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Aisha and Jenny are running towards her, their mouths two black Os.
‘Oh my God, Sam, what’s happened?’ Aisha reaches for her, takes her in her arms.
‘My baby,’ Samantha wails, wriggling out of Aisha’s embrace. ‘Emily. Suzanne’s taken Emily, she’s stolen her from the crèche, she’s taken her, she’s taken my baby, she’s taken my little girl.’
White heat. Jenny is running towards reception, phone at her ear. ‘Police? Hello, yes, police? This is an emergency. A baby has been kidnapped from …’
Samantha is on her knees. They throb with pain. Aisha still has hold of her hand and she too is kneeling, running her thumb over Samantha’s knuckles. ‘It’s OK,’ she’s saying. ‘The police are on their way. They’ll track her down in no time; they have all sorts of stuff for that. It’s OK, Samantha, just stay calm – they’re on their way. We’ll find her. We’ll find Emily, don’t you worry.’
Jenny’s feet – her black leather lace-up boots. Samantha looks up into her face, sees only concentration.
‘They’ll be here any minute.’ Jenny is talking to Aisha. ‘Get her onto a chair, I’ll fetch tea.’
Samantha lets herself be lowered onto a hard plastic chair. She can hear herself moaning. Her leg jiggles. Her nose is running into her mouth. Aisha hands her a tissue. Jenny holds out a steaming takeaway cup. ‘It’s got sugar in,’ she is saying, but Samantha bats it away. Stands. Runs. She is running, out of the glass double doors, back towards the car park.
‘Help,’ she cries out, to no one. ‘Help.’ There is a man in the car park. ‘Help, excuse me, hello? Have you seen a woman and a baby? In the car park.’
He looks at her, bewildered. ‘No, sorry.’
Over an hour has passed since Suzanne took Emily. Over an hour, over an hour, my God. Samantha is running back through the automatic doors, half blind, half deaf, half crazy.
‘Samantha!’ It’s Aisha. She is crying.
Samantha pushes her aside and runs through to the foyer, up the wide college steps, one flight, two, to the manager’s office. The door is shut. She doesn’t know the code. She bangs on the door with both fists. ‘Help,’ she calls at the top of her voice. ‘Help me!’
The door opens. It is Harry. She collapses onto him. ‘Someone’s taken my baby. My student Suzanne, she’s taken her. She’s gone, Harry. Suzanne’s got Emily.’
Harry’s shirt smells of detergent and sweat.
The floor is blue and white squares.
They rush at her.
She is holding another takeaway cup. She doesn’t know if it’s tea or coffee. Her face is sticky and she’s crying. She’s in a hard chair in the manager’s office. Her knees still hurt; there is a pain on her forehead, a balled-up tissue in her hand.
A policewoman is crouching at her feet.
‘Miss Frayn,’ she’s saying. ‘I’m WPC Townson and this is my colleague PC Davies. You can call me Christine. Can I call you Samantha?’
Samantha puts her hand up to her forehead. A warm, damp lump.
‘You’ve given yourself a right old egg,’ says the policewoman – Townson, was it? Townsend?
‘Did I faint?’
‘Think so. Don’t worry, it’ll go down. Samantha, love, we need you to tell us exactly what’s happened; can you do that for us?’
There’s a policeman there too. She remembers now, she saw them arrive. She was already sitting in this chair, or was she down in the foyer? Aisha and Jenny were with her, she’s pretty sure. They led her up here. Which means she must have gone back down. She checks her watch. It is half past three.
‘Samantha? Samantha, my darling, can you tell us exactly what happened?’
Townson. Her name is Townson. Christine.
‘I …’ she begins, her voice hoarse. ‘I was having a quick cup of tea with a couple of students. We were talking. I realised the time and I went straight to get Em.’
‘To the nursery?’ The policewoman is writing in a notepad.
‘Yes. I’d booked her in till three. I got there at three. I was about a minute late, two tops. And she said that Suzanne had taken her.’
