Sue Fortin - Schoolgirl Missing - Discover the dark side of family life in the most gripping page-turner of 2019

Trying Poppy’s number for a third time, Neve hurried down the hall to the front door.

‘She’s not out there either. I’ve checked the front and back garden. No sign of her,’ said Kit, meeting Neve at the door. ‘Are you ringing her now?’

‘Yes, but it’s going straight to voicemail. She must have switched it off.’ Neve cut the call.

‘For fuck’s sake.’

‘We’d better go and look for her.’ Neve grabbed her car keys from the table. ‘I’ll go in my car and look in the village and the playing field. I’ll give Heather a call too, just in case she’s turned up there.’

‘I’ll ring Mum.’

‘Don’t do that yet, she’ll only worry. Let’s see if we can find Poppy in the village first. Check down by the river and the meadow.’ She looked at Kit as his expression shifted from annoyance to concern. She felt a wave of sympathy for him. ‘Don’t worry, she can’t be far away.’

It was easy for Neve to say ‘don’t worry’, thought Kit, jumping into his Mercedes; it wasn’t her daughter that was missing. He immediately felt like a shit for even thinking that. He knew how much his wife thought of his daughter and he knew it would hurt Neve to know he’d even gone there with his thoughts. All the same, when it was your own flesh and blood, it was different.

He pushed back the fear – it was a useless emotion which clouded judgement. Instead he concentrated on his anger; that he could deal with. Poppy knew they would be worried, especially after last time with that bloody social worker, or healthcare visitor, or whatever the hell she was, prying into their lives. Implying that she didn’t fully trust him or Neve. Who the fuck was she? The old cow would have a field day now if they didn’t find Poppy soon.

Kit drove down the main street of the village past the coffee shop where Neve’s friend, Lucie, worked. The place wasn’t open yet and there was no sign of Poppy hanging around outside. Kit wasn’t even sure if Poppy had any money on her. He should have got Neve to check the money jar on Poppy’s windowsill.

The war memorial was at the end of the street and the bus stop was filling up with kids from the local secondary school who were bussed in and out each day. It was also the pick-up point for the St Joseph school bus. Kit scanned the burgundy blazers of the secondary school kids already waiting, hoping to spot Poppy in her home clothes in line with St Joseph’s no uniform policy.

For a moment he thought he saw her, but the flowery top belonged to a sixth former. Some of the pupils were turning to stare at the slowing car. Feeling conspicuous and the need to explain he wasn’t some weirdo, Kit put the window down and leaned across the centre console.

‘Just looking for my daughter, Poppy Masters. She gets the St Joseph’s bus normally. Have you seen her?’

The shrugs and blank looks on the kids’ faces gave him his answer.

‘The St Joseph’s bus is just coming now,’ said one of the girls nodding down the road.

Kit watched the yellow and white minibus pull up alongside the kerb. Kit jumped out of his car and went over to the driver.

‘Hi, I’m Kit Masters,’ he began. ‘My daughter Poppy usually gets this bus.’

The driver gave Kit an expectant look. ‘Where is she? I can’t hang about, I get into trouble if I’m more than five minutes late.’

‘Yeah, sure. Erm, she’s …’ Kit stopped himself explaining any further. He didn’t want to draw attention to the fact she was missing just yet. ‘She’s not getting the bus today,’ he said. ‘Just thought I’d let you know, seeing as she’s your only pick-up from the village. Didn’t want you hanging around for nothing.’

The driver looked surprised. ‘Oh, right. Well, thanks very much for letting me know. I wish other parents were as considerate. Save me a whole load of time that would.’ He gave Kit a nod of thanks and the automatic door wheezed shut.

Kit watched the minibus head off towards the bridge. He gave a sigh and hopped back in his car whilst wishing he could give Poppy a bloody good telling off for this one.

Next stop was the river. Neve and Poppy often walked the dog down here and thinking about it logically, it was probably one of the most obvious places to look for her. Parking the Mercedes in the small car park alongside the riverbank, Kit jogged along the path.

Despite it being summer, it was muddy underfoot from the recent rain and every now and then he had to lengthen his stride to clear a puddle. He had his best shoes on today, ready for the meeting later, and despite his athletic efforts to avoid the grey squelchy mud washed down from the surrounding chalk hills, it was easing its way over the stitched welt of his shoes.

There was a bench around the corner, just before the bridge. Perhaps Poppy would be there? He quickened his pace in anticipation, but his heart plummeted at the sight of the empty seat.

His gaze travelled further along the footpath to the arched bridge which stretched across the River Amble. He peered into the shadows of the arch and could just make out two figures leaning on the handrail overlooking the fast-flowing tidal water. He sped up even more.

As he neared the bridge, relief was the first emotion that swept through him as he recognised his daughter. This was rapidly followed by alarm; who the hell was she with? It looked like a man.

‘Poppy!’ His voice boomed out and he saw his daughter physically jump. The man’s reaction was less exaggerated. He simply turned his head to one side, looking towards Kit, and casually moved his body so he was leaning back against the railings, resting on his elbows.

Now Kit was within a few feet of them he could see the man’s face. It was hard to say how old he was; the beard gave the initial impression that he was perhaps in his early thirties, a few years younger than Kit. The man had an eyebrow piercing and a lip ring. Kit wouldn’t have been at all surprised if the piercings extended to other parts of the man’s body too. He wore a scruffy army-green parka with a sweat shirt underneath, loose tracksuit bottoms and trainers.

‘It’s my dad,’ Poppy said as Kit levelled with them.

The man took a drag of his cigarette which Kit thought looked rather too fat to be a regular roll-up. An earthy turpentine smell hung in the air. Kit glared at him. He looked like one of those do-gooder social workers who were attached to The Forum – a half-way home for young adults who, according to the local council, needed extra support when making the transition from being in care to independent living. Personally, Kit considered it to be a half-way home for kids who needed a kick up the backside and a reality check. A bit of hard graft hadn’t done him any harm. Kit so easily could have played the victim card when he was sixteen and his dad died, but instead he’d seen it as a wake-up call to grasp life with both hands, to work hard and to make his own luck.

He turned his attention to his daughter. ‘Come on, Poppy, you need to go to school.’ He held out his arm indicating the way and expecting compliance.

‘I don’t want to go,’ said Poppy.

‘You don’t have any choice.’ Kit fixed his daughter with a firm look.