Friend Request(83)

Chapter 35

2016
I am determined to collect Henry on time today, but as so often recently, time slips away from me somehow, my mind full of the encounter with Esther earlier today. As I come panting round the corner, I can see I’m one of the last to turn up at the school gates for after-school club pickup. There are only a few children left standing by Mrs Hopkins and the new teaching assistant, Miss Jones. Most of them get collected at three o’clock by a parent (a mum mostly) or a grandparent (again, usually female). After-school club is for the unfortunates like Henry with two working parents and no helpful family members to take them home for cuddles and hot chocolate. The sky is clear with a sprinkling of stars already visible, and there’s a smell of wood smoke in the air. I’m looking forward to scuffing through the russet leaves with Henry on the way home, and it’s not until I’m fairly close that I realise that none of the children at the gate is Henry. Mrs Hopkins looks at me blankly. A tremor runs through me.

‘Where’s Henry?’ My voice is spiky with fear.

‘He was picked up at three…’ She turns to Miss Jones. ‘Wasn’t he?’

Miss Jones looks concerned, but not overly so. She thinks it’s a misunderstanding, something easy to sort out.

‘Yes, his grandma picked him up.’

For a blissful half-second I think it’s OK. My mum has come for an unexpected visit and decided to surprise him. She knows I hate the fact that he has to go to after-school club most days. But very quickly I realise it’s not OK, not at all. Quite apart from the fact that she never voluntarily looks after him, Mum would never have done that without letting me know.

‘His grandma?’ My voice sounds unfamiliar, high and wobbly. Could Sam’s mum possibly have decided it was time to get to know her grandson?

‘Yes, an older lady, with long hair,’ says Miss Jones, looking uncertainly from me to Mrs Hopkins. Sam’s mum has an elegant crop.

‘That’s not his grandma! I don’t know any older lady with long hair!’ My knees buckle and I reach out, my hand finding the fence. A tiny splinter of wood skewers itself under the top layer of skin on my palm.

‘He said it was his grandma,’ Miss Jones says, more to Mrs Hopkins than to me. She’s realised now the seriousness of what she’s done.

‘He’s four!’ I scream at her. ‘Did you tell him she was his grandma? Is that what she said?’

‘Well – yes…’

‘He’s four years old! He believes whatever you tell him! He thinks that when he loses his first tooth a fairy is going to come into his bedroom and replace it with money! I went into the office last week; I told Mrs Harper that I had concerns! You don’t take the word of a four-year-old child, there are procedures, named contacts. Why did you just let him go?’

I’m up close to Miss Jones now, shouting in her face. Mrs Hopkins inserts herself between us.

‘I absolutely appreciate the seriousness of this, Mrs Parker. Unfortunately I got called away to deal with a violent incident on the playground involving another parent. I left Miss Jones to manage pickup.’

‘I bet I know who that was… that horrible woman with the vile little boy.’ Fear has loosened my tongue and Mrs Hopkins looks shocked.

‘There was a message… from the school office. Miss Wallis said you’d called at lunchtime.’ Miss Jones has found her voice; her eyes are round with horror. ‘You said that he wasn’t going to after-school club, and that his grandma was picking him up. Henry seemed to know her… I thought it was OK… I’m sorry…’ She’s starting to cry now but I don’t have any emotion spare for her.

‘That wasn’t me on the phone! I never called the office! Mrs Harper should have told Miss Wallis that I had been in to check the safety procedures. And anyway, surely you don’t let them go with anyone unless you know who they are. Don’t you know anything?’

Mrs Hopkins intervenes again. ‘You’re absolutely right. This is a real failure on our part and I take full responsibility. We will be taking steps to make sure this doesn’t happen again.’ Her eyes flicker to Miss Jones. ‘But for now, let’s focus on where Henry is. Do you have any idea who this woman is?’

‘No, I don’t know. There isn’t anyone.’ I grip the fence harder and the splinter works its way further in.

The three of us stand there as if suspended in time, all looking to the others for the answer. In the depths of my bag my phone beeps. I scrabble frantically for it, hands shaking.

A new Facebook message from Maria Weston:

I was right, Henry is a nice little boy. If you want him back, come to 29 Woodside St in Sharne Bay. Come alone. If you don’t, there will be consequences for Henry. I’m waiting for you.

I drop my phone into my bag as if it’s scalding my fingers.

‘It’s fine, I know where he is now,’ I mutter. ‘I… I’ve just realised who the lady is. It’s OK, it’s no problem. I forgot I’d asked her to pick Henry up.’

I don’t think they believe me, Mrs Hopkins and Miss Jones, but what choice do they have? I run back towards the car, leaving Mrs Hopkins looking puzzled and extremely concerned. Miss Jones looks mostly relieved.

I tear out of the school gates, my phone already pressed to my ear. He answers on the third ring.