Chapter 10: NOW - The Safe Room

I only have one choice, and that’s to get on with things. There’s no real evidence that Peter broke into the library. It could have been any disturbed individual. Carlos did not identify the man at the park as being Peter. I have no idea who has moved into the house down the street aside from seeing a glimpse of a woman. Despite many sleepless nights staring at my surveillance cameras, no one has been anywhere near the house aside from the odd dog walker or neighbour.

For the next couple of days, I get up early, pack Sophie’s lunch, take her to school at Pateley Bridge, and then go to work. There’s so much to keep me busy that I manage to block out most of the fears and worries about Peter. Between us, Yvonne and I manage to repair books, restack the shelves, vacuum, and clean up the graffiti. The graffiti doesn’t yield any answers either, it’s nothing but crude language sprayed across the walls and what seems to be a tag. The sight of it brings some comfort because I can’t imagine Peter Harlow even knowing how to paint a tag.

Since the break-in, I’ve kept Yvonne’s phone number on a pad by the landline. Her number is there next to the emergency services and Carrie and Robert’s number. I’ve instructed Sophie on how to dial them. Yvonne is someone I know I can trust. Someone who would come running without hesitation. It helps me sleep a little better.

We’re able to re-open for the public after three days. My muscles clench every time the door opens. Every time a tall, broad-shouldered man walks in I look up expecting to see his face. The sound of that door can make all the air freeze inside my lungs. It makes time stand still.

“You need a night out,” Yvonne tells me. “You’re wound up like a jack-in-the-box ready to pop.”

I shrug. “I’d have to find a babysitter for Sophie.” I don’t tell her that there’s no way I’d let a stranger take care of Sophie. Ed’s parents used to travel up from London every few months to babysit but they’ve been busy recently with a house purchase in the south of France.

“My Tilly can do it.” Yvonne rests a hand on her hip. “We can go out this Friday. Have a few drinks.”

“Maybe next week,” I say. “There’s a birthday party this Saturday.”

Yvonne places a book in the returns pile and smiles. “Well, you don’t want to be hungover for that. God, I remember the birthday party days. Thirty kids in a village hall giving each other the latest norovirus. Green jelly and party bags.” She shakes her head. “Not that the teenage years are much better.”

I input a returned book into the system and laugh. “Yeah, I can imagine. What’s it like, being a mum to a teenager? Does she just want to do her own thing?”

Yvonne lifts a hand to her head in mock tragedy. “You would not believe the amount of bickering. Constant negotiations about what length skirt she can wear, how late she can stay out. She’s sixteen and it’s a weird time because in less than two years she can live on her own and wear what she wants. But she’s still a baby, you know? And the world is scary.”

I nod. “You can say that again.”

Yvonne regards me for a moment before grabbing my arm. “Are you going to tell her? About Peter?”

“I guess I’ll have to.” I reach for another book to input. “There’s going to come a day when I can’t protect her anymore.” I shiver. “I just hope he’s dead by then.”

Yvonne squeezes my arm. “I’ve never wished death on anyone, but that bastard can rot in hell.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to explain it to her. She’ll want her freedom just like Tilly, and short of hiring a bodyguard, I don’t know how to keep her safe.”

“That house of yours is a good start,” Yvonne says. “Who knows, maybe she’ll live with you for a while until she gets her first decent job. She could travel to York for uni.”

“I guess.”

“All right, I’m going to come out with a cliché now, so forgive me, but remember to think positive, Amber. You’ve got friends here. Me, anyway. I’m always looking out for you and so’s my Mark. You and Sophie are members of our family.”

The library door opens and two elderly women walk in. I let out a long, slow breath, calming my rising anxiety.

Sophie runs ahead to the car while I lock the front door, balancing the gift box against my hip as I rattle the door handle just to be sure. There’s a hint of snow in the air and I frown. Daisy is lucky that her birthday party starts early. If it was any later in the day I might be tempted to cancel.

There have been dozens of these small, mid-price gifts over the years, wrapped to be handed over to the stressed mother of an excited birthday girl or boy. All of them ripped open by tiny, eager hands in search of treasure. I used to agonise over the gifts, terrified of getting it wrong. These days whatever safe-looking toy is priced under a tenner gets bought and wrapped the day before the party.

I check Sophie’s buckled into her booster seat, then place the gift on the passenger side before driving away. The village hall at Pateley Bridge has been the venue for many events involving the kids at Sophie’s school. I don’t even need to put the address in the Sat Nav anymore.

We’re early, so I nab a decent parking spot right outside the hall. But I don’t want Sophie entering ten minutes before her classmates, so we walk around the block for a few minutes. It gives me some time to scope out the area and check for any men loitering around. One tall guy leaning on a wall gives me a start. For a second he resembles Peter almost perfectly, with the same slight stoop to his back and the floppy hair he used to sport back in 2007.

It’s not him. I wonder if Peter still drives his blue BMW. Last I heard, he drove a van. When he came out of prison, no one could stop him from making deliveries close to where I lived despite the restraining order against him. It was one of the reasons Ed wanted us to move out to Eel Beck away from any major roads.

As we turn another corner, Sophie erupts with a loud and squeaky, “Mummy, I’m bored! Where’s the party?”

