‘Right. Do you remember what she was wearing last night when you last saw her?’
‘Uh, before she went out I believe she was wearing blue jeans and a red jumper?’ Jacob’s voice went up at the end of the sentence, unsure.
‘Yes, a red jumper with Minnie Mouse on the front.’
‘You believe?’ The policeman had picked up Jacob’s uncertainty too.
‘No, we’re sure,’ I confirmed. ‘She had her winter jacket on, too – it’s black, padded and has a reflective strip in the shape of a chevron front and back. It’s quite distinctive.’
Scribble, scribble, scribble, it all went down in the notebook. ‘Are there any friends you might not know about? Has she ever run away before?’
‘No, Beth’s a good girl.’ We talked over each other, saying the same thing. Jacob nodded at me, giving me the go-ahead.
‘She tells us everything. She’s a joker sometimes, but she’s also caring, sensitive, sensible; she would never let us worry like this.’
Then we both explained the last time we had seen you. My voice caught as I told how Jacob had been watching football, so I’d walked you part of the way to your best friend’s house. In the morning, I’d only called Chloe’s house because I had wanted to go food-shopping and had wondered if you’d want to come, or stay a bit longer with Chloe. I’d spoken to Chloe’s mum, Ursula.
‘When it became clear Beth had never arrived…’ My whole body convulsed as the tears came again. Jacob clutched my hand, staring at me so fiercely, as if trying to absorb my pain. After a minute, I managed to get myself together again. ‘When it became clear she’d never arrived, I called Jacob. And then we called you.’
‘This is just a routine question,’ the officer apologised, ‘but where were you both last night?’
‘Here. Together. All night,’ said Jacob.
I opened my mouth, but the constable’s next question blew all thoughts away.
‘Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt your daughter?’
‘Good grief, no! No way!’
‘Okay. Could we have a list of your daughter’s friends?’
We compiled the list, then another of our friends, family members, pretty much everyone we came into contact with. We had already got in touch with them all, but the police insisted they needed it anyway.
‘What about hobbies? I’m just trying to get a clearer picture of what Beth is like.’
‘Nature. She’s nature-mad.’ The officer waited, clearly wanting more. ‘You know, watching wildlife, all that kind of thing. She loves going to the woods to look for signs of badgers and foxes, or to the marsh to watch birds. She wants to work in conservation when she grows up.’
I couldn’t hide the pride in my voice.
‘Could she have gone out into the countryside to do some nature-watching? Or to play alone?’
‘No.’ I shook my head, certain.
‘I think we have everything we need for now. Thank you.’ The officers stood in unison at some unspoken sign.
We were left alone, uncertain of what to do next.
Not for long, though. A knock on the door came. Then another and another. The house soon filled. Family, friends, villagers, all coming together to help the search for you, our missing girl. In a small community such as Fenmere we all know each other, and are always there for one another in times of trouble. It heartened me; surely it wouldn’t be long until you were found.
A Family Liaison Officer was assigned by the police, too, making sympathetic noises and trying to explain what was happening. She introduced herself as Britney Cooper. She seemed nice enough, but I couldn’t take her seriously. Not with a name like Britney. And she was so young! Only in her early twenties, with round eyes that seemed to match her round face. Her ginger bob accentuated her childlike features too. I wanted someone with gravitas. Someone I knew had the skill and experience to find you. Not a child.
With every second that passed you seemed to slip further and further from me. I couldn’t take in a word anyone said to me. They were the whirlwind; I was the still centre, sitting on the sofa, crying.
My own mum, your Granny Heather, enveloped me in a trembling hug that did nothing to soothe me. I didn’t want my mother’s tears, and didn’t want to use valuable strength fighting irritation. After longing for the police questioning to be over, now I felt redundant. I stared at the thick woollen rug, my eyes following the twisting strands; the previously homely and warming deep orange colour looked like a warning sign. The air felt too thick to breathe properly, and our home was too hot, with the radiators on full and so many people crammed inside. A pressure built inside me. Any minute I might explode.
Boom.
It propelled me from my seat and my mum’s arms, across the room full of people huddled together, having conversations in low voices, and into the kitchen.
Now what?
At a loss, I put the kettle on. I didn’t want a drink, but other people might and it gave me something to occupy myself. Mum bustled in behind me, clearly loath to leave me alone.
‘Want a hand?’ Her face was so soft with concern that it hurt me to look at it.
‘Could you ask who wants what, please? Tea, coffee, whatever.’ The excuse to get rid of her came in a flash.
Alone at last. I leaned against the counter and sighed. The corkboard in the kitchen was opposite me, full of important appointment cards, invites to birthday parties for you, bills to pay for me and your dad, silly notes to one another, drawings and photographs. It was a huge thing, yet still crammed, and each pin held so many bits of paper that the points were not driven in far, everything precarious. Peeling back the layers would have been an archaeologist’s journey back in time.
The reminder to pay for your guitar lessons was most prominent. You had only started them a couple of months before, as an early Christmas present, and were just coming down from your initial enthusiasm. Your dad and I weren’t sure if you would do them for much longer. When we asked about them, you just shrugged.
A note from your dad to us stood out too. Do you remember it? It started with him saying he was nipping into town, so not to worry that he wasn’t around, and ended with him going on about how much he loved us. You had scrawled Sloppy devil. Love you loads too! at the bottom, and approximately a hundred kisses.
Below it was a photo of you and your dad, faces smushed together, pulling silly expressions at the camera. That had been taken on Saturday, exactly a week ago.
‘We have a perfect life together. Untroubled, full of laughter. We are not the kind of family this sort of thing happens to: police, drama, worry, this isn’t us. We’re close, have no secrets,’ I said out loud to myself. A mantra against what was happening.