The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1170 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Did you ever get a response to your text?” asked Simon as I parked the car.

“The one to Julie?” I asked and he nodded. “No, but then if her phone was switched off I wouldn’t would I?”

“No, I suppose not. You don’t think she’s just pissed with us and dumped the scooter to worry us, do you?”

“Si, she might be a teenager but she wouldn’t do something as stupid as that. I wish there was some way of knowing if she’d been to college.”

“What good would that do?” he looked even more forlorn than I felt, and I felt pretty bad.

“It would give us a starting place.”

“What about the scooter?”

“That’s what’s so funny, it feels absolutely dead–I’m not getting anything.”

“Could that mean she’s dead?”

“I don’t know–it might, but equally might not.”

“What do we do now?” he asked me as we walked into the house.

“Wait and see if the police find anything, which I think is unlikely.”

“Why?”

“With thermal imaging equipment, if she was anywhere near there, they’d have found her in a few minutes.”

“What even in the water?”

“Even if she was dead,” I replied and burst into tears.

“You don’t think she is, do you?”

“I don’t know, Si.”

Simon went up to shower–he was cold and wet–leaving me to deal with all the anxious faces.

“We don’t know where she is, I found the scooter which the police think could be damaged by a collision. They haven’t found her yet, or hadn’t when we came home. I don’t know any more than that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a cup of tea and I suspect Simon will need something a little stronger.”

I retreated to the kitchen and Stella and Jenny allowed me to escape without interrogation by Trish, who was bursting to ask something. Most of the time I can cope with and even enjoy her questioning mind, but tonight I felt very fragile and vulnerable.

I sat in the kitchen and drank my tea, then resting my head on my arms, I leant on the kitchen table and was asleep in minutes, staying like that until Simon found me half an hour later. He took me up to bed and I just lay on the top and slept again. I later found out he undressed me to my undies and put me into bed then cuddled into me and I slept all night.

I woke about six, wondering where the baby was–Jenny had moved the cot with Simon’s help to let me sleep. I was still exhausted when I woke, but I knew that was nerves or anxiety rather than anything else.

I slipped out of the bed only to discover I was in my bra and pants with a mouth which felt as if it had been carpeted. I showered and dressed after cleaning my teeth–that helped the furry tongue syndrome. Then it was down to make some tea and start wondering how I could find my missing child.

I looked at the photo I had of her, such a happy kid–sometimes, she’s a teenager, remember. I kept saying she was fifteen, she’s not she’s sixteen–she had to be to ride the moped thing–shows my mental state when I can’t remember how old my foster children are. Have I got too many to give them the attention they all deserve and need? Each one of them has issues, have I just bitten off more than I could chew?

I drank my tea and tried to focus on the face in the picture asking her to tell me where she was, and for my love to lead me to her. I felt myself falling into the photo, almost as if I was inside Julie. She was asleep or unconscious, like she’d been drinking or drugged. I tried to make her open her eyes so I could see where she was, but she was unresponsive–but I knew she was alive.

Now I had to find her before who ever had her discovered her shortcomings if they hadn’t already. I tried to send her love and healing light, but for some reason it didn’t get to her, or it did but I couldn’t follow it.

I grabbed a handful of biscuits and bottle of water, my handbag, my mobile and my coat and drove off. It was half past seven on a Friday morning and the rush hour traffic meant I couldn’t get the space to tune in to her. I drove off up on the ridge overlooking Portsmouth and parked the car. I locked myself in and started scanning the landscape before me, trying to get a hint of any direction where she could be.

An hour later and I had no sense of anything or anywhere. I switched on my phone and I had a text from Simon.

‘Where the hell R U? Si.’ I texted him back.

‘I’ll be back soon, tell the kids they can stay home if they want.’

He answered me a moment later: ‘2 late they’ve gon.’

I drove to Julie’s college and enquired about her attendance the previous day. She had apparently attended up to lunch time. The police had been there as well asking after her, she left during her lunch break and no one saw her since.

I asked if I could speak to her teachers or classmates but was refused. “The police have done all that, so we can’t allow you to disturb the class again.” I left with my tail between my legs and walked back to my car. Then I had a brainwave.

I stormed back into the college and found out which class Julie would have been in now. I knocked on the door and explained very quickly who I was.

“Look I understand you’re worried, but we’re running late–the police were here about Julie a little while ago.”

“If I can just borrow two minutes of your time and that of your class, then I’ll go.”

The teacher looked at me, “I don’t kn–go on, be quick or they’ll have my guts for garters.”

“Thanks.” I walked into the class. “Hi, I’m Cathy Cameron, Julie Kemp’s foster mum.” A buzz ran round the room. “I’m writing my mobile number on the board. If anyone has any info about Julie, please let me know. I’ll pay fifty pounds for anything that helps me find her, and if anyone helps me to catch the person or persons who have her–I fear she’s been abducted, I’ll pay them a thousand if we can get a conviction. There’s my number, write it down. Thank you.”

“Wow, that could get expensive,” said the teacher.

“My husband owns a bank.”

“You’re not one of those Camerons, I mean High Street Bank PLC Cameron?”

“Is there another?”

“I suppose not.” She blushed and looked a little sheepish.

“The reward includes teachers, or anyone you can think of who might be able to shed light on her disappearance. Oh, all calls will be in confidence.” I called the last bit to the class.

“I hope you find her, she’s not a bad kid.”

“She’s a lovely kid and I intend to.” I drove home hoping that I’d stirred up something which might help us, even if it pissed off the police. They have one kind of resource, I have another–or Simon does.