In the end, I decide to call Josh rather than go to Aberystwyth. I need to do everything I can to find out where Amy is before I rush off in the direction of Wales. He doesn’t pick up, and I wonder if I should be worried or it’s just a teen thing. Perhaps it isn’t ‘cool’ to answer your phone when it rings. All I know is that for ‘old people’ it’s bloody frustrating. I leave a voice message asking him when he last heard from Amy, and if he can please get back to me ASAP, then I text him with the same message, which may seem obsessive, but I hope he’ll see how desperate I am, take pity on me and call back. After waiting twenty long minutes for some kind of acknowledgement of my text or voice message, I have to stop checking my phone. I think I might go mad.
Then I call Zoe, who asks if I’d like her to come over.
‘Do you mind?’ I ask, knowing Richard isn’t really engaging with this, he’s just pottering around the kitchen. I know he thinks I’m being silly, but I don’t care, I can feel it in my gut. ‘Something’s really wrong,’ I hear myself say over the phone.
‘I’m sure it isn’t,’ she says.
What has to happen for someone to believe me? I know Amy isn’t at a party, or a sleepover, or on holiday. And despite saying she was coming home – she isn’t here either. So where the hell is she?
‘She may have jumped on the train last minute and she’s on her way,’ I suggest, more to placate myself than anything.
‘Yes, she could be anywhere between here and there. I’ll ask Jodie if she’s heard.’
‘She hadn’t heard from her earlier.’
‘Yes, Jodie said you’d called.’
‘Is she at home with you?’ I try not to sound envious.
‘Yes, she came home just now, she surprised me.’
‘Lovely.’ I force a smile, even though she can’t see it. I’m pleased Zoe’s spending time with her daughter, but it’s only enhancing my own fear of loss. I was hoping for the same this weekend, I’d bought all Amy’s favourite food; the fridge thinks it’s Christmas. ‘Hey, if Amy gets back here perhaps the four of us girls could go out tomorrow? Bit of shopping, afternoon tea?’ I’m trying to be positive.
‘I’d love to,’ Zoe says, ‘but I think Jodie’s back at uni tomorrow… it’s Monday.’
‘Oh, of course, sorry, I’m not thinking straight. Amy’s got tomorrow and Tuesday free, that’s why she was coming home. Could you put Jodie on the phone?’ I ask, trying not to sound desperate.
‘She’s having a bath at the moment, I’ll get her to call you the minute she’s out. Okay?’
‘Of course, thanks love, I’m just a bit anxious, you know?’
‘I do know,’ she says kindly. ‘But I also know you really mustn’t let it get the better of you. I understand how you feel, but there’s really no need to get into a state about it, I’m sure wherever Amy is, she’s fine.’
She’s beginning to sound like Richard. I thank her, tell her not to come over, to stay with Jodie, and promise to stay in touch and let her know if there’s any news.
Putting down my phone, I steal another glance at the screen to see if there are any messages, but there aren’t.
‘What did Zoe say?’ Richard asks.
‘Same as you. Calm down, shut up, don’t be an idiot. And “she’s fine”,’ I say in an annoying voice.
A half-smile crosses his face. ‘Well, for once I’m with Zoe on this.’ Then he looks up. ‘Didn’t you say Amy’s got Monday and Tuesday off uni? What if she’s decided to just go away for a couple of days with some friends?’
‘In November? She wouldn’t. Not without telling me.’
‘Kat.’ He sighs. ‘She’s eighteen, she doesn’t tell her mother everything.’
I don’t respond. I’ve had enough of this not knowing, of this terrible ache in my chest that will only disappear when I know she’s okay. So I pick up my phone.
‘I’m calling the university,’ I say, getting up from my seat and walking away from Richard, back towards the window. There’s no view here now, no trees against the sky, they’ve been swallowed up by the blackness, that’s all there is, and now the rain is pattering on the window, and I can hear wind in the distance. All I can think is, I hope to God that Amy isn’t out there somewhere.
I get through to the university, who put me through to various help desks who pass me on to twenty-four-hour security.
‘I haven’t heard from my daughter since yesterday,’ I say, aware this sounds a little weak, a touch obsessive-mother. I can almost see the guy at the other end of the phone rolling his eyes. Another doubter. ‘I know, it doesn’t sound like an emergency exactly – but it’s not like her,’ I go on to explain. ‘This is very worrying, it’s never happened before,’ I add this with deliberate alarm in my voice, to get through to the man on the other end of the phone just how serious this is.
He’s pleasant, calm and keen to point out that as Amy is eighteen years old ‘the university is unable to confirm the student’s identity or attendance at the institution’.
I, in turn, inform him this is ‘absurd’ and ask, ‘What if she’s been hurt, or she didn’t come home last night, what if…?’ I can’t even finish the sentence; I can’t think it, let alone say it.
‘Let me assure you, your concerns will be taken seriously,’ is all he says, as if he’s reading from a script.
‘So – what now? Do I wait for you to get back to me or should I head on over there? Will you call the police?’ I turn towards Richard, who looks up at this, he’s loading the dishwasher, glasses on his head, shirtsleeves rolled up, like any other Sunday evening. Except it isn’t. And every minute that goes by is turning this evening into something very different.
The voice on the other end of the phone tells me it’s my call, and I must do as I see fit – or words to that effect. It’s all very officious, but the man assures me that they will ‘respond appropriately’.
‘Whatever that means,’ I say, putting down the phone and returning to the dark window, my arms folded around me. Lost.
‘Let’s wait,’ Richard says from behind me. ‘Please let’s not blow this out of all proportion, Kat, until we know. Until we really know that she’s missing. There may not even be a problem.’
But there is a problem. No one is listening.