Dead Man’s Daughter. Roz Watkins

      Was that something else? It was hard to see in the dappled light.

      A glimpse of pale cotton, the flash of an arm, a white figure shooting away. I followed. There in front of me another statue. Whereas the first child had been weeping, this one was screaming, mouth wide below terrified eyes. I shuddered.

      I ran towards the noise of the river, imagining a child’s body, smashed to pieces by stone and current. I didn’t need a dead girl on my conscience. Not another one. I’d been good recently – not checking my ceilings for hanging sisters or hoarding sleeping pills. I wanted to keep it that way.

      ‘Hello,’ I shouted again. ‘Is there anyone there?’

      A face nudged out from behind a tree which grew at the edge of the gorge.

      It was a girl of about eight or nine. She was wearing only a white nightdress. Her face was bleached with fear and cold, her hair blonde. The paleness of her clothes, skin, and hair made the deep red stains even more shocking.

      I took a step towards the girl. She shuffled back, but stayed facing me, the drop falling away behind her. She must have been freezing. I tried to soften my body to make myself look safe.

      The dog was panting dramatically next to me, after his run. He took a couple of slow steps forward. I was about to call him back, but the girl seemed to relax a little.

      The dog’s whole body wagged. The girl reached and touched him. I held my breath.

      The girl shot me a suspicious look. ‘I like dogs.’ Her voice was rough as if she’d been shouting. ‘Not allowed dogs . . . Make me ill . . . ’

      ‘Are you running from someone?’ I had to get her away from the edge, but I didn’t want to risk moving closer. ‘I’m with the police. I can help you.’

      She stared at me with huge owl eyes, too close to the drop behind.

      Heart thumping, I said, ‘Shall we take him home for his breakfast?’ The dog’s tail wagged. ‘Is that okay?’

      She shifted forward a little and touched the dog softly on the head. A stone splashed into the water below. ‘He needs a drink,’ she whispered.

      Elaine had been right. The girl’s nightdress was smeared with blood. A lot of blood.

      ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Let’s take him back for a drink and some breakfast. Shall we do that?’

      The girl nodded and stepped away from the edge. I picked up the end of the lead and handed it to her, hoping the dog would be keen to get home. I wanted the girl inside and warmed up before she got hypothermia or frostbite, but I sensed I couldn’t rush it.

      I walked slowly away from the gorge, and the dog followed, leading the girl. Her feet were bare, one of her toes bleeding.

      ‘What’s your name?’ I asked.

      I thought she wasn’t going to answer. She shuffled along, looking down.

      ‘Abbie,’ she said, finally.

      ‘I’m Meg. Were you running from someone?’ I shot another look into the trees.

      She whispered, ‘My dad . . . ’

      ‘Were you running from your dad?’

      No answer.

      I tried to remember the substance of the calls we’d had from the woman in the house in the woods. Someone following her. Nothing definite. Nothing anyone else had seen.

      ‘Are you hurt? Is it okay if I have a look?’

      She nodded. I crouched and carefully checked for any wounds. She seemed unharmed, apart from the toe, but there were needle marks on her arms. I was used to seeing them on drug addicts, not on a young girl.

      ‘I have to get injected,’ Abbie said.

      I wondered what was the matter with her. My panic about her welfare ratcheted up a notch. I grabbed my radio and called for paramedics and back-up.

      ‘There’s a stream,’ Abbie said. ‘He needs a drink.’ The dog was still panting hard.

      ‘No, Abbie. Let’s – ’

      She veered off to the right, surprisingly fast.

      ‘Oh, Jesus,’ I muttered.

      Abbie pulled the dog towards the pale statues, darting over the bone-numbing ground. I chased after her.

      There were four statues in total, arranged around the edge of a clearing. They were children of about Abbie’s age or a little younger, two weeping and two screaming, glistening white in the winter light. I ran between them, spooked by them and somehow feeling it was disrespectful to race through their apparent torment, but Abbie was getting away from me.

      I saw her ahead, stepping into a stream so cold there were icy patches on the banks. ‘No, Abbie, come this way!’ I ran to catch up, wincing at the sight of her skinny legs plunging into the glacial water.

      She called over her shoulder. ‘He can drink better at this next bit.’ She clutched the dog-lead as if it were the only thing in the world. I was panicking about her feet, about hypothermia, about what the hell had happened to her, and who might still be in the woods with us. But she was determined to get the dog a drink. And I sensed if I did the wrong thing, she’d bolt.

      ‘Abbie, let me carry you to the drinking place, okay? Your feet must be really sore and cold. We’ll get him a quick drink, then head back and get warmed up.’

      She looked at her feet, then up at me. Worried eyes, blood on her face. She nodded, and shifted towards me.

      I reached for her, but she lurched sideways and fell, crashing into the freezing water. She screamed.

      Heart pounding, I reached and scooped her up. She was drenched and shivering, teeth clacking together. I pulled her inside my coat, feeling the shock of the water soaking into my clothes. I took off my scarf and wound it loosely around her neck.

      I stumbled through the mud, filling my boots with foetid bog water, and finally saw a larger stream ahead, flowing all bright and clear. The dog immersed his face in it, gulped for a few moments, and looked up to show he was done.

      ‘Right, let’s go.’ I shifted Abbie further up onto my hip and limped back in the direction we’d come, trousers dragging down, feet squelching in leaden boots. The dog pulled ahead, shifting me off-balance even more. Through the boggy bit again, past the cold gaze of the statues, and at last to the fence where Elaine was waiting.

      ‘Oh, thank goodness!’ Elaine said. ‘She’s alright.’

      I gasped for breath. ‘Could you go on ahead and put your heating on high? It could take a while for the paramedics to get here. We might need to warm her up in your house. She’s frozen.’

      ‘Shall I run a bath? Not too hot. Like for a baby.’

      ‘No, it’s okay. Just the heating.’

      ‘Like for my baby.’ Her eyes seemed to go cloudy. ‘My poor baby.’

      I touched her lightly on the arm. ‘I’ll bring the girl back. Just put the heating on high and get some blankets or fleeces or whatever you have, to wrap round her.’

      Elaine nodded and helped me lift Abbie over the fence, before heading off at a frustratingly slow walk.

      I picked Abbie up again. ‘Not far now,’ I said, as much to myself as her. ‘We’ll get you inside and warmed up.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she said in a tiny voice. ‘Thank you for letting me get a drink for the dog.’

      Her ribs moved in and out, too fast. That could be the start of hypothermia. I clasped her to me, enveloping her in my jacket and pulling the scarf more snuggly around her neck.

      My feet were throbbing, so I dreaded to think what hers felt like. ‘Where do you live, Abbie?’ I said.