Finding Lucy. Diana Finley

Lucy had called me Mummy.

       Chapter Fifteen

      January 1987

      Lucy

      I’m a big girl now. Mummy said so. Going to big school today. Not nursery any more. Got special clothes for school. I like yellow shirt best. Yellow my favourite colour – like sunshine. My sweatshirt is blue. Got a badge with words on. Wear it when it’s cold. I got a grey skirt. Mummy says I look smart; I look grown-up.

      We walked to the school. Mummy held my hand. Lots of children in the yard. There are some coloured lines on the ground. Wiggling about. Maybe we paint coloured lines in school today? Some boys and girls running on the lines and laughing.

      I want to run on the yellow line, but my heart feels bumpy. Wish Stacy was here. Don’t tell Mummy. Mummy doesn’t like Stacy. Makes her sad. I’m holding Mummy’s hand and watching the boys and girls.

      Mummy says, ‘Go on, Lucy, don’t you want to play? It’ll be time to go inside in a minute.’

      I see Laura from playgroup. She runs over. She stands in front of me, smile on her face. She sticks out her hand to me. I look at Mummy. She smiles and nods her head. Laura and me hold hands and run. She pulls me to a red line.

      ‘No! Yellow,’ I say.

      Laura says ‘OK’ and we chase the yellow line all round the playground, laughing and laughing.

      Suddenly a bell is ringing. Big, loud bell. We stop running. A teacher lady is standing by the door with her face smiling. Another lady next to her. All the children run to near her. She shouts in a kind voice, ‘Good morning, children! How lovely to see you all! Welcome to you on your first day of school! My name is Miss Carson. This is Mrs Hope, our special kind helper. We’re all going to have a lovely day today: playing with toys and games, listening to stories, and learning lots of exciting things! Does that sound like fun?’

      Some of the children shout, ‘Yes!’

      Laura shouts ‘Yes!’ but I feel shy. I look for Stacy. Some children jump up and down.

      Miss Carson says, ‘Well, children, say “bye-bye” to your mummies and daddies now. And say “see you later”.’

      Miss Carson says in a loud excited voice, ‘Then – let’s – go – in – and – have – a – look – at – our – classroom!’

      I run back to Mummy and she gave me a big hug, and my special yellow schoolbag.

      ‘Bye-bye, Lucy dear, have a wonderful day, and I’ll be here to pick you up at three o’clock,’ she says, and she pushes me towards Miss Carson, not hard.

      Laura walking into school too, and lots of other children. Some children still hugging their mummies and daddies, and crying. The Mrs Hope lady goes to talk to them. I not crying, but I wish Stacy was here.

       Chapter Sixteen

      1987

      Alison

      At the start of the January term, when Lucy was nearly four and a half, she began attending the Reception class of the local first school. By this time the press had long tired of Stacy’s disappearance and moved on to other more current or more sensational news stories. Just occasionally, one of the tabloid newspapers ran a feature headed something like “Wherever is Stacy?”, followed by speculation as to her whereabouts, or presented some trumped-up theory about her fate with the white slave trade or itinerant gypsies, or made even darker references to paedophiles and murderers.

      About a year after “Stacy’s abduction” Inspector Dempster had made an appeal on the BBC Crimewatch programme. I watched it after Lucy had gone to bed. Detective Inspector Dempster looked tired, I noticed. There were dark circles under his eyes, but he was still a handsome man; distinguished, just as I remembered him. He spoke articulately, with quiet confidence, and with just a hint of a northern accent discernible. He reminded viewers of the few details that were known concerning Stacy’s disappearance, and urged them to search their memories for any further information.

      A reconstruction of the “abduction”, as they called it, was shown. A shadowy figure of a woman in a dark coat was scurrying down one of Riddlesfield’s gloomy terraces, pushing a fair-haired toddler in a pushchair. I was delighted to note that the film showed her pushing it down the wrong street! What’s more, they showed only a little girl in the pushchair, and clearly had no idea of her transformation into a boy at that stage – a boy in a woolly hat with no fair hair showing.

      The public was asked that anyone present in the area that night, who might have seen a small fair-haired girl or had noticed anything unusual – anything at all, however insignificant it might appear – should report their observations immediately. A little boy was never mentioned. Detective Inspector Dempster did say that Stacy might have been taken to a car parked elsewhere in the town, or possibly to the train station. He therefore reminded viewers that the child could have been taken anywhere in Britain, or even abroad. No mention was made specifically of the North East as a likely destination, which was a relief to me.

      The programme had shown an artist’s impression of what Stacy might have looked like at the current time. I wasn’t too concerned about this – it really could have been any snub-nosed, fair-haired four-year-old. The artist had no dental records and no up-to-date photographs on which to base this likeness – the family had never taken Lucy to visit a dentist and had no recent photos of her, only one or two baby pictures. Neither were any distinguishing features mentioned, which might have marked her out. Yet I knew that Lucy actually had a diamond-shaped brown birthmark on the back of her neck, only visible by lifting her hair. I’d seen it as soon as I washed her hair for the first time. No doubt her parents had never even noticed it – it wouldn’t surprise me if they’d never washed her hair.

      Detective Inspector Dempster had ended by assuring the public that the case would never, never be closed – until Stacy was found. The unspoken words “alive or dead” hung in the air.

      Periodically, there were newspaper interviews with Gary and Shelley Watts, well paid, no doubt, which printed nauseous quotes from the “still-grieving parents”, such as ‘We’ll never forget our Stace …’, ‘We’ll search for our girl if it takes for ever …’ and the like. All my opinions about Lucy’s birth family were confirmed. There could be no doubt she was far better off with me – and without them.

      By this time Lucy’s Riddlesfield accent was long gone. Despite some slight lingering immaturities, everyone remarked on how beautifully she spoke, what a wide vocabulary she had, what good manners she had. It was something that mattered a lot to me. I felt it was important to bring her up to be polite, just as Mother had with me.

      At first when Lucy was given something and I had prompted her with ‘What do you say, Lucy?’ she would reply ‘Ta’. I would have to explain to others that unfortunately my aunt in Nottingham, though well meaning, had taught her some slang and also some “baby words”, of which I did not approve. The aunt had misguidedly thought it was easier for a small child to learn to say “ta” rather than “thank you”, I told them. Personally, I never believed there was any necessity to alter language for children. How can “choo-choo” be easier to learn than “train”, or “bye-byes” rather than “sleep”? It just meant the unfortunate child ended up having to learn two words rather than the correct one in the first place.

      So, early on, Lucy had received some intensive speech training from me to great effect, and was soon using “please” and “thank you”, and other social niceties. I find people always prefer a well-mannered child, as I do myself.

      * * *

      The first time I went to see Lucy’s pleasant young