Elisabeth Carpenter - Only a Mother

Luke stops his car a few doors down from Sunningdales where a white van is parked outside.

‘Oh bollocks,’ says Luke. ‘It’s that twat Damian Norris. He was on my journalism course – I thought he’d moved to Leeds… got a job at Look North .’

‘You sound jealous,’ says Amanda.

‘Of him being a twat? No.’

She wrinkles her nose and opens the car door. ‘Come on then, Lois Lane. Let’s see what we can find out for our wonderful readers. I’ve had to change my Facebook name, you know. I got twenty-five private messages last week after reporting about that football scandal. Didn’t read most of them after opening the first couple. The rage targeted at me!’

‘You never know,’ says Luke, slamming the car door, ‘the person of your dreams could’ve been in your inbox.’

‘Just because I’m single, doesn’t mean I’m looking – or desperate.’

They make their way to a man with gelled hair straight out of the eighties. Luke’s surprised he’s not wearing a casual white blazer and a pink T-shirt but concludes that it’s too cold for that get-up – even for Damian.

‘Lukey boy,’ he says. ‘The force still with you, eh?’

Damian gives a wheezy laugh – he’s on the fags again by the sound of it. Same old smug bastard he always was. Luke feels a strange urge to kick the other man’s knees.

‘Did I ever tell you, you look nothing like a Luke?’

‘Countless times,’ says Luke. ‘Thought you’d moved to Yorkshire.’

‘Yeah,’ says Damian. He looks around, but no one else is listening. ‘Thought there was more action back in the North West… turns out I was right.’

Damian frowns for an instant and Luke recalls the awful events in Rotherham. They would’ve been covered on Damian’s patch; the guy’s putting on a front. If Luke remembers rightly, Damian has daughters himself.

‘So,’ Luke says, nodding towards the reporter preparing for camera. ‘What happened to Geoff? Didn’t he used to do most of the OBs. Samia Brennan, eh? Poached from the BBC?’

Damian shrugs.

‘Not just one person reporting any more, Lukey boy. Gotta keep up with the times. Have to include the fairer sex in everything now.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ says Amanda. ‘What a chauvinist b—’

‘It’s lovely to meet you, too,’ says Damian.

‘So, what’s happening here?’ says Luke. ‘Know anything more than they’re reporting?’

‘Not much. CCTV picture of what appears to be Craig Wright in a red car… bit of a banger… old Peugeot, I think. Leanne Livesey gets in the back seat. But all we have to go on is a shit, grainy picture.’

‘Why would she get in the back seat?’

Damian shrugs.

‘Does Leanne live here?’ Luke gestures to the brightly coloured building behind Damian.

‘Yeah… has been here a few years from what I gathered from those kids over there. Haven’t made that official, though, as children aren’t the most reliable of sources… as you well know.’

‘Think they’ll talk to us?’

‘They’ll talk to anyone… they’re loving it. Think one of the matrons – or whatever you call them – is over there, so perhaps clear it with her first. Don’t want you to get into trouble.’

‘Well, obviously I wouldn’t take what they say as fact… I’ll check before printing.’

‘Yeah, course you will. “ A source close to the missing girl” … we all know that means we’re making it up.’

‘I’m a serious journalist.’

‘I know that for a fact.’ Damian salutes him. ‘Good write-up of Bombay Spice last week… though I’d recommend the Jalfrezi.’

‘Fuck off, Damian.’ Luke smiles and pats Damian’s arm, before walking towards the low wall where about ten kids are sitting. ‘See you around, mate,’ he shouts behind him. You need to keep on the good side of everyone – Luke never knows when he might need Damian again, unfortunately.

‘Just so you know,’ Amanda says from the corner of her mouth, ‘I’m not very good with kids.’

‘Don’t worry… they’re like normal people but smaller… and more honest.’

Luke approaches a woman in an oversized skirt and cardigan. Her hair is short and grey, which makes her enormous orange butterfly earrings more prominent.

‘Hello, there,’ says Luke, holding out his hand. ‘I’m from the Chronicle . Are you OK to talk?’

The woman looks at his hand before shaking it. Her hand is cold and dry. She folds her arms and bites her bottom lip.

‘I’m afraid I won’t be of much help,’ she says. ‘I can’t talk about Leanne – she’s only seventeen. And a young seventeen at that.’

‘Is it all right if I have a chat with the older kids? We want to try to help get Leanne found… we can put something on Facebook… get a wider audience… a lot of people don’t watch the news these days. We’d only ask the same questions as they would ask.’ Luke gestures to the crew, and bets this woman was swayed by the famous face of Samia Brennan.

‘I suppose… if you could run everything past me first before printing? I can’t have any of the children named, or any sensitive information printed.’

‘I’m only going to ask them if they saw this man.’

Luke gets the iPad from his inside coat pocket and taps an icon on the home screen to bring up the mugshot of Craig Wright.

‘They think it might be him who was driving when Leanne was taken.’

‘OK,’ she says. ‘I think that should be all right. You’ll take everything you hear to the police, won’t you? Every minute counts. That’s what they say, isn’t it?’

‘It is. Thank you…’

‘Fran. Fran Harrison.’

‘Thanks so much, Fran.’

‘You bloody lick-arse,’ Amanda whispers in Luke’s ear as they move towards the wall.

‘It worked, didn’t it?’

‘Isn’t it every second counts?’

‘As if I was going to correct her.’

Luke’s still holding his iPad.

‘Afternoon,’ he says to the kids lined up on the wall, his pulse quickening at the thought of speaking to streetwise teenagers. ‘I was wondering if you recognise this man.’

‘Well, fuck me,’ says a lad of about sixteen. ‘Are you some paedo showing little kids dirty pics?’

He nudges the younger lad next to him who gives a fake laugh. Luke knows it’s fake – he used to do it all the time with his mates when he was the same age.

‘I’m Luke Simmons. I’m from the Chronicle . It’s a local newspaper.’

The lad runs his eyes from Luke’s feet to his face.

‘I know what the Chronicle is. I’m not stupid. I’m well versed in current affairs, don’t you know.’

His mate gives a genuine laugh this time. ‘Nice one, Dec,’ he says.

‘Dec?’ says Luke. ‘Is that a nickname?’

The lad’s not laughing any more.

‘No,’ he says, his face contorted as though smelling something putrid. ‘It’s short for Declan.’

‘Oh… right.’

Luke used to feel as though he could mix with people of any age. He remembers being a teenager, thought he’d be approachable, empathic to anyone under the age of eighteen, but clearly he has no street cred at all (and they probably don’t even call it that these days).

‘If you could take a quick look at this photo,’ says Luke. ‘It could help find Leanne.’

Declan reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of glasses – his face is transformed in an instant. He takes the iPad and Luke feels slightly apprehensive. Just because he wears glasses doesn’t mean the lad wouldn’t thieve a £500 gadget. Luke scolds himself, again, for being so judgemental.