I sucked air into my lungs, choking on a rising sob, then darted into the kitchen, pulled off a square of kitchen towel and blew my nose. I didn’t want the others to see me disintegrating. It would only freak them out. Because I didn’t panic. I was the calm and collected one, the one who knew what to do in a crisis. I pressed my hands against my face. My skin felt hot, fevered. I curled my fingers into fists and jammed them into my eye sockets until I saw stars.
Something my grandad used to say to me when I was a little girl popped into my head.
‘See, Cleo? Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday, and all is well.’
And he was right. It was silly to worry. Who was to say that Immy wasn’t in her bedroom right now, playing with her dolls or leafing through a picture book, oblivious to our panic? I ran up the stairs and burst into her room.
Stuart was staring vacantly into the built-in cupboard between the chimney breast and the wall while Nate peered under the bed.
‘She’s not here, Mummy,’ he said, his brows puckered.
Stuart turned to me. ‘Should we call the police?’
‘The police?’
‘We need to report her missing.’
I swallowed. Calling the police made it real. Wheels would be set in motion, protocols and procedures followed. There was no turning back from that. ‘Let’s search the house one last time,’ I said. ‘We’d look pretty silly if she’s hiding in the attic. You checked the attic?’
Hope flared behind his eyes and he started for the door. ‘The attic, of course,’ he said. ‘She’s bound to be there.’
I followed him across the landing to the steep, narrow staircase that led to the second floor of Stour House. Once the servants’ quarters, the two rooms now served as my home office and a guest bedroom. Tucked away beside the bed in the guest room was an oak door that led to a gap in the roof space sandwiched between the bedroom wall and the chimney. Chipboard lined the floor and an LED lantern hung from a rafter. The kids had dragged cushions and soft toys inside and spent many a rainy afternoon in there playing.
The door was closed, and Stuart yanked it open, calling Immy’s name. As soon as I saw the yawning black hole behind him, I knew she wasn’t there. Immy may have loved the attic room, but she hated the dark. She’d never have gone in without the light on.
Stuart crawled in and turned on the lantern. Immediately, his bulk projected a monster-like shadow on the brick chimney breast behind him. He turned on his phone light and pointed it into the furthest cobwebby corners.
‘She’s not in there, Stu,’ I said.
‘She has to be.’
‘She hates the dark, you know that.’
He sat back on his haunches and cradled his head in his hands. ‘Oh, my baby girl, where are you?’
Footsteps pounded on the stairs and across the wooden floorboards of my office and Melanie appeared, her face pale. ‘I’ve checked the house again from top to bottom and Bill’s checked the outbuildings. We can’t find her.’
We stared at each other in silence. Grandad had been wrong. Today was the tomorrow I’d worried about ever since Immy was born. I ran a hand across my face.
‘Cleo?’ Stuart said. ‘What do we do?’
I licked my lips. This was now real. ‘We phone the police,’ I said.
My hand was shaking as I ended the call.
‘They’re sending a patrol,’ I said. ‘Shouldn’t be long.’
Bill set off towards the front door. ‘We’ll start searching the street.’ He glanced back at Stuart, who looked dazed, as if someone had just clobbered him over the head with a cricket bat. ‘Mate?’
Stuart gave a little shake of his head. ‘Coming. I’ll just grab my phone.’
‘I’ll come, too,’ Melanie said. ‘We can spread out in different directions.’
I was desperate to join them. Sitting at home waiting seemed like a senseless waste of time when every second mattered. But the call handler had told me to stay put so I could meet the police when they arrived.
‘And in case she comes home in the meantime,’ he added, almost cheerily. I hoped his confidence wasn’t misplaced.
Nate and I retreated to the living room. Nate sat on the floor in the corner, hugging his knees, Anakin Skywalker between his feet. I paced the room, my phone clutched in my hand, willing Stuart to ring, to say, laughing, ‘Panic over, we’ve found her. Little monkey went to feed the ducks. We’ll be home in five.’
The phone didn’t ring.
Nate heard the sirens first, and he jumped up and ran to the window, pressing his forehead against the glass.
I tramped into the hallway, glancing in the mirror above the marble-topped console table on my way to the front door. I looked dishevelled, like I’d just stumbled out of bed. I rubbed at a smudge of mascara under my right eye and ran my fingers through my hair, wondering why I was bothering even as I did so. Outside, the sirens fell silent and car doors slammed. I opened the front door before the police had a chance to ring the bell. Two officers stood on the doorstep.
‘Mrs Cooper?’ said the older officer. ‘We understand your daughter’s missing?’
‘Please, come in,’ I said, ushering them into the living room. ‘I’ll call my husband. He’s out looking for Immy with our friends Bill and Melanie. They were over for a barbecue when she disappeared.’
‘Are you going to find her for us?’ Nate asked. At six years old, his belief in the police's ability to right wrongs and find lost sisters was unshakeable.
‘We’ll do our best.’ The older officer pushed his thick-rimmed glasses up the bridge
