PROLOGUE
‘Have you seen a little girl? She’s gone missing.’ The woman runs across the road and into the gift shop, searching through the aisles before wiping her brow and running back out onto the path. ‘Someone help us.’ Her arms are in the air as she turns in a circle, not knowing which direction to go in. ‘Have you seen a little girl. Someone must have seen her.’ She shouts so loud her throat hurts.
The other little girl tugs at the hem of her T-shirt. Tears run down her cheeks as she points to her ice cream that has dropped out of the cone onto the pavement.
The woman grabs her hand and darts into another shop, then another. It’s no good. The child is gone. Her heart is breaking as she gasps for air. It’s as if the life is being sucked out of her. She can’t breathe, her vision is blurred and her whole body feels heavy, like it’s being weighed down by an anchor.
Passers-by stare through windows. Some stop to take photos, others stop to readjust shopping bags as the straps dig into their arms, but not one of them stops to ask her why she’s so distressed. For her, time stands still. If only she could go back five minutes and prevent what had happened but it’s okay saying that now. Especially as it’s too late.
‘Someone help us!’ She collapses onto the road and the man she was helping is crying too. The screaming child is almost bursting her eardrums while all she can think about is the missing child. ‘We can’t find her. Please help us.’ People keep walking by, most not willing to stop.
A woman runs over. ‘I’ve called the police.’
The police.
It’s real now, the police are coming and the little girl is missing. Her gaze darts up and down the road in the hope that someone is bringing the little one back, but no one is coming towards them carrying a child. She glares athimas he stands there looking helpless. What can he do? What can either of them do?
All the woman can keep repeating is the little one’s name followed by,she’s goneandwe lost her. That’s the truth.
‘Please find her,’ she yells.Please find her.The woman would give her life to find the child. She places an arm around the man.
‘I’ve lost her,’ he cries and he has. He lost her.
ONE
KATE
Monday, 10 October
I’m up out of bed before six, as I always am in the week. With a huge mug of coffee in one hand, I enjoy the silence that only exists in this house before seven in the morning. This is my time, when the children are asleep and my husband, Damien, is still lying there, waiting for his alarm to go off. It’s also a day where I need a bit of time to think about the past.
My finger presses the Facebook app on my iPad and I flick straight onto the Remembering Baby Jess page. Jess died twenty-five years ago to the day, which means I will do what I always do on this date. I will start the day by posting a photo of Jess. Selecting one I love, I start making a post. My gaze lingers on her gummy smile as she rattles the ladybird that is attached to her wrist. I don’t know what to type underneath because I’m running out of things to say. Every year, I write how much we all miss her but that’s not the truth. I’m the only one left who misses her. I type in a simpleThinking of you, Baby Jess. I can’t say things that come so easily to other people like I know she’s with Nanny in heaven or the angels are looking after her. I don’t believe that to be true but I can see why thoughts like this give people comfort. They won’t help me.
I’ve noticed that some local businesses have started advertising underneath the very occasional posts that I make and I slam my fist onto the kitchen table. This page is for information about her, not for spreading the word on the catch-of-the-day special. I want to know if anyone knows more about how she died that day. I bite my lip and delete the offending post.
My mind mulls over what Jess would look like now if she were still alive. She’d probably have light-brown hair, like mine. Maybe it would be longer or shorter. She’d have the darkest chocolate brown eyes; wait… were Jessica’s eyes more of a hazel colour? My skin is more like my mother’s with her Spanish roots, but Jessica was fairer with her pink cheeks, more like our father. I’m athletically built and strong. I wonder if she would have been built the same, or would she have hated running and swimming?
How long do I keep this up? Maybe it’s time to close the page and leave her memory be. I know that would make my husband, Damien, happy. He’s uncomfortable with me bringing this up, every year.
I turn the screen off just as he walks in. He whistles as he ruffles his damp hair with a towel. His chirpiness annoys me slightly. We’ve been married long enough for him to know what today means to me.
He looks at me with his lips pressed together. I don’t always say much about the Jess page because he worries that she’s the reason I won’t give our children any freedom, and he’s right. A life can be lost in a matter of seconds and I won’t let that happen to my girls. I’m their mother and their protector, and I will do my job to the best of my ability, even if it kills me.
‘I’ll get breakfast started if you want to go up and shower.’ He leans in and kisses me on the head. ‘I haven’t forgotten. I know what day it is.’
I grab my iPad, anger still showing in my face from the advert that was posted.
‘She wouldn’t want you to be like this.’
Damien’s right, I know he is but I’m not ready to let her memory die too.
‘I can’t let her go.’ That’s as much as I can tell him, the rest I will keep to myself.
Damien sees my mind whirring and my bottom lip trembling. He hurries over and wraps his strong arms around me. ‘Please, Kate. For our marriage and our children you have to stop dwelling on the things you can’t change or do anything about. Look what you’re doing to the kids.’ Instantly, I know he’s not talking about me keeping this Facebook page, it’s about how I am with our children.
I pull away from him. He doesn’t understand what guilt is like and I will never be made to feel that bad again. The burden I carry is more than enough. ‘I just want to protect them.’
‘You’re smothering them.’
