Elisabeth Carpenter - 99 Red Balloons

Lovely people , he said. If these people are nice then I can ask them when I’m going to see Mummy again. I clasp my hands like Gran does and whisper a prayer. Please, God. Make these people kind. Please get me to my mummy soon .

We’re slowing down and George has a giant map on the steering wheel. I hope we don’t crash.

‘Bloody German streets,’ he says, but they look like any other street I’ve ever been on.

It takes a few minutes, but we’re near another border – with a barrier this time. It seems to go on for miles and miles. Behind the gate are loads of houses that all look the same – little grey boxes in rows.

He drives round the corner, so we can’t see them any more, and opens the passenger door.

‘Right, kid. You need to trust me on this one. Another game. Have you ever been in the boot of a car?’

I shake my head. I’ve never heard of getting in the boot of a car . It doesn’t sound very fun.

He flicks his head: this means I have to get out of the car. I do, and he crouches down in front of me. ‘You need to be really brave now, okay? I’m going to put you in a bag, then put you in the boot of the car – but it will only be for five minutes tops. Okay?’

I nod my head, but inside it, my brain is shouting, No, it’s not okay – I can’t get in the back of a car – I’m too big to be in a bag .

He opens the boot. I look round, but there’s no one here. He knows that, doesn’t he? He pulls out a light blue suitcase, lays it on the floor and unzips it.

‘Come on.’

I stand in the case and look up into the sky. The clouds are fluffy here – there aren’t many of them. It’s always cloudy where I live – it’s always raining. I keep the picture of it in my mind as I lie down, just in case I never see sky again.

‘What did that woman say to you?’ says Jim as we head off in the taxi back home. ‘I’ve never seen you look so angry.’

‘Nothing important. What is it with some people? They think they know everything about you, about your family, but they’ve never met you. It’s ridiculous. People like that should be arrested for the hurt they cause. I’ve a right mind to call the police.’

Over the years, we had at least twenty mediums telling us that Zoe was alive, but over thirty said that Zoe was dead or no longer with this world . I don’t know what makes them think they can just come out and say whatever they like to someone they’ve never met.

When the first medium approached us, it offered us hope – that somewhere out there, Zoe was waiting for us to come and find her. I see her with a man , she’d said. We’d invited her round to the house after she’d sent us letter after letter. She was an older lady – in her sixties I think. Old enough to know better. I see her in the country – in a house, with a grandmother figure . Sarah had been desperate enough to believe that the first time. The police, however, were less convinced.

‘We don’t deal with mediums,’ Detective Jackson said. ‘There’s not enough proof that they work. Every one we’ve encountered contradicts another. They’ve never been right in any of my investigations.’

‘But what if he’s wrong?’ Sarah said later. ‘He can’t possibly know every tip-off in the history of police work. What about other regions – what about other countries?’

‘He might be wrong,’ I said. ‘But we can’t travel to every house in the countryside on the off chance Zoe’s there.’ I felt heartless for saying it.

I didn’t intercept the next letter quickly enough when it arrived. It was six months after Zoe went missing. I came downstairs to find Sarah sitting on the hallway floor, in streams of tears, holding the piece of paper.

‘He says Zoe’s dead… says she’s with her grandfather.’

I knelt on the floor next to her.

‘He’s talking rubbish, love.’ I stroked her hair. ‘Both her grandfathers are still alive.’

‘But what if he means great-grandfather?’

I took the letter from her. I remember the words to this day.

Dear Sarah,

I am sorry, but I feel compelled to write this letter. I have tried to get in contact with you, but the police would not supply me with your contact details.

I feel like I know you so well – Zoe has told me so much about you. Forgive me for saying that straight away, and I write this with a heavy heart, but Zoe wants you to know that she is on the other side, and that you don’t have to worry about her any longer. She has her grandfather with her, taking good care of her.

‘Till we meet again, Mum,’ Zoe says.

If you would like a further reading from me, please find my contact details below.

As soon as I read it, I tore it up into tiny pieces.

‘Registered Medium, like hell he is – I’ll bet there’s no such thing.’ The pieces dropped to the floor, and I put my arm around Sarah’s shoulders. ‘Love, Zoe never calls you Mum – she always, always calls you Mummy.’

She wiped her face with both palms. ‘She does.’ She used me as a crutch to push herself up from the hall floor, and held out her hand to me. ‘Come on, Mum. Let’s get a cup of tea.’

I’ll always remember her pulling me up from the floor that day. I feel like she’s doing that now, from wherever she is. I know that’s a contradiction, given the experience of mediums we’ve had so far.

‘Are you crying, Maggie?’

It’s Jim. Why is he noticing things he should ignore?

‘Course not. It’s from the wind before. And stop staring at me, will you?’

He rolls his eyes and shrugs. Poor man. I don’t know why he keeps coming back for more.

When the taxi’s gone, he walks me to my gate.

I can see them from here, even though the sun has almost set, and my doorway is in semi-darkness.

‘What the…’ says Jim. ‘Is it your birthday and you haven’t told me?’

‘I don’t think it is.’

I daren’t walk up to them. My feet are frozen to the path. It’s not the most attractive bunch of flowers I’ve ever seen: yellow carnations and orange lilies.

Jim gently pushes me aside. ‘There’s a card. Do you want me to have a look?’

‘I don’t know.’

He’s already bent over. He grabs the card.

‘Shall I open it?’

My mouth is open, but no sound comes out. I walk slowly to the front door. Jim’s still bent over, rubbing his back. ‘Bloody hell, I hate getting old.’

I open the front door. ‘Let’s get in. And mind your language.’

We leave the flowers on the doorstep and I close the door behind us.

‘I’ll put the kettle on. I’ll make you up a hot-water bottle for your back.’

‘Thanks, Mags.’ He stands next to the settee. ‘If I sit down there, I doubt I’ll be able to get back up.’

‘I’ll get you a chair from the kitchen.’

I walk as slowly as I can. I don’t want to know what’s written on that card. Whoever left it was actually here, at my door. Interflora doesn’t leave orders on the doorstep – anyone could pinch them. My hands are shaking as I flick the kettle on. I rub them together in the hope the warmth stops my jitters.

‘Won’t be a sec with your chair, Jim.’

‘Right you are, Maggie.’

He’s always so polite is Jim; he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Which is a bit of a problem. What if someone’s watching me and wants to hurt me?

I drag the chair through to the living room, and grab Jim by his elbow.

‘Eh,’ he says, ‘I never thought that in my life I’d be helped to sit by an old lady.’