Elisabeth Carpenter - 99 Red Balloons

‘…can’t bring her back, she’s gone.’

Catherine’s crying again.

‘Now, now,’ Michael’s saying. ‘We’ll sort this out. If you’d just let me call someone, we can get her back home to her parents.’

‘No!’ Catherine’s not trying to whisper any more. ‘I swear, Michael. If you do that, not only will I tell the police that it was all your doing, I will fucking kill myself. Do you hear?’

‘Stop being so dramatic, Catherine. We can tell them it’s a misunderstanding.’

‘A misunderstanding? You think they’ll believe that? We’d have to tell them about George – about what he did, that he lifted her off the street. And I took her out this afternoon – to Mary’s. What do you think they’ll say when they hear about who this girl really is? Eh?’

‘He took her off the street? Oh God, Catherine.’

She sighs. ‘What’s done is done. We just have to make the best of it.’

‘How can you be so flippant about it?’

‘Do I look like I’m being flippant?’

Someone’s opening the patio door.

‘I thought you’d given up,’ says Michael.

I can smell it. Sometimes Mummy used to go outside and have a cigarette when she thought no one was looking. No, I mustn’t remember things like that – Catherine will know.

Michael said parents . It must mean Mummy isn’t dead.

The patio door slams shut. Their voices are getting closer. I shuffle as fast as I can to the other side of the sofa, look down at my empty cup and pretend to stir the gloop at the bottom with my fingers.

Michael pops his head round the door.

‘I’m just nipping out. Do you want me to bring you some sweets back?’

‘No, thank you.’

He looks surprised, but I’m not hungry. The hot chocolate has made me feel sick.

‘I’m really tired,’ I say. ‘Is it okay if I go to bed?’

‘Er… yes. I’ll just get Catherine.’

I wish he could put me to bed.

They’re whispering again.

When she comes back in the room, it’s like she hasn’t been crying. She’s smiling.

‘You poor little lamb, of course you can go to bed. Would you like a bath first?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Come on then.’

She holds out her hand to me. I put my cup on the carpet, and take her hand.

I needed to sit down after she told me. She met Andrew at work and he’s older than her, more mature; he made her feel safe. Matt was distant towards her: there in body, but not in mind – all the bloody clichés I had associated with Neil’s affair with that woman from work. The truth is that she was selfish, bored. I can barely look at her as she sits at the kitchen table opposite me.

‘So how long has it been going on?’ I say.

‘I told you. About three months – not long. Though he’s been flirting with me since I started there.’

I glance at her. She’s resting her forehead on her hand, her eyes fixed on the table.

‘For two years he’s been coming on to you, and you haven’t mentioned anything to me?’

‘There wasn’t anything to talk about. It was just a typical office flirtation.’

I wince, feeling like she’s punched me in the stomach. She looks up at me.

‘Oh God, Steph. I’m sorry. I hadn’t thought about Neil and that woman. Not until now. Oh shit. I’m so sorry.’ She sniffs, and dabs her nose with a tissue. ‘To be honest – I thought you fancied Matt. I tried to ignore it in the hope it went away. I knew how vulnerable you were after Neil left – I didn’t want to embarrass you by mentioning it. I knew you wouldn’t have done anything about it.’

My face burns. I didn’t do anything about it, but Matt had tried to kiss me only a few days ago.

‘Perhaps I did like him,’ I say. ‘But it was only a silly crush, harmless. I never would do anything about it. I’m seeing someone now.’

She looks up at me. I don’t mention that Karl and I have only had a few dates.

‘Really?’

‘Early days,’ I say. ‘Anyway. This isn’t about me – it’s about you. When did you end it with Andrew?’

She takes a deep breath in and exhales, slowly.

‘Last Monday. Exactly a week before Grace was taken.’ She bites the skin around her thumb again; it must hurt to the touch now; she’s been picking at it so much.

‘What made you start seeing him in the first place? I don’t understand why you’d risk everything.’

She leans back in the chair and looks to the ceiling.

‘Andrew actually listened to me, you know? If I was quiet, he’d be the only one to notice. It started as working lunches – not that we talked about work much. He was single, well, divorced. He had so much time for me. Then we started meeting up at night, when I told Matt I was working late. Matt and I… let’s just say it hasn’t been great recently – perhaps it hasn’t been great for years. We were so young when we got together – he was the only man I ever slept with. Remember I was only eighteen; not a mature eighteen at that, not emotionally anyway. Sometimes I feel so distant from him – like he doesn’t know the real me.’

‘Then why don’t you tell him about you, that—’

‘I don’t want to talk about it to anyone.’

‘But what about—’

‘Don’t go there, Steph. Not right now.’ She sits forward and places her arms on the table. ‘Since Christmas, Matt has been working so many late nights, and when he comes home, it seems all he can talk about is Grace: how she’s doing at school, what he’s got planned for them at the weekend. It’s like I don’t matter. They’re so close – him and Grace. It’s like I’m the odd one out sometimes. They go to that chess club every week. I’ve tried hard to learn it so I can join in, but I don’t get it. And now he’s teaching her to play the bloody guitar. I don’t see my place any more. I used to be the one who did everything for her. But she’s getting so independent, it’s like she doesn’t need me. And Matt hasn’t touched me for months, not like that anyway.’ She sighs.

‘Andrew was the one who made me feel alive again. Oh, God. What kind of person do I sound like?’ She puts her hands over her face. ‘I’ve brought all of this on myself. Andrew was so angry when I said I wouldn’t see him any more.’

‘Do you think he’s capable of doing something like that… of kidnapping a child?’

Emma shrugs as though her body can’t be bothered. She stares at the kitchen table, her eyes moving from side to side. She sits up quickly.

‘The texts,’ she says, reaching into her handbag on the floor. ‘He sent me some nasty messages before Grace went missing.’ She pulls out her phone – the second one she had in the car the other day – and hands it to me. ‘The security code is 0105.’

I tap in the code and bring up the messages: they’re all from the same person. I click on one.

I know you don’t mean it, Em. We have something special here xx

The next three say the same sort of thing, but when it gets to Wednesday the tone of them changes: I can’t believe you’re ignoring me. I’ll tell everyone in the office about this. And I have pictures. I’m sure your husband would be very interested to see them.

The final message from Andrew is the most sinister:

So you won’t even look at me, let alone talk to me. You’re mine, Emma. I’ll make sure you never forget that.

‘Shit, Emma. Why have you kept these to yourself? I could have helped you.’

‘But you would’ve told Matt.’

‘Not with something like this. Has he texted you since Grace went missing?’

‘No, he’s been ringing me – on my work phone and on the landline – you wrote his number down on the notepad the other day. He’s left me several messages, but I’ve only listened to one. He told me he was sorry – and that he didn’t mean to be so nasty. He asked if he could help find Grace. What a stupid thing to say. Can you imagine? “Hey, Matt. Meet Andrew. He’s the one I’ve been shagging behind your back. But don’t worry, he’s offered to help look for our missing daughter.”’