We are having supper and a text pings on my phone. I don’t need to look at it to know that it will be Patrick, so I take a large glug of wine, put down my cutlery and tell them.
‘Patrick has asked me to marry him, and I’ve said yes.’
‘But what about Dad?’ Oliver asks, his lower lip trembling.
‘I will always love Dad, but as I explained to you, we were planning on getting divorced and now… I love Patrick, too. He will never be your dad, but–’
‘He’s going to move in with us, right?’ Mia’s upper lip curls.
‘Yes. And we were thinking it might be sensible to move house and have a fresh start.’
‘But this is Dad’s house!’ Oliver exclaims.
‘And he died here. I don’t know about you, but I find that very difficult.’
‘It’s all about you, isn’t it?’ Mia throws her cutlery onto her plate, pushes back her chair with a screech, and storms out of the room.
‘Mia!’ I say, but she ignores me.
‘I won’t have to call Patrick Dad, will I?’ Oliver asks.
‘Of course not. He will never be your father, but I hope he can become a grown-up friend, a bit like Cassie is to you. And what do you think about moving house?’
‘Okay, I suppose. I don’t like the swimming pool. Do you think Dad will mind if we leave?’
‘Dad will be with you wherever in the world you are. He lives in your heart.’ I stand up and clear my plate away.
‘I think I’d better go and talk to your sister. There’s more bolognaise in the pot if you’d like some. Help yourself.’
‘It’s ok, Mum.’
I climb upstairs and knock on Mia’s closed bedroom door. As I expected, she doesn’t answer. I knock again and open it. To my surprise, there is no resistance. When I switch on the light, it’s obvious why. Mia isn’t there. I retreat back to the hall and check the family bathroom. It’s empty.
‘Mia!’ I shout through the house. ‘I know you’re upset, but let’s talk.’
I go through each room and then downstairs, checking Adam’s office. I even look in the wardrobes and the understairs cupboard. She’s not there. In the utility room, I see that her coat is missing. Perhaps she’s in the garden? I turn on the floodlights and take a torch.
‘Ollie, I’m going outside to look for Mia.’
He has a mouthful and nods at me.
But the back door is locked from the inside. I rush to the front door. It’s also locked from the inside. It doesn’t make sense. I walked through the whole house; I checked everywhere. I walk all around the garden, shouting her name. It is dark and cold, and there is a fine drizzle that accentuates the smell of rotting leaves. I shine the torch behind shrubs and even up to the branches of the old oak tree, which Mia used to climb when she was going through her prepubescent tomboy stage.
The final place I look is the little pool hut. I haven’t been in here since Adam died. My heart is thumping as I open the door, terrified as to what I will find.
Nothing. It is empty.
The pool is covered, but it has no water in it. I got the maintenance company to come and drain it, because we won’t be swimming again here.
‘Mia!’ I shout one last time, the terror evident in my strident tone. An airplane drones high above us on its ascent from Gatwick airport, and then there is silence again, not even the whistle of the wind in the branches or the birds settling down for the night.
I hurry back inside and check the garage and then the front of the house. No Mia.
Bile rises up my throat as I try to control my panic. I attempt some rational self-talk. Mia has stormed off because she’s upset. It doesn’t mean she’s come to any harm. After a couple of deep breaths, I return to the kitchen.
‘Mia’s disappeared,’ I say to Oliver.
‘Have you rung her?’ He looks at me as if I am a dimwit, which in my panic, I am. I grab the kitchen phone and call Mia’s number. It goes straight to voicemail, which suggests it’s switched off.
Oliver sees my expression of dismay. ‘Check FindFriends or FindMyPhone,’ he says.
‘Oh yes, of course.’ I fumble with the phone.
He rolls his eyes. ‘If you give me your mobile, I’ll check for you.’
I hand it to him. I don’t need to tell him my passcode. His fingers move quickly, but then he frowns. ‘She’s got her phone off. Can’t help.’
‘Oh God,’ I mutter.
She can’t have gotten far. She’s only been gone for ten minutes or so. I run back upstairs and have another look in her room. I fling open her wardrobe, but I checked in there earlier. I ignore the mess inside, and as I’m closing the doors, I feel a cold draught on the back of my neck. I stride to the window and open the curtains. Her window is open. I peer outside, but can’t see anything in the darkness.
‘Mia!’ I shout. There’s no answer. Did she climb out of the window? Closing it, I rush to my bedroom, grab my handbag and run down the stairs.
‘Come with me, Oliver. We’re going in the car to look for her.’
Three minutes later, I’m driving at full pelt along our driveway, but at the main road, I have no idea whether to turn left or right. I choose right. I drive slowly, and both Oliver and I scour the pavements, but the roads are empty. Besides, as it’s dark, she could easily be lurking in shadows. Eventually, I turn the car around and we drive in the opposite direction. She’s not there either. I turn the car back to home, saying silent prayers that we will find her sitting on the front doorstep.
But she’s not.
Back inside the house, I pace the kitchen. ‘I’ll need to call some of her friends and see if she’s with them,’ I mutter, mainly to myself. I try to remember names, but now Mia is at senior school, I don’t even know the surnames of most of her friends. It’s hopeless. I put my head in my hands and realise what a useless mother I am. I have really taken my eye off things since Adam died and I got involved with Patrick.
Patrick. If I hadn’t moved so fast, if I hadn’t told the kids we were going to get married, Mia wouldn’t have run out of the house. It’s my fault. I need to put the brakes on this relationship. We can wait to get married; in fact, we don’t even need to get married at all.
‘Mum, stop panicking.’
I stare at Oliver. Since when did my twelve-year-old son become the sensible one in our family? ‘I’ll put a message on Facebook and Snapchat. She’ll be with one of her horrible friends.’
‘Thanks, Ollie.’
By 9 p.m., we have got nowhere. Mia’s phone is still off, and no one has responded to Oliver’s Facebook post. I search her room to see if she has taken anything, but it all looks untouched. Only her phone, her wallet and her jacket are missing.
I need to call the police. Let’s hope they will do a better job tracking down my missing daughter than they have done in trying to find my husband’s murderer.
16
It’s 1 a.m., and I have been pacing the house for the past six hours.
‘Yes.’ I grab the phone on the first ring.
‘Lydia, it’s me, Cassie. Mia is here.’