Chapter 10
Mum kept her pyjamas under her pillow and lifting it up, I saw they were still there. Her dressing gown was still hung on the back of the door, so she hadn’t yet got into her nightclothes. I sat there bewildered. Mum wouldn’t have gone out. She never went out.
‘Shit!’ Suddenly panicked, images of Mum slipping as she got out of the shower flashed through my head and I raced out to the bathroom. With no body sprawled on the floor, I whipped open the shower curtain to see she wasn’t there either.
Realising she could be injured elsewhere, I rushed back out onto the landing and checked the whole upstairs, but as I hastened from one bedroom to another there was no sign of her.
I ran downstairs to the dining room and aside of there being no Mum, everything seemed as it should. From her collection of blue and white on the hardwood dresser, to the holly themed runner spanning the table, to the poinsettia in the window, nothing appeared out of place.
I narrowed my eyes. Were things a little too perfect? Whether it was a forgotten placemat or used glass, come evening time there was usually something to signal the room had been used.
Even more fear rose in my chest. ‘The garden!’
I grabbed my torch off the console table in the hall and rushing into the kitchen, flung open the back door.
‘Mum, are you out here?’ I shone the torch from left to right, but Dad’s bench was empty and there was no trail of footsteps on the frost covered lawn.
Venturing further, I searched the bushes and borders and with only one place left to look I ran over to Dad’s tool shed, but it was padlocked shut.
My heart sank and I flashed the torch around the garden again.
‘Mum, whatever lesson you’re trying to teach me, this isn’t funny. ’
The kettle shrilled, breaking through the silence and I quickly headed back inside.
Steam billowed from its spout and as I lifted it off the heat the house fell quiet again.
My mind raced as I scanned the room for a note Mum might have left.
Seeing nothing, I put one hand on my hip and the other on my forehead as I wondered what to do next.
‘My phone!’ Berating myself for ignoring Mum’s messages, I went back into the hall and retrieved my mobile from my bag.
Hoping to find a text or voice note that told me where she’d gone, my heart pounded as I scrolled through that day’s communications.
My mobile had been pinging all afternoon, so I expected to see Mum’s name over and again. But it wasn’t there.
‘Kelly. Tricia. Melissa. Rory. Rory. Rory.’ Confused, I let my hands drop.
Mum hadn’t been in touch since Betty White’s victory pose.
I quickly thumbed back to her previous messages to see if I’d missed any mention of her going out, but there was nothing.
I dialled Mum’s number and put my phone to my ear.
‘The person you have called–’ an automated voice said.
I cut it off and tried again.
‘The person you have–’
Ending the call for a second time, I insisted to myself that people didn’t just vanish. There had to be a rational explanation for Mum’s disappearance and my brain tried to figure out what that was.
She wouldn’t have gone shopping. Since Dad’s death, she’d had a special arrangement with the grocery store in Settledown and had her food order delivered.
And when it came to Christmas, she’d sorted her gift buying online.
Mum wasn’t one to partake in community events and she didn’t have any friends or family she could visit.
I thought back to our morning phone call, trying to remember if Mum had talked about going somewhere and because I’d been too busy getting ready for my meeting with Rory, it hadn’t properly registered. Coming up blank, I cursed myself, wishing I’d paid more attention.
I pictured Mum banging her head on a kitchen cupboard, blood dripping from her forehead as she went in search of help.
Wandering down the lane in a confused and dazed state, she collapsed and lay moaning, semi-unconscious in a ditch.
You’ve just walked up that path, I told myself. You’d have heard her.
Shaking the images away, I knew I was being daft, only to envisage a masked stranger breaking into the house.
I saw Mum catch him rifling through the dining room sideboard and realising she was a witness, the burglar dragging her out into the cold.
He bundled her into the boot of his getaway car and ignoring her muffled pleas, he jumped into the driver’s seat and sped off down the track.
My heart raced. I’d warned Mum that could happen.
The number of times I’d begged her to install a home security system.
With no other choice I dialled 999.
‘What’s your emergency?’ the operator said. ‘Police, fire or ambulance?’
‘Police, please. I need to report a missing person.’