Page 38 of The Mistake

The bolt on the gate.Pete’s feet slow momentarily as the clouds overhead part and bright puddles of moonlight stretch through the gaps in the leaves of the trees.It was open.As he had reached for it, his fingers fumbling in panic, the gate had swung open easily, adding fire to his panicked thoughts. He remembers hearing Emily call his name before they cut the cake, and stubbing out his fag before heading back into the garden, but he doesn’t remember whether he pulled the bolt safely home or not.Erin could be out here. Someone could have taken her.

To his right is the stream, usually barely more than a trickle at this time of year. Now, though, Pete becomes aware of the sound of rushing water, the stream swollen to the size of a small river with the heavy rain earlier in the day.What if she’s in the water?The thought makes his limbs liquefy and he calls again, his voice breaking as he scans the dark horizon. ‘Erin? Erin!’

As he reaches the edge of the woodland path, only patchy blackberry bushes and mounds of damp leaves separating him from the stream, Pete pauses, straining to hear any sound at all that might be Erin. The stream really is more of a river as he looks out over it, moonlight rippling over the swirling water, not sure if he’s hoping to see something or not. It’s swollen to the very banks, water beginning to lap at the edges of the blackberrybushes. Another burst of heavy rain and the harmless stream will erupt over the forest floor. Panting, his pulse crashing in his ears, Pete looks out over the stream, but there is no sign of Erin. No familiar ear-splitting wail. No cries or shouts at all, and Pete realises he can no longer hear the calls of Erin’s name from his own back garden. Following the trail alongside the stream, Pete slips and slides in the mud, the movement of the leaves releasing the papery stink of rot. That, combined with the silty tang of the river on the air, makes his stomach turn. There is something about that smell, sulphurous and thick, that makes him think of caves and drains, dark places from which there is no escape.

Pete makes his way along the woodland path, his shoes picking up mud and leaves. There is a glimpse of white from the corner of his eye and he whips his head in that direction, only to see a barn owl taking flight from the branches of an oak tree, its wings wide and majestic as it swoops across the sky. Owls mean mice and rats, and Pete’s stomach turns again. He knows these woods are full of vermin – they’d had a rat problem at the house not long before Natalie had fallen pregnant. When the pest control guy turned up and informed Pete they had rats, not sweet little field mice, Pete had made the conscious decision to tell Natalie it was just mice. Nothing to worry about.Another lie, he thinks, his brain feeling scrambled.Is Erin’s disappearance payback for all of the awful lies I’ve told?There is a pain in his chest as he struggles on, branches and thorns clawing at his arms as he battles his way through an overgrown patch, his ears ringing with the effort of drawing in enough oxygen to keep going.

‘Erin!’ Pete’s voice rings out in the heavy silence, broken only by the rush of the stream. His feet are cold, damp seeping in through the tops of his trainers, the suede ruined, and all he can think is that if Erin is out here, hidden somewhere among the bushes, moss and fallen trees, there isn’t much time left to find her. Reaching the turn in the path leading out towards the village, where Eve’s house sits on the other side of the trees, Peteslows to a jog. This is the path everyone uses to cut through the woods towards the main road, and his heart double-beats in his chest painfully. If someone took Erin, it would only be a matter of minutes from this point before they could be out on to the main road and into a car, speeding her away, never to be seen again. Pete pushes the thought away, not wanting to entertain what that could mean for himself and Natalie, for their family. He’s far enough away from the house now that he can no longer hear the calls for Erin, the sound of Emily crying for her little sister. Behind him, something cracks – a twig or a branch. Pulse racing, Pete turns, only to see the bushy tail of a fox disappearing into the undergrowth.Owls, rats, foxes, badgers.There is no end of animals and pests in this wood that could harm Erin, but still Pete finds the idea of Erin being here, in the dark, damp woods, preferable to her being stolen away in a stranger’s car.

