Page 84 of Close to You
My voice barely carries, as if the atmosphere is so shamed by what I’ve done that it can’t be bothered to transfer my voice. I keep turning to the buggy as if expecting Norah to materialise with a dramatic ‘ta-da!’ She doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t.
I wheel the buggy around the entire toilet block with increasing speed. There’s nobody here. I was only on the phone for a minute or two. Where could she have gone? There is a moment of clarity as I stop in front of the ladies’ and look around the grass for footprint trails. I’m so convinced that this will work that it’s a shock when I find myself back at a crossroads where the path meets another stretch of tarmac. There are no trails on the grass.
Other than the path and the grass, the closest thing to the toilet block is a large, wiry tuft of hedges. In the summer, it will be an enormous green dome, though it is more a collection of weedy sticks at this time of year. I try to peer towards the centre, though there are bits of crisp packets and plastic bags stuck to the branches. The twigs are tightly packed and tougher than I thought – and I can’t believe there are many adults, let alone children, who could batter their way into a hiding place.
The soil is mushy as I edge my way around the bush, though there are no obvious footprints. On the other side, there’s a steady slope towards the pond.
I know what’s happened. I can feel it, almost as if I actually watched it happening. Norah’s drowned. I did the unforgiveable and took my eyes off her and she staggered away to the water. She’ll be face-down and that will be that. How could I ever explain this to anyone, let alone my supposed best friend?
Except the pond is empty, too. The ducks and crows have disappeared to the other side of the bank, close to the bench. There’s barely a ripple to the water; hardly a breath of wind. The world feels still.
I turn in a full circle, unsure where to go and what to do. I end up heading back up the bank and around the copse until I’m at the empty buggy. I look to the furthest side of the park, but even the boys have given up their football game and gone home. I feel alone.
I take out my phone, unsure who to call first. The police or Jane?
It’s the same feeling I had when David’s body was in the back of my car and was driving him to the lake at Little Bush Woods. That sense of knowing that life can never quite be the same again. Even if she’s found, this is the end of my friendship with Jane. Things can never recover from this. Everyone in the village will know me as the woman who lost someone else’s child.
I open the phone app and have already dialled two nines when I hear a soft, babble of a sob. It’s such a shock that I almost drop the phone. I start to shake as I spin, trying to figure out if the sound is actually there, or if it’s in my imagination.
The second cry almost sets me off. It’s a steady wail now and I follow the noise into the disabled toilet. I checked here a few minutes ago – but that was then and this is now. The nappy-changing table is still down, but, this time, Norah is straddled across it, wrapped in a blanket. Her blue eyes are stained by tears and they stare accusingly at me as she quietens to breathy sobs.
I pick her up and, though she fights against me, I hold her close. I have to tell myself not to grasp her too tightly because I can barely believe she’s actually real.
‘I’m here,’ I say. ‘I’m so sorry.’
I carry Norah out and place her into her buggy. As soon as I put the straps across her, she’s instantly silenced. I kneel, pressing my knee into the hard concrete and lower myself until we’re eye to eye.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask.
Norah doesn’t reply, though I gently press my fingers to her face, looking for any incriminating marks. She’s still wearing the same outfit; with the only addition being one of the blankets that were underneath the buggy.
It’s as I’m standing that my phone buzzes. I’m expecting Jane – but it’s a text from the unknown 07 number that messaged me before.
Tonight. 9 p.m. Just You. You know where.
Forty-One
In the end, it is Ben who picks up Norah from my flat. It’s been a long time since his car last pulled up outside. It was that time I’d been arguing with David and said I needed a break. It feels like a different lifetime.
He straps Norah into the car seat in the front seat and then collapses the buggy into the boot. It’s the type of folding mechanism that looks like it’s amputated a thumb or two in its time, but Ben packs it down with the ease of a person who’s done it many times before. Even this comes easily to him.
‘I thought you were at a conference?’ I say.
He closes the boot and turns: ‘I was on the way. Jane called to say she was running late, so I ended up coming back here. I’m going to drive down to London later. I’ll miss the opening banquet but…’ He tails off and shrugs, as if to say that it doesn’t matter too much.
‘Has something gone wrong?’ I ask.
His brow creases with momentary confusion: ‘With Jane?’
‘Who else?’
‘I don’t think so. She sounded fine when she called.’ He turns to the car and stoops to check on Norah. ‘You all right, sweetheart?’ he asks.
She turns to him and replies with a clear: ‘Daddy!’
The grin that spreads onto his face couldn’t be any larger. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him smile like this. Perhaps not only him, but anyone. It’s joy in its purest form.
‘How was she?’ Ben asks, although it takes me a moment to realise he’s talking to me.
