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After I hear Rob’s car pull out of our gravel drive, I head into the study to double-check that Belle’s present is still safely hidden away. Compared to our light and airy kitchen, the room is dark with its bottle-green carpet, thundercloud-grey walls and subtle lighting. On each of our desks, set at right angles together, we have an anglepoise lamp. We’ve made good use of the space over the last couple of years, each of us happily getting on side by side when we worked from home – Rob as a financial advisor and me keeping my business, Greene & Clean, ticking along. It’s been tough, money-wise, and I sense Rob is keeping his business worries from me, protecting me, but we’re just about coping.
I tap the familiar code into the safe, hidden behind some books. We had it built in when the house was renovated. I’m not one for lots of expensive jewellery, and what I do have, I wear often, keeping it in my bedroom. But Belle’s birthday pieces are extra special – a matching set of Edwardian earrings, a necklace and a ring. They’re far from ostentatious – rather tasteful, sentimental and a good investment. We’ve been saving for ages and I know she’ll love them.
I pull the chunky metal door open. On top of the papers stored inside sits Belle’s gift, lovingly wrapped in mauve and gold paper, tied with matching ribbon.
We keep all the usual important documents in here – including passports. We’ll be needing them in a couple of months as it’s my fortieth birthday in October and Rob has booked an autumn getaway as a treat. I don’t like going without the girls, but with Natalia at the helm and Belle turning eighteen tomorrow, I’m trying to convince myself that everything will be fine.
I give Belle’s present a little tap and lock up the safe again. Not long to go now before I see my precious daughter again.
* * *
That evening, Rob locks the front door behind us after we arrive back from Heathrow, the wisp of his sigh hanging between us. My insides feel shredded and raw as I drop our home-made banners onto the hallway floor, not caring if they get trodden on or torn. And Amber can pop all the balloons for all I care, given that we’ve returned from the airport without Belle.
She wasn’t on her flight.
‘I still don’t believe it,’ I say, kicking off my shoes.
‘Come on, you need wine,’ Rob says, guiding me through to the kitchen.
‘Damn right I do.’ I plonk myself down on a stool. ‘I just don’t understand why she’ddothis…I mean…none of it makes sense.’ We’d waited for what seemed like hours in arrivals, waving our banners as we watched hordes of passengers come through. None of them was our daughter.
‘Do you thinkthesepeople are off her flight?’ I’d asked Rob several times, my concern growing.
‘Hard to tell,’ he’d replied. ‘There’s a steady stream.’
‘That woman had a French accent,’ I’d noticed hopefully, wondering if it meant the flight from Lyon was filtering out.
I hadn’t received a reply to any of the messages I’d sent before Belle boarded the plane. I was hoping she’d let me know she got to the airport OK, but when she didn’t, I put it down to poor signal, or perhaps she’d turned off her phone by the time I’d got in touch.
Amber had raised my waning hopes of my daughter ever arriving by suddenly squealing, ‘Is that her?’ She’d jumped up and down to get a better look.
I’d held my breath as I’d peered at the emerging figure, but then released it again. ‘No. Looks a bit like her though.’ A young girl about the same age as Belle had paraded out of customs with several large suitcases balanced on her trolley.
I’d forced myself not to think of all the dreadful things that could have happened to prevent her returning home – an accident, running away, illness, abduction…Belle has been a dream daughter since the moment she was born – a settled and happy baby, a sweet little girl with lots of friends, and now a kind and considerate teenager with not a single rebellious bone in her body. It’s true that I’ve probably been a bit too overprotective of her as she was growing up, but all things considered, it’s paid off.
‘Relax, babe,’ Rob had said in the arrivals hall. ‘She’ll be here soon enough. She’s probably gone into the loo to fix her make-up or something. You know what Belle’s like.’
I’d sent more WhatsApp messages to her, of course, hoping that if they showed as delivered, I’d know she’d at least put her phone back on after the flight.
‘Look,’ I’d said to Rob, holding out my phone. ‘Two grey ticks. She’s got reception so she must be off the plane.’
After a while of fruitless waiting, Rob had gone to the airline desk for information and I’d found somewhere to sit with Amber.
‘They wouldn’t tell me anything,’ he’d said on his return. ‘Not even when I told them she was still technically a minor. Data protection, and all that.’ His face was a mix of annoyance and concern. I got my phone out again, deciding to call her. I didn’t care if I interrupted her at passport control.
‘It’s ringing,’ I’d said, looking up at Rob. But then my entire body had turned cold. I handed him the phone so he could listen.
It was an international ringtone.
Meaning she was still in France.
‘Here, get this down you,’ Rob says now, handing me a large glass of wine. ‘Try not to worry, love. She’ll be fine. There’ll be some silly reason why—’
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Belle.
Thank God.
