calling her mother back, about telling her she’s changed her mind and she does want her to come.
The next half hour drags as we wait for news, Fran’s eyes closing as she sits at the kitchen table, a puddle of sunlight highlighting the reds in her dark hair, the skin round her nails now ragged and sore. The crash of the front door opening jolts all of us back to life, and Fran and I both jump to our feet as DS Wright and Dominic enter the kitchen.
‘Where is she? Where is she, Dom?’ Fran looks frantically past him, trying to edge away and head towards the front door, but he grips her tightly by the upper arms.
‘Fran,’ he says, his voice breaking, ‘stop for a moment. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t Laurel.’ She sags against him, and he pulls her into a tight embrace before he raises his eyes to mine. ‘Someone made a mistake. It wasn’t our girl.’
There is a crushing sense of disappointment at Dominic’s words, heightened when Fran shoves Dominic from her and rushes from the room.
‘I’ll go after her,’ Kelly says, a grim look on her face, as Dominic sinks into the nearest kitchen chair.
‘I’m so sorry.’ I feel the mistake as if it were an actual physical pain, a shaft of hurt piercing my skin. And not just mine – it seems I got everyone else’s hopes up for no reason. ‘I really thought … the hair, it was the hair. She was wearing it the same way Laurel wears it, and it was the same shade …’ I trail off, the bitter taste of failure thick on my tongue.
‘It was a genuine mistake,’ DS Wright says, ‘and better that you raised it with us, because it could have been Laurel.’
‘It was their daughter,’ Dominic says wearily in a husky voice, his head resting in his hands. ‘It was their own little girl. She takes after her mother – blonder than you, Anna, she was. Up close she looked nothing like Laurel.’
‘The drag marks were caused by them,’ DS Wright tells us, ‘apparently the girl sneaked out through the cut fence to watch the fireworks. When they found her, she didn’t want to leave. Had a paddy by all accounts, and they ended up dragging her back to the caravans. They only arrived yesterday evening, a little before the bonfire started. Officers had already spoken to them late last night and told them to move on today.’ Her face twists in something like disapproval.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper again, ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘There’s nothing you can say.’ Fran has appeared back in the doorway, faint smudges of mascara beneath her eyes revealing she has shed yet more tears. ‘It was a mistake, Anna. You weren’t to know that it wasn’t her. Us sitting here crying isn’t going to help get Laurel back, is it? DS Wright – is there anything else you can tell us?’
I blink back tears, frantically trying to rid myself of them before they fall. Fran is right, sitting here crying won’t get Laurel home to us. Although slightly forced, Fran seems to be trying to channel her usual brisk self, and I guess that is the only way she can cope with what is happening in this house right now – to try and keep control of events the way she always does. I can imagine her sitting upstairs, beating herself up, punishing herself for her emotional outbursts and hating herself for losing control.
‘Well,’ Wright says, pushing her dark hair away from her face and gratefully accepting the hot tea that Kelly thrusts in her direction – she’s good for refreshments, if nothing else – ‘we have made some headway following the initial door-to-door enquiries.’
‘Really?’ Dominic lifts his head and gazes around the kitchen. ‘Why are we only hearing about it now?’
‘As you can understand, checking out the possible sighting of Laurel became our priority, and I have only just received the most recent updates from the team that are carrying out the enquiries.’
‘So, what is it?’ The words tumble out before I can stop them and Fran stares at me, putting me back in my place without saying a word. Laurel is her daughter, not mine. Wright doesn’t appear to notice though.
‘There has been a report of a child matching Laurel’s description getting into a car along the lane from the bonfire last night, at a time that corresponds to when Laurel went missing.’
‘What?’ Fran whispers, her face a chalky white. She licks at her lips and raises a shaky hand to her mouth to wipe at it.
‘Obviously, we are taking this witness very seriously, and we will be investigating further,’ DS Wright says, glancing between myself, Fran and Dominic, as though wanting to make it absolutely clear that this could also be another dead end.
‘Tell us what happened. Tell us who saw it and exactly what they think they saw.’ Dominic is on his feet, fingers gripping the edge of the table tightly, so tightly that his knuckles are white.
‘A resident of the area looked out of the window at approximately eight fifteen last night, supposedly to watch the fireworks display, and saw a young girl getting into a car not far from the entrance to the display. She describes the car as an “off-roader” which we are taking to mean an SUV. Officers are with the lady now, showing her pictures of different vehicles to see if she can narrow it down for us. At the moment an SUV, possibly dark in colour although she can’t be sure, is all she can tell us.’
‘And what about the driver?’ Dominic says, a sheen of sweat sparkling on his forehead, in the patches where his silver hair has started to recede. ‘Did she see who was driving it? A man? Woman? Did she see anything?’
‘She says it was too dark to see who was driving, and to be honest, she didn’t really think anything of it at the time. All she saw was a small girl, wearing a pink coat, climbing into the back seat of a dark car.’
‘How can she be sure it was Laurel?’ Fran asks, her voice barely above a whisper. She clears her throat, making a harsh, raspy sound that seems too loud in the thick silence of the kitchen. ‘I mean, Laurel wouldn’t get into a car, would she?’ She looks to me and I shake my head, reluctantly. ‘She wouldn’t go off with a stranger. I know my daughter, DS Wright, and she wouldn’t willingly get into a stranger’s car, not after everything I’ve taught her.’
‘She might, though,’ I say, unable to keep the words in, knowing that I’m about to effectively tell the police that I know how Laurel would react to this situation better than Fran would. ‘Sorry, Fran, I don’t mean to contradict you, but she might. Laurel is a very friendly, outgoing child.’ I think about the way she stops to greet Mr Snow every afternoon, the way she always has a smile and a wave for everyone, regardless of whether she knows them or not. ‘And she’s only little. If a stranger told her that you had said she was to go with them, there’s every chance that she might have got into a car.’
‘We don’t know for certain that it was Laurel,’ DS Wright says, as Fran turns an icy-cold gaze on me, her eyes narrowed. I don’t know which is worse – the idea that Laurel might have got into a car belonging to somebody she doesn’t know, or that it isn’t her and we are still no closer to finding her. ‘But I have to ask you if you know anybody who might have a dark-coloured SUV?’
‘No. We don’t know anyone who has a dark-coloured SUV. And she wouldn’t have got in it anyway.’ Fran’s nostrils flare as she speaks, deliberating turning her face away to let me know that she is in charge of this, not me, that I shouldn’t have dared to contradict her.
‘Of course. As I said, officers are working with the witness concerned, and as soon as I have anything more to tell you, I will.’ A shrill ring pierces the air, and DS Wright excuses herself to answer the call. I let out a breath that I haven’t even realised I’ve been holding.
‘Do you mind if I …’ I wave a hand towards the staircase, and Dominic gives a little shrug. I need to step away for a moment, away from the tension, the words that lay between all of us, unsaid. The blame that I feel lies on