Elisabeth Carpenter - 99 Red Balloons

It takes them ages to get in their van.

There’s a sound from the boot.

Great. Brilliant timing, kid.

Fuck, the couple have left something on the ground. It looks like a map. Ignore it, you two, come on, just leave.

They start the engine and their indicator light comes on.

Bang, bang from the boot.

‘Shut the fuck up, kid,’ I shout. ‘I really mean it this time.’

The banging stops. She’s finally learning.

My hands are sweating as the camper pulls out of the lay-by. I breathe out – I must have been holding my breath. What the fuck am I doing? I should be retired by now, living in Spain with my own bar.

The canal. I’ll drive down there. I’ve got no gun, no knife, but if they threaten me, at least I can push the car into the water.

I love it when a plan comes together.

We’re nearly at Lincoln. David’s driving so fast I’m surprised we haven’t been pulled over by the police.

‘What are we going to do when we get there?’ I say to him. ‘Do you even know where we’re going?’

‘I’m heading to Emma Harper’s house – the girl Zoe grew up with. They must be there. The detective wouldn’t tell me, but I’m guessing it’s there.’

‘Are we just going to turn up? How do you know where she lives?’

‘Her address was online. And to be honest, I haven’t thought that far ahead. I just have to see if Zoe’s okay.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, after a few minutes.

‘What are you sorry for?’

‘That you came so far out of your way to come and get me. You could have seen her already.’

‘You’re her grandmother, Maggie. I couldn’t let you hear it on the news. Those reporters will get hold of the story soon enough. It’s like they do their own investigating these days.’

‘Like you did, you mean?’ I smile at him.

‘If I didn’t, then we wouldn’t be on our way to see her, would we?’

Neither of us say it, but if he hadn’t searched, then little Grace Harper wouldn’t have been taken.

‘I couldn’t have known what Scott was going to do,’ he says.

‘I know, love.’

We’ve been driving without the radio on since we began the journey, not wanting to hear if anything bad happens.

‘I’ve been thinking about what you’ve said,’ I say, ‘about Zoe being taken abroad. How did they get her into another country with no passport?’

‘It was 1986. Kids didn’t need a passport of their own. They just listed them on their parents’. George said he stole a passport that listed an eight-year-old girl on it – though God knows how border control could’ve thought Zoe looked three years older than she was.’

His mobile phone rings again – he presses the speakerphone button.

‘David Pearson?’ It’s a woman’s voice. ‘I’m DS Rachel Berry, working on the Grace Harper case with DI Hines. Do you know where Scott might have taken Grace?’

‘He’s moved her?’

‘Yes.’

David mutters under his breath.

‘I don’t know. Like I said before, I’ve only been in contact with him in the last few months.’

‘Right.’

She doesn’t sound convinced about something. I hope she doesn’t think David has anything to do with it.

‘Can I help at all?’ I shout. ‘I’m Scott’s mother.’

‘Er… hang on one second.’

‘This is Detective Hines, is this Mrs Taylor? We’ve been trying to get hold of you.’

‘I’m with David. We’re on our way down.’

‘Er… Okay. Have you any idea where Scott may go to – a place he used to like as a child?’

‘I don’t know – we’re not from round here. We’re from Preston.’

He sighs. I’m too slow for him, too old.

‘Try to think. Do you think he’d take her out of the country, on the ferry, perhaps?’

‘No, he wasn’t the adventurous type. I don’t know.’ I’m starting to panic. I’m no use at all. ‘He used to go fishing with his dad, when he was little. That’s all I can think of.’

‘Okay – thank you.’

Four beeps again.

‘People don’t say goodbye these days, do they?’

David shakes his head, but he’s not really listening to me.

‘Whatever Scott thinks about these people,’ he says, ‘Grace Harper has grown up believing Zoe – or Stephanie, which she goes by now – is her auntie. And that’s what Zoe – Steph— Jesus, I don’t know what name I should be calling her. But… anyway… my daughter accepts Grace as her niece. They’re related, blood or not. I can’t believe what Scott has—’ He looks at me. ‘Sorry.’

‘You’re only saying what I’m thinking.’

‘What if…’

‘What?’

‘What if Zoe were to speak to him?’ says David. ‘Surely he’d talk to her. She’s the reason he’s done all of this.’

‘Will he answer his phone?’

‘I don’t know, but it might be worth a try. I’ll call Hines back.’

Hines passes me the headset of the landline.

‘I don’t think I can do this,’ I say.

‘I’m not going to force you, but it’s the best chance we’ve had so far in talking to him. You might be able to reason with him.’

He hands me a card with a list of names on it.

‘But I don’t know him.’

‘It doesn’t matter. He knows you.’

I nod, and the detective presses the numbers on the phone. He answers after three rings.

‘Who’s that?’

I swallow. I can’t speak.

Emma mouths please; her hands are in a praying position.

‘Hello? It’s Steph—’ The detective nudges me and points to the card. ‘It’s Zoe.’

‘Who?’

‘Zoe.’

‘Hang on. I can stop in a sec.’

Oh God. This is the man who took Grace, the man who still has her, who might have hurt her. I try to swallow the nausea I’m feeling.

‘Zoe? Is that really you? I can’t believe it! After all these years. I’ve been watching you these past few weeks, you know, but I’ve not dared speak to you. Not without David knowing. I had to do right by him, you see.’

I look down at the note card. David Pearson: Zoe Pearson’s father . Scott Taylor: Zoe Pearson’s uncle.

‘I… I…’

I don’t know what to say. This man is related to me, yet I feel nothing towards him but hatred. It’s as though someone has erased my memory and people are trying to fill in the gaps with things that can’t be true.

The detective rotates his index finger. I turn the card over.

‘Where are you now?’ I say.

He takes a breath – it sounds phlegmy – like he’s about to spit it out.

He does.

Bile rises to the back of my throat.

‘Are they with you?’ he says.

‘Who?’ My voice is a whisper.

‘The police.’

The detective nods.

‘Yes, they’re here. They just want Grace back. Shall I come to you? So we can finally meet properly.’

The detective gives me the thumbs up, but I don’t think this man will fall for it. He’s got this far – he’s not stupid.

‘Now, now, now,’ he says. ‘You must know I can’t tell you that.’

‘Is Grace all right? You haven’t hurt her, have you?’

‘Zoe! How can you ask me that? I’m your uncle, for God’s sake. As if I’d ever hurt a child. I used to take you to the park – do you remember that?’

‘I… I don’t know. I can’t remember anything about you.’

His voice doesn’t sound familiar at all, but he has a northern accent; whenever I’ve heard it in the past, it’s made me feel safe, warm. It’s not making me feel that way now.

‘Those bastards didn’t hurt you, did they?’