taking her daughter to the movies or shopping or for lunch. They’d gone to see The Nutcracker at Christmas; Anna was open-mouthed. Spellbound. Julia understood the magic of theatre, the way it brought drama to life, in a way she had never done before. Anna asked frequently when Christmas was coming, so she could see it again.
Yes – her love for Anna was all-consuming, so maybe it was best that she have only one child.
One child who was now gone.
And, although she would not admit it to herself, part of Julia was sure Anna was gone. Of course, she still hoped that Anna would show up. She had to. Without that hope she would probably not have been able to carry on. But, however much she tried to ignore it, she was aware that she might never see her daughter again.
Might never meet – and disapprove of – Anna’s first boyfriend. Might never watch her fall in love, graduate, marry. Might never become a grandparent. There was an entire future at stake here, both for her and for her daughter and husband.
Before she fell asleep, alone in the bedroom, her only company the sound of Brian’s footsteps as he walked from the kitchen table to the booze cabinet, she’d googled ‘missing children’. It was a mistake, just like it was a mistake to google your symptoms. Persistent runny nose? Not a cold – it was brain fluid leaking out of your cranium. Always tired? Not a condition of being a parent – it was a rare virus that would gradually eat away at your muscles until you wasted away to nothing. Constipation? Bowel cancer. The difference was, these were false diagnoses. In the morning, a doctor would tell you not to worry and send you on your way.
When it came to missing children the facts – or the patterns, at least – were pretty clear.
Kids, – especially five-year-old kids – were either found in the first few hours, or not at all.
Yes, there were exceptions (and that was where the hope came from) but for the most part (and please let Anna be different, please) five-year-old kids either showed up pretty soon after they went missing – maybe at a friend’s house, or in the care of a concerned adult who had seen them alone – or they didn’t show up at all.
She had read accounts of police investigations; read about the kind of people who abducted young girls, and the reasons they did so. She read about criminal gangs who kidnapped kids into slavery, or for rich people who couldn’t have kids of their own, she read about lone wolf predators who took kids and hid them for years, until the kids grew up and lost their appeal and were murdered. She read about paedophile gangs, who took kids and passed them around their network, filmed them being raped to order, and then disposed of their broken bodies in landfill sites in the Third World.
She’d run to the bathroom sink and vomited until there was nothing left to come out other than bile and saliva. It was funny how your body reacted to extreme emotion by emptying the stomach. She didn’t know why that would be the case; you’d think it would be better to retain the food so as to have some energy to deal with whatever crisis it was.
Even so, she wasn’t hungry now. The thought of food held no appeal whatsoever; she wasn’t sure it ever would again. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, there was a creak behind her. For a second, instinct took over and Julia thought it was Anna coming down for an early morning cuddle; her spirits rose, the gloom lifted. And then she turned to look and reality reasserted its grip.
It was Brian. His eyes were red, his face unshaven. He was one of those men who grew facial hair very quickly. If they went out in the evening he would have to shave for a second time in the day. She had found it interesting, at first. Charming. Manly. Part of the husband she loved. Now she found it off-putting, and there were plenty of other things about him that had a similar effect: all his physical imperfections, the smells and
Yes – her love for Anna was all-consuming, so maybe it was best that she have only one child.
One child who was now gone.
And, although she would not admit it to herself, part of Julia was sure Anna was gone. Of course, she still hoped that Anna would show up. She had to. Without that hope she would probably not have been able to carry on. But, however much she tried to ignore it, she was aware that she might never see her daughter again.
Might never meet – and disapprove of – Anna’s first boyfriend. Might never watch her fall in love, graduate, marry. Might never become a grandparent. There was an entire future at stake here, both for her and for her daughter and husband.
Before she fell asleep, alone in the bedroom, her only company the sound of Brian’s footsteps as he walked from the kitchen table to the booze cabinet, she’d googled ‘missing children’. It was a mistake, just like it was a mistake to google your symptoms. Persistent runny nose? Not a cold – it was brain fluid leaking out of your cranium. Always tired? Not a condition of being a parent – it was a rare virus that would gradually eat away at your muscles until you wasted away to nothing. Constipation? Bowel cancer. The difference was, these were false diagnoses. In the morning, a doctor would tell you not to worry and send you on your way.
When it came to missing children the facts – or the patterns, at least – were pretty clear.
Kids, – especially five-year-old kids – were either found in the first few hours, or not at all.
Yes, there were exceptions (and that was where the hope came from) but for the most part (and please let Anna be different, please) five-year-old kids either showed up pretty soon after they went missing – maybe at a friend’s house, or in the care of a concerned adult who had seen them alone – or they didn’t show up at all.
She had read accounts of police investigations; read about the kind of people who abducted young girls, and the reasons they did so. She read about criminal gangs who kidnapped kids into slavery, or for rich people who couldn’t have kids of their own, she read about lone wolf predators who took kids and hid them for years, until the kids grew up and lost their appeal and were murdered. She read about paedophile gangs, who took kids and passed them around their network, filmed them being raped to order, and then disposed of their broken bodies in landfill sites in the Third World.
She’d run to the bathroom sink and vomited until there was nothing left to come out other than bile and saliva. It was funny how your body reacted to extreme emotion by emptying the stomach. She didn’t know why that would be the case; you’d think it would be better to retain the food so as to have some energy to deal with whatever crisis it was.
Even so, she wasn’t hungry now. The thought of food held no appeal whatsoever; she wasn’t sure it ever would again. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, there was a creak behind her. For a second, instinct took over and Julia thought it was Anna coming down for an early morning cuddle; her spirits rose, the gloom lifted. And then she turned to look and reality reasserted its grip.
It was Brian. His eyes were red, his face unshaven. He was one of those men who grew facial hair very quickly. If they went out in the evening he would have to shave for a second time in the day. She had found it interesting, at first. Charming. Manly. Part of the husband she loved. Now she found it off-putting, and there were plenty of other things about him that had a similar effect: all his physical imperfections, the smells and
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