‘Matt, Matt, wake up!’ I shake my husband. His eyelids flicker open. A millisecond of confusion and then he rubs his eyes.
‘What is it?’ he asks. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Where’s Lucy? Did she go out? Did she tell you where she was going?’
‘Hey, slow down,’ he says, pushing up to sitting. ‘Lucy’s upstairs. She went to bed ages ago; said she wanted an early night.’
‘No, she didn’t!’ I screech. Then I pause, take a breath. I need to calm down, to think straight. ‘Or maybe she did, but she’s not there now. Where would she go? Did she mention anything? Meeting a friend?’
I can almost see the news sinking into Matt’s consciousness, slipping in via his pores. Matt’s looks have never suited his personality. He’s dark and brawny. Long hours cycling through the Chiltern Hills have honed his muscles but haven’t tapered his wide frame. And his square jaw, shaven head and thick eyebrows make him look thuggish. But his appearance disguises who he really is. A clever, thoughtful, disciplined man. Despite his jet lag, he will be assessing the situation, considering the multitude of possible explanations for Lucy’s absence – the innocent and the worrying – at breakneck speed.
‘No, not a word,’ he answers, running his hand along his smooth head, a familiar coping mechanism. ‘She was quiet when I first got home, distracted. But not hostile. I’d got your message, about not pushing her about what happened at school, so I talked about Thailand instead. Then about nine, she said she was tired and went upstairs. I must have fallen asleep soon after that, but I would have heard her, woken up, if she’d left the house.’ He sets his jaw in self-belief, but it’s disingenuous. She’s not here.
‘You were comatose when I came in! I even tried to wake you and you just rolled over!’ I can hear the accusation in my voice. Lucy disappeared on your watch; our bullied, traumatised daughter is alone, outside, because of you. I know I’m inflaming the situation, but I can’t stop myself.
‘Have you tried calling her?’ There’s accusation in his voice now.
And he’s right. Why didn’t I do that when I first realised she was missing? ‘Fuck, shit,’ I mutter as I wrestle through my bag for my phone. I prod at her name and listen to it ring. And ring. ‘She’s not answering,’ I splutter in frustration as it clicks into voicemail. I leave a message, then tap straight into Find My iPhone. Now I have my phone to hand, I remember what a lifeline it is, how it’s helped me track down Milla dozens of times over the last few years. I click into Lucy’s details and wait impatiently for the blue circle over Chinnor to zoom in to the phone’s exact location. I moan when the address finally comes up. I take the stairs two at a time, burst into Lucy’s bedroom, and there it is. Her phone, on her desk, glowing bright in the darkness. It’s good, in a way, because surely it means she hasn’t gone far. But what state of mind was she in to leave the house without it?
I hear Matt arrive just behind me, his shadow looming in the doorway. ‘We need to go and look for her,’ he says, his voice gravelly now.
‘But where do we start?’ I wail. ‘And what about Milla?’
‘Milla won’t be back for ages; we’ll have found Lucy by then.’ I know he’s trying to convince himself as much as me. ‘Can you drive?’ he adds.
‘I’ve drunk too much,’ I admit, shame smarting my cheeks. ‘But I can go on foot, check the recreation ground, call her friends maybe.’ Neither of us voices our thoughts, but we share a look. Which friends am I referring to? Bronwen was Lucy’s friend. But she’s in Wales now. And I haven’t seen Lucy hang out with anyone else since she left.
We’re pulling on our shoes when I hear the back door swing open. ‘Thank God,’ I exhale. But the respite is short-lived when I realise it’s not Lucy. ‘Milla?’
‘Party came to an abrupt end,’ she explains without waiting for the question. ‘Some boys tried to gate-crash, which caused a bit of a drama early on. And then Ava’s dad realised that Adam and Caitlin had taken pills, fucking idiots, and went apeshit. Shut the whole thing down. Felix didn’t turn up at all. Apparently he’d heard that I was bringing a new guy, which is complete crap, but still, what a total dick.’ Then she dips her head to one side and assesses us. Her expression turns to one of concern. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Lucy’s gone missing,’ Matt says matter-of-factly, hiding his terror. ‘So Mum and I are going to look for her.’
‘Fuck.’ Milla breathes out, furrowing her brow. ‘She’s definitely gone?’
‘She went to bed, but she’s not in bed,’ I explain, exasperated. ‘So she must be out there.’ I fling my hand towards the window. ‘Somewhere.’
‘Those fucking bitches,’ Milla murmurs.
‘Why did you say that?’ I push. ‘Do you know something?’
‘No, nothing,’ Milla backtracks. ‘She was just upset earlier, wasn’t she? About what those two girls did at school.’
‘Can you stay up?’ I ask. ‘And call us if she comes home? The instant she walks through the door?’
‘No way,’ Milla counters, shaking her head. ‘I’m not sitting around here, doing nothing. I’m going to look too.’
‘No, Milla,’ Matt starts.
‘Lucy is my sister,’ she throws back. ‘And I know where kids hang out in this village much better than either of you. I’m not staying at home, Dad.’
Matt lets out a sigh of surrender. ‘Okay. But you must keep in touch, do you understand? Via the family WhatsApp group.’ He turns to me. ‘As you’re on foot, can you check back here regularly? In case she comes home on her own?’
I nod. ‘Of course.’
‘Right. I’ll drive up to the Ridgeway, then across to the Kiln Lakes.’
Fear fizzes along my spine. ‘You don’t think she’s gone up to the old quarries, do you?’ Chinnor Cement Works was once a big deal in this village, but it closed twenty years ago, and the area was left derelict for a while. It’s been redeveloped now, the quarries transformed into azure blue lakes and sunken fields, but while it’s lovely in daylight, I imagine it’s terrifying at this time of night.
‘I don’t, but we need to check everywhere until we find her. Milla, where will you go?’
‘Don’t worry about me. There are a few different places I want to check. Can you drop me by the railway station?’
‘Yes, fine,’ Matt says impatiently. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Actually, wait.’ Milla pauses. ‘I might get a torch. Can you hold on a second?’
‘Can’t you use the torch function on your phone?’ I ask, impatient to leave.
‘I haven’t got much battery left. I want to save it for making sure I can keep in touch with you, like you asked.’
‘Good thinking,’ I mutter, slightly surprised that Milla would show such foresight.
‘There’s one in the shed,’ Matt tells her. ‘On charge. Grab it quickly.’ Milla disappears into the kitchen, and then I hear the flick of the lock on the patio doors, and her rushing into the garden. A minute later, she reappears, this time with a torch in her hand. She stuffs it into her small rucksack, and we tumble out of the house together.
But I pause for a moment as I’m about to lock the door. Is this a good idea? Leaving the house empty? What if Lucy comes back, desperate for some comfort? Indecision anchors me to the spot. God, why does parenting have to be so difficult?
‘Come on, Rachel,’ Matt says. ‘We need to find her.’
