I am shivering in the car by the time I see the orange RAC van approaching, almost two hours after my call for help. After the first forty-five minutes I had tried to get inside the school to keep warm, but although my security card had worked, every door to the buildings had been locked. Through one of the windows I had seen a dark shadow inside and I had frozen, mesmerised, before I’d realised it was just a reflection of the trees quivering in the breeze behind me. I had briefly considered walking home through the woods, but if that’s how little it took to spook me, then I doubted I could endure the exacting darkness of the spirit road.
I’d tried calling both kids but neither of them picked up, nor had they replied to my texts. It hasn’t helped my mood. As the van’s headlights slow down to pin me in their glare, I feel foolish for not calling Callum. I reply to his text with a curt OK, then I’m terse with the RAC man, who grumbles back at me as he sets about recharging my battery.
This day cannot possibly get any worse. By the time I drive home I have grown tired from the effort of curbing my temper. I soothe myself by thinking of the long, deep bath that’s finally drawing closer.
When I pull up, I’m surprised to see most of the house in darkness. I had been annoyed with the kids for not texting me back, but now I realise with a shock that I have not seen Zac since he set off on his walk with Maddie.
That was hours ago. I have been so concerned about my daughter’s whereabouts that I have neglected to make sure my son is safe too. What the hell is wrong with me today?
I hurry up the path and let myself in. The hallway is dark, the living room door slightly ajar, lamplight escaping between the gaps. I automatically glance into the room as I pass, hoping to see Zac slouched there, eyes fixed on the TV, but the sofa is empty.
I climb the stairs and open Zac’s door. His computer is on, as always, but he isn’t there. His bed is unmade, as though he has just walked out for a minute. Where the hell is he?
There is nothing unusual in our house about an unmade bed, I reassure myself. He’s probably gone to Cooper’s. Keep calm.
I am about to go back downstairs when I pause. Georgia’s door is slightly open. This never happens; we are always shut out.
I walk across and push gently against the wood. It gives way with a creak. For a fraction of a second, Georgia appears before me, asleep on the bed. A mess of dark hair, a long flowing skirt, a pair of dirty cream boots on the rich red covers.
I take a step forward. See her thin, pale, sleeping face. And I freeze.
It’s not Georgia.
A stranger is sleeping on my daughter’s bed.
This cannot be happening. I’m losing my mind. The first thing I do is pinch myself, to make sure I’m not hallucinating. Then I lean closer. She is breathing evenly, in fact she is snoring – delicate little whispery snores. Her skin is sallow – or perhaps the sickening yellow pallor of it is a mask made by the hallway light.
The low lighting renders this all the more surreal. I am lost in some kind of fairy tale, surely. Sleeping Beauty, or Goldilocks perhaps. I stare at her, trying to place her. Nothing registers. I can’t recall ever seeing her before.
The hospital intruder. What had Callum said in the car? Fairly young – in her twenties, I’d say. Long brown hair. Skinny. Dressed casually.
This woman matches that description to a tee. She looks so young, so vulnerable. Could this really be the person who had terrorised our children last night?
Fear drags me backwards. I don’t take my eyes off our intruder, but I practise careful footsteps one behind the other until I’m out of the room. Panic has shut down all extraneous thought. My brain begins a series of emergency commands.
Priority one: locate the children.
I switch my phone onto silent and text Callum and both kids. URGENT. Where are you?
Next step: call the police.
I head to Zac’s room, which has the best mobile reception. I think of the sleeping girl next door. She seems more exposed than dangerous, caught off-guard as she is in slumber. But I’m not taking any chances.
Before I can dial, my phone lights up in my hand. It’s Zac’s name on the screen, and I quickly connect the call. Phone to my ear, I whisper, ‘Zac, where are you?’
‘At Cooper’s. Why?’
Relief rushes through me at the sound of his voice. ‘Thank god. I’ve just got home and there’s a woman asleep on Georgia’s bed. I don’t recognise her – do you know anything about her?’
‘What? What? No, I don’t. How did she get in? Isn’t Dad there?’
‘He’s on a rescue. Perhaps it’s one of Georgia’s friends.’
‘Maybe. What does she look like?’
‘Skinny, long dark hair.’
‘I’m not sure. Maddie had a friend around at our place earlier but she’s a redhead. What are you going to do?’