An inch short of six foot with the chiselled cheekbones of a Viking warrior, Astrid was everything I admired in a person. Assertive. Punctual. A perfectionist. Crisp and reserved, and not afraid to voice her opinions where Nate was concerned. Stuart loathed her.
‘Not another ball-breaker,’ he pleaded when I started looking through CVs for Astrid’s replacement. ‘Let’s have an au pair this time. Someone who can be part of the family. And, think about it, we’d have a babysitter on tap.’
This had clinched it. Astrid had been pretty much perfect, but by God did she give me an earful if I was late home from work. If we had a live-in au pair, I could work as late as I liked. I signed up with an agency there and then.
I whittled down the options to two choices. A twenty-year-old from Spain and an eighteen-year-old from Ireland. There was nothing between them, so I let Nate choose.
‘That one,’ he said, pointing to the Irish girl. ‘She has pretty hair and kind eyes.’
Niamh O’Sullivan was the antitheses of Astrid. Diffident, softly spoken and as eager to please as a Labrador. I’d wanted someone to run the house. Having Niamh was like having a second child. Only one I had to pay.
But Nate adored her, and I adored Nate, so she got to stay. And in the end, I got more than I bargained for.
The bedroom was stiflingly hot, so I opened the two sash windows as far as they would go before climbing into bed. Stuart was right. It felt all wrong trying to sleep when Immy was out there somewhere. It was also absurd to think there was even a chance of drifting off when my body was surging with adrenalin. I was about to roll up the duvet and join Stuart downstairs when I changed my mind. If I was struggling to contain my own emotions, I couldn’t prop him up, too.
Instead, I picked up my phone and checked my inbox. There were forty-two unopened emails. I scrolled through them, grateful for the distraction. They were mostly from food producers, touting for business. I stopped scrolling when I came to one from my secretary, Sheila.
Cleo,
Sorry I couldn’t drop the accounts off this afternoon, but Mother had another tumble before I was due to leave, and we ended up in minor injuries. Nothing broken, thank goodness, but by the time we left the hospital it was too late to pop round. I’ll have them on your desk first thing tomorrow. You have my word.
Best,
Sheila
I was about to tap out a reply when something made me hesitate. It wouldn’t be fair to let Sheila know about Immy by email, and it was far too late to call her. I decided to phone her first thing and keep my fingers crossed she wouldn’t see the police appeal in the meantime.
I closed down my inbox and checked Kent Online to make sure the appeal was still their top item. I opened the Kent Police Facebook page and was astounded to see the appeal had been shared over five hundred times. It was surreal to think that thousands of people across Kent knew my little girl was missing.
Over a hundred people had left comments.
I hope little Imogen is found safe and well.
Shared Gravesend area.
Hope she turns up soon. My thoughts and prayers are with her family.
Thought I heard the police helicopter over Sturry earlier. Must have been looking for this little girl.
Shared in Dover.
Is she still missing?
I clicked on the police’s reply, even though logically I knew we’d be the first ones they told if they found her.
We’re afraid Imogen is still missing. Thanks for your concern.
I continued scrolling through the newest comments. Someone called Riley Carter had posted:
What kind of parent lets a three-year-old out of their sight? IMO this little girl is better off without them.
Underneath, a barrage of replies.
Have some compassion, dickhead!
Followed by five angry face emojis.
OMG what a knob. Shut ya face, loser.
Come on, mate. No one can keep their eye on their kids 24-7.
I kept scanning down.
Riley Carter’s right. People like that don’t deserve kids.
Agreed. Selfish parents have no one to blame but themselves. Shame on them.
I slammed the phone face down on the duvet, tears pricking behind my eyes. I knew these keyboard warriors would never have the guts to say these things to my face. But each vile comment was like a stab to my heart. Because they were right, weren’t they? We shouldn’t have let Immy out of our sight. We were selfish, and we didn’t deserve her.
Chapter Seven
MONDAY 14 JUNE
‘Mummy?’ said a voice in my ear, dragging me from the dreamless sleep my exhausted body had finally succumbed to. ‘Mummy,’ the voice said again. I felt hot breath on my cheek, and a small hand on my shoulder. ‘I had a bad dream.’
Immy always crept into bed with us when she’d had a nightmare. Keeping my eyes closed, I wiggled towards Stuart’s side of the bed, lifted the duvet and mumbled, ‘Come in for a cuddle.’
But as I wrapped my arms around her, it felt all wrong. All angles and long limbs, not Immy’s soft peachiness. I prised my eyes open and looked down to see Nate’s dark mop of hair on the pillow beside me.
And then memories of the day before hit me like a punch in the solar plexus. The barbecue. Stuart announcing he couldn’t find the children. The dawning realisation that Immy was missing. Sirens and police search teams. The wait for news.
Had there been any news?
I pulled myself to a sitting position, ignoring Nate grumbling beside me, and grabbed my phone. It was ten to five. I checked
