The Girl in the Red Coat

16

DAY 3

When the policewoman said, ‘I’m so sorry, I have a problem with childcare,’ I could see she instantly regretted her words by the way her incisor bit into her full bottom lip, staining it deep pink. Two policewomen — family liaison officers — shared looking after me in shifts. I felt more at ease with Sophie — she was clever and sweet-faced. I never felt under investigation with her, like I did with the other one.

‘I’m so sorry. I should never have said that, of course I shouldn’t.’ Sophie bit her pretty lip again. ‘It’s the childminder — something about her husband being taken to hospital. I don’t know what to do …’

She had the anxious, intent look of a parent needing to be in another place.

‘It’s fine. Please, don’t worry about talking about your family, it feels normal — nice. Go, you go. I’ll be fine for five minutes.’

I was exhausted and quiet for the moment. The next shift were a little late — the police car would be nosing through the country lanes as we spoke, pollen softly falling on its bonnet from the plants in the hedgerow. A television appeal was being organised for that day. It made me feel better when I had something practical to think about.

Then I was alone. I sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. The house became very still and soft and I felt it was holding its breath, watching me, waiting to see what would happen next. I tried to drink my coffee. ‘You must drink,’ Sophie had said yesterday. ‘You must eat. You have to keep yourself alive.’

While I drank I made wild plans of what I’d do on her return — I’d seal up every crack in the house. I’d bring in workmen to build a gate that locked with a golden chain as thick as my wrist. I’d mix mortar in a bucket and drag stones back from the fields to lay on top of the garden wall until it reached the rooftop. Never again, I’d declare, as I worked through the night, never again will that be allowed to happen.

I’d been looking for a patch of bright red since the day she’d gone so when in my side vision a sudden flash of it slid through these crazy imaginings and past the fence outside my teeth started chattering on the cup.

As I flew to the window I spilled my coffee on the table and it splashed across the newspapers onto Carmel’s black-and-white face.

But when I looked out it was just Paul coming up the path. Through the front picket fence I could see his car parked on the road — the red through the window as he’d driven past. We hadn’t spoken since Carmel had vanished. Once, my heart would have leapt at the sight of him, even after he’d left me. Now, it throbbed painfully with adrenaline and disappointment.

His walk, everything was different about him — strangely both stumbling and purposeful. From a distance I don’t think I would have recognised him. I answered his hammering on the door and he stood there — arms hanging by his sides. He pushed past me and we stood for a second, looking wordlessly at each other.

He went and sat on the sofa. ‘Tell me what happened,’ he said, not looking at me. ‘I need to know from beginning to end. Exactly. What. Happened.’

So I did, as best I could.

‘You lost her.’

‘Yes, yes I did, Paul. It was foggy and — yes, Paul, yes, I lost her. And now, now I don’t know where she is.’

Again, like on The Day It Happened I got the sense of the ground opening up and releasing something that should have stayed compressed: the smell of mud; a deadly mustard gas seeping about the room. Our pain had a colour and a smell, it shimmered dark yellow in the morning light around our feet.

‘I’ve been questioned. They thought it might be me.’ He was angry now, like men are when there’s no action to be taken.

‘Paul, they have to do that. It’s just procedure. You must understand. I’ve been questioned too. Oh God, I’m glad to see you.’

He cut across me. ‘You lost her.’ Then: ‘It’s your fault. It’s all your fault.’ That cold chaotic stare again.

‘Paul, how can you say that? How can you be so cruel? When you haven’t even been near us for an age.’

He stood up. ‘How could I come here? It wasn’t good for her.’ He was shouting now. ‘Not with you, you looking at me so tight-lipped and hating. Children pick up on things you know — she did. She always got these marks under her eyes when I came round, dark circles. It was the stress of it. Oh, what’s the point?’ He made for the door.

‘Are you going already? Paul, please don’t leave.’ I was whimpering almost. ‘Please don’t leave me with this. She belongs to both of us.’

‘I have to.’ He pulled his palm across his eyes like he was trying to rub it all away. ‘I just … just can’t stand this. You don’t realise.’

‘But Paul, we have to stick together.’

‘No, you don’t understand.’

‘Forget about before, everything. None of it matters. Let’s concentrate on getting her back, Paul.’

‘No,’ he shouted. ‘I just can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.’ He spoke one word at a time again. ‘I. Just. Can’t. Stand. This.’

Then, without warning, he pushed me against the wall. He pushed me so hard I was pinned, my feet lifted off the ground. I looked over his shoulder through the window and saw the police car had arrived. They hadn’t got out — maybe they were talking into their mobile phones or had seen Paul’s car and decided to give us a moment alone.

‘Paul, what are you doing?’ I was having trouble breathing, his body was pressing on me so hard.

He didn’t answer. I closed my eyes and hung there. In some funny way I felt that’s how I wanted to stay — suspended forever, my feet pointing into nothingness. His head turned and for a moment I thought he was about to kiss me, but he pushed harder so his hips ground into me and his shoulder stuck into my collarbone. His breath felt hot on my neck and I could hear him making little strange noises, groaning.

When he released me I fell forwards onto my knees on the floor. Without looking back he strode across the room, and in a second he was gone, the door slamming behind him in the wind.

Then I was alone, on my hands and knees, the sound of the slam echoing around the room. I heard the noise of Paul’s car starting up and roaring away and I realised what he’d been doing. He’d been pushing as much of his grief into me as possible, to see if he could try and drive away without it — I could feel it, rooting inside and making itself at home.

But I could only feel sorry for him. Because I knew how it’d be chasing, speeding along behind until it caught him up, flying in through the window and surrounding him, like a swarm of bees. I sent my missive winging after him too, from there on the floor: ‘Don’t blame me, Paul. If nothing else, please don’t blame me.’