Seven Days. Alex Lake

      He didn’t eat dinner; he couldn’t. His stomach was tight and clenched and the spaghetti bolognese on his plate looked totally unappetizing.

      James nodded at his plate. ‘Can I have that?’

      Evidently his son was not feeling the same way. Martin passed it over and stood up. He looked at the clock over the sideboard. It was nearly seven p.m. Maggie had never stayed out this late without letting them know; she always told them when she was going to be out, and where she was going to be.

      Not this time. Maybe it had slipped her mind, but he didn’t think so. She was somewhere, and someone knew where that was.

      He went to the phone in the hall and called Kevin.

      ‘Have you seen her?’ he asked, when Kevin picked up.

      ‘No. I was waiting for her to call. About coming over.’

      ‘Any ideas where she might be?’

      ‘No,’ he said. He sounded as worried as Martin, although Martin suspected it was for different reasons. Kevin was no doubt worried she was with another boy.

      He hung up and called Anne again. It sounded like she was in the pub.

      ‘Any sign of Maggie?’ he said.

      ‘No.’ Anne said something to someone and the noise of the pub died down. ‘Sorry about that – I’ve come outside,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t hear in there. Is everything OK, Uncle Martin?’

      ‘Maggie still hasn’t turned up.’

      ‘God,’ Anne said. ‘I hope she’s OK. I’ll ask around, shall I?’

      ‘Please. Call if you hear anything.’

      He tried more of her friends. Everyone he could think of. Chrissie – in Nottingham, but still possibly in possession of some useful information – Jeffrey, Oscar, Fern, Meg, Jessie. They always knew what the rest of them were up to.

      Except now. None of them knew anything.

      He stood with the receiver in his hand. If she wasn’t with a friend, then where was she? Images of bodies in ditches or on hospital trolleys came unbidden. He forced them away. That wasn’t it. There was another explanation, a reason she had said she was going to Anne’s and then not shown up, a reason she had not told anyone where she was.

      And he thought he might know what it was. Maybe Kevin’s fears were justified.

      She had a new boyfriend. Probably older, probably unsuitable – which was why she hadn’t told him and Sandra. And she didn’t want Kevin to find out, which was why she hadn’t told her friends.

      Apart from Chrissie. She told Chrissie everything.

      He dialled Chrissie’s number again.

      ‘Sorry to call again, Chrissie,’ he said. ‘There’s one other thing I wanted to ask you.’

      ‘That’s OK, Mr Cooper. Whatever you want.’

      ‘I know you said you don’t know where Maggie is, but is there anything I should know? Maybe she told you something and asked you not to tell me and her mum, but if she did, now is a good time to say so.’

      ‘No,’ Chrissie said. ‘There’s nothing.’

      ‘Are you sure, Chrissie? Maybe a new boyfriend she wants to keep secret?’

      ‘I promise, Mr Cooper,’ Chrissie said. ‘I promise there’s nothing.’

      She sounded – as far as he could tell – as though she was telling the truth.

      ‘OK,’ he said. ‘If anything comes to mind, or if you hear from her, call me. Anytime.’

       4

      She did not call back. No one did. By ten p.m., Sandra was as worried as him.

      They sat at the kitchen table. Sandra had a mug of tea; Martin still couldn’t stomach anything. He was sure, now, that something was seriously wrong.

      ‘Where the fucking hell is she?’ he said. He rarely swore; even now the words felt out of place in his mouth. ‘I don’t understand what she’s playing at.’

      ‘Me neither,’ Sandra said. ‘But when she does get home she’s going to be in so much trouble she won’t know which way is up for a month. She can’t do this kind of thing.’

      ‘What if something’s happened to her?’ Martin said. ‘I can’t stop picturing—’

      ‘She’s fine,’ Sandra said. ‘Don’t think like that. I did this kind of thing when I was her age. It doesn’t make it any better, but this is what teenage girls do. She’ll be in the park, drinking and smoking. Or with another boy. She’s fifteen.’

      ‘I didn’t do this,’ Martin said. ‘I think there’s a problem, Sandy, I really do.’

      ‘You were a good boy,’ Sandra replied. ‘That’s why I married you. It looks like she has some of me in her. That’s all it is.’

      ‘Maybe,’ Martin said. ‘Maybe.’

       5

      At eleven, Martin walked out to his car. He couldn’t stay in the house, waiting, doing nothing, any longer. He had to go and find his little girl.

      He decided to start at the park. He pulled up at the entrance and walked through the gates. From somewhere in the darkness he heard talking, and saw the red glow of cigarette tips. He headed towards them.

      It was a group of four or five teenagers, boys and girls, all a year or two older than Maggie. They were smoking, bottles dangling from their hands.

      ‘Excuse me,’ he said.

      They turned to look at him, their voices falling silent.

      ‘Yeah?’ one of the boys said. ‘What?’

      ‘I was wondering if you’d seen my daughter?’

      ‘Maybe,’ the boy replied. ‘Who is she?’

      ‘Maggie. Maggie Cooper.’

      The name drew blank looks.

      ‘I haven’t,’ the boy said. ‘I don’t know her. Any of youse seen her?’

      One of the girls stepped forward. She looked younger than the others. ‘I know Maggie,’ she said. Her voice was slurred. ‘We have English together.’

      ‘Have you seen her?’

      The girl shook her head. ‘No. I mean, I seen her at school, but not out.’

      ‘Do you know where she might be? Are there other places kids hang out?’

      The girl looked at her friends and shrugged. ‘In town, maybe. Some kids go to the pubs.’

      ‘She’s a bit young for that.’

      One of the boys laughed. ‘Yeah, mate. They let anyone in, especially girls. They want them in.’

      Martin didn’t ask for what. He didn’t need to.

      ‘Which pub is most likely?’ he said.

      ‘Could be any.’ The boy sniffed. ‘You’ll have to try them all.’

      ‘OK,’ Martin said. ‘Thanks.’

      ‘Is she OK?’ the girl asked.

      For a moment, Martin didn’t reply. ‘I hope so,’ he said, eventually. ‘I hope so.’

      In the car he checked his phone. There were no missed calls, no text messages from Sandra announcing