‘Cup of tea?’ Melanie said, swooping over with a mug and setting it with a clatter on the marble worktop. ‘Sugar?’ she asked, pushing the bowl towards the officer. ‘I hope it’s not too strong for you.’
‘It looks perfect, thank you. If you could email me a jpeg of the photo, I’ll forward it to our on-call press officer. She should be able to get something out within the next half an hour.’
‘So soon?’ I said, surprised.
‘Time is of the essence,’ the sergeant said. ‘The sooner people are looking for Immy, the better. Now, is there anything else you can tell me, anything at all, that might be relevant?’
‘What kind of thing do you mean?’ I glanced at Stuart, who gave an imperceptible shake of his head.
‘I don’t know. Have you seen anyone acting suspiciously in the area recently? Has Immy ever wandered off before? Would she have toddled off with a stranger, maybe even another child?’
My stomach lurched. ‘Oh my God, you mean like James Bulger?’
Nate looked up from his sandwich. ‘Who’s James Bulger, Mummy?’
‘A little boy from Liverpool who wandered off with two older boys while he was out shopping with his mum,’ I said. Nate didn’t need to know that the toddler’s ten-year-old assailants tortured then murdered him.
‘There’s nothing relevant I can think of,’ Stuart said.
‘Me neither,’ I said.
‘Good.’ The sergeant stood. ‘I’m going to head outside to get a sitrep. If you think of anything, any little detail that might help us find Immy, let me know. And try not to worry, OK? I’m sure she’ll turn up right as rain.’
Something about her sympathetic smile and the compassion in her voice terrified me. She thinks Immy’s already dead. A swell of tears rose up the back of my throat and filled my eyes.
‘Just find her,’ I said. ‘Please.’
Chapter Four
I was struggling to take it all in. Immy, my baby girl, was gone. One minute she was there, helping herself to a handful of crisps when she thought I wasn’t watching, and the next she’d vanished. How could it have happened in our own garden, right under our noses? It was beyond my comprehension.
Fear squeezed my insides so tightly I thought I might pass out. I sat at the kitchen island with my head in my hands, listening as Stuart and Melanie batted reassuring words back and forth. She’ll turn up… nothing to worry about… bound to be found soon.
I wished I could believe them.
My eyes burned, and I rubbed them viciously, as if it was their fault they hadn’t seen Immy toddle off to God knew where. I stopped rubbing and glared at Stuart and Melanie, wishing they’d shut up. I didn’t need platitudes; I needed that police sergeant with the lilting voice to walk in with Immy in her arms. I needed to scoop Immy up, hold her tightly and never let her go.
I dragged myself off the stool and straightened a painting on the fridge door. I’d stuck it there with alphabet magnets the day Immy brought it home from preschool.
I’d asked her what the four colourful splodges were.
‘Mummy, Daddy, Nate and Immy,’ she said, pointing to each of them. ‘My family.’
Grief squeezed my chest, and I leaned against the fridge and groaned.
‘Are you all right?’ Melanie asked.
I turned and stared in disbelief. ‘Of course I’m not all right. What a fucking stupid thing to say.’
‘Cleo…’ Stuart began.
A wave of shame washed over me. ‘Sorry,’ I muttered. ‘That was uncalled for.’
‘It’s OK, honestly,’ Melanie said.
The walls of the kitchen were closing in on me and I knew I had to get out or I’d explode.
‘I’m going to see if I can help with the search,’ I said.
‘Good idea,’ Stuart said. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No, stay here by the phone in case someone needs to get hold of us.’
‘We can take the phone with us. It’s cordless.’ Stuart touched Melanie’s arm. ‘You’ll keep an eye on Nate, won’t you?’
‘Of course. Take as long as you need. We’ll be here.’ She glanced at Bill, slouched on the sofa by the fireplace, a half-empty bottle of red and a glass on the rug by his feet.
As we stepped out of the patio doors, a whirring noise jerked our gaze skywards.
‘The police helicopter,’ Stuart said.
The whump whump of the rotors grew louder as the sleek dark blue and yellow helicopter approached. It hovered over the house for a moment, sending the trees and shrubs into a spin, then veered away to the east, following the river.
I spied the older officer with the chunky glasses poring over a map with an officer I didn’t recognise, and I marched over.
‘This is the search team sergeant,’ he said. ‘Sarg, this is Mr and Mrs Cooper, Immy’s parents.’
‘We’re here to join the search,’ Stuart said.
‘I’m afraid that’s not possible at the moment, sir,’ the sergeant said, folding the map in two. ‘We can only use trained search teams.’
‘We feel so helpless sitting in the house waiting for news,’ I said.
‘It’s understandable. But I can assure you we’re doing everything we can.’ He consulted his pocket notebook. ‘I believe you were in the walled garden having a barbecue when Immy went missing?’
‘The children were playing croquet on the lawn, like they’ve done a hundred times,’ I said. ‘The garden’s completely secure. At least we thought it was.’
‘Can you be any more precise about the time you last saw her? It helps to know when I’m drawing up the search parameters.’
I cast my mind back. I’d been too busy running in and out of the house with snacks and salads and plates of meat to take much notice of the kids. In fact, I wasn’t even sure Immy had stayed for dessert, come to think of it. Even though she loved pavlova.
‘She wouldn’t have wandered off on her own,’ I said.
‘What makes you say that?’ the sergeant asked.
‘Because she loves my pavlova. She’d been looking forward to it all day.’
‘You know Immy,’ Stuart said. ‘Butterfly brain. I expect she
