I nodded, then turned away, my hand shielding my face so they couldn’t see my tears.
Chapter Six
I heard Nate’s sobs as I climbed wearily upstairs to bed. I pushed open his bedroom door and padded across the room.
‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’
‘Is Immy dead?’ he wailed.
‘Don’t be silly. She’s just lost, and the police are helping us find her.’ I sat on his bed and stroked his clammy forehead, watching his skinny chest rise and fall with every shuddering sob.
‘Why were they looking in the river? Do they think she drowned?’
‘Of course not. They’re checking everywhere to be on the safe side.’
‘But she can’t swim without armbands, remember.’
It was my turn to shudder, because I could hardly forget. The previous year, Immy had almost drowned. We’d rented a cottage in the Dordogne, and the kids had spent a fortnight splashing about in the kidney-shaped pool. Then one day Immy jumped in the deep end without her armbands and plummeted to the bottom like a stone. Luckily, I was sitting on a lounger watching them and dived in and pulled her to the surface before her little lungs filled with water. It still gave me goose bumps thinking about it.
‘She’s not in the river, Nate. I promise.’ I wiped a tear from his cheek with my thumb. ‘Come on, you need to get to sleep. You’ve got school tomorrow.’
Nate pulled the duvet under his chin and popped his thumb in his mouth. ‘I wish Niamh was here,’ he said sleepily.
‘Niamh? But Daddy looks after you now and that’s much better, isn’t it?’
‘Most of the time. But Daddy forgets when it’s own clothes day and that I don’t like Marmite. Niamh never forgot anything when she was our pear.’
‘Our au pair,’ I corrected him. ‘I’m surprised you remember her. She left ages ago.’
‘After Immy was born,’ he agreed. ‘Will Immy be home when I wake up?’
‘I hope so, sweetheart, I really do.’
I passed Stuart on the landing carrying a duvet and two pillows. His skin was ashen and his eyes red-rimmed.
‘I’m going to stay downstairs tonight, in case there’s any news,’ he said.
‘We do have phones upstairs, Stu.’
His face crumpled before my eyes. ‘But going to bed seems all wrong when Immy’s still missing.’
‘I know. But what else can we do?’
‘I should be out there helping the police.’
‘You heard that police sergeant. He said we should leave the search to the experts. You’d only get in the way.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’ His shoulders drooped. ‘D’you think she’s OK?’
I reached out to squeeze his arm, but grabbed a handful of bedding instead. ‘I’m sure she is. No news is good news.’
‘Is it? Is it really?’ He shook his head. ‘I wish I could believe you.’
He tramped downstairs, and I headed for our bedroom. Discarding my clothes on the floor of the en suite, I turned on the power shower. Letting the water pulse over me, as hot as my skin could bear it, I gave in to the tears I’d held at bay all evening.
My head throbbed as memories crowded in. The first time I held Immy in my arms, her face all red and puckered. Her first smile. Her first tottering steps. The way she curled herself around me when I read her a story. The sweet smell of her hair after a bath.
Tears streamed down my face and sobs wracked my body. My longing for her was involuntary, visceral. Life without her was unendurable. It was as simple as that.
How could everything have gone so wrong with the single click of fate’s fingers? One minute I’d been enjoying an idyllic family barbecue in our perfect home surrounded by my family and closest friends, and the next, a helicopter was circling over the garden and police officers were scouring the contents of our wheelie bins looking for my three-year-old daughter after she’d vanished into thin air.
Unbidden, a scenario played out in my head. Immy sulking because Nate wouldn’t play Pooh sticks. Deciding she would play anyway. Accidentally dropping her precious Peppa Pig through the gate into the river below. Charging back to the house, her jaw set with determination. Dragging a chair over to the key rack and climbing onto it. A gleam in her eye as she plucked the keys to the water gates off the hook. She’d always been fascinated by the cerise-pink pom pom keyring. If only I’d chosen a plain plastic one, maybe none of this would have happened.
The scenario played on. Immy climbing carefully down from the chair and racing back to the gate. Her tongue between her teeth as she slotted the key in the lock. A flick of her wrist. The gate swinging open, clattering against the flint and brick wall with a bang that would have taken her by surprise. An intake of breath as she stumbled and lost her footing. Arms flailing. And a scream as she slithered into the river. A scream that I didn’t hear because I was too busy having fun with our friends.
I held my palms in front of me, half expecting to see Immy’s blood on my hands. Because it was my fault she was missing. My fault she might be…
Get a grip, Cleo. The police will find her.
I rubbed my face and tried to shepherd my spiralling thoughts away from Immy. Instead, I pictured Nate in his bed, his dinosaur duvet cover tucked under his chin and his thumb in his mouth as I kissed him goodnight and told him I loved him to the moon and back. Once he was fast asleep, I tip-toed out of his room. Hopefully, he’d have at least a few hours’ respite from this nightmare.
I turned off the shower and wrapped myself in a bath towel. It was strange for Nate to mention Niamh after all
