Stephen Edger - Little Girl Gone

With the SUV finally clear of the space, Alex manoeuvred into it, and killed the engine. ‘Right, that’s the first task complete, now to get a ticket …’ Her words trailed off, as she scanned the car park for the ticket machine, eventually spotting the bright orange machine back over by the entrance. It seemed so far to have to carry Carol-Anne in such horrible weather. There seemed no let-up in the rain sweeping wildly across the car park.

Deciding there was only really one option that would save time and keep Carol-Anne dry, she swivelled round in her seat. ‘Do you think you could be super good for Mummy? I need to go and buy a ticket from that machine over there,’ she said, pointing to where she meant. ‘If I lock the doors, do you think you could sit here really quietly while I go and get it? You’ll have to sit perfectly still so you don’t trigger the alarm. Can you do that for Mummy?’

Carol-Anne blinked back, oblivious to what Alex had asked.

‘No, I can’t do that,’ Alex answered for herself biting her nail. ‘I’ll just have to get you out and bring you with me. It was a stupid idea.’

Turning back, she checked the handbrake was on and ran through the checklist in her mind, before snatching up her handbag from the front seat and reaching for the door handle. But as she prised the door open, a strong gust forced it closed again.

‘Oh, this is just crazy! Does the weather not realize I have a really important interview in twenty – no, correction, eighteen – minutes?’

Her phone bleeped, and the display showed that Ray had sent her a good luck message. He knew how much this opportunity meant to her, and he was doing his best to be supportive, even if he didn’t agree that her returning to work was the best thing for them at this point.

Staring at Carol-Anne’s reflection in the mirror again, she reconsidered her options, before biting the bullet. Removing her purse, she dropped the handbag on the passenger seat, forced her door open and darted into the rain, remote locking the car as she sprinted through the puddles, cursing as the water splashed against her suit trousers.

Was it too late to phone and let them know she was running late? Would they judge her as a poor time-keeper? She’d always been so punctual when she’d worked before giving birth. Ever since Carol-Anne had arrived, she’d found getting anything done on time a struggle. It wasn’t that she’d suddenly become disorganized overnight, there just always seemed to be some kind of hurdle she’d failed to envisage. Like Carol-Anne soiling her nappy the moment they’d got in the car this afternoon, and the mad dash back into the house to change her.

Blinking against the rain, she shielded her eyes as she stared back at her small grey hatchback, tempted to run back and check that none of the hideous outcomes her paranoid mind was picturing had befallen her daughter. And as if to heighten her paranoia, the car’s alarm sounded in a flurry of orange light. Carol-Anne would be terrified by the sudden cacophony. Splashing back a few steps, she killed the alarm with the remote.

Scanning the full car park, she saw there wasn’t a soul in sight, and with time against her, she hurried back to the machine, opening her purse and fishing for change. The rain continued to blind her as she struggled to read the sign and calculate how much she needed, finally dropping three £1 coins into the slot and pressing the green button, forcing herself to look back at the car every few seconds. The orange machine finally whirred and spat out her parking ticket. Snatching it up, she charged back towards the car, relieved to get back in, and take a moment to catch her breath.

‘It is such a minging day,’ she said, finally opening her eyes and wiping rain from her face.

Looking up at the rear-view mirror, the breath caught in her throat.

Spinning around, she stared at the empty child seat, unwilling to believe her own eyes. It had to be some kind of joke. Where the hell was Carol-Anne?

Alex rubbed her eyes, and then dug her freshly polished nails into her skin to wake herself from the sudden nightmare.

The seat remained empty. Turning back to face the front, the ticket machine was barely visible through the rain-soaked windscreen.

This couldn’t be happening. Not again.

Her heart raced, as her mind desperately tried to connect the dots and determine why her daughter was no longer strapped into the chair.

Pushing her door open, Alex stepped back out, no longer noticing the rain as it splashed against her suit and pressed blouse. Still there was no sign of a single person in the car park. She scanned the area for any sudden flash of colour. Was it possible the alarm had frightened Carol-Anne so much that she’d managed to unfasten her belt, get out of her seat and leave the car in search of her Mummy?

It seemed so ridiculous, but what other explanation was there?

Darting to the back of the car, Alex stooped to look beneath it, scouring the floor, only finding puddles where the rainwater had settled. Then stalking along the row, looking in the gaps between the cars, the feeling of dread continued to grow in the pit of her stomach.

‘Carol-Anne? Carol-Anne?’ she called out, hoping that the sound of her terrified voice would find its way to her daughter’s ears.

There was still no sign of Carol-Anne, as she reached the end of the row, and so she turned and sprinted back towards her car, thick raindrops scraping against her cheeks, mixing with the tears that were already flowing uncontrollably.

‘Carol-Anne!’ she screamed at the top of her voice, until her lungs burned.

And as she spun around, desperately hunting for some tiny glimmer – some explanation – her thoughts returned to the car. What if she hadn’t got out? What if she’d been playing a game of hide-and-seek?

Yanking open the rear passenger door, she dived into the back of the car, pushing at the bags on the mats in the footwell, already knowing that she was wasting time, and that her little girl wasn’t there. What was the alternative? Nobody had been near the car.

Had they?

Alex choked down the urge to vomit, her pulse now dangerously high, and the world began to spin around her head.

‘Carol-Anne!’ she screeched at the top of her voice, calling out for the wind to carry her voice to the far edges of the earth.

There wasn’t a soul inside the car park, the only sound that of the rain falling.

Carol-Anne was gone.

‘You playing squash tomorrow night, Ray?’

Detective Sergeant Ray Granger looked up at the desk to his right. ‘Not this week, Owen. Shoulder’s still not recovered from the last time.’

‘You pull something?’

Ray ground his teeth to stop himself revealing the real reason he wasn’t going to make squash this week, the same reason his appearances at the fortnightly meet-ups had been so inconsistent for the last few months: the guilt was eating him alive, but he was like a puppy whenever she called him.

Pressing a hand against his right shoulder, Ray made a windmill gesture with his right arm. ‘No idea, mate, it hasn’t been right for a few weeks.’

A glimmer of concern flickered in Owen’s eyes. ‘You seen a doctor about it?’

Ray pulled a face. ‘You kidding? Hard as nails, me.’

Owen smiled and nodded. ‘Of course, I forgot you old-timers think you’re invincible.’

Ray cocked a sceptical eyebrow, knowing his younger colleague was teasing. ‘For one thing, less of the old; I’m only forty. And secondly, just because I don’t panic over every sniffle and self-diagnose a tumour like you wet-nosed graduates, doesn’t mean I think I’m invincible. I guess I just have a better pain threshold than you.’