After Anna

‘I thought that was what you said,’ Karen murmured. ‘Mrs Crowne, I think there’s been a mix-up.’

A mix-up. Not words you wanted to hear in connection with your five-year-old daughter.

Julia stopped. She stared at the cast iron school gates. Both were adorned with the school crest: an owl clutching a scroll above the letters ‘WS’.

‘What do you mean?’ she said, her voice tightening with the beginnings of worry. ‘What kind of mix-up?’

‘Anna’s not here,’ Karen said, her tone retreating into something official, something protected. ‘We thought she’d left with you.’

iii.

Julia broke the connection. She ran through the gates to the school entrance and pushed open the worn green door, then ran along the corridor in the direction of the administrative offices. Karen, the school secretary, tall and thin, with a head of tight black curls, was standing outside the office door, her face drained of colour.

‘Mrs Crowne,’ she said. ‘I’m sure everything’s ok. Perhaps your husband picked her up.’

The twitchy, alert look in her eyes belied the calm reassurance of her tone. Julia’s stomach fluttered, then contracted. She had a sudden, violent urge to vomit.

‘I’ll check,’ she said. She dialled Brian’s number.

‘Hello.’ His voice was hard; his dislike of her deliberate and obvious. ‘What do you want?’

Julia licked her lips. They were very dry. ‘Brian,’ she said. ‘Is Anna with you?’

‘Of course not. I’m at school. It’s your day to pick her up.’

‘I know,’ Julia paused, ‘but she’s not here.’

There was a long silence.

‘What do you mean she’s not there?’ The hardness in his voice had softened into concern. ‘Where is she?’

‘I don’t know,’ Julia said, wanting, even in this situation, to add a sarcastic obviously. ‘Maybe your mum picked her up?’ She almost smiled with relief. This was the answer, after all, of course it was. Edna, her grandmother, had come on the wrong day. The relaxation was almost palpable, like the glow from a stiff drink.

‘It wasn’t mum,’ Brian said. ‘She’s at home. She called an hour or so ago to ask about something. She wanted to know where the stopcock for the mains was. Apparently, there was some kind of leak in the kitchen.’

The hopeful glow faded. Julia swallowed; her mouth powder dry. ‘Then I don’t know where she is.’

They were words you never wanted or expected to say to your husband or wife or anybody at all about your five-year-old daughter. Five-year-old children were supposed to have known whereabouts at all times: with one or the other parent, at school, at a friend’s house, with a select few relatives, who, in Anna’s case, were Brian’s mum Edna, or, occasionally, when they were back from Portland, Oregon, Brian’s brother Simon and his wife Laura, these being the extent of their relatively small family circle.

‘You don’t know where she is?’ Brian asked, his voice caught between anger and panic. ‘You’d better find her!’

‘I know.’

‘And it’s nearly half past three! How come you’re just calling now?’

‘I was a bit late,’ Julia said. ‘I just got here. I thought the school would be – I thought she’d be here.’

‘Did you let them know you’d be late?’

‘No, I … my phone was dead. I just assumed … ’, her voice tailed off.

‘Jesus,’ Brian said. ‘She could be anywhere. In thirty minutes, she could be anywhere. She could have wandered … ’ he paused. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. Start looking for her. Search the grounds and the streets nearby.’

‘OK.’ She felt frozen, unable to think. ‘We’ll search for her.’ She looked again at Karen, who nodded.

‘I’ll tell the cleaning staff to help,’ Karen said. ‘And Julia – don’t worry. She’ll turn up, I’m sure. She’s probably in someone’s garden, or the newsagent, or somewhere like that.’

Julia nodded, but the words were not at all reassuring. They were little more than meaningless sounds.

‘Brian,’ she said. ‘I have to go. I have to get started.’

‘One more thing,’ Brian said. ‘Call the police.’ He hesitated. ‘In fact, I’ll call them. You start looking for her. Start looking for Anna.’

The line went dead. Julia’s hand dropped to her side. Her phone, loosely gripped between her thumb and forefinger, dropped to the floor.

Oh, God,’ she said. ‘Oh, God.’

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