‘No, still no sign of her, love. The kids are going spare.’
Hilary had snatched the phone from its cradle as soon as it rang, her shoulders slumping when she realised it wasn’t her daughter on the other end of the line.
It had become a familiar ritual these few days.
‘Yeah. I will, love. But I’m fine, really. Got everything in hand.’
At the very least she’d hoped it would be PC Schofield, from Huckensall Police Station, but it never was. Just the latest in a long line of well-wishers – or out-and-out busybodies like Gracie Noakes.
‘Thanks for phoning, Gracie love. Bye then. Bye.’
The handset beeped as it slotted back into the cradle. Hilary glanced up at the clock in the hallway, and willed herself not to cry. No more tears. There had been enough shed since Thursday, ever since she’d got out of the Palace Theatre to find seventeen missed calls on her mobile. Poor Masie had been so scared on the phone:
‘Nan? Mum’s gone out, and she hasn’t come back. Can you call us, please?’
Masie tried to act so grown-up all the time, but Sammy’s disappearance had only reminded Hilary how young her granddaughter still was.
Hilary plodded to the kitchen and stared at the kettle. How many times had she scolded Sammy for clicking it on whenever she walked into the kitchen? It’s just a habit, love. You hardly ever make a cup. Think of the electricity you’re wasting.
Sammy’s dad had been the same. Continually boiling the kettle whether anyone wanted a brew or not.
Hilary couldn’t give a monkeys about wasted electricity now. She just wanted her Sammy back.
She opened the blinds at the kitchen window, searching the dark street for any movement outside. The council had replaced the streetlights with those new LED lamps. They didn’t give half as much light as the old ones. Far too gloomy, if you asked her. Hilary had told their local MP exactly what she thought of them at his last surgery down at the community centre. What was the point of saving the planet if the streets weren’t safe?
That was a thought. Maybe their Right Honourable Waste of Space could help for once. She’d ring him first thing in the morning. Tomorrow would be three days since Sammy disappeared. The police would be passing the case onto the Missing People Unit, at least that’s what PC Schofield said.
‘Your daughter will be home in no time, Mrs Walsh. I’m sure of it.’
How on earth could she be sure, sitting there fresh-faced in her uniform, a mere slip of a girl?
It was true what they said. You know you’re getting old when the police start to look younger.
They’d looked younger for a long time.
She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. Dropping them beside the kettle, she went to pull the blinds. That’s when she saw it, something moving at the end of the street. Snatching up her glasses, Hilary rushed to the front door, flinging it open.
‘Sammy?’
No such luck. It was just the tabby from number seven, the dirty little so-and-so that did its business beneath Sammy’s bushes.
Hilary leant on the doorframe and let out a sob. She didn’t care if any of the neighbours were watching, not this time.
‘Where are you Sammy love?’ she asked the night. ‘Come home, won’t you? Please.’
Upstairs, Noah tossed and turned in bed. He couldn’t sleep, but there was no point going downstairs. Nan would only send him back to bed, quick-smart.
Mum wouldn’t.
Mum would let him cuddle up with her on the sofa and watch the soaps. Not for long, mind. Just enough to make him feel sleepy.
But Mum wasn’t here.
He turned over again, facing the wall as tears soaked his pillow. It wasn’t fair. Why would Mum leave like that? Running out into the night, leaving her phone behind.
He was sure it was because of what he’d done, him and Frankie, sneaking out of school.
‘Don’t be so soft, Noah-love,’ Nan had said, but he knew it was all his fault. Masie did too. He could tell the way she looked at him, from the blame in her eyes.
‘Peanut?’
The voice made him jump. He twisted around, his duvet now one big knot. He couldn’t see who had called out, but there was no mistaking the voice.
‘Mum?’
‘Peanut, I need you. I’m trapped.’
‘Mum!’
Noah clawed the duvet away from his face. She was there, standing by the window, in the same clothes she’d been wearing the day she never came home. Her uniform from the Mercian Bank, a smart blouse and skirt, but even in the pale glow of his nightlight he could see they were dirty. The blouse was plastered with mud, like she’d been out playing rugby, her skirt ripped, rucked up over scabbed knees. Her hair was matted, leaves caught up in the curls he loved to twirl around his fingers, and her face was streaked, tears rolling down grimy cheeks.
‘Noah, please … Can’t get out.’
Noah kicked his duvet away, calling for his sister as another figure appeared behind Mum. It was tall, too tall, with long lank hair. And its face … It was completely blank, until it opened eyes that hadn’t been there a second before, and light blazed across the room.
Noah couldn’t move. It wasn’t the duvet this time. His legs and arms just weren’t working. He could only watch as the Shining Man wrapped its spindly arms around his mum and dragged her into a gaping hole in the floor. Sammy screamed and threw out an arm, reaching desperately for Noah, calling his name.
