Elisabeth Carpenter - 99 Red Balloons

‘I was shaking when I went to the landing. I turned on all the lights, though of course, nothing woke Sarah – and from the top I could see the telephone in the hallway. It was so quiet. I tiptoed downstairs, and halfway, I saw Ron just lying there on the hallway floor. Without thinking, I ran down. His face was bloodied – I was so scared that he was dead. The voice in the darkness made me jump. It was Scott. He was holding a cricket bat. You weren’t supposed to wake up , he said. He’d wanted to make it look like a burglary, to get money for drugs.’

I drink the rest of the cold, sweet tea. My hands are shaking, as though it were still that night – the last time I ever saw Scott in our house.

‘I had to call the police on him, Jim. I had to.’

I can’t stop the tears that are pouring out. My shoulders won’t stop shaking. I bury my face in my hands.

I feel Jim’s hand on my arm.

‘That’s it, Maggie. You let it all out, love. There, there, now.’

‘He was sentenced to seven years for aggravated burglary. I hadn’t known what that even meant before then.’ Jim tears me off a piece of kitchen roll and I wipe my face with it. ‘I felt numb when I heard his sentence. None of it seemed real. Everything was falling down around me.’

‘Have you not heard from him since?’ asks Jim.

I shake my head. ‘Ron never talked about him – or anything to do with him, and I never pushed it; he was the one who ended up in hospital, not me. But Scott was my son – I felt another part of me had died. I expected to get a letter, a phone call, something from him to say that he was sorry, but there was nothing. After Ron died, I didn’t know what to do for the best; should I search for Scott? I couldn’t find an address for him. It was like he didn’t want to be found.’ I dab my face again and scrunch the damp kitchen towel into a ball. ‘What if it’s him now? I can’t call the police on him again. He’s my son.’ I wipe the wetness from my face with the back of my hands, and look at them while I rub them dry. Such old hands. Scott will be fifty now – I can’t imagine him that age. And Sarah, she would have been fifty-three. The same age I was when Zoe was taken.

Jim sits down.

‘But we don’t know it’s him who’s been contacting you.’ He pours some fresh tea into my cup. ‘The internet’s your answer. I’m taking you to the library on Monday and we’re going to find out where Scott is.’

I take a deep breath. I should have been a better mother to them both. I don’t deserve to still be alive. Perhaps this is my purgatory. Or perhaps this could be my chance to make everything better.

‘Thanks, Jim.’

You’re a good friend , I want to say, but something – impropriety, shyness maybe – stops me. I hope he knows.

I can feel my breath coming back at me, like it’s bouncing from the sides of the suitcase and blowing into my face. It’s so dark in here; it’s like my eyes are closed.

The car’s stopped.

‘All right, fellas,’ says George.

‘Hello, George. You visiting again? I bet you know nearly everyone on this base.’

George laughs. ‘I like to earn a living.’

‘Just hang on while we see if you’re on the list for today.’

I can hear him tap, tap, tapping on the steering wheel. Someone’s shouting, but I can’t hear what they say.

‘Thanks, Geoff,’ shouts George. I can hear him .

We don’t drive for long before the car stops again. His door shuts and I hear his footsteps. Why’s he walking so slowly? For all he cares I could be dead.

‘Won’t be a minute, kid.’ He’s talking funny – like how Daddy speaks when he’s got a sock monster on his hand. ‘I’m going to pick up the case, so you might bang around a bit, but I’ll try to be gentle.’

My heart is banging so bad and the tears haven’t stopped since he put me in here. I think he’s going to kill me. Oh, Mummy, where are you? I really need you. Please come and find me, please.

There’s a knocking sound – like a front door. My knees are up so tight against me it feels like my chest might give up breathing soon.

The front door opens.

‘George?’ It’s a man’s voice. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I’ve a delivery for your wife.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Oh, George, you’re here!’ It’s a lady’s voice. ‘I’ve been waiting by the window for days.’ A pause. ‘She’s not in there , is she? Don’t tell me you’ve put her in a suitcase. You haven’t hurt her, have you?’

‘Of course I’ve not hurt her. What kind of person do you think I am?’

The other man makes a strange noise, like he’s coughing.

I feel the ground on my back, then I’m lying down on my side. The zip sounds so loud next to my head. When the lid opens I daren’t move. I can’t stop myself from shaking.

Oh no. I think I’ve wet myself.

I start crying again.

The woman bends down. She’s wearing a light green skirt. Mummy never wears skirts.

She starts to stroke my head. ‘There, there. No need to cry, you’re home now.’ She takes hold of my hand, and tugs it slightly. I get up, and I’m standing there – my trousers soaking, and my face wet with tears. I’m still shaking – it won’t stop. This isn’t my home – why did she say that?

The woman grabs me in a big hug.

‘I’ll make you all better. Let me run you a bath.’

The man – her husband I think – is staring at me. His eyes are wide open like he can’t believe I’m here – that I’ve been magicked from nowhere.

‘Dear God, Catherine,’ he says. ‘What the hell have you done?’

‘I always thought it was strange,’ says Matt, ‘that there were no photos of her as a little kid, next to the ones of you at your mum’s house.’

The screen is shining blue light on his face. It makes the shadows under his eyes look worse.

‘I had no idea that she’d never explained it all,’ I say. ‘Emma and I don’t talk about it either. I thought it would upset her if I brought it up – that she’d speak to me about it if she wanted to. I don’t know if she’s spoken to Mum about it either.’

‘It’s not strictly true that’s she never talked to me about her past, though,’ he says. ‘Sometimes, after a drink or late at night when she couldn’t sleep after Grace was born – she came out with the strangest things.’

‘Like what?’

‘Things like, I’m tainted, you know, Matt . Then sometimes she’d say, If you realised who I really was, then you wouldn’t want to know me . If I asked her about it, she’d cut me off, or leave the room almost in tears.’

‘When did this start?’

‘I suppose she’s always said these kinds of things – I just thought she was being over-dramatic… you know how she can be. Over the years, she’s gone through phases where she’s shut me out, pushed me away. But after Grace was born, I wondered if Emma thought of her birth mother even more – and questioned why that woman gave her up for adoption when she was a baby. But actually, Emma wouldn’t have thought about that at all. It’s so much worse that her mother left her as an older child, isn’t it?’

‘Oh God. Poor Emma,’ I say. ‘I always thought she’d buried the memories of that time, but it’s been just under the surface for all of these years.’ I dab my tears with my sleeve. ‘This was a stupid idea. Putting a search out that anyone could’ve seen was reckless.’

‘I know,’ says Matt. ‘I feel like I’m betraying her, going behind her back.’

Who did I think I was, meddling in her life when she wanted things to stay just as they were? Of course she wouldn’t want to find the person who didn’t care for her – the mother that Emma thought had tainted her. I wish she’d spoken to me about it – that everything hadn’t been so secretive. I used to blame Mum: when I wanted to talk about Emma’s mother, it would upset her. Dad used to be the one to shield Mum from everything. Let’s not talk about this now , he’d say, his arm around her shoulders. Some things are better left unsaid .