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‘We don’t yet know if a crime has been committed,’ Krisha replied. ‘It’s relatively common for people with dementia to wander. Something like sixty per cent go walkabout at least once.’ She couldn’t – or wouldn’t – tell me how many returned safe and well. ‘Do you have any idea what sets your mum off? Because it’s often triggered by something. Boredom, confusion over time, it can also be a mechanism to alleviate stress or they can just be searching for something from the past.’
‘I just accepted it was one of those things people with dementia do. Perhaps she’s searching for Dad?’
It makes sense. Much of her behaviour is triggered by having lost him. There are days when she doesn’t remember he’s dead, days when she does, and days when she can’t process what death is but fears she won’t be seeing him again.
My fingers suddenly start to heat up and I notice I’ve smoked the cigarette down to the filter, so I stub it out and suck on two extra-strong mints. I realise that of all the scenarios I’ve played out in my head in which something horrible happens to her, vanishing into thin air wasn’t one of them. And I have to face facts that this really might be it. I might never see her again. I begin planning her funeral in my head. She has put some money aside with one ofthose firms that organise it for you. She told me she wants a small ceremony in the village church with two hymns and a Bible reading. She also wants to be buried in the space next to the only man she ever loved. Reverend Eddie directed us on how to buy a plot.
I shake my head. I need to snap out of this. I need to be positive and not stand here imagining the worst. However, even though the light summer nights allow the hunt to continue longer into the evening, with each passing hour the odds of her safe return are rapidly shrinking. Krisha has tried to keep my spirits up but I can tell her positive energy is also beginning to wane.
There’s a knock at the open front door and I turn. Speak of the devil, it’s Krisha letting herself in. Behind her is a woman holding a grey boom microphone with a furry cover and a man with a television camera under his arm. My stomach cinches. I know why they’re here.
‘This is the team from Anglia News, Connie,’ Krisha begins. ‘As I explained this afternoon, the appeal will only take a few minutes to record.’
She directs them into the lounge to set up their equipment and then joins me in the hallway. I have been dreading this. My heart couldn’t beat louder or faster if it tried.
‘Is there any other way?’ I ask. ‘I’m really uncomfortable being in front of a camera. I’m going to make a mess of it. Won’t it sound better coming from you?’
Krisha offers me a sympathetic but firm smile, one that suggests she isn’t going to let me off the hook. ‘I’m sure most people would feel the same as you but it’ll take just a few minutes. They’ll broadcast it tonight and then again on tomorrow’s breakfast news and it’ll go online too. It’s our best chance at getting the public to keep a lookout for Gwen.’
I want to tell her no; that I’ve spent my life living in the margins and I want no place in the centre of the page. But I can’t. I haveto do this. Forhersake. So as the film crew set up, I put on a little lipstick, change my top for one in my overnight bag upstairs, brush my hair and return to the lounge as they are adjusting the lighting.
The cameraman directs me to where to sit while the reporter holds the mic in one hand and her notebook in the other. Krisha returns from the hallway with a framed photograph of Gwen in her hands and asks me to hold it facing the lens. I take up my position as the cameraman turns on his device and begins to record.
Just as the reporter opens her mouth to ask the first question, we are distracted by the front door opening.
And seconds later, there she is. Alive and well, but baffled as to why there are so many strangers in her house.
‘Mum,’ I gasp, and seconds later, Paul follows her into the hallway.
CHAPTER 16
CONNIE
I’m speechless, my eyes fixed upon her and then Paul. I feel everyone else’s gaze shift from them to me as I clamber to my feet and hurry over to her. I catch the reflection of the camera in the mirror. It’s focused on us. I hug her as tightly as my arms and body will allow and only stop when I worry I might be hurting her.
‘Where have you been?’ I ask, then take a step back and look her up and down. She seems perfectly fine. ‘We’ve been so worried about you! Are you okay?’
‘Of course, why wouldn’t I be?’ she says. ‘Who are your friends? Are we having a party? I used to love parties. Should I put on a dress?’
‘Mrs Wright,’ says Krisha, equally as surprised as me. ‘There are a lot of people out there looking for you right now.’
‘Me?’ she asks with genuine disbelief. ‘Whatever for?’
‘Because you’ve been missing for almost two days!’ I exclaim.
Her face is blank. ‘But I haven’t been missing, I’ve been to Clacton-on-Sea, haven’t I?’ She delivers this as if it’s perfectly obvious where she has been.
‘Clacton-on-Sea,’ I repeat. ‘What the hell were you doing there?’
‘Paul took me. It was a surprise.’
‘Your mum said she hadn’t been there for years so we took a road trip,’ Paul adds matter-of-factly.
‘It was really quite charming,’ she continues. ‘The pier looks wonderful when it’s all lit up at night.’
I don’t know who I want to throttle the most, Paul or the woman I’ve been beside myself with worry over. It’s only the presence of Krisha and the Anglia News team that prevents me from exploding into a fit of rage. Meanwhile Krisha calls her colleagues and asks for a medic while I attempt to compose myself.
‘Did you see the police when you drove back into the village?’ I ask as calmly as my voice allows. ‘There are search parties everywhere. We thought you’d got lost or were lying dead in the woods somewhere.’
