Spikes of rain hammered my car windscreen, making me curse the inclement weather. It felt like a lifetime since I had enjoyed the sun on my face. It would have been better to stay at home and talk things through with Alex, but Josh had been unable to cover my shift at work. Not that I expected customers in this weather. For once, my diary was free of appointments, and I was very tempted to tell Theresa to shut the shop for the afternoon. But I had forced myself out of the house just the same. Besides, it was bring your teddy to school day today, and Jamie could not wait to participate in the indoor picnic they had planned for lunch. I was all too aware that I was running late as the clock on the car’s dashboard showed 11 a.m. By the time I got the buggy out of the boot and put Jamie in, he would be soaked. I pulled up the handbrake and turned round to face my son. ‘I’m just going to get a parking ticket from the machine. It’s just over there,’ I pointed. ‘You stay here in the warm, and I’ll be back in a second.’
Jamie nodded, staring out at the rain. I rooted through the glove compartment for change. Like many family cars, the space was stuffed with a half-eaten packet of sweets, wet wipes, receipts and old coins. Taking the keys from the ignition, I shoved them in my pocket before pulling out my red umbrella and opening it through the crack in the door. ‘Back in one second,’ I said once again. ‘You can watch.’
Like a meerkat, Jamie’s head bobbed as he tried to get a clear view of outside. ‘But I can’t see, Mummy,’ he said, straining against his straps towards the breath-fogged pane.
Turning back in my seat, I clicked the button of his seat belt, allowing him enough freedom to watch me get the ticket. ‘I’m going to lock the car, OK? You stay inside and watch Mummy. I won’t be a second.’
Hunching my shoulders, I pulled my collar up and faced the rain. It pattered hard against the thin fabric of my umbrella, and I activated the car’s central locking system before tottering through the puddles towards the ticket machine. I had the sense to wear trousers today, my billowing blouse kept dry beneath my long fleece coat. I rifled through my change, depositing it into the machine. I was just about to turn round when the sudden screech of car tyres filled the air, chilling me to the marrow of my bones. Time seemed to stop in that second and I was snapped back into reality as I heard a child’s cry. Jamie. My child.
‘No! No, no,’ the syllables fired from my mouth as my umbrella fell to the ground. My eyes flitted from my car door that was wide open and the 4 × 4 parked awkwardly nearby. I sprinted towards it, my eyes fixed on the small hand jutting out on the concrete, and the teddy bear thrown to one side.
‘Oh my God!’ The driver’s screams filled the air as she scrambled out of her Range Rover, almost tumbling over herself in her haste to reach my son.
‘Jamie,’ I cried, falling to my knees, searching the puddles for a reddish tint of blood. Raindrops splattered his face and he blinked, his little hands clawing the air like a tortoise that had been flipped on to its back. The tall thin figure of the driver loomed over us, her hands on her mouth. Her long blonde hair trailed down the sides of her face as the rain dripped down its length. ‘He ran straight in front of me. I didn’t see him . . . I . . .’
But I was too busy dialling 999 as I tried to shelter my son from the rain. It was an automatic reaction and I struggled to find the words to call for help.
‘Mummy,’ Jamie cried, apparently none the worse for wear.
‘It’s OK, sweetie, you’re going to be OK,’ I said, my heart feeling like it was going to beat its way out of my chest. My left hand holding the phone, I patted down my son with my right, unable to believe he had escaped with his life.
‘He ran out in front of me,’ the woman repeated, her voice trembling above me. ‘I didn’t hit him. I braked the second I saw him. He . . . he tripped over his own feet.’
‘What’s your emergency?’ A voice said on the other end of the line. I blurted out my location, requesting an ambulance as I told the operator my son had been knocked down. Jamie was crying, and warm tears fell down my cheeks as I realised what I had almost lost. I touched his face, checked the grazes on his hands from where he had fallen. Reaching out for his teddy, I drew them both near as I sat in the icy cold puddle, rain driving down my face. I craned my neck to stare at the driver, her face white and frozen in shock.
‘He . . . he came from nowhere . . . I didn’t hit him . . . I swear.’ Her words were disjointed, raised against the fury of the rain. Mascara streaks began to tear down her cheeks, her fingers touching her lips as if caressing the words for comfort. I glanced back at my car – to the back door that was wide open. I had locked it when I left. I was sure of it. So how did he get out? A memory reignited in my brain, old and rusted. Harry the golden retriever, lying bloodied and lifeless on a day just like this. I heaved for breath, feeling my grip on reality loosen a notch.
Sitting in the back of the ambulance, I took comfort from the fact that no injuries were found. I had not expected the presence of a police officer as paramedics checked Jamie over. After catching his breath, Jamie was able to tell them that he had tripped over and fallen, but had not been hit by the car. He seemed excited by the prospect of being in an ambulance, and his eyes grew wide as a uniformed officer joined us, introducing herself to him with a smile. PC Bakewell seemed far less enamoured with me, however. After obtaining my details, she informed me that an automatic referral would be made to children’s social services.
‘Why?’ I said, suddenly feeling small under her disapproving gaze. An efficient-looking woman with short brown hair, she turned over the page of her notebook and wrote down my details.
‘I only took my eyes off him for a second,’ I said, panic lacing my words. ‘The child lock was on in the car. Somebody must have opened the door from the outside.’ The thought hadn’t entered my head until that second when I blurted it out. My eyes opened wide with the revelation. ‘Yes, that’s it. Someone opened the door of my car and let him out. He was running across the car park to see me.’ I hesitated as I tried to work it out. Had I activated the central locking? If I had, then how could somebody have opened the car door?
PC Bakewell raised an eyebrow in a manner that suggested she was thinking the same thing. ‘Did you see anybody else around?’
I frowned. ‘No. Have you asked the woman driving the 4 × 4? She might have seen something.’
But the police officer stared unblinkingly, seeming unimpressed. ‘It’s a public car park. There’s bound to be people hanging around. Besides, why would someone do that? Just how long had you left your child alone?’