Elisabeth Carpenter - 99 Red Balloons

The man on the other end of her mobile phone in the car was shouting at Emma. If he were a stalker, why would she talk back to him? And if Emma thought him capable of snatching her daughter, she would have said something before this. We’re only getting half of the story. She’s hiding something.

‘I don’t know anything,’ I say to Matt. ‘She’s hardly talked to me about anything recently.’

He shakes his head at me. ‘I don’t know what’s going on. Everything’s falling apart.’

He pulls out a chair and sits, resting his head on his arms. I walk over to him, and put my hand on his.

‘I’m sorry, Matt.’

I look at the clock on the kitchen wall. It’s nearly nine o’clock. Jamie should be in bed. Why aren’t I keeping track of the time?

‘I have to say goodnight to Jamie.’

Matt raises his head, and nods as he wipes the tears from his face.

I run through to the sitting room. As I pass the telephone table, I notice that the phone number I wrote down has gone.

I rush up the stairs. The door of the spare room is closed. I open it quickly. But it’s empty. Jamie’s at his dad’s. Why can’t I think straight? I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, sitting on the edge of the bed. I almost cry when he answers it after three rings.

‘Mum? Are you okay?’

‘Yes, yes. I’m just phoning to see if you’re all right.’

‘Course I am. I only saw you yesterday.’

‘I know, but with all of this going on—’

‘It’s okay, I understand.’

The tears fall down my face, but I try to keep my breathing steady so he doesn’t know I’m crying.

‘Are you all ready for school tomorrow?’

‘Yeah. Joanna showed me how to use the washing machine. You’d have thought it was rocket science the way she was describing it.’

I allow myself a giggle. I shouldn’t enjoy him mocking her, but I do.

‘You’re growing up fast.’

‘Whatever, Mum.’ I can hear the smile in his voice.

‘I’ll let you get some sleep. Love you, Jamie.’

‘I love you, Mum.’

I press the end call button on my phone and lie down on the bed, burying myself in the pillow and finally letting myself sob.

I barely slept the past two nights. At first I thought I could hear noises downstairs – like that awful night twenty-seven years ago, but these noises must have been in my head. I didn’t bother to check downstairs – if someone was going to get me, I wasn’t going to make their job easier. I kept expecting Scott to walk into my bedroom, but of course it’s morning now, and this very idea is ridiculous. It’s surreal what my night-time brain imagines could happen.

Jim’s not due here till half past eleven. The photo of Scott is still on the kitchen table. I don’t know what to do with it. I regret not asking Ron if he’d forgiven him for what he did. I’d always believed there was plenty of time for us all to make amends. What a fool. What if I died tomorrow and hadn’t spoken to my only living child?

When Scott pleaded not guilty, I believe, in his mind, Ron disowned him.

‘What kind of person does this to their own family?’ he said, when he realised he had to speak in court.

It was like Scott was a different person standing up there; he didn’t react to anything his father said. I had expected to see my little boy, and feel pity, but it was like looking at a stranger who only replied in single-word answers.

When Ron stood in the dock to give evidence, Scott wouldn’t even look up.

‘It was almost midnight,’ he said, his voice trembling. ‘We – my wife and I – heard a noise from downstairs, like glass breaking. I got up – tried to make myself heard, that’s what they tell you to do. I turned the hall light on from upstairs, but I couldn’t see anything, so I went down. I shouted, “Is there anyone there?”

‘There was no reply. It all went quiet. I thought whoever had been in our house had gone, so I went to turn the living-room light on. Then I heard this crack, and I fell to the ground. It took a few seconds for me to realise the pain in my head was caused by the noise I heard. Then I saw him – he stood over me. “You’re not supposed to wake up,” he said to me. He was holding a bat in his hands. Then everything went black.’

On our way home, Ron turned to me and said, ‘ You’re not supposed to wake up – that’s what that boy said to me. What do you think he meant by that?’

‘I thought he said, You weren’t supposed to … That we weren’t meant to catch him stealing our things,’ I said. ‘He didn’t want to hurt you; it was the drugs.’

But Ron shook his head. That was the last time he ever spoke about Scott.

Scott hadn’t even appeared remorseful. Was that pride? Shame? Indifference? I will only ever know if I face him again. Perhaps he wants to say he’s sorry – or he might need me desperately. Why else would he make contact after all these years? What if he has children and something’s happened to one of them?

Grace.

I switch on the news. I can’t believe I haven’t thought about her for a whole day. I type in the number Jim wrote down for the Sky News channel. There’s nothing on the main news, but there’s a ribbon along the bottom. New photo released of Grace Harper with her alleged abductor . How have I missed this?

The bang on the front door makes me jump.

I glimpse through the curtains first, before opening the door to Jim.

‘Why are you coming to the front door?’

‘I didn’t want to startle you, what with everything that’s been going on.’

‘Have you brought me the paper?’ I say as he steps inside.

‘Did you ask me to?’

‘It has a picture of the man who took her.’

‘Took who?’

‘The girl – Grace.’

‘Oh, that.’ I’m sure Jim just rolled his eyes. ‘I thought today was about Scott. I’ve booked us on the computer for midday, so we’d better get a move on.’

‘Don’t let me forget.’

‘As if you would.’

We’re walking at a rate of about nought point five miles an hour, but at least it’s not raining.

‘I thought you said we had to get a move on,’ I say. It’s only when I turn to get his reply that I see he’s rubbing his back. His face is scrunched up until he catches me looking. ‘Have you been to the doctor with that?’

‘Aye, aye. I don’t want any fuss. I’m just getting old, is all.’

‘What do you mean?’

He waves his hand at me, which means, Shut the devil up, woman .

The automatic doors to the library open slowly, which is just as well, the speed Jim and I are going. He waves a card in the air.

‘We have a reservation, my lovely.’

‘Morning, Jim.’ I’ve never seen the lady behind the counter before. I thought I knew everyone in this village. Her hair is a huge blonde bouffant – I reckon it would explode if I put a match to it. And her blouse is gaping across her bosom. I don’t know where to look. I thought libraries were meant to be respectable. Everything’s going downhill these days. ‘I’ll show you to your machine.’ She gives Jim a smile as she turns round to look at him. She’s bloody shameless.

She pulls out a chair for him and when he’s seated, she rests her hands on his shoulders.

‘Right, you’ve got half an hour, but if no one else comes in, I’ll turn a blind eye.’

‘You’re an angel,’ says Jim, putting on his glasses.

I go to the spare chair next to him. ‘Well, that’s charming.’

‘What is?’

‘She pulled out a chair for you, and left me standing like an idiot.’

Jim’s shoulders shake as he laughs. ‘I don’t think you’re her type.’