‘I’ll ask Nancy to pass their details on to you – tomorrow, if you like?’
I nodded but I was already distracted, moving away from the counter, towards where I’d left you by the open door.
I froze. You’d gone.
I’d turned my back on you for just a few minutes. It was foolish of me. I never normally let you out of my sight. But I felt unusually safe in that moment, you see, surrounded by a collective Christmas cheer and villagers who didn’t really know me but whom I’d been watching for the last three years, from afar, to see whom I could trust. They all seemed honest, hard-working folk. Salt of the earth. And I thought I could trust you, that I’d instilled it in you since you could walk to be careful, to stay near me. Not to wander off. But you were just a little girl. Only two and a half. A little girl mesmerized by the glitziness of Christmas.
You’d gone.
‘Lolly!’ I cried, unable to keep the panic from my voice. I stepped out of the café and onto the street. My eyes scanned the pavements and the square, the group of carol singers, who had finished their rendition of ‘Silent Night’ and begun to disperse. It had been a minute, two at the most. You couldn’t have got very far. Yet I couldn’t see you anywhere. I couldn’t see your little red coat or your pink scarf or the bright patterned bobble hat. Blood rushed to my ears.
‘Are you okay?’ I could hear Melissa’s voice behind me but it felt distorted, like I was under water.
‘She’s gone! Lolly’s gone!’ I cried. ‘I can’t see her. I can’t see her anywhere.’
People were milling about, laughing, talking, sipping mulled wine. I wanted to scream at them all. GET OUT THE WAY! WHERE IS SHE? WHERE’S MY CHILD? I could feel tears at the back of my eyes, panic pressing on my chest.
He’s taken you. That’s all I could think, over and over again, replaying like a horror film in my mind.
I pushed past people, calling your name. I could sense that Melissa was behind me, trying to calm me, but I couldn’t process what she was saying. I was in a panic. A blind panic – I’ve heard people call it that, and that’s exactly how it felt. I was blinded by fear.
I pushed through people, Melissa on my tail. I heard her asking them if they’d seen a little girl in a red duffel coat.
And then there you were. I saw you through the crowds, holding the hand of the mysterious woman I would come to know as Daphne Hartall. You were smiling but had dried tear tracks on your cheeks.
I rushed over to you, almost snatching you away from the tall, thin woman and bending down to your level, hugging you to me, breathing in your familiar sweet smell. ‘Thank God, thank God, thank God.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ the woman said. Her voice was husky. ‘She looked lost so I said I’d help her find her mummy.’ I noticed she was clutching your polystyrene cup, the rim sticky with chocolate.
I stood up, holding on to your hand. Never wanting to let go of it again.
‘See?’ said a voice behind me. It was Melissa, her large bosoms rising up and down as she gasped for breath. ‘I knew …’ pant, pant ‘… she’d be fine.’
‘Thanks, Melissa. I’m sorry … for the overreaction.’
She nodded, her hand pressed to her chest, and said it was no problem and that she’d better get back to the café. But she threw me a strange look over her shoulder as she went. I knew what she was thinking – that I was an over-protective mother. Hysterical.
There were a few beats of awkward silence and then the woman said, ‘I’m Daphne.’
‘Rose. And this is Lolly.’
She smiled and it lit up her whole face, making her seem less severe, less angular. Now I was closer to her I could see the tips of her long eyelashes were blue. ‘Yes, she told me that. An unusual name.’