Have You Seen Her. Lisa Hall

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СКАЧАТЬ drains from her face. ‘She didn’t hold my hand. She didn’t catch up with me at all.’

      I feel sick at Fran’s words, her fingers gripping my forearm, digging in vice-like. Trying to crush the rising unease that makes my stomach do a tiny somersault, I take a deep breath, peeling Fran’s fingers from my arm and taking her hand in mine.

      ‘Don’t panic,’ I say, trying to keep my voice level and calm, ‘she must have just wandered off. There are people on the gate; no one would let her walk out on her own, she’s only little.’

      Fran nods, her face a sickly shade of white. ‘We need to look for her, I need to find her. Surely, she can’t have gone too far?’ She drops my hand and starts to shove her way past the crowds of people hemming us in. I follow after her, ignoring the tuts and frowns from others. Finally, I break free of the crush and catch up to her, as she begins to run across the field towards the bank of portaloos, slipping and sliding in the mud that coats her designer wellies.

      ‘Wait, Fran,’ I gasp, ‘wait. We need to … to think for a minute. We need to think about this logically, about where she might be.’

      ‘She was following me to the loos, that’s what you told me,’ Fran says, her eyes frantically scanning the field behind me, ‘I’m going to look there, maybe she did follow me, maybe she’s got locked in one of them, maybe she’s banging on the door now and no one can hear her.’ Another burst of fireworks erupts in the sky with a popping noise, as she pulls her arm away from me, staggering slightly.

      ‘OK,’ I nod, ‘good idea. You check the loos, I’ll go and ask at the barbecue area. See if they’ve seen her – she might have asked for you if she couldn’t find her way back to us in the crowd.’ Fran has hammered it home from the first day I began working with them, that if Laurel gets lost she must find a policeman, or security guard — someone in authority — and ask them to find her mummy. Laurel knows the rules. Fran gives a sharp nod, but I can see her mind is already on getting to the portaloos, and she turns and starts to run towards the row of green plastic cabins. I gaze after her for a moment, a whicker of fear making my pulse beat faster, making my feet stick to the ground for just a minute before I begin the walk over to the barbecue area. I hurry as fast as I can, but the field beneath my feet is a slurry of mud, thanks to three days of constant rain, and straw, laid to soak up the mud, which is now a thick, sludgy, slippery mess.

      Heat, a thudding bass from the DJ system in the ‘bar’ area (a tent, with a trestle table full of wine and beer bottles), and the acrid scent of barbecue smoke assaults my senses as I approach the table, and I have to swallow hard before I can speak.

      ‘Hi.’ My voice is drowned out by the crappy music, and the pop of fireworks exploding over my head. ‘Hey!’ I shout.

      ‘Hello, darlin’, what can I get you? Burger? Sausage?’ The burly guy behind the table turns to me, hot dog roll in hand. It’s my second visit to Pete the Meat tonight, the local butcher (and local lothario, if the rumours are true).

      ‘No, no thank you.’ I shake my head, ‘I’m looking for a little girl – she’s got lost. Have you seen her?’

      ‘What’s she look like?’ There is a smear of tomato ketchup across the sleeve of his white coat, a slash that looks like blood against the clinical whiteness, and my mouth goes dry.

      ‘She’s four, um … about this high.’ I hold my hand at about waist height. ‘She’s got blonde hair, and she’s wearing a pink coat, pink wellies and a sparkly silver bobble hat.’

      ‘Can’t say that I have. Let me ask the others.’ He turns and shouts to the two teenagers that work behind him, slicing rolls and folding napkins, before turning back to me. ‘Sorry, darlin’, we haven’t seen her. We’ll keep an eye out though, yeah?’

      ‘OK. Thank you.’ I try and muster a smile, before turning back to the field. I scan across the crowds, my eyes seeking out that distinct glittery bobble hat in the dark but to no avail. Spying the admissions table, where three PTA mums sit all bundled up against the cold, I start to hurry towards them, cursing the mud for hampering my progress.

      ‘Hello, hi.’ I am breathless with the effort of trudging through the churned-up mud as I reach the table. ‘Can you help me? I’m looking for a little girl.’

      ‘Is she lost?’ A caramel blonde woman, wearing an expensive waxed jacket and perfect make-up speaks first, her eyes widening as her hand with its long, manicured nails flies to cover her mouth.

      ‘Yes, I think so … I mean, she followed her mum to the loo and … look, we can’t find her, her name is Laurel Jessop, she’s four …’

      ‘Laurel?’ One of the other women gasps, strands of her dark hair sticking to her lip gloss as she jumps to her feet. ‘I know Laurel, she’s a friend of my daughter, Daisy.’ As she says the words I recognise her as the woman my friend Jessika nannies for.

      ‘Yes, Laurel. Please, have you seen her? She’s going to be frightened if she’s wandered off and she can’t find us.’ My fingers knit together anxiously as I look from one to the other, my feet itching to get back to the field, to start looking for Laurel. The third woman, pale and mousy, who I recognise from the school gate but can’t match to a child looks up with wide eyes but says nothing, her fingers pausing briefly in their tidying of admission tickets.

      ‘We haven’t seen her,’ Caramel Blonde says, ‘and we wouldn’t let a little one out on their own. Oh my gosh, this is terrible.’ She turns to the dark-haired woman, Daisy’s mother, an accusatory tone creeping into her voice. ‘I told you we should have set up a lost children zone.’

      ‘Please …’ I say again, ‘are you absolutely sure she hasn’t been past here?’ Even as I say the words I know Laurel hasn’t – she would have stopped and asked Daisy’s mum to help her find us, as per Fran’s strict rules.

      ‘Absolutely sure,’ the woman says firmly, shouldering her way past Daisy’s mother to come and stand next to me, her eyes scanning the field. ‘Right. Where’s Mr Abbott? The head will need to know about this – we have a process to set in place when a child goes missing. You two,’ she turns to the women next to her, an officious air about her now, as though she’s used to taking charge, ‘you need to get this gate closed off before things finish and people start to leave.’

      Daisy’s mother starts nodding frantically in agreement, twisting her hands together as she looks anxiously between the open gate and the hordes of people watching the fireworks burst over our heads, panic starting to creep across her features. The mousy woman tidying the tickets whispers something, but before I can ask her to repeat it, there is a huge cheer as the grand finale of the fireworks goes off, and to my horror I see people start to turn to depart, gathering up small children with their glow sticks, stumbling over discarded polystyrene cups and sweet wrappers as they make their way through the field back towards the still open gate and the darkened lane that leads out and away towards the main roads.

      ‘Anna!’ Fran careers across the field, her feet almost sliding out from under her, her hat pushed right back on her head. Her eyes are glittery, and her cheeks flushed, and I think at first that it’s all OK, that Laurel was just locked in the loo after all. ‘Did you find her?’

      My heart sinks. Fran is flushed from her frantic searching, not because it’s all over.

      ‘Anna? Did you find her?’ Fran repeats, and I shake my head.

      ‘No. No one has seen her. I checked with Pete at the barbecue station, СКАЧАТЬ