been looking for you for so long. I’ve missed you so much.”
Have you seen me? Yes. And now he was never letting her go, lest she might disappear again, evaporate into thin air.
“Gabe?” Another voice spoke, softly.
Reluctantly, he looked up, over Izzy’s head. And he realized it was the waitress. Katie. He barely recognized her. Her eyes were blackened and her nose was sore and swollen. She looked like she had been in an accident. There were two other children with her, dressed in hoodies over pajamas. As if they had left their home in a rush. What was she doing here? How had she found Izzy?