‘Peanut, please! You’ve got to find us! Get us out of here!’
And then they were gone. Mum, the Shining Man, even the hole in the floor.
Noah finally found his voice, crying out as he tumbled from the bed, hitting the floor.
‘Noah?’
The door of his bedroom flew open and Masie rushed in. She dropped beside him, scooping him up into her arms and forgetting for a moment that her role in life was to be on his case.
He hugged her back, holding her close. ‘It was Mum. Masie, she was here. The Shining Man.’
‘Shhh,’ she said, stroking his tangled hair. ‘It was just a bad dream.’
Now Nan appeared at the door. ‘What’s all the racket?
‘Noah had a nightmare,’ Masie told her. ‘That’s all.’
Noah pushed his sister away. Why did she keep saying that? ‘It wasn’t a dream! She was here, by the window! A Shining Man got her. He dragged her into the floor!’
Masie looked where he was pointing, but Nan was having none of it.
‘Enough of this now,’ she said, smoothing out the crumpled duvet. ‘I don’t want to hear any more about Shining Men.’
‘But …’
She turned on him, angrily. ‘But nothing. If you hadn’t filled your mum’s head with all this Shining Man nonsense—’
Nan stopped herself, but it was too late.
‘She would never have gone out,’ Noah barked, his eyes brimming with fresh tears.
Nan sagged against the bed, her face greyer than ever. ‘I didn’t mean—’
The phone rang in the hall. Nan went to go and then stopped herself, caught between the need to make peace with her grandson and to rush downstairs.
‘I’ll tuck him in, Nan,’ Masie said. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘Thanks, love,’ the old woman said, flashing Noah a look full of regret before disappearing out of the door.
The two of them listened to the stairs creak as she hurried down to the phone. There was a clatter and then a beep, followed by an eager ‘Hello?’
Then came a pause, and a disappointed sigh. ‘Oh hello, Barbara. No, still nothing.’
Masie got up and closed Noah’s door.
He bristled where he sat on the floor, hugging his knees. ‘I knew she blamed me.’
‘She doesn’t,’ Masie said, listening through the door.
‘And you’re just going to tell me I imagined it. But it wasn’t a dream, or a nightmare, or anything. Mum was here!’
‘By the window,’ Masie said.
Noah wiped his nose on his onesie sleeve. ‘She said she needed me; that she was trapped.’
Masie flicked the light switch, the big light coming on. Both turned to the window, the curtains moving slightly from the breeze. There was a crack in the double-glazing. Mum always said she would get it fixed.
Masie crept forward, stopping next to Noah’s desk. He shuffled over to where she was looking.
Mum had put a new carpet down the last time Noah’s room was decorated; a light tan colour. Nan had told her she was mad.
‘A colour like that in a boy’s room? It’ll be filthy in no time.’
Now, both Noah and Masie were glad that Mum hadn’t listened to her.
There was a muddy footprint on the carpet beneath the draughty window, too large for Noah.
A woman’s footprint. Mum’s footprint.
There was something else as well. A leaf, brown and brittle, its edges curled up with age.
‘Mum had leaves in her hair,’ Noah told Masie as she bent down and prodded it carefully, as if worried it would burst into flames.
‘What tree’s it from?’ Masie asked, kneeling beside Noah.
‘I don’t know. An oak maybe?’ He’d made a large collage of leaves in year three, labelling each type in turn. ‘But you know what this means, don’t you?’
‘Mum was here,’ Masie said, staring at the footprint. ‘It wasn’t just a dream.’
Noah sniffed again. Without thinking, Masie reached up to his desk and pulled a tissue from a box, passing it to him. He blew his nose noisily.
‘So what do we do?’ he said, chucking the screwed-up rag at the Star Wars bin beneath the table. It fell to the floor instead.
Masie’s voice wobbled as she answered, although Noah could tell she was trying to sound brave. ‘We wait for Nan to go to sleep, and then we go down to the woods.’
Noah’s eyes went wide. ‘In the dark?’
Masie shrugged. ‘Where else are we going to find an oak tree? If that’s where Mum is …’
Noah wanted to crawl back into bed, pull the duvet over his head and pretend none of this was happening, but the memory of Mum and the Shining Man was just too fresh. Too painful.
Peanut, I need you. I’m trapped. You’ve got to find me. Get me out of here.
Noah got up and opened his desk drawer, pulling out the toy torches Mum had given him last time they went camping. One was shaped like a lightsaber; the other had Superman flying up its handle.
He passed the Man of Steel to his sister. Superman wouldn’t be scared. Superman would save his mum.
‘You’re right,’ he told Masie, testing the battery on the lightsaber. ‘Let’s go and find her.’