LITMIR.BIZ

       2

       The First Hours

       i.

      These were the crucial hours.

      If you had been seen then the police would learn about that soon enough. First, they would check the immediate area, then they would drive the route to the girl’s house to see if she had set off for home alone. When they didn’t find her they would contact all the parents and staff who had been there at three p.m. and ask them what they had seen. Then they would interview the family. They always looked close to home first, not that they would find anything.

      And, of course, they would check the school’s CCTV. You knew you weren’t on that. All they would see was the girl walking out of shot and into oblivion.

      Of course, there was always the possibility that there was a camera in the area you hadn’t spotted. You’d checked carefully, but it was possible.

      And if there was, or if they had seen you, and realized who you were, then the police would be here soon enough, knocking on your door.

      But that was OK. You had a plan for that. For these first hours the girl was elsewhere, stashed in your neighbour’s garage; your neighbour who was in Alicante for the fortnight, and who had left you their house keys because you’re our only neighbour so you can keep an eye on the place in case anything happens.

      Something had happened, but not something they could have imagined.

      You’d backed into their garage and unloaded her, then put your car away. No one would have seen. There was no one to see. No prying eyes. No spying eyes. It gave you comfort that you were invisible to the world, allowed you to get on with your life unobserved. Not just now, with the girl, but the other times as well.

      And now the girl lay there, sleeping on the floor of a large doll’s house that the father had built for his kids, his braying, noisy kids, who had outgrown it. It was just big enough for her to lie full length in, her feet by a small table, her head on a bag of sand, which was destined to re-fill the sand pit that the two spoilt kids who loved to disturb your afternoon peace played in.

      She could stay there until midnight. That was when you would bring her inside and introduce her to her new home.

      Her temporary new home.

      She wouldn’t be here for too long.

       ii.

      Julia ran out of the green front door of the school. Ahead of her were the gates, still open from when she had come in. They were supposed to be kept locked at all times. Supposed to be. The problem was that things that were supposed to be often weren’t. She was supposed to have been there to pick up her daughter, but that didn’t help much now.

      She pictured the school at the end of the day. Kids in uniforms pouring out of the school doors, the younger ones heading straight for the parents outside the gates, the older ones running into the playground for a last few minutes of fun before home and dinner and bedtime, the teachers hanging back, making sure that everything went as it should, which it would, because it always did. Every child would be accounted for, either picked up by whoever was supposed to be there for them or held back inside the sanctuary of the school because their adult was late. No one slipped through the cracks, not at this small, fee-paying private school. The parents here could be relied on to make sure that their children were properly looked after, that they were not left waiting and vulnerable. The chance of a mistake was vanishingly small.

      But it was not impossible.

      Julia pictured a small, dark-haired girl with a pink Dora the Explorer backpack and new black leather shoes walking out of the gate with the other pupils and looking around for her mother, frowning when she didn’t see her. And then maybe walking a little further down the street, perhaps thinking that she could find the familiar black Volkswagen Golf her mum drove. And then, a hand tapping her on the shoulder, a large, man’s hand, with thick fingers and black hair sprouting from the point where the hand met the wrist – Julia blinked the vision away. She had to stay calm, or at least calm enough to look for her daughter.

      ‘She’s fine’, she said, talking to herself. ‘She’s fine. She’s just waiting somewhere.’

      The words didn’t make her feel any better. There was a ball of fear and panic knotted somewhere between her stomach and her sternum so big and real and hard that it was making it difficult to draw breath and to keep her head from dizzying.

      But she had to act. She had to do something. And the quicker the better. She ran towards the iron gates. She would start outside the school. If Anna was in the building or the school grounds then she was probably OK. She could wait to be found. If she was outside – well, she needed to be found as soon as possible. Outside were cars and dogs and buses and people who might have an interest in an unaccompanied five-year-old girl that they shouldn’t have.

      ‘Anna!’ she shouted. ‘Anna! Where are you?’

      She heard a similar call from inside the school, as Karen started her search.

      ‘Anna!’ Julia shouted. ‘It’s Mummy! Where are you, darling?’

      She exited the gate and faced her first decision. Left or right? Left, towards the village centre, or right, towards a small development of overpriced cookie-cutter commuter boxes surrounded by scrubby fields? Boxes with closed doors and sheds and hiding places, boxes that were unoccupied and unobserved during the day when the inhabitants were at work or at school, boxes into which a girl could be smuggled. So, left or right? It was normally such a small decision. If you got it wrong you could backtrack and try again. But this time it felt bigger, more important. This time it was not just left or right: it was towards Anna or away from her.

      But do something, Julia thought. Standing still is the worst option.

      She went left, towards the village. It was more likely Anna had wandered that way, gone towards people and the newsagents and the recently opened old-fashioned sweet shop that sold sweets in quarter pounds and half pounds from jars behind the counter. The Village Sweete Shoppe, it was called, and Anna loved it.

      The narrow, tree-lined road to the village curved left then descended a small gradient. The houses along the road were old and large and concealed behind high sandstone walls and thick foliage, which was both a good and a bad thing: it was unlikely that Anna would have been able to get into the gardens, but if, for some reason she was in there, she would be impossible to see.

      These were the thoughts Julia had now. She saw once innocent gardens as threats to her daughter. The whole world was twisted into a sick new configuration. It made her head spin.

      ‘Anna!’ Julia was surprised at how loud her voice could go. She hadn’t used it like that for years. Even when she and Brian were in full flow she didn’t turn it up this much. ‘Anna! It’s Mummy! If you can hear me, just say something. I’ll come and get you!’

      There was no reply. Just the distant barking of a dog (is it barking at Anna? Julia wondered) and the noise of a car engine (where’s that car going? she thought. Who’s in it?) and somewhere,

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