Elisabeth Carpenter - 99 Red Balloons

‘And?’ I come back in and sit down in the armchair. I should offer a brew, but my manners have taken leave.

‘Mrs Sharples said—’

‘Oh, here we go with the old gossip-mongering. You could tell them anything and they’d believe it.’

‘Don’t be like that. They care about you, that’s all.’

I fold my arms.

‘Well, anyway. She said you seemed out of sorts. And I haven’t seen you myself in a few days so I’ve come round to see if you want taking out.’

‘Are you going to shoot me?’

‘Eh?’

‘It was a joke.’

He still looks confused. I don’t blame him; I’m not usually one for jesting. I’ve probably still some sherry in my bloodstream.

‘Anyway.’ He’s rubbing his hands. ‘They’ve got bingo over at the Hills at six. I’ve ordered a taxi. It’ll be here in a few minutes.’

Orange Tree Hill he means – the retirement home in the next village. Over the Hill , Ron used to call it.

‘That’s a bit presumptuous, isn’t it?’ I say. ‘What if I say no?’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Then I’ll go on my own, won’t I? Come on, you used to love bingo.’

He must be getting me mixed up with someone else.

On the coffee table, the little photographs have blown with the draught from the front door. Some have escaped to the floor. What was I thinking?

‘Go on then,’ I say. ‘Wait while I put on my face and my coat.’

Yes, that sherry must still be working.

I’m in the bathroom, dabbing my face with powder, when the phone rings.

‘I’ll get it. You get yourself ready,’ Jim shouts.

A bit of blusher and a touch of lipstick. I look at myself in the mirror. I’ve not worn make-up in ages. I peer closer. How long have I looked so old? My eyes are the same, but those wrinkles… I zip up my cosmetic case. Bother it. No one looks at me now anyway.

Jim’s waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs.

‘What’s with your face?’ I say. ‘You haven’t seen my resident ghost, have you?’

‘No, Maggie.’ He’s not even smiling. ‘I picked up the phone and he started talking before I could say hello.’

‘He? Who’s he ? What did he say?’

‘I don’t know what he meant.’

‘Spit it out, Jim. What on earth did this man say?’

‘He said… Maggie, it’s me. I did it for you .’

Matt managed to talk to Mr Anderson for a few minutes before the police escorted him out of the newsagent’s. Apparently, he remembered a man with a hat coming into the shop shortly before Grace, but didn’t see either of them leave. How could it be possible not to notice? It’s such a small shop.

The police left ten minutes ago, with a warning to Matt to leave the investigating to them.

‘I can’t believe you went storming in there,’ says Mum.

‘What do you care, Milly?’ Matt’s shouting again. ‘You don’t even know him – how many times have you been in that shop? He’s a quiet one, but it’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?’

‘You can’t go accusing innocent people. Who’s next? The milkman?’

‘There isn’t even a milkman round here any more.’ He walks closer to Mum and my heart is beating through my jumper. ‘Grace was last seen in that shop, walking out with a man. How can both of them have avoided CCTV in the shop?’

‘The CCTV was only on the till.’ My voice is so quiet.

‘Oh, really?’ Matt says it accusingly.

‘Yes.’

‘Right, well.’ He waves his arms about, walking up and down the length of the room and sits heavily into the sofa. ‘We’ve had no news. I just wanted to do something.’ He puts his head in his hands. ‘Oh God. What have I done?’

Emma gets up, looks at him and walks out of the room. It’s Mum who goes to him, sits down and puts a hand on his.

‘There, there. You did what you thought was right at the time. Don’t think about it any more.’

She’s touching his head now. What the hell is she doing? It’s like she doesn’t know how to comfort him. She never was the most maternal of mothers. I’ve often questioned in my mind why she had me, and took Emma in, when she’s not really that bothered about us at all. She’s always been preoccupied with something else.

At least Emma and I had each other. We started high school together. A new town and new school. Mum had let us go into town to pick our own uniforms. I wouldn’t have let Jamie into town that young, but perhaps that’s the way the world is now – or maybe it’s just me. There are a lot of things Mum did or didn’t do with us that I vowed I’d do differently when I became a mother myself.

She wasn’t happy, of course, when we came back from our shopping expedition.

‘Pink skiing jackets? Pink? Since when do you ski at school?’

‘It’s the fashion,’ said Emma. ‘They had all sorts of ski jackets in C&A – white ones, yellow ones. We picked the less obvious colour.’

Mum folded her arms. ‘Hmm.’

I smiled at Emma in thanks. Mum wouldn’t have been placated so easily if I had said it.

‘What do we have here, then?’ It was Dad, climbing through the patio doors after mending in his shed. ‘A pair of Anneka Rices, I do believe.’

‘Is that slang for something?’ Mum said.

‘No.’ He walked towards us, taking off his glasses. ‘They’ll certainly notice you two at school next week.’ He was still chuckling as he walked into the kitchen. Emma and I looked at each other, and laughed all the way up the stairs.

He was right, Dad. They did notice us at school. Mum and Dad had changed Emma’s surname by then, so we were both Atkinsons. The same name, the same age – we told everyone we were twins. ‘Not identical, obviously,’ Emma would say before anyone would mention the fact that she was at least six inches shorter than me. Actually, thinking about it now, I’m not sure if we ever confessed that we weren’t twins.

‘What are you smiling about?’ Mum hisses to me.

‘Just remembering,’ I say.

‘Remembering what?’

She’s looking at my face so intently, I daren’t tell her the truth.

‘About Grace of course.’

‘Well make yourself useful and get a cup of tea for Matt. Poor man’s in bits.’

She says this even though he’s right next to her. I thought at a time like this, Mum would be kinder, softer. But she’s being worse to me than she’s ever been. What have I done that’s so bad?

I get up to go to the kitchen, but the phone rings in the hall.

Mum gestures for me to get it, like I’m her own personal housekeeper.

‘Hello?’

There’s no answer.

‘Hello?’ I repeat. But whoever it is has already hung up.

The banging on the front door makes me jump. The smell of fresh air hits me first, then the sound of heels on the laminate hallway, the bustle of long coats as they pass in front of me. DI Hines and DS Berry dominate the sitting room as they stand in the middle of it.

Mum gets up and stands at the bottom of the stairs as she shouts for Emma to come down.

My heart’s thumping. Are they not speaking to us until Emma gets here? Their expressions are neutral. DS Berry holds a folder, which is black and thin. What have they got in there? What have they found? My legs are starting to shake. The detectives stand aside to let Emma further into the room.

‘What is it?’ she says. ‘Have you found Grace?’

Detective Hines puts a hand up. ‘No, no. We haven’t found Grace.’

Emma breathes in and out, loudly and quickly. ‘Oh God.’ In, out, in out. ‘When I saw you both standing there…’ She’s hyperventilating. I put my arm around her and sit her on her chair. ‘Steph, I thought they were going to tell me—’