Jane Elliott: Mummy’s Little Girl: A heart-rending story of abuse, innocence and the desperate race to save a lost child

JANE ELLIOTT

A desperate race to save a lost child

Title Page JANE ELLIOTTFact Fact In the UK alone, a child goes missing every five minutes. Some of these children are found; others become the focus of high-profile media campaigns. A few are never seen again. Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Epilogue Copyright About the Publisher

Fact

In the UK alone, a child goes missing every five minutes.

Some of these children are found; others become

the focus of high-profile media campaigns.

A few are never seen again.

The pains had started just after lunch – not that mealtimes meant much in her house.

Had little Hayley Clark known what the sudden rush of water was, the one that had dampened her sheets in the small hours of the morning, she might have known to expect the contractions sometime soon. But she didn’t. No one had explained it to her. There had been no visits to the doctor; no scans; no midwives to reassure her or tell her what was likely to happen, or when. It would have been unthinkable to wake her mum and admit that her bed was wet and she didn’t know why, just as it would have been unthinkable in the first place to tell her that she thought she was going to have a baby.

It had been five months ago that Hayley had realised she was pregnant, a few weeks after she had met the boys who lived at the other end of the estate. She had left the flat out of necessity that summer’s evening – Mum and Dad were shouting at each other, and she didn’t know how it would end. The arguments didn’t always spill over into her tiny bedroom, but they had happened enough times for her to feel scared to the pit of her stomach whenever she heard raised voices. Strangely it was her mum she feared more than her dad in those situations. Dad would just shout at her, telling her she was lazy and ugly and why the hell didn’t she get out there and find some fucking friends, before stumbling into bed to sleep off the cheap booze. Mum, on the other hand, was more physical: she would pull her long, jet-black hair and hit her. One time she had given her a black eye, and Hayley had to pretend to the teachers at school that she’d been in a fight on the way home. Mum would hurl abuse at her too, but unkind words she could deal with. It was the punches that hurt.

That night back in the summer, she had sensed it would be in her interests to leave the house. They were drunker than usual, for one thing – it was the time of the month when they had more money, so there was no danger of running out of drink. And she had heard them talking about her. Yelling about her, actually. Hayley was only young, but she knew what that meant, and was smart enough to get out of there before things turned nasty for her.

She hadn’t needed a coat – it was a warm evening – and so she slipped out of the flat wearing only the same jeans and T-shirt that she always wore, knowing that Mum and Dad would probably not even hear the door. She walked down the concrete stairwell, avoiding the nasty smell that always made her feel a little bit sick, and emerged at the front of the tower block. It was late, but still just light, and little crowds of people were standing around in cliques. Some of them were smoking, some of them were drinking. A lot of them had music blaring from their car stereos.

Hayley didn’t like coming out here by herself, especially at this time of night. During the day there was a police presence, but come nightfall even they knew to steer clear of the estate. When they did show up, they tended to ignore most of what was going on. Cleaning this place up was like pushing sand uphill, Hayley had heard a grown-up say once.

It was scary. None of the groups of people seemed to talk to each other; none of them looked as if they dared talk to each other. Hayley walked quickly, with her head down, hoping that she wouldn’t be noticed.

Hayley was the sort of girl people didn’t normally notice. But that was about to change.

A wolf-whistle filled the air. Hayley felt her stomach lurch and she kept her eyes on the pavement as she continued walking, desperately hoping that the whistle hadn’t been directed at her. Almost immediately, though, it was followed up by the sound of footsteps, and before Hayley knew what was happening, two boys were standing in front of her.

They were older than her – seventeen, maybe, or eighteen – and Hayley thought she knew their faces. They were definitely the sort of boys she would go out of her way to avoid, but that wasn’t saying much: Hayley went out of her way to avoid most people. They both wore baggy jeans and hooded tops; the only thing that really made them look different from each other was that one of them had a tooth missing.

‘Where you going?’ the toothless one demanded. He chewed noisily on some gum.

Hayley almost automatically looked down at the ground. She said nothing.

She could sense the two boys grinning at each other. ‘Going to come and hang with us?’ the other boy said. It didn’t sound much like a question.

‘No thanks,’ she mumbled.

But as she spoke, one of them grabbed her arm. She looked around her in alarm, but none of the other groups noticed what was going on; or if they did, they stayed well clear. It was the boy with the full set of teeth who had grabbed her, and his grip was strong. He pulled her over towards where they had been standing, by a car whose four doors were wide open. There were others here, mostly boys, but a couple of girls too, who looked at Hayley with nasty stares. They didn’t say anything, however.

‘Have a drink,’ the toothless boy said to her. He put a bottle of something into her hand.

‘I don’t want to—’ she started to say, her voice trembling slightly.

‘ I don’t want to! ’ a female voice mimicked from somewhere. Hayley felt her skin flush.

‘Drink it,’ the boy insisted.

Hayley had never drunk alcohol before. She’d heard the other children at school talking about it, of course, talking about how they would get drunk on Friday nights, but she wasn’t popular enough to be invited to their parties; and anyway, she was hardly likely to touch the stuff, knowing what sort of effect it had on her mum and dad. But as she stood there that night, with these intimidating people standing round and staring at her, she knew that she couldn’t say no; so she put the bottle timidly to her lips.

The mouth of the bottle was already wet from somebody else’s saliva, and it made Hayley shiver with revulsion. She closed her eyes, though, and tipped the bottle up further. The alcohol was incredibly sweet – a bit like the fizzy drinks she occasionally tasted – and to her surprise she found that she quite liked it. Seconds later, however, the kick of the alcohol hit the back of her throat and she started to cough.

The others laughed, and Hayley felt her skin suddenly burning with embarrassment. But what happened next surprised even her. Ashamed of her inability to handle the drink, she took another pull at the bottle, two hefty gulps. This time she didn’t cough, and she handed the bottle back to the toothless boy with a tiny look of defiance. The boy looked at his friend with a smile – a smile Hayley could tell meant something, but she didn’t know what. He took a swig at the bottle, and then handed it round.