Elisabeth Carpenter - 99 Red Balloons

They kept asking and asking and asking me what happened. Didn’t believe me when I said I couldn’t remember. Twenty-four I was. I’d done all sorts that night: vodka, coke, E.

‘I’ll repeat the question,’ says Rachel. ‘What happened after you kidnapped Grace Harper and placed her into your vehicle?’

Back then, I told them I couldn’t remember anything about my dad. I’d never hurt my dad, why would they say that? They read his injuries out to me from a piece of paper – told me what I’d meant to have done to him.

‘Are you saying no comment , Scott?’ Rachel won’t shut up. She’s not letting me think.

I couldn’t have done all that. When my dad described it in court, I was floored. He couldn’t look at me. He believed it. So did Mum.

I used to babysit for Zoe. Sarah and David would go to the pub quiz every Tuesday night. They’d pay for my bus fare there and back to their house, and bunged me a tenner when they got home. Zoe was four years old then – she’d just started school.

‘You wouldn’t mind reading her a story, would you, Scottie?’ Sarah said when I arrived. She always called me Scottie when she wanted something. ‘Zoe’s been looking forward to it – she says you’re her favourite uncle.’

I shrugged off my jacket and hung it on the banister at the end of the stairs.

‘I’m her only uncle,’ I said.

‘So that means you’re my favouritest, my best and my only uncle in the whole world.’ Little Zoe was standing at the top of the stairs in her pyjamas, her hair still wet from her bath.

I stood at the bottom, looking up to her, and bowed like a butler.

‘Well, my dear, darling, and only niece,’ I said. ‘The honour must be mine.’ I ran up the stairs as Sarah and David shouted goodbye and clambered out of the front door. ‘So will it be The Very Hungry Caterpillar ,’ I said, chasing her into her bedroom, ‘or the very scary Twits ?’

She got into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, giggling.

‘ The Twits ,’ she shouted. ‘They are gruesome !’

I could be silly with Zoe – she didn’t judge me; she liked me as I was.

‘Scott!’ DS Berry slams a folder onto the table.

When Zoe was taken, the atmosphere of our house changed. Her and Sarah had been living with me, Mum and Dad. For a few weeks, the house was full of life. Then the darkness came.

‘When do you think Zoe will be back?’ I asked Mum after a month of her being missing.

She pulled the dressing gown tight around her middle, looking smaller than she’d ever looked; it was like she was shrinking.

She frowned at me. ‘Can’t you see your sister’s upset?’

It was like no one wanted to talk to me any more.

Now, I look up from the floor and into Rachel Berry’s eyes.

‘ And if anyone will not receive you or listen to your words, shake off the dust from your feet when you leave that house . Nobody notices me, you see, Rachel. I’m almost invisible.’

‘Scott!’ She’s shouting at me again. Why does she keep doing that? ‘What happened when you took Grace Harper to your house?’

‘I’d never hurt a child,’ I say. ‘Not on purpose.’

The solicitor next to me clears his throat.

‘No comment.’ If I were to die right now, no one would care. ‘Is she going to be okay?’

‘What?’ Rachel’s eyebrows are scrunched up near her hairline. ‘The girl?’

‘Yes. Is Grace Harper going to live?’

She doesn’t answer me. She glances at the copper guarding the door. They know something and they’re not telling me.

She’s right, I suppose. I don’t deserve to know. I’m nothing. Everything I touch turns to shit. They should just put me down.

I see this room in this bed and breakfast even when I close my eyes: the blue curtains that go all the way to the floor, the teak dressing table and matching bedside cabinet on which I put the photograph of Sarah and Zoe. The portable television in the corner that looks as though it’s been here since the place was built. I’ve looked at every inch of it. Eight days we’ve been staying here, but it feels so much longer. She still won’t see us. All we could do was pass the address of this place to the police and wait.

David was wrong about the police – they did care about us. David presented them with all the information he’d collected. He still had that green folder, plus about twenty more.

‘I’ll need to take a statement from you both,’ the detective said to us – Hines was his name. Poor man looked as though he hadn’t slept in a week. I knew that feeling.

It took hours for David to tell them what he knew. Years of searching different countries. I’m glad they wrote it all down.

‘I didn’t think they’d take me seriously,’ David said afterwards. ‘I’m just a dad looking for his daughter.’

‘You’re more than that,’ I said. ‘You found her. The police never did that, did they?’

As we were about to leave the station, I went to the desk.

‘Do you have an address for Detective Jackson?’ I said. ‘He worked for Lancashire constabulary.’

The policewoman behind the counter looked blank for a moment.

‘He’s retired,’ I said.

She shook her head.

‘We don’t have any records here for retired police officers,’ she said. ‘But if you contact Lancashire police they might be able to help you.’

I reckon she only said that to get rid of me. She wouldn’t have known about Zoe. Not until now, at least.

‘We’ll find Detective Jackson, Maggie,’ said David. ‘We’ll let him know.’

Catherine Atkinson was charged with Zoe’s kidnap and is currently in a remand centre awaiting trial. I saw her photo in the newspaper. If I saw her on the street, I wouldn’t even give her a second glance. She looks ordinary, like me. But her eyes look cold – though I might just see her that way. She was the woman who brought Zoe up. I can’t imagine her caring for my granddaughter, being kind to her. It’s just a picture though. I suppose you can’t see what’s behind a person’s eyes in a photograph.

There’s a knock at the door. It’s nine thirty, so it’ll be David. Never too early, never too late.

I swing my legs off the bed, put on my shoes, pick up my handbag, and walk to the door. Another day of waiting in reception, looking out of the window for any sign of her.

I open the door.

‘Can I come in?’ says David.

‘Shouldn’t we get downstairs? Today might be the day.’

I stand aside to let him in anyway. He pulls out the chair at the dressing table and perches on the end of it.

‘Shall I make you a cup of tea?’

He nods.

‘Have you heard any news? About the little girl?’

I wait by the bathroom door, holding the kettle.

He shakes his head.

‘Then what is it?’

He covers his face with his hands. The sobs take over his shoulders; he can barely breathe.

‘Oh, David.’ I place the kettle down and sit on the edge of the bed.

‘Why won’t she see me, Maggie? I’m her dad.’

He drops his hands from his face, which is wet from tears.

‘She needs time to come to terms with it. It must have come as a terrible shock. Imagine finding out your whole life was based on a lie. Imagine finding out that who you thought of as Mum had actually abducted you as a child.’

He takes out a tissue and wipes his eyes. He leans back in the chair.

‘I had this dream for so many years,’ he says, ‘that when I found her, we’d run into each other’s arms, like they do in films, or Surprise Surprise .’ He looks up at me and laughs through his tears. ‘I know – torturing myself watching programmes like that – but they gave me hope, that we’d have a happy ending, you know?’