Girl A, Dan Scottow [best short books to read .TXT] 📗

few years older than Billy stands near her, and nods impatiently. He’s more interested in the food than the conversation.

‘Have you got kids?’ the woman asks, and Wendy smiles.

‘Just the one for now. This is Billy.’ She glances down behind her, but Billy is not there. She spins round in confusion, looking for her son, but she can’t spot him among all the people. Her heart pounds. The noise seems to dissipate, and all she can hear is her own heavy breathing, her heart thumping in her chest. Everything seems to slow down.

‘Billy?’ she shouts as confusion turns to panic. People turn around, hearing fear in her voice.

The woman takes a step closer to her. ‘Is everything okay, hun?’

‘It’s my son. He was right here… next to me. I only let go of his hand for a second…’ She turns towards the girl who had served her. ‘Did you see my son? Do you know where he went?’

The teenager stares blankly at Wendy and shakes her head. ‘He was right here, we ordered the candyfloss together, remember?’ The girl seems embarrassed. She’s not used to dealing with uptight mothers.

Becky, or Brenda, or whatever her name is, places a hand on Wendy’s shoulder. ‘Why don’t you try to calm down, hun. He’s probably wandered off to look at something. He can’t have gone very far now, can he?’

Wendy shrugs her hand off. ‘Don’t tell me to calm down. My son is gone. He’s only two.’ She drops the candyfloss onto the grass by her feet and runs a few paces into the throng of people.

‘Billy! Billy, where are you?’ She’s screaming now. People turn and stare, Wendy doesn’t care. She glances around, but she can’t see his stripy T-shirt anywhere. Everything is blurry. Tears distort her vision.

‘BILLY!’

People are milling around her, asking what’s wrong.

She can hear the murmur of the crowd.

‘My son. He’s two. Blond hair!’ she shouts. ‘He’s wearing a stripy blue-and-white top and denim shorts. Has anybody seen him?’

But the people around her shake their heads.

Wendy wants it all to stop.

She runs from stall to stall demanding if anyone has seen her son, but nobody has been paying attention. They are all enjoying themselves, and there are lots of small children wandering around. Wendy searches desperately, but she can’t find him.

As the red sun sets on the horizon, across the park at the edge of the field, three tiny figures walk away from the fair. Their elongated shadows trail across the grass behind them. A little blond boy in a stripy T-shirt holds the hand of a young girl, as she and an older boy lead him into the woods, away from his mother.

Away from his life.

1 Late August, present day, Cranbrooke Farmhouse, Falmer, East Sussex, England.

Two little words.

That was all it took. Eight letters scribbled on a scrap of paper, and one family’s world was about to come crashing down around them. When you imagine things that might alter the course of your life, you think of major catastrophic events.

A car crash. An illness. Hard-hitting, a punch in the face.

In reality, sometimes it’s not like that at all. As Charlie Carter sat watching the television with his wife Beth on a Friday evening, neither of them had any idea that everything they knew was about to change.

A quiet existence was all they wanted. And so they made one for themselves. Two great kids. A nice secluded farmhouse with no neighbours. The Carters kept themselves to themselves and they were happy that way.

As Charlie watched Beth struggling to stay awake, two fictional detectives on the telly argued about who the killer may or may not be. The security light at the front of the house flicked on suddenly, streaming through the bay window. This was not so unusual in their remote location; often triggered by a cat or a fox, sometimes maybe even a bat.

But tonight the loud and unmistakable chime of the doorbell closely followed, echoing through their home.

The dog barked excitedly. Charlie and Beth glanced up from the television and their eyes met across the living room. Charlie frowned, the unspoken question between them, who could that be?

Beth glanced at the clock on the wall opposite, as did Charlie. Ten thirty. Bit late for a house call, with their closest neighbours being a five-minute drive away.

Cooper the spaniel ran out to the hallway, still yapping.

‘I’ll go,’ Charlie said as he pulled himself up from his armchair. He made his way to the front door, but it surprised Beth that he didn’t open it. She stood up and walked to the doorway, leaning against the frame as she watched her husband. He straightened, having crouched to pick something up, and now stood with his back to her, shoulders hunched. From the angle, it looked like he was holding something. His body obscured her view. Charlie turned around scratching his head, a puzzled look on his face. In his hand, a small sheet of paper.

‘What’s that?’ Beth asked through a yawn, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

Charlie held up the paper. ‘It’s a note.’

‘Who for?’

Charlie turned it over in his hands. ‘Not sure. It doesn’t say.’ He held it out, and Beth walked over to his side, taking it from him. He waited as his wife read it. She pulled a face and handed it back to him.

‘Must be one of Peter’s mates having a laugh or something,’ she said dismissively.

Charlie opened the front door and stepped out into the darkness, the timer on the security light having turned it off by now. The beam clicked back on as he took a few paces out onto the driveway, gravel crunching under his feet.

‘Hello?’ he called out. ‘Anybody there?’

Beth moved forwards, but lingered in the doorway.

Nothing. The calm of night. No retreating footsteps. No roar of a car engine, or screech of tyres speeding away from the road at the end of the drive. Only eerie silence.

Charlie came back into the house, shutting the door