it is. My daughter is living proof.
‘Rosie, this is your mother,’ I say to the phone. ‘You know, the one who is waiting for you to go for dinner because you are apparently starved? Well, I’m ready now. Almost. I’m ready apart from this stupid wig which just won’t sit properly so if you can make your way back or I could meet you at the Beach House Café if you’re across that way? It’s the little place on the pier, you can’t miss it. Oh and the address of this place, in case you have ventured too far despite your insistence that you wouldn’t get lost, is 25 Pier Head, so just ask someone and they’ll help direct you back here, I’m sure. And hurry up, please. I’m starving now myself. Bye.’
I go back to my wig duties, waiting for the door to open or the phone to ring or at least a text to say she is on her way. But another five minutes pass and there’s still no sign of her.
I place the wig on my head and adjust it and for a brief moment I admire my own reflection. I don’t look so bad actually. Doesn’t a bit of lippy and a new dress work wonders for the soul? Maybe Dr Michael has made a mistake with his diagnosis because physically I feel absolutely on top of the world, in my new attire and not to mention my new surroundings with the sea at my door and a delicious seafood meal to look forward to with my one and only child.
I spray some perfume and feel my tummy rumble as I rub my wrists together. It’s forty-five minutes now since she left and still no reply from Rosie. Okay, so she hasn’t been herself since we got here but this really is out of character for her. As cheeky as she was earlier, I don’t think she would intentionally put any worry in my mind. We’re a team, me and my Rosie. A team of two and, even with Dan in the mix, we’ve always had an unbreakable bond after so many years on our own.
My hunger turns to butterflies now and I leave the bedroom, go down the narrow hallway towards the sounds of the TV coming from the living room. My nerves are on edge. Maybe she’s here after all? The TV … I don’t think she would have left it on.
‘Rosie’ I call ahead. ‘For goodness’ sake turn that volume down. I’ve been wondering where you’ve got to! I thought you were—’
I reach the living room door but the room is empty. I turn off the TV and notice my hands are shaking. It is really lashing down now outside and I don’t know whether to leave the house to look for her, or stay here in case she comes back and I miss her. I try her phone again. Nothing. Oh God, what on earth should I do? I have no coat and it is pouring down outside. She’s been gone almost an hour now. I should never have let her leave the house alone. This is all my fault. Children aren’t meant to be left alone, not in strange places especially. She may be fifteen but she isn’t streetwise which is my fault too for being so bloody over-protective. What should I do?
I need to go and find her.
The second umbrella she mentioned stands by the door but it snaps when I put it up so I duck my head and walk out into the rain, not knowing where on earth to look first. I begin to fear the worst.
It’s peak season here and tourists travel and pass through constantly so what the hell was I thinking when I let her go wandering around on her own? If she was as hungry as she said she was, maybe she headed to the corner shop for some snacks? I really have no idea and I can’t think straight. The streets suddenly seem quiet and eerie despite the heavy rain.
The bar from earlier? Maybe she went back there to see that bartender, after all. The fear I feel right now takes me right back to when she was just two years old and I lost her for what felt like hours, but was really less a minute, in a department store. The rush of heat to my fingertips, the perspiration, the blinding terror that someone may have hurt her or taken her away from me. I can’t lose her yet, we still have time to do so much together. Where is she?
‘Rosie?!’ I shout into the empty evening air and out onto the pier. ‘Rosie, where are you?’
A shiver runs through me and I feel sick. We aren’t meant to be apart on this trip. Why did I let her go out alone? This is all my fault. I am stupid and forgetful just like she said I was. She hates me. She has never spoken to me the way she did earlier.
‘Rosie!’
I feel dizzy and nauseous as I walk through the rain up and the winding street. Even though I have no idea where to start or who to ask, I need to find my daughter and take away her pain. And I will.
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