I laugh and redirect us back towards the village hall. She’s right, it is boring walking around the roads searching for a stalker. I quickly grab the present from the car, and we enter the already bustling hall. Sophie spots Daisy right away and rushes over to hug her. I smile, watching as Sophie points out the daisies on her dress—she wore it especially for today—then head over to one of the trestle tables to place the present with the others.

“Amber! I’m so glad you made it.” Heather greets me with a kiss on each cheek. “Sophie’s dress is darling.”

“She’s having a wonderful time. And Daisy looks so happy. Is she having a great birthday?”

“She ought to be, the way she’s been spoiled.” Heather lowered her voice. “Rick’s mum spent a fortune. We told her not to go overboard but she can’t help it. I think she bought Daisy half a toy store.”

I smile, hoping it hides the pang I felt while hearing about a doting grandmother overspending on birthday presents. I wanted that for Sophie, too. Everyone wants that for their child. Ed’s parents are great most of the time, but they can get distracted by their own affairs, and my mum and dad… Well, they aren’t in Sophie’s life anymore.

“Can I help you with anything?” I ask. “I can put food out or watch the kids?”

Heather pours something into a cup and hands it to me. “Here. A small glass of wine. Not enough to put you over the limit, but enough to make this less painful.” She chuckles. “Honestly, there’s not much to do. The Taylor Swift lookalike comes out in ten minutes. Maybe just keep an eye on the kids so none of them rip open any presents or throw food at the birthday girl.”

“Done.” I raise my plastic cup to her in a ‘cheers’.

Heather is immediately swept away by another parent calling her name. I take a sip of wine and set the cup behind a stack of paper plates, so I don’t accidentally knock it over. The hall is already at full volume, and the party hasn’t even officially started. So many bright colours, face paint, sequins. It’s like stepping into a disco ball. My ears ring.

I scan the room out of habit, searching for Sophie. She’s leaning over the craft table with Daisy, heads together, mesmerised by a pile of glittery stickers. Good. Happy. Settled. I can breathe.

A speaker on the stage crackles and someone fiddles with a microphone, sending a shriek of feedback through the hall. A few kids scream in delight. The lights dim a fraction. The countdown to the performance has begun.

I hover at the edge of the room, where I spot a couple of other mums, trying to appear social without actually making conversation.

The performer struts onto the tiny, raised platform—shimmery dress, red lipstick, blonde wig, exactly as advertised. The backing track starts up, and the first kids surge forward, squealing. Sophie goes with them, swept by the tide.

And just like that, she’s gone from my sightline, blocked by taller bodies and bouncing helium balloons. I shift a little so I can see the kids better. I glimpse the top of Sophie’s pink headband. Then she bounces further forward again.

The first song ends in a chorus of shrieks. The singer bends to greet the birthday girl, who looks close to fainting with joy. Sophie is behind them somewhere, I think. Maybe. Daisy’s dad ends up in front of me, blocking part of my view. I peek around him but then Heather dances over and grabs my hand, swinging me around.

One song ends and parents and kids clap happily. There’s a joke I can’t hear. Then another song kicks off, louder than the last. Kids flood the space, dancing and hopping and spinning beneath the fairy lights.

I move around Heather and her husband, searching again for the pink headband.

Nothing.

She’s probably behind someone. Crouching to tie a shoelace. Or maybe she ran to grab a juice carton. I feel the sip of wine turning sour in my stomach.

I edge closer to the dancing crowd, trying to be inconspicuous. A blur of tutus, party shoes, football shirts, face paint. I recognise some of them, not others. I catch sight of Sophie’s friend Fi, spinning with her arms stretched out. But not Sophie.

Goosebumps prickle along my skin. I’m not in a panic, not yet anyway. Just… alert. On the verge of something less controllable.

I call her name once, lightly. “Soph?”

No one hears. The music overpowers everything.

I try again, louder, pushing myself to smile so no one sees the prickling worry beneath it. “Sophie? Sweetheart?”

A mum next to me hears, glances at me, then at the crowd, perhaps taking inventory of her own child before relaxing again.

I tell myself to stay calm. I’ll give it thirty seconds. She’ll pop up. She always pops up.

She doesn’t.

A balloon bursts on the floor and several girls shriek with laughter. Instinctively I flinch, my pulse leaps in my throat.

I step right up to the cluster of kids and scan again more frantically, turning in circles now. No pink headband, no visible fringe, no Sophie.

She was right here.

I try to catch Heather’s attention but she’s handing out napkins to a table of toddlers. My mouth is suddenly dry. The music pounds like a heartbeat in my skull. Then, truly panicking for the first time today, I step towards the cluster of kids, no longer caring if I’m disrupting the festivities.

Heather lifts a hand and the singer stops, standing there watching me with her jaw dropped open.

“Amber, what’s wrong?” She grabs my arms.

“Where’s Sophie? Where is she?”

“Mummy?”

I spin around on my heel, hair whipping me in the face. Sophie is walking towards me from the direction of the bathroom. I run towards her, wrapping my arms around her as she stares at me, bemused. The music cuts out and I gaze around me at all the faces in the room, all of them gawping at me, all of them judging me, believing I’m crazy.

Maybe I am.