Cold, sick, and with a throat raw from screaming Erin’s name, Pete pushes on, following the rough track littered with the remnants of the season’s bluebells towards the village, the same thought beating inside him like a drum as the distant wail of a siren fills the air.How could this have happened? How could Erin have disappeared from her own bed, in a house full of people? And more importantly, who could have taken her?

Natalie

The sitting room is full of people, and Natalie feels an odd tickle of irritation. She’d told Pete he had invited too many people for them all to fit comfortably in the house, and for a moment she can’t quite understand why they are all inside. Then she remembers.Erin.Erin is not in her cot, is nowhere to be found.Someone has called the police, she heard them – Mari? – talking about it, but there is no sign of any police officers yet. Mari is sitting on the armchair across from where Natalie sits on the sofa, Zadie pulled tightly into her lap. Zadie’s eyes are wide, and she sucks determinedly at her thumb. Natalie wants to tell Zadie to take her thumb out of her mouth, that her teeth will be crooked, but she can’t find the words. She has no idea where Pete is, and part of her is glad about that. Natalie doesn’t want to see Pete, doesn’t want to talk to him. The other part of her is desperate for him to come back from wherever he’s gone, to be able to lean against his shoulder, for his arms to come around her and prop her up the way he has so many times before.

‘Holding her …’ a voice is saying behind her. ‘Natalie … sleep.’ Natalie thinks it’s Gina, her colleague from the office, telling someone how she was holding Erin before Natalie took her upstairs for a sleep. Either that, or they are all talking about Natalie herself, and how she never gets any sleep any more. All around her, voices are calling out for Erin, or talking about where they all were the last time they saw her. There is a hushed air about the room now, following the initial buzz of panic, with many of the guests starting to move out into the garden, Erin’s name on their lips. Wearily, Natalie blinks. She knows she should be grateful that people are concerned, that they are looking forher missing child, but it’s pointless calling out for her. Erin is only eight months old; it’s not as if she’s going to reply to them.

As people mill around her, Natalie tries her hardest to connect the dots. There is an undeniable frisson of fear in the air, so tangible you can almost taste it, but it doesn’t seem to have the same panicking effect on Natalie that it’s having on her guests. She knows it’s awful – she knows this is the worst thing that could ever happen to a mother – but the combination of too much diazepam and two glasses of Sauvignon on an empty stomach means she feels oddly disconnected from what is going on. It almost feels as though she is watching events through a mirror, a layer of glass separating her from real life, protecting her from the pain that surely she is about to experience. Or through a TV screen. Yes, that’s it. Natalie feels as though she is watching this all happen to someone else – some TV drama starring Jill Halfpenny or Nicola Walker; it’s always those two women the awful stuff happens to – and any minute now Erin will start up her incessant wailing and Natalie will feel that familiar sense of exasperation at once again having to pause her show for the millionth time.

Leaning forward, Natalie rests her elbows on her knees and covers her face with her hands. Her cheeks burn hot, her palms cool against her skin, and she is grateful to be able to feelsomethingat least. Everything else is numb. A hand lands on her shoulder and begins to rub her back soothingly. It makes Natalie think of when she was little, and she would curl up in her mother’s lap and she would rub her back until she fell asleep. For a sharp, painful moment Natalie misses her mother, the need for her like a splinter under her skin that brings tears to her eyes. It’s been a long time since Natalie felt like that about her mum, probably not since Zadie was born. The hand persists in its gentle stroking of Natalie’s back, and she keeps her eyes closed, hidden behind her palms. A familiar floral fragrance fills her nostrils, and she thinks it might be Eve’s perfume.Didn’t Eve leave?Natalie had thoughtthat Eve left after she had snapped at her so fiercely before taking Erin up to bed. She didn’t remember seeing her when they cut the cake, but maybe she came back? Part of Natalie hopes so. She hates fighting with Eve – they’ve only ever argued a couple of times before, and both times it was over Natalie’s defence of Pete. She leans back, pressing against the warm palm, hoping it’s Eve and that this means they’re going to be OK. Natalie is going to need her to get through this, and the affair Pete’s been having with Vanessa. Natalie half expects tears to spring to her eyes when she thinks about Erin, about Pete, but there is nothing, and it is with flushed cheeks and dry eyes that she looks up, when someone taps her gently on her knee.

