Shaun Hutson: Warhol's Prophecy

Jesus, it was all so easy. So clear.

Hailey had read about it – of parents whose children had been abducted

( no, don’t even think about words like ‘abducted’. They carry the same terror as ‘malignant’ and ‘terminal’ )

from their very sides. Parents who, hours, days, weeks or months later, were called to the local police station or hospital to identify their dead child.

Hailey no longer bothered to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

Whoever had snatched Becky might not even have needed to wait until mother and daughter had reached the shopping centre. The kidnapper could have already been watching that morning as Hailey reversed the Astra out of the garage. He could have followed them the five or so miles to the mall, parked close by, then tailed them into the building, his eyes never leaving Becky. Just waiting for the right moment.

And now?

Was Becky already dead?

Hailey continued her trance-like journey through the shopping centre, every child she passed seemingly smiling as it clutched its parents’ hands. Laughing even.

All around her so much joy.

Inside her, pain such as she had never experienced.

But it could grow far, far worse, couldn’t it?

She passed another mother, Hailey guessed in her early twenties, perhaps twenty-one or twenty-two: six or seven years younger than Hailey herself. The woman had two children with her, one in a buggy. The other was aged about three, and he was crying while his mother shouted angrily at him to stop, that he couldn’t have any sweets yet. That she’d break his toys if he didn’t shut up.

Something like that.

What did it matter what the words were?

Hailey wanted to grab that woman, to tell her she shouldn’t shout at her child, because she could lose him all too easily. Lose him for ever, as Hailey had done with her own child.

The thought that Becky was already dead or else in the clutches of some child-molesting psychopath was so strong now that Hailey had virtually accepted it as fact. She could imagine no other possibility.

All that was left was pain.

Up ahead, she spotted the place she’d been heading for.

3

THE INFORMATION CENTRE was usually busy, but to Hailey it seemed even more crowded this day. Visitors, both frequent and infrequent, could go there to obtain free maps of the large shopping complex. It was also where wheelchairs could be hired, or small buggies for young children. There were several children in there now. The atmosphere inside was one of amiable chaos, a little like the entire precinct itself.

There were two women working behind the small counter, dealing with various queries and enquiries, each managing to retain the fixed smile of those in public service.

Hailey found herself queuing behind a woman in her seventies who was balancing unsteadily on two crutches and glancing around sniffily at the other occupants of the information room, and indeed at most of those passing by outside. She turned and looked appraisingly at Hailey, who was more intent on getting past her to attract the attention of one of the two officials behind the counter.

‘Excuse me,’ said Hailey, wiping away her tears.

The old woman glared at her disdainfully. ‘I’m next,’ she said, moving closer to the counter.

‘Look, I’m sorry, but this is an emergency,’ Hailey told her.

‘I’ve been waiting for ten minutes already. They’re not very fast here, are they?’ the woman sneered audibly.

Again Hailey moved slightly forward.

‘You must wait your turn,’ the old woman snapped, scowling at Hailey full in the face through eyes milky with cataracts.

This time Hailey ignored her and pushed towards the counter, where one of the two women glanced first at her, then at the old woman, who looked as if she was about to strike Hailey with one of her crutches.

‘I was first,’ the old woman said angrily.

‘My child is missing,’ pleaded Hailey. ‘Please put out an announcement.’ She wiped away more tears.

The official, whose badge proclaimed CHRISTINE, looked at her companion then back at Hailey.

‘Would you like to come through?’ she offered, gesturing Hailey towards a door at the end of the counter.

‘I shall report this,’ the old woman shrieked, as Hailey disappeared into a small office beyond.

Christine Palmer closed the door behind them, and motioned for Hailey to sit down.

She pulled a pad and pen towards her and took a seat opposite Hailey, studying her briefly, taking a mental note of the swollen, puffy eyes and red cheeks. The shoulder-length brown hair looked unkempt, and her mascara was smudged around one eye. She offered Hailey a tissue, which she gratefully accepted.

‘What’s your child’s name?’ Christine asked with a practised tone that implied she had asked the same question hundreds of times before, when dealing with hundreds of equally distraught parents.

Hailey told her – adding Becky’s age as an afterthought.

‘And what’s she wearing?’

‘A red knee-length coat, white sweatshirt and black leggings with stars on the seams.’ She blew her nose.

Christine wrote dutifully.

‘Can I have your name, please?’

Again Hailey told her.

‘And age?’

‘What’s the point of that?’ Hailey snapped.

‘Some kids remember things like that instead of their addresses. They remember strange things.’ The woman smiled efficiently. ‘Every little helps.’

‘Twenty-nine,’ Hailey said. ‘Just get an announcement read out, will you, please?’

‘Where did you lose her?’

‘I didn’t lose her: she wandered off,’ Hailey retorted. ‘It wasn’t my fault.’

‘I didn’t say it was. I just asked.’

‘One minute she was beside me, the next she was gone. It wasn’t my fault.’

Shifting blame? Justifying yourself? Tut-tut.

There was a second of silence.

Then Hailey explained to Christine what had happened, and where – watching as she finished scribbling it all down on her pad. Then the woman nodded and got to her feet.

‘I’ll get this read out,’ she reassured Hailey.

‘Someone will find her, won’t they?’ Hailey said quietly, as if expecting the other woman to respond to a question that couldn’t possibly be answered with any certainty.

‘Let me get this read out first,’ Christine Palmer said, and disappeared momentarily, leaving Hailey alone in the small room.

The walls were painted a dull yellow, and adorned with a number of leaflets advertising attractions within the shopping centre itself – including, Hailey noticed, a crèche.

If you’d put Becky safely in there, she’d still be OK.

But, for the most part, Hailey absorbed very little. Or, at least, what she did see didn’t register. She could still think of nothing but Becky. How could she not?

The door opened a moment later and Christine Palmer re-entered.

‘They’ve made an announcement,’ she said.

‘Now what?’

‘All you can do is wait, Mrs Gibson.’

Hailey ran a hand through her hair and exhaled almost painfully. She noticed that Christine Palmer was carrying two steaming styrofoam cups. The older woman sat down and pushed one towards Hailey.

‘Coffee,’ Christine explained. ‘Out of a machine, but it’s better than nothing.’ Her tone was apologetic.

‘Shouldn’t it be tea and sympathy?’ said Hailey, annoyed at herself for the acidity of her tone. She sighed and accepted the coffee with a wan smile.

‘This happens here fifteen or twenty times a day,’ Christine said, sipping her own coffee. ‘Missing kids, I mean.’

I don’t care about the others!