Alex Gray - Glasgow Kiss

As she dressed for work, Maggie remembered that Julie Donaldson was one of Eric’s unlikely Scripture Union kids. Had she been at his summer camp? And if so, what on earth had prompted that weird outburst?

‘And, dear Father, please let us remember Nancy Fraser. Let whoever has taken her feel compassion for the little girl and her family and let her be safely returned to them. Amen.’

An echo of amens sounded around the classroom as heads lifted just in time to hear the morning bell.

‘Right. Registration. Thanks for coming and see you all at prayers tomorrow. Keep bright!’ Eric Chalmers nodded to each pupil as they filed out of his room, answering their smiles with one of his own. But when the last of them had left and the place was empty and quiet, Eric Chalmers chewed his lower lip, a caring expression clouding his features. What on earth was it like for that family? He thought of baby Ashleigh. How could anyone steal a child away from its mother like that? It didn’t bear thinking about. But they had thought about it in prayer, had interceded for their welfare, handed it over to God. Eric shook his head. There was nothing a mere schoolteacher could do but pray. Giving it over to the Lord was all he could do. That, and encourage the kids to do the same.

She hadn’t been to prayers this morning, Eric thought. No surprise there, really, after the way she’d come on to him. How did it feel to be fifteen and have a crush on your teacher? He’d tried to reason with her, but Julie wasn’t a reasonable sort of girl. The power of her rage had astonished him. He’d grabbed hold of her wrists after she’d lashed out at him, trying to subdue the passion that was at work in her. But instead of calming her down it had made things worse. Julie had begun to shout and scream and before he knew what was happening she was out of his room and flying down the stairs.

He had a few minutes’ respite before the first period began but as Eric Chalmers closed his eyes to pray that Julie Donaldson would come to her senses, the words simply wouldn’t come and he was left instead with images of her tear-streaked face and her protestations of how much she loved him, ringing in his ears.

From his classroom window Eric could see the pavement that ran around the school disappearing down to the busy main road beyond. An elderly man was walking slowly behind his little dog, a nondescript mutt that bore some passing resemblance to a terrier. He stopped to let another man pass him by, giving a friendly nod. Life was all so normal out there, Eric thought, staring at the two men.

As if the teacher’s thoughts had reached out beyond the school railings, the younger man looked up, pausing for a moment, his eyes searching for something. Eric shrugged. Maybe he’d been a Muirpark pupil in years gone by?

Then the bell rang out, breaking the spell, and the man resumed his walk as Eric turned away from the window, the moment forgotten.

The headlines screamed out from every news-stand in the city that morning. Nancy Fraser was still missing and every hour that passed suggested that it would be a tiny corpse that would be returned to her grief-stricken mother. Not that the journalists had written such a thing outright, but it was there just the same — a feeling, an unspoken thought in everyone’s mind, suggested by a turn of phrase or a memory of other, bleaker outcomes in child abduction. People read what the papers wanted to tell them. Not good news, not the hours of sheer slog that had kept many officers away from their own homes and families, trawling woods and parkland for signs of the missing girl. Nor did they have any inkling about the extent of the investigation, the masses of Internet files that had been screened to see if any similarity existed between this abduction and any others in the UK.

The vehicle that had been spotted by a neighbour’s child was a white hatchback but beyond that the description was sadly lacking. The older girl, who had been kept off school that day, had been shown picture after picture of cars similar to the one she had seen but, instead of focusing her mind, the pages and pages of images had proved confusing. Now the police were left running around, looking for other sightings of the white car, hopeful that another more reliable witness would come forward.

Kim Fraser snatched the telephone off its hook at the first ring.

‘Hello?’ The question dangled there, breathless and full of anticipation.

‘Tom Scott, the Gazette . May we-’

Kim clicked the voice into silence, tears welling up in her eyes. She’d hoped and prayed that someone would phone her with news of Nancy. Even with a ransom note, though God alone knew how a single mother on benefits could stretch to the demands of a kidnapper. That nice woman from the Police Family Liaison had told her it was highly unlikely that anyone had taken Nancy for money. But she’d also skirted over the alternatives; some dirty gang of paedophiles who wanted to film her Nancy doing horrible things. . no, she wouldn’t let her mind go down that route. Safer to think of some other woman taking her child away; some poor soul who couldn’t have children, maybe? Nancy might be with a person like that right now, being spoiled with toys that Kim couldn’t afford to give her.

The tears flowed for real now, every memory of Nancy’s short life unfolding like a length of film: falling pregnant when she’d still been at school, leaving home and setting up here in this wee council flat with Robbie; the hollow empty feeling when he’d walked out and left them both, Nancy a mere six months old and Kim still wanting to be a teenager in love; the struggles between her parents and the social workers when all of them seemed intent on taking Nancy away from her, then these last couple of years when things had settled down and she’d been able to make this place a home for them both, even gaining a modicum of approval from her neighbours who all said what a grand mother she was and how nice she always kept her wee girl.

Now these neighbours would be asking themselves if Kim Fraser was such a good mother after all, if her child could be left playing on the pavement instead of being upstairs in the flat. But Kim had just gone round the back to hang out a basket of washing. She’d seen Nancy skipping through the close with the other kids — had heard the sound of their laughter — they’d wanted to watch all the bigger boys and girls walking to primary school, all shiny with excitement on their first day back.

If only Mrs Doherty hadn’t leaned out of her window and started to tell Kim about the new entry system. . how many minutes had she spent listening to the old woman before Sally MacIlwraith had rushed out onto the green?

Kim closed her eyes, still hearing the words, ‘Nancy’s mummy! Come quick!’ The child had grabbed Kim’s hand, dragging her, bewildered, to the pavement where three other toddlers stood staring down a road that was now empty of any cars, especially a white hatchback containing her struggling daughter.

It wasn’t her fault, Kim told herself, hugging her knees to her chest. If the entry system had been fixed then the kids couldn’t have slipped out without at least one grown-up in tow. And Sally was such a sensible wee lassie, even if she was aye at the doctor’s with that chronic asthma. The papers were full of condemnation for the state of the flats; vandals had ripped the heart out of this place and the Council was fed up repairing the damage. It didn’t matter to them, did it? It was only folk like Kim Fraser, a single mum who didn’t contribute anything to the economy, who lived there. Scum, that’s what they were being called. You made a mistake when you were sixteen and spent the rest of your youth paying for it. Now they wanted to ask her — what? For her life story? Kim shook her head jerking the tears from her wet cheeks. That wouldn’t bring Nancy back, would it?