‘Natalie?’ A dark-haired woman in a neat trench coat and ugly black shoes is crouched beside her, and Natalie frowns in confusion.Who invited her to the party? ‘Natalie, my name is DI Travis. I’m a police officer, I’m here to help you look for Erin.’

‘Erin …’ Natalie’s tongue feels thick, too big for her mouth, and she licks at her dry lips.

‘I need to ask you a few questions, OK?’ The woman leans in, rocking forward on the balls of her feet, and Natalie wonders how long before she gets pins and needles. ‘How old is Erin?’

‘She’s … uh …’ Natalie has to think for a moment, her brain fuzzy. ‘Eight months? I think she’s eight months.’

The police officer exchanges a glance with someone above Natalie’s head and then smiles gently. ‘Excellent. Natalie, I know this is difficult for you, but I need to ask you a few things to help us focus our search for Erin, OK?’

Natalie nods, but everything still has the weird, shimmery feel about it, as though she’s in a dream. Any moment now Erin is going to shriek that strident, piercing yell meaning she needs her nappy changed, and Natalie will wake up with her pulse pounding in her ears and her hands shaking, rudely ripped from sleep once again as Pete slumbers on, oblivious, beside her.

‘When was the last time you saw Erin tonight? Did you put her to bed yourself?’

Did I?The combination of wine and prescription drugs has made time seem to melt together like an ice cream on a hot day, dripping and oozing. ‘I … She was …’ Natalie stumbles, her mouth feeling drier and drier. ‘Could I have … some water please?’

The police officer nods at someone behind Natalie, and then the palm disappears from her back. Emily’s figure appears in Natalie’s peripheral vision, and then she feels the sag of the sofa cushion beside her as Emily takes a seat. She reaches out and Emily twines her fingers through hers, holding her tightly, like she used to on the walk to playschool.

‘Mum put Erin to bed at about eight o’clock,’ Emily says, her voice strong and clear.

‘So … around two hours ago?’ DI Travis asks, her pencil scratching away in a little notebook as she jots down Emily’s words.

‘About then,’ Emily says, with a quick glance at Natalie. Natalie wants to agree but her head feels so heavy, too heavy for her neck to support, and she just blinks. ‘Erin was crying after my dad made a speech, so my mum took her upstairs to feed her and get her settled for the night.’

‘Natalie, is that right?’

Natalie looks up. ‘Yes … I fed her and put her to bed in her cot.’

‘I was there,’ Emily says, a blush rising on her cheeks, presumably at the memory of their argument. ‘I came up to see Mum and she was sitting in the nursing chair giving Erin a bottle. She was about to put Erin down when I left and came back downstairs.’

‘And that was the last time either of you saw Erin?’

Emily nods, casting a quick glance in Natalie’s direction. Natalie also nods, before gratefully taking the glass of water that is handed to her. She takes long sips of the cold water, almost immediately feeling better, if not that much clearer. ‘I put Erin in her cot and—’ She breaks off, thinking, trying to piece togetherthe events of the evening in her cotton-filled brain. ‘I came downstairs, and we cut the cake. Pete asked Emily to … to check on Erin.’ Her throat thickens and she hastily gulps at the water again, coughing as it goes down the wrong way.

‘OK. Take your time,’ the detective says soothingly.

‘Erin was asleep,’ Emily says, her voice rising. ‘There was no need for anyone to go upstairs after Mum put her in the cot. She was sleeping. We all know not to disturb her when she’s gone down because Mum—’ She breaks off, looking down at her bitten fingernails.

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