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The girl’s father said of course, he understood, but was it possible she’d popped in and out, was it possible she’d sat in the beer garden without coming into the bar? They were sure she hadn’t gone far, he said. She was probably just wandering about and had lost track of the time. She’d done it before. They were trying to retrace her steps. She didn’t know the area.
Stuart said that the girl had been out with his daughter, Sophie, for most of the afternoon, but that Sophie didn’t know where she was now.
She does this, the man was saying. I’m sure she’ll turn up. He seemed embarrassed, more than anything.
Donna tried to catch Claire’s eye, but she was in another world. Lounging across her armchair like the Queen of France, ignoring the coffee Donna had bought for her.
Donna went over to the bar. I think we saw her earlier, she told them. With Sophie. Down by the woods. We were on our way to Cardwell and there was a whole group of kids out on the road, near the entrance to the old quarry. There was one girl we didn’t recognise. Maybe that was her?
The girl’s father thanked her. Tony suggested they all go and take a look, and there was a general move towards the door, glasses left half-empty on the tables as they spilled out into the square.
Tony asked Donna what the hell they’d been doing going over to Cardwell. Fancied a change of scene, Donna told him.
In Cardwell? he said. Had a good evening, did you?
I’ve had a bloody excellent evening, Claire told him, in her loudest whisper; but don’t tell Will.
*
Outside it was still warm, but the air was turning damp and the light was falling away. People spread out quickly through th
e streets, peering over walls and into back gardens and alleyways, knocking on doors.
If it wasn’t for Claire, Donna would probably just have slipped away home. It seemed likely the girl wouldn’t have gone far. She’s done this sort of thing before, the girl’s father was saying. I really don’t want to cause a fuss. She always turns up in the end. Donna watched him. There was something there that reminded her of her own father. He seemed embarrassed by his daughter’s actions; or maybe embarrassed that he’d let her out of his sight. Her own father had lost his way with her by the time she turned ten or so. He’d kept calling her his baby girl, his baby princess, as though if he said it often enough she would never grow up.
The man had wiry dark hair that kept falling into his eyes, and a pair of black-framed glasses that he kept having to adjust.
Donna was just about to ask him about his daughter when Claire came stumbling up and grabbed her by the arm.
What are we doing again? she whispered.
We’re looking for that man’s daughter, Donna said. She’s late home. He’s worried about her.
I’m late home! Claire said. No one’s worried about me.
You’re a grown-up, Donna told her. Apparently.
*
Donna had thought of herself as a grown-up for a long time. Her father had drifted away from the family when she was thirteen, or maybe fourteen. It was hard to say. There’d been no definitive leaving. He just kept going away and coming back and going away, and eventually he stayed gone. Donna had grown up quickly, after that. Their mother had never really talked about it, but there’d been a gap in the household that needed filling. Her baby brother had been too young. And too male. Donna had had to look after them all for a while, until her mother got back on her feet. That had taken a few years.
And now here she was again, looking after Claire. Practically holding her up. They weren’t being much use to the search. They’d stopped before they’d even got to the far side of the market square, falling behind the others. They were leaning against the wall by the bus stop, while Claire rummaged through her handbag. She was looking for her cigarettes, emptying everything out on to the wall, getting more and more agitated. She must have left them in Cardwell, she was saying, they’d have to go back. They weren’t going back, Donna told her. It was late. It was time to go home.
They could hear people further down the street, calling the girl’s name.
Claire gave up. Her breathing was ragged. The contents of her handbag were spread out across the wall like some kind of tiny car-boot sale. Donna wanted to ask her about the evening, about what had happened and about what she thought Will would think if he ever found out. She wanted to ask what Claire thought was going to happen next.
But she was too tired to have that sort of conversation. She didn’t think she’d get much sense out of Claire this evening in any case.
The stone of the wall was warm against the back of her legs. The streetlights were just starting to flicker on, but the light at the top of the moors was still pale and open. Donna could feel her irritation ebbing away.
And then her brother showed up.
Hello again ladies, he said, a smile spreading across his face, loping long-legged down the street like an idiot spider. He was waving a pack of cigarettes. You looking for these? he asked Claire.
She shrieked, snatched them out of his hand, and kissed him. It started out as a friendly thank-you kiss, but kept going until it was something more reckless.
It was too much. After what had happened in Cardwell, it was really too much. Donna wanted to get them away from each other. She took Claire by the arm and told her it was time to get home. Claire wriggled loose and turned to look at her.
