Elisabeth Carpenter - 99 Red Balloons

One of Jim’s albums is open in front of me. Black and white and coloured photos of his children – he was obviously the one who took the pictures as there are only three or four of him scattered through the two albums. They looked such a happy family. Towards the end is a photo of three boys that is more recent than the others – Anna and Tom’s children, I expect. I’m glad he got to see a current picture of them.

Nine twenty. I wonder if David will be on time. He was never early. I’ll get the cups ready and pre-boil the kettle so we don’t have to wait. Shortbread, he always liked shortbread.

At exactly nine thirty, there’s a knock at the door. I glance at myself in the hall mirror. He’s going to think I’m so old.

I open the door, and David’s standing there.

He’s wearing trousers with pockets up the legs, and the type of raincoat that I see hikers in the village wear. I hope he hasn’t walked all the way here. His face looks the same, but thinner. His hair is still light, but there’s less of it.

‘Maggie. Long time, no see.’

I’ve always hated that expression. ‘David. Come in, come in.’

I want to ask him straight away what he’s doing here, but perhaps that’s rude.

‘How long has it been?’ I say. ‘Twenty-five years?’

He follows me into the living room. ‘Twenty-eight.’

I gesture for him to sit down on the settee; I sit in Ron’s chair by the fire. ‘Has it been that long? I must have stopped counting.’ I try to smile, but I’m not sure how I feel about him. ‘I know it was years ago, David, but I was ever so disappointed you didn’t come and talk to me at Sarah’s funeral. I was lucky to have Jim with me, but I’ve thought about it a lot over the years.’

‘I kept my distance because I’d failed in my search for Zoe. I blamed myself for what happened to Sarah… what she did to herself. It was because I couldn’t find our daughter. Since then, I’ve regretted not coming to the wake afterwards, paying my respects to you – especially as you’d lost Ron as well that same year. But I was in such a bad place myself – I didn’t want you feeling sorry for me… I know you would’ve done. I couldn’t believe Sarah was dead. I’d lost everything.’

I want to reach out to him. ‘It wasn’t your fault about anything, love. Of course it wasn’t. The blame lies with whoever took Zoe, you must realise that now. You should have come with me to the funeral, been in the same car. I would have welcomed you. I thought you didn’t care. There was only distant family there apart from me. And then I heard afterwards that you’d moved on… your new family.’

He looks down at his hands. ‘There’s no new family. I didn’t move on at all. And I did care, Maggie.’ He says it so quietly. ‘I was heartbroken when Sarah left me. I couldn’t see how ill I was then, when I had everything I wish for now: a wife, a daughter. Depression, the doctors call it now. I wouldn’t have thought that at the time – I thought I was dying – the tiredness, the anxiety, no appetite. I thought I had cancer or something.’

‘I wasn’t there for you. I should have helped.’

He shakes his head. ‘I wouldn’t have taken help. When Zoe went missing, all I knew was that I had to search for her – that once I found her then everything would be okay.’

‘I’ll get us some tea.’

He was obsessed with finding Zoe. He travelled across Europe for so long. Was it his illness driving him, or was it a father’s inherent need to find his daughter? I called mine the sickness; was this the same? Do I suffer from depression? It’s hard to tell when I’ve felt sadness for such a long time.

Tea, strong with three – at least that’s how he used to drink it anyway.

‘Do you still take sugar, David?’ I shout.

No reply.

‘David?’

Perhaps he’s going deaf. He looks as though he’s getting on a bit. I put two sugars in it anyway and carry it through. He’s staring at his mobile phone – his eyes slightly wider, his mouth open. I set the cups down on the table.

‘Are you all right?’

He blinks a few times. ‘I… I…’ He puts his phone in his coat pocket.

‘Do you want to take your coat off? You look as though you’re not stopping.’

‘I’ve got some news, Maggie. It’s why I came here.’ His voice is shaking.

‘If it’s bad news I don’t want to know. I’ve had enough of bad news.’

He picks up his tea and drinks half of it.

‘What are you doing? It’s boiling hot!’

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘It’s Zoe. I’ve found her.’

I stare at him, not saying anything – to give him a chance to say he’s joking or that he said the wrong words out loud.

But he doesn’t.

He’s looking at me, smiling. There’s a spark to his eyes that wasn’t there years ago. I thought there was something different about him; I should’ve noticed it when I opened the door.

He’s found Zoe.

The words I’ve been waiting to hear for thirty years.

‘You’ve found her?’ I stand; the cup I was holding falls to the floor. ‘Where is she? Is she in the car with you?’ I rush to the window. ‘Did you come by car? Where did you find her? Is she all right?’

‘Sit down, Maggie.’

If he’s found Zoe, then why isn’t she here? Why is he telling me to sit?

I don’t think I can breathe.

‘Oh, David. Don’t tell me she’s dead. Please don’t tell me that, I couldn’t bear it.’

‘She’s not dead. Please, sit down.’

I do as I’m told. I clasp my hands together to try and stop them shaking.

‘I’ll start at the beginning – is that all right?’

I nod.

I want to know right now, but this man has been searching for years – the least I can do is hear his story.

Another long journey. Everything is so far away here. Germany must be really big. Catherine has packed three suitcases for herself as Michael will join us soon . He’ll have to drive back once he’s taken us to the water park. Poor Michael.

‘What colour’s my new swimming costume?’ I say, leaning forward in my seat.

Catherine looks at Michael, then turns round to me.

‘We’re not going swimming, love. Remember? I told you, we’re going on an adventure.’

Not another one. I thought going to the water park was an adventure, but grown-ups think driving for hours is an adventure.

‘Where are we going?’

I’m getting braver. If I don’t mention Mummy, Daddy, Granny or Gramps for a few days, then I can ask what I want and she won’t get mad.

‘Well.’ She’s still facing me. ‘We’re heading south… it’s a pretty long way, but we can stop off somewhere. Then, in three days’ time we have a plane booked – isn’t that exciting?’

I nod. I remember who I can’t think about. I try to put them all in a box in my head.

‘Is it a holiday?’

‘It is, darling. It is.’

I smile at her, because it’s better to do that. If I shout, she shouts three times as loud.

‘Remember what I told you this morning?’ she says. ‘About that little game?’

I nod. Of course I remember, it wasn’t that long ago.

She put lots of pieces of paper in a glass bowl. There must have been hundreds of little pink squares.

‘Go on, pick one,’ she said.

‘What are they?’

‘Names. I think you need to pick a new one – so you can start afresh.’

‘Oh.’

‘It’s not that I don’t like your name, it’s just that I think it would be good for you, that’s all. I thought it would be fun if you picked it. Do you not think that’s fun?’

‘Yes, it’s fun.’