Elisabeth Carpenter - 99 Red Balloons

I just nod. I expect she knows what she’s doing – she must be used to situations like this. I feel myself shiver too. I don’t know how Nadia does it – watching people suffer like this.

I head upstairs and tiptoe past Jamie in bed. I try to roll myself into the quilt, hoping it will soften the hardness of the floor or perhaps offer some form of comfort. But it doesn’t. I close my eyes and pray for sleep.

When I open my eyes this time, I remember why I’m here. Daylight floods the spare room through the lightweight curtains. There’s shouting coming from the kitchen below. I keep horizontal and try to make out who the voices belong to.

Footsteps.

Jamie is towering above me, dressed in his school uniform. I push myself up.

‘Sorry, love. I didn’t realise the time.’

He crouches next to me.

‘It’s okay, Mum. It’s Saturday.’

I lift up my arm and glance at my watch. It’s nine forty-five.

‘How come you’re in your school uniform?’

‘They’re the only clothes I have.’

I put my hands over my face.

‘Oh, love. I’m so sorry.’

‘No, it’s fine. Is it okay if I go to Dad’s? It’s my day to go there after all.’

‘But I wanted to keep you here, safe. I can pop home and get you more clothes – it’s only ten minutes’ drive.’ I sit up and throw the cover off me. ‘We can go now.’

‘Mum, I’ll be fine with Dad, won’t I? Please let me go.’

It shouldn’t sting, but it does. I look at him in his five-day-old uniform – I haven’t even washed it for him in between. There’s a pleading look on his face. I feel so ashamed for not thinking about his clothes. I’ve been borrowing Emma’s – I didn’t even think about his. What kind of mother am I?

‘Of course. I should have thought of that before. I’ll ring him now.’

I should have said that Neil had already suggested it the other day. For all I know, Neil has already texted Jamie with the idea. It’s through habit that I always go into another room from Jamie when I telephone his dad. It stems from the days when I couldn’t control how mad I got at him for simply sounding fine.

I sit cross-legged on the hallway carpet. It only takes four rings before he answers.

‘I’ve left you about ten voicemails,’ he says.

I don’t bother with the sarcastic, And hello to you too . That’s for people who like each other. I rub my forehead to try to rid some of the frustration I feel every time I talk to him.

‘I’m sorry. It’s been… awful here.’

‘Hence why I wanted Jamie here with me.’

I pinch the top of my nose. Who the fuck says hence in conversation?

‘I’m sorry.’

He sighs. I can hear his bare feet padding around on his expensive kitchen floor.

‘No problem,’ he says, as though I were a work colleague. ‘I was thinking, perhaps I could get Joanna to pick him up. She’s shopping in town. She could pick him up after… about six-ish would suit us.’

Us.

Three years ago, he and I were us .

‘It’s okay. I can drop him off. I could use the fresh air. I don’t suppose Jamie’s left some clothes there to be going on with?’

‘No, I don’t think so. Joanna’s mother used his room for a night this week – she would have said if his clothes were in there.’

‘Oh.’

So they clear all traces of Jamie when it suits them. Poor Jamie having to carry a bag to and from his own father’s house.

‘Why hasn’t he got a bag there?’ he asks.

‘I… I forgot. I can pick some clothes up for him on the way to yours.’

I get this sick feeling every time Neil hints that I haven’t been the perfect mother – that I haven’t been there for Jamie when he needed me. I was late once picking Jamie up from school, caught up in traffic from an accident on the A153. The school office telephoned Neil. There is nothing like the worry that someone is going to take your child off you to initiate a feeling of dread. Even though he’s never said it, the idea is always in my head. This notion means I’m always on my best behaviour in case my world falls apart. I wish I were more confident, less eager to please.

He tuts. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He sounds, as always, distracted, with far more important things to do than talk to me. He hasn’t asked about Grace or how Emma is. ‘I’ll get Joanna to pick up a few things for him while she’s shopping.’

‘Are you working from home then? On a Saturday?’

There, I said it. Why can’t he pick Jamie up? I’m not usually so confrontational. But then, that’s hardly confrontational really, is it? It’s the best I could do.

‘Excuse me?’

You heard , I want to say, but that would be going too far. I’ll bet he’s not working at all – I can hear the television on. ‘It’s just I thought I heard Top Gear in the background.’ I cover my mouth. What the hell has got into me?

‘Er… I was just researching something.’

‘Oh… I was just joking. I’ll drop him off at six.’

I hang up. Now certainly isn’t the time for me to start taking the piss. I must still be drunk.

My knees creak as I get up. In the spare room, Jamie’s reading his mobile phone: he’s probably got the text from his dad already. He’s sitting at the desk, the light from the laptop glowing in the dullness of the overcast morning.

‘What are you smiling at?’ he says.

‘Am I?’ I sit on the edge of the bed. ‘I was just thinking how grown up you are.’

He wrinkles his nose. ‘Whatever.’

I stand up. ‘Come on. Let’s get you some breakfast.’

I follow him as we file out of the room. It’s quiet upstairs. I look at Jamie in front of me. He seems so young from behind, his hair sticking up from the crown of his head. Poor boy, having to deal with all of this – and the commotion in the early hours of this morning. I’m tempted to call Neil back and ask if he can stay there for more than one night. I’m being selfish keeping him here.

He still has his phone in his hands when a message sounds.

‘Toby said I could go round to his today – he said I could borrow some of his clothes. You know his mum, remember? I used to go round for tea when we were at primary school.’

‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I’d rather you stayed here for breakfast and the morning, until I can drop you off at Dad’s later.’

‘Mum, please. I’d only be sitting in the spare room watching YouTube on my laptop. I need to get out of here.’

I look at him, shadows under his eyes.

I reach down to my mobile.

‘I’ll ring a taxi for you.’

‘It’s okay, Mum. I’ll walk.’

‘You are not walking.’

I use my phone in the hallway. When I’ve finished, Jamie’s sitting on the edge of the sofa.

‘Taxi will be here in five minutes, no arguments.’

I say that, but he doesn’t protest.

I sit next to him. ‘I’m sorry about last night, by the way.’

He looks at me, like he did when he was little, with the big eyes, the freckles on his nose, the colour in his cheeks.

‘Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. It’s not your fault – it’s not anyone’s fault.’ He looks at his hands. ‘Except the bastard that took her.’

I flinch slightly. It’s the first swear word he’s ever said in front of me. But I recognise those words as Matt’s, not Jamie’s.

A horn sounds outside. He gets up with almost a look of relief on his face.

‘Shall I get you a hat or a scarf to cover your face? The reporters might have come back this morning.’

He rolls his eyes and bends down to kiss my cheek.

‘No, Mum. See you later.’

He closes the front door carefully; it barely makes a sound.