Rachel

‘Take a seat, Mr and Mrs Sullivan.’

The person speaking to her was the head of security. Mid-fifties, clean-shaven head, kind eyes. Rachel had already forgotten his name.

They had been ushered inside the venue, to the ‘control room’. Emmet had stayed behind to man the meeting place. In addition to the security staff, there were two police officers in the room. Bridie’s description was repeated over a two-way radio system, alerting other security staff and police, as well as cleaners, carpark attendants and traffic controllers. ‘Female, fifteen years old, dark-brown hair, blue eyes, faded jeans …’

‘She has a navy Billabong backpack,’ Rachel added, aware that it was a nondescript, useless detail.

One of the security personnel was checking CCTV footage, rewinding to the approximate time Bridie had gone to the toilets, trying to see if she had popped up on any of the cameras.

Now Rory was speaking, his voice gruff and vulnerable at the same time. ‘Look, I appreciate your help, but I don’t want to waste time sitting around looking at video footage. I need to get out there and look for my daughter.’

The security staff were unanimous: Bridie was not inside the stadium. Their daughter was somewhere ‘out there’. A fifteen-year-old girl alone, close to one of the city’s biggest parklands in the dead of night. Rachel’s stomach lurched.

Emmet was alone, too, while they sat here and briefed the police. Her son was only a couple of years older than Bridie. Had they done the right thing leaving him at the monument? What if he was attacked by a gang or robbed or something equally horrific? But the thought of leaving the meeting spot unmanned was untenable. Bridie might still turn up when she stopped feeling sick, or realised she’d walked in completely the wrong direction, or finally remembered that her family was waiting for her.

The older police officer was speaking. Rachel couldn’t remember his name either. Her brain was mush. She had to concentrate.

‘We’ll need a good close-up photo, please. Do you have one you can send me?’

At last, something constructive she could do. Since her diagnosis, she’d been taking more photos of the kids. Whenever there was a special occasion, or if they happened to look nice, or if she was just feeling sentimental. Bridie and Emmet humoured her, reluctantly posing, understanding her need to capture the ‘now’ because the future looked so shaky.

‘Just give me a minute,’ she said, scrolling through her phone.

He continued speaking. ‘We’ll circulate the photo immediately ... Is there someone at home if Bridie turns up there in the meantime?’

Rachel looked up from her phone to meet Rory’s gaze. What state was Sean in? Hopefully, not off his face or comatose after an evening of heavy drinking. Could they rely on him to hold the fort at home?

Rory stepped outside the room to phone him.

‘Does Bridie have an Opal card with her?’ the sergeant asked.

Rachel nodded. ‘I checked the balance on everyone’s card as we were leaving Cronulla.’

‘Would she know how to get home from here?’

‘She doesn’t know this part of the city very well, but she’d be fine once she got as far as Central. She’s familiar with the train, we’re the last stop.’

How long before Bridie gave up on finding them and headed home? If she couldn’t manage to orient herself at the precinct, it was hard to imagine her successfully navigating her way to Central. Especially if her phone was dead and she couldn’t use Google Maps.

Once again, Rachel quelled the urge to throw up. ‘I’ve got a photo ... How should I send it to you?’

The photo she’d chosen had been taken in August. Bridie, waist-up, as she modelled a new top. She looked like herself in the photo; in many of the others she was pouting or pulling silly faces. Rachel was sharply reminded of the last time she’d provided a photo of her missing daughter, a lifetime ago at the Royal Easter Show, the longest thirty minutes of Rachel’s life. She had envisaged the worst: her daughter being kidnapped, tortured, abused. Instead, she’d been found next to the pony enclosure, happily gazing at the animals, her stubby finger pointing at her favourite one.

‘I want that one,’ she’d told the nice lady who’d approached her on hearing the announcement.

It had taken a long time to recover from the terror of that day. Bridie’s hand was held fiercely whenever they were out in public. She was repeatedly warned that it was dangerous to wander off on her own. Now this. How many nice ladies were out and about at this hour? This was a quiet part of the city, aside from when an event was being held. The nearby parks were dark and deserted, humming with potential danger. Bridie would have to rely on herself, not a benevolent stranger.

Rory returned to the room. ‘I’ve spoken to Sean. He’ll stay up and let us know if she comes home.’ He turned to the security boss. ‘Would it be possible to charge my phone? I’m running low on battery.’

‘Sure. Over here.’

Having sorted out Rory’s phone, the security boss unfurled a large map of the local area. ‘There’s a possibility she got disoriented and followed the crowd to the Entertainment Quarter. On the other side of Lang Road is Centennial Park, which she might have confused for Moore Park and your meeting spot. That said, the Entertainment Quarter is very different to the route you took on arrival. Unless she wasn’t paying attention. Or she’s under the influence of some sort of
substance.’

Rory shook his head vehemently. ‘No way. Not Bridie.’

Rachel agreed. ‘She doesn’t take drugs. Whatever has happened, it’s not that.’

‘It’s best to keep an open mind,’ the sergeant said in a diplomatic tone. ‘Sensible kids can make dumb decisions …’

Rachel felt the rise of vomit again. The thought of Bridie in that huge parkland, stumbling around, not in her right mind.

This is my fault. I caused this. The concert was my idea. I was the one who purchased the split tickets.

She hadn’t properly considered the risks. The risk of one of the kids becoming unwell or hurt or lost. Her mind had been absorbed with Nico and Sean when she should have been focused on keeping her children safe.

This is all my fault. I will never forgive myself if something terrible has happened to Bridie.

The sergeant spoke into his radio, putting out another alert to patrolling officers in the area. Bridie’s photo was circulated through whatever technology they used. A couple of cars would cruise through the parks and along the route to Central Station. But would they be able to see anything useful from a car?

‘I’m going out to look for her,’ Rory announced. He indicated the map. ‘I’ll check the Entertainment Quarter, in case the crowd carried her that way.’

Rachel stood up. The room spun. She held on to the back of the chair to steady herself. ‘I’m coming with you,’ she said, shocked that her voice sounded so strong when she felt so terribly weak.

This morning she’d thought that cancer recurrence was her worst nightmare. She couldn’t have been more wrong.