Bedlam this morning. Shelley McDade – one of the big girls from our house – has gone missing.
We are woken up, as always, at 6.30 a.m. by Mrs Paterson ringing the bell. I hate that bloody bell. I was having a dream and she ruined it. We all get dressed in our room while Mrs Paterson gets the babies up, then the next thing there’s a panic from the big girls’ room.
The big girls’ room is down the end of the hallway. There are six of them in there and they are aged fourteen to sixteen. They give us so much trouble if we ever go into their room, but they can come into ours whenever they like. They often take things and threaten us with a ‘doing’ if we tell on them.
Anyway, Shelley McDade is gone. Her bed isn’t made; she has just gone. She went to bed last night, then when everyone woke up in the morning she wasn’t there. It doesn’t seem as if any of her clothes are missing.
I go cold. The thought that anyone could come into our house and take one of us without anyone noticing makes me pure terrified.
Mrs Paterson and Mr Paterson are frantic, they’re looking everywhere they can in the house. Cook comes up to help. They keep searching in the same places, as if Shelley might come back in the time since they last looked. We just stand on the landing watching them racing about.
‘Stay in your rooms!’ shouts Mr Paterson.
We go back to our bedroom and Jonesy sits on my bed with me. Shona and Pam sit with us. Eldrey is on her bed, silently looking at the floor and shaking. Mary is as scared as anything. She keeps walking backwards and forwards repeating, ‘Oh no, oh my God, oh no, oh my God …’
Mary really likes Shelley. We all seem to have one of the big girls who we like. Mine is Fiona Manning. She always keeps an eye out for me. She’s a wee bit cannier than the others, which is why I think she likes me.
‘Whit have they done with her, whit have they done?’
Pam gets up and peers out the window. ‘Shit, it’s the Superintendent,’ she says.
We all rush to the window.
‘Oh my God, he looks like he’s gonnae murder someone,’ says Jonesy.
‘He does an’ all,’ says Pam.
Mr Gordon storms up the cottage path and bangs on the door. Someone lets him in, and we go to the bedroom door to see what’s happening. We open it a little so we can just see down the stairs.
‘What the fuck is going on?’ he shouts.
Mr Paterson is trying to calm him down and tell him what has happened. It’s strange seeing Mr Paterson – who can be a bastard – be intimidated by an even bigger bastard.
We hear bits of their conversation. Mr Paterson says when they last saw Shelley, what happened when they went into her room this morning, who her friends are.
The Super asks if the police have been called. When Mr Paterson says no, the Super shouts, ‘Well, why the fuck not?’
Mr Paterson gets on the phone, then the Superintendent starts to march up the stairs. We shut our door but can hear his boots coming up. He opens our door and looks in. We all hold our breath, then he shuts the door. He goes on, opening every door on our floor.
‘Holy shit,’ says Jonesy.
‘I know,’ says Pam.
‘Look! Look!’ shouts Mary. ‘It’s her, it’s her, it’s Shelley!’
We go to the window and it is her. She’s walking up to the cottage carrying a towel.
‘Oh, she is so deid,’ says Pam.
We don’t have a chance to go and tell anyone before Shelley opens the front door and walks inside. We all run to the top of the stairs again. Mr Paterson turns around and puts the phone down. He sees Shelley, walks up to her and before she knows it – SMACK – she’s on the floor – sparko.
None of us says a word. Mr Gordon comes out from the last bedroom on the landing. He walks through us and down the stairs.
‘That her?’ he asks Mr Paterson, pointing at Shelley on the floor.
‘Aye,’ says Mr Paterson.
‘She all right?’ the Super asks.
‘She won’t be when I’m done with her,’ says Mr Paterson.
The Super doesn’t say anything, just nods and steps over her body and leaves the house.
Mr Paterson sees us all at the top of the stairs. ‘GET BACK IN YOUR ROOMS AND STAY THERE TILL WE CALL BREAKFAST!’ he shouts.
We do as we are told.
I had been feeling very sorry for myself. If Shelley has done nothing else, she has managed to make me stop feeling so bad. But I worry for her. She’s in for an awful day.