99 Red Balloons: A chillingly clever psychological thriller with a stomach-flipping twist. Elisabeth Carpenter

think so.’

      Mummy’s always worrying about me. When I had a bad cough in the middle of the night three weeks ago, she ran a hot bath and called the ambulance, but it was a false alarm.

      He stops the car at a mini car park on the side of the road, just as the song is ending. Without his hat on, he looks older than he did before. He puts his hand on my forehead.

      ‘You do feel a bit hot.’

      As soon as he says it, I feel it. I’m burning up.

      He turns to the back seat and grabs a plastic carrier bag. I can’t read the supermarket’s name, but I recognise the red and green. He gets out a flask and pours a drink.

      ‘Here,’ he says. ‘Your mum gave me this in case you got car sick.’

      After I’ve drunk it, I give the plastic cup-lid back to him. I’m really tired. There are things I have to say to him, like, Mummy’s never mentioned anyone called George, and, I never get car sick, but I can’t because my mouth doesn’t work any more. I try to smile at him. I wouldn’t say those things to him anyway ’cos I don’t want to hurt his feelings. Has he turned the radio off? Everything’s quiet. I can’t stop my eyelids from shutting.

       Chapter Two

       Stephanie

      Emma’s running up and down the street. Angie, her next-door neighbour, is standing at her gate in her dressing gown.

      ‘What’s happening, Mum?’ asks Jamie, sitting beside me in the passenger seat. ‘Why’s Aunt Emma outside shouting? I thought we were coming for tea.’

      ‘I don’t know, love. Wait in the car.’

      I get out. Angie pulls her dressing gown tight around her middle, shivering, even though it’s not that cold yet.

      ‘She can’t find Grace,’ she says.

      ‘What do you mean she can’t find her? Where’s she left her?’

      ‘Nowhere. She hasn’t come home from school yet.’

      It’s nearly half past four.

      ‘Shit.’

      I run after Emma, following her into the newsagent’s a few doors down. She’s showing Mr Anderson a picture of Grace on her phone, even though he already knows what she looks like. He shakes his head.

      ‘I told you ten minutes ago,’ he says gently. ‘She came in, but she didn’t buy anything. She came in with her friends, and then they went. I thought they all left together. Assumed she was with them.’

      ‘Did you actually see her leave?’ Emma rushes to the door to the back room of the shop. ‘Could she have sneaked through here? Maybe she’s hiding from someone. Grace!’

      The door to the storeroom squeaks as it opens.

      ‘I doubt it, but you’re welcome to look.’

      ‘Angie’s calling the police,’ I say.

      Emma glances at me, seeing me for the first time. She grabs hold of my arm. It’s dim inside. I pat my hand along the wall for the light switch, flicking it on. Boxes of sweets, crisps, toilet rolls are stacked up in rows – the back room smells sweet, like Nice biscuits.

      ‘Grace! Grace, it’s me, Mummy. I’m not cross. Come out, love. No one’s angry at you for hiding.’

      She moves every cardboard box away from the wall. Nothing. But then, Grace is not the type to play hide and seek, especially in a dark back room of a shop – she’s too sensible to do anything like that. Emma stands in the middle of the room, both hands on her head.

      ‘It’s not been long,’ I say. ‘Perhaps she’s gone to a friend’s.’

      She wrinkles her nose – it’s her way of stopping tears falling from her eyes.

      ‘She’s usually home ages ago. I’ve phoned her friends – none of them have seen her.’

      ‘Did she arrange something at school and you’ve forgotten?’

      ‘I’ve driven to the school already – it’s locked, there weren’t any lights on.’

      ‘Who was the last to see her?’

      ‘Um.’ She shakes her head, her eyes flick left and right. ‘Angie’s daughter, Hannah.’

      I grab her by the hand. ‘Thanks, Mr Anderson,’ I call to him before leading her out of the shop.

      We run past Emma’s neighbours – they’re all standing on their doorsteps now.

      ‘Have you seen Grace?’ I shout, but they just shake their heads. Bloody useless people, staring at us.

      ‘It’ll be getting dark soon,’ says Emma, bending over to catch her breath. ‘She’s never home late, never. I need Mum here, can you ring her?’

      ‘Of course.’ I get my phone from my pocket. I dial Mum’s landline – cursing her that she still doesn’t have a mobile. There’s no reply. I leave a message for her to get here, but don’t tell her why – not over the phone. ‘Someone must have seen Grace – she can’t have just vanished off the street, not so close to home.’

      It’s not only her I’m trying to convince.

      When we get to Emma’s house, two police cars are parked either side of my car.

      ‘Shit – Jamie.’

      How could I have left him when Grace has disappeared? He might be thirteen, but you never know what kind of maniac is out there. I run over and open the passenger door; the window is open.

      ‘Have you found Grace?’ he says, his eyes wide.

      ‘Not yet. Are you okay? Did anyone come to the car?’

      He shakes his head.

      The police are guiding Emma through her front door.

      ‘Come on, Jamie.’

      I offer my hand to help him out of the car like I used to when he was little, and he takes it.

      Two detectives arrived ten minutes after I did. DI Lee Hines is sitting with a notepad resting on his knees. He’s sweating in a long grey overcoat that’s grubby around the cuffs; his tie is loose around his collar. DS Rachel Berry is standing near the living room door; she’s wearing a trouser suit. She hasn’t spoken yet, but she’s looking at us as though we’ve done something wrong.

      Emma’s rocking forwards and backwards; her arms wrapped around herself. My hand is resting on hers, but I don’t think she realises I’m here. Where the hell is Mum? She doesn’t usually go out on a Monday evening. Grace has been missing for nearly an hour. I’ve tried to get through to her at least three times. I get out my phone and dial her number. Her machine answers, again. She must be on her way.

      ‘Is there any chance Grace could have gone to meet a friend that you don’t know?’ asks Detective Hines. ‘Does she talk to anyone online?’

      He’s perched on the edge of the armchair that Matt usually sits in. Instead, Matt’s standing up with his hands going crazy – in his pockets, out of his pockets, through his hair. He looks out of the window, but the house lamps inside are too bright against the darkening sky outside. All I can see is the room reflected back at us.

      The sound of the police helicopter gets louder as it flies over the house. Police officers traipse in and out, up and down the stairs. They open and shut cupboard doors, look under the stairs, in the bath, behind the shower curtain. Others are opening the upstairs hatch, pulling down the ladder. Their heavy footsteps are