I drive to Mum’s care home, watching as the orange sky turns a midnight blue. They’ll be annoyed that I’ve shown up outside of visiting hours, but they’ll let me in anyway, because I’m Katy’s mum, the mother of a missing girl, and wherever I go and whatever I do, that’s who I am.
I’m still shaking from seeing Ian after all these years, the size of him, the way he smells exactly the same, like orange peels and menthol cigarettes. His dark grey eyes. The even tone of his voice, never wavering, never skipping a beat, no inflection or weakness to it, or to any part of him.
The anger I felt towards Peter gently ebbs away. It is nothing compared to what I feel towards myself. I kept a secret from Katy, and if that secret is the reason she’s not here anymore, then it’s my fault.
It is all my fault.
I ring the buzzer and one of the nurses answers a moment later, looking concerned. She unbolts the door and opens it carefully.
‘Miss Harper?’
‘I know it’s late, I just, I just need to see her.’
‘Of course,’ she says, opening the door wider. ‘Has something happened? Have they—’
I shake my head.
She smiles. ‘She isn’t asleep yet; she’s watching TV in her room. You can go straight in.’
‘Thanks,’ I say.
I knock on Mum’s door, out of habit, and she calls out straightaway, ‘Come in.’
She’s sitting facing away from the door, in darkness apart from the flicker and glow of the TV. She’s watching an old Agatha Christie film, tapping the arm of the chair, her head resting on her other hand.
‘I’m okay for everything,’ she says. ‘You can leave me for the night, I can get myself to bed.’
‘It’s me,’ I whisper.
She reaches forward and turns the TV to mute, twisting in her chair. She pushes herself against the arms, but falls back, straining to get up. ‘Stop,’ I say, rushing to her side.
I bend down next to her and sob quietly. She doesn’t say a word as I rest my head on her lap. She just strokes my hair, easing back into the chair. We stay like that for what feels like hours, until she finally says. ‘What’s going on, Grace?’
‘I’m scared they’ll find her and she won’t be alive like she is in my head,’ I whisper.
‘Has something happened?’
‘They know about Ian.’
‘The police?’
‘Yes.’
She stops stroking my hair. ‘Is that so bad?’
‘Ian knew about Katy when she went missing. He lied. If he—’ I stop.
‘Oh Grace.’
‘I should have said something to the police. I should have said something to Katy.’ She stops stroking my hair and I scoot away from her, hugging my knees into my chest. ‘What if I put her in danger?’
‘If that man did anything to Katy, it’s because he’s the sick one, he’s a disease,’ she hisses. ‘The police will find out exactly who he is.’
‘A friend she worked with betrayed her. He stole her hairbrush, and gave it to him.’
‘That’s horrible, I’m so sorry, Grace.’
‘He couldn’t just have seeped away, could he? But I just don’t understand why he came back. He must have known this could come out, that Peter might say something. Why risk that?’
‘Arrogance,’ she whispers.
I shake my head. ‘It doesn’t feel like that, it feels like something else.’
‘It’s with the police now, let them do their job.’
‘They had to let him go, you know, they couldn’t officially charge him with anything.’ I bite my lip, and finally look up at my mum. She looks so small and frail, but she puffs her chest out and bends down to cup my face. ‘You can stay here tonight; I’ll ask the nurses to make up the guest room.’
‘I’d like that,’ I say.
‘Things will look different in the morning, they always do.’
I nod, just as the nurse knocks on the door. ‘Everything okay?’ she asks, poking her head around.
‘Could you set up the guest room for my daughter, please? She’s going to stay tonight, and maybe tomorrow night as well.’
‘Yes, of course. Are you hungry?’ she asks, looking at me.
I shake my head. ‘No, I’m fine.’
‘She’ll have a cheese toastie and a glass of milk.’
‘Coming right up.’ The nurse smiles as she closes the door.
Mum winks at me. ‘Always used to do the trick when you were little, your comfort meal when you were sick or couldn’t sleep.’
‘I’m not little anymore.’
‘Still my little girl,’ she says.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you more when Dad died. I’m sorry I left you here.’
She waves her hand. ‘You never need to apologise to me, Grace. Besides, I like it here.’
‘Do you think things will ever get better?’
She shrugs. ‘Define better?’
‘Will I ever stop hurting?’
‘Not if you aren’t kinder to yourself. Now take your sandwich and go to bed.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I say, pulling myself up. I kiss her on top of the head. ‘I could clear out my office, you know? You could move in with me.’
She laughs. ‘You don’t want me there crashing your style. Plus, it’s always good to keep it free.’ She squeezes my hand.
I leave her in the dark, the TV flickering soundlessly. Her words replay around my head as I make my way down the corridor towards the guest room.
* * *
I devour the cheese toastie sitting on the end of the guest bed, not realising how hungry I was. I climb under the covers, too exhausted to shower or brush my teeth. Fully clothed I lie there, rain sluicing down the small basement window, a rush of water in the gutter, a gurgle of pipes.
I close my eyes and a warmth rushes across my face, a damp stickiness across my eyelids. There’s a gentle buzz on my thigh and, half asleep, I reach for my phone. It’s not a call, so it can’t be urgent, so I reach to the bedside table, when I see a flicker of the message on the lit screen.
I scrunch my eyes closed and open them again, forcing myself to look at the bright light of the phone. It’s an email from Annie with the subject line ‘formal meeting’.
I lean up in bed and stab at the message with my thumb, checking the time. It’s late, when did she send this?
When I open the email, I skim the message:
Hi Grace,
Thank you for coming in and taking the time to speak to Mark today. He’s keen to move forward with the documentary and would like to invite you for a more formal meeting with the producers.
Is there a time and date that would suit you?
Many thanks,
Annie
But it’s not the message my eyes are drawn to, I can’t stop looking at the email address next to the subject line. Annie-May Aarons. AMA.
I click reply, my hands shaking.
Hi Annie,
Can we meet? Away from NTV. Please don’t tell anyone. I need to speak to you about something.
Grace x
I let my phone fall onto my chest. AMA. Why did Peter ask if I spoke to Annie? But Annie denied that she knew Katy. There’s a gentle buzz against my collarbone and when I pick up my phone, there’s a reply, just a single line, an address:
FREE TONIGHT – LANCE PLACE, NORTH ROAD, LEIGH WOODS
I check the time. It’s late, but maybe she’s sensed my urgency. Could Annie be AMA? She knew Katy, and she lied about knowing Peter. She sat a few desks away when she disappeared. She’s been in that forum since day 1 too, she was just as invested.
Is she Katy’s source?