I give up trying to sleep, switch on the light and grab my phone again.
There is still no reply to my text – it just says ‘delivered’.
You hear anything?I text Louise. We’ve been pals since our daughters bonded when they were four. Not best pals or anything, but we’re on the same page when it comes to parenting.
Not a dickie bird, texts Louise back at speed.
I stare at the words, feeling utterly powerless.
I never felt like that when they were younger on sleepovers. The Network of Mothers would have got in touch by phone, text in thosepre-WhatsApp days, Morse code, if necessary. Discussions about how much children’s paracetamol to give, any allergy information, nightmare procedures, etc. would have been had in advance.
‘If Megan loses her bear, she will sob and then scream,’ Louise told me when Megan and Rachel were eight, on their first sleepover. ‘She can lose him in a heartbeat. He must stay in her bed until bedtime. Check. She will try to smuggle him into the cinema. We lost him there once – worst twelve hours of my life.’
That sort of thing. It’s our life’s work – taking care of our children.
Now Megan is also eighteen, somehow lookstwenty-five, and has buttery blonde highlights that go perfectly with her buttery skin (amazingfake-tan application by herself). She and Rachel, also with buttery blonde highlights and a couple of silvery purple hints around the tips, were going to a club tonight.
The club – Les Cloob and no, I am not making this up – admits overtwenty-ones only but the girls in their silky vintage dresses look older. Les Cloob likes attractive young women and will not card them. Where gorgeous girls with no money go, less gorgeous men with money will follow. The eternal cycle continues.
Rachel readThe Handmaid’s Talewhen she was fourteen. And still, four years later, she wants to go to Les Cloob. A hotbed of men who think a questing hand on a girl’s rear end is a compliment. Both girls did Tai Kwan Doh for two years – they can handle a questing hand. But afterwards, tipsy on expensive cocktails, leaving said premises – what then?
A vision of both girls leaving the club, tripping along on ludicrous shoes, pulled into an alley, assails me.
The phone rings.
It’s Louise, with the words no mother wants to hear.
‘There’s a problem.’
‘Jesus.’ My hand is at my mouth. ‘What?’
‘They got into the club, were dancing and got separated. Megan has spent the last hour looking for Rachel. She can’t find her.’
‘An hour...’
‘I know. I said why didn’t she call –’
I’m not even listening.
My flight response doesn’t stand a chance – the fight one kicks in instantly. I press the phone’s speaker buttons, and am out of the bed, dragging on clothes, trainers, grabbing my bag, while speaking: ‘Did Megan tell the doorman, any of the staff, that Rachel had vanished?’
Louise doesn’t hesitate. ‘Yes and they’ve looked too.’
‘CCTV,’ I say. ‘Someone’s dragged her out of there. We need the police. I’ll ring Nate, get him home. Can you get over here and take care of Joey until Nate comes home?’
Louse lives one street away. She doesn’t question the plan. My daughter is missing, therefore I have to go into the city.
‘I’ll be right there,’ she says.
Nate’s phone goes to voicemail. Sweet Jesus.
‘NATE!’ I yell into the phone. ‘I need you!!! Rachel is missing. Come home to take care of Joey. Please!’
I keep ringing until I’ve rung three times and still nothing. Voicemail each time. What has he done with the bloody phone?
Damn it, I need him.
Louise meets me at my door and hugs me, her eyes red.
