S is for Stranger: the gripping psychological thriller you don’t want to miss!

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‘Sorry, Amy.’ I hugged her close. ‘I didn’t mean to shout. You just gave me a scare, that’s all.’ I turned my attention to Paul who was looking at me like I had lost it.

‘And where were you? Where did you go?’

‘To the toilet,’ he said, unflinching.

‘To the toilet,’ I repeated, ‘to the toilet. You call that good parenting?’

‘I was only a few minutes.’

I inhaled deeply.

‘Sophie, maybe you’re tired. You look tired, if you don’t mind me saying.’

He was trying to undermine me but I was familiar with his tactics and I didn’t rise to the bait.

‘Amy, how about you and I go get some candyfloss or something,’ I suggested, my voice calm except for a slight tell-tale waver. ‘How does that sound?’

Amy looked to Paul before answering. He started to protest but surprised me. ‘Go on, Amy, it’ll be nice to spend some time with Mummy.’

‘OK,’ she agreed quietly.

I took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

‘Meet me here in twenty, OK?’ Paul said, and pointed to the information booth sign. I nodded. ‘And I mean twenty. No later.’

Amy led me from one stall to another and we finally stopped to watch a young boy focused on winning a Winnie-the-Pooh-Bear at the coconut shy. We stood in silence for a few moments before Amy’s face took on a weighted seriousness.

‘Mummy, why do you get so angry with Daddy?’

‘Because we don’t always see eye to eye. But it’s not you. You do know that?’ I put my arm around her. ‘I’m sorry about shouting at you earlier. I was just worried.’

She paused. ‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’ She pulled the cuffs of her coat further down.

‘I know that.’ I studied Amy’s face. ‘Were you talking to someone back there?’

Her lower lip started to tremble. ‘No. You told me not to talk to strangers.’

‘I know,’ I said, more gently now, ‘but did a woman talk to you? I know you wouldn’t approach a stranger yourself.’

She shook her head furiously from side to side and hugged me, burying her head in my coat. ‘Don’t worry, Ames. It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? You’re safe now. That’s the most important thing.’

‘Mummy?’

‘Yep?’

I didn’t expect it. Her words knocked me for six. ‘Daddy says we shouldn’t talk about you any more.’

There it was; like a knife in my heart. No warning. ‘He does, does he? And why’s that?’ My voice was pitched high, unnaturally high.

‘Because he says that, when you left, we had to make our own world and, so, if we talk about you, it’s …’ She stopped.

‘It’s what?’

‘It’s like you’re still my mummy.’

I looked away, tears threatening to overspill onto my cheeks. ‘I am still your mummy and I’ve wanted more than anything to see more of you.’

‘Daddy says you don’t really want to see me any more and that’s why you didn’t come over on Saturdays.’

‘No, not at all,’ I started and stopped. ‘I wanted to see you, Amy. You need to trust me.’ I knew it was inadequate and, yet, I knew she’d never accept the truth or want to hear it: how could an eight-year-old girl understand her father hadn’t allowed me to see her? I also didn’t want to admit that I had had no control over the situation. That if I turned up and caused a scene, it would only upset her and Paul would make me out to be the bad guy. I knew that the least I could do was to protect her from arguments. ‘Anyway, Ames, let’s get that candyfloss and head back to Daddy, yeah?’ I was desperate to change the subject.

She nodded, hurt etched across her tiny features.

I gave her a few pound coins and watched her walk confidently up to the candyfloss seller. She asked for two sticks and turned around to check if that was OK. I put my hand up and indicated three. She changed the order. I couldn’t believe how she had grown up, the same little girl who at one time preferred to remain wrapped around my legs, her small pudgy hand in mine.

My phone vibrated in my bag, cutting through my thoughts. Paul, no doubt. We had been over twenty minutes. I rummaged around in the tote, found the phone and hurriedly tried to flip it open before the third ring ended. I got it on the fourth.

‘We’re just coming back.’

A rough, low, muffled female voice filled the phone.

‘Happy birthday, Sophie.’ A pause. ‘Your turn.’

‘Who is this?’ I managed to blurt out, my heart pounding furiously. I could hear someone else calling out my name and then, the call went dead.

The voice. So familiar.

Blood rushed to my ears, my heart hammering my chest.

I looked over to the stall to check on Amy and dropped my mobile to the ground, my eyes fixed on the spot where she had just been standing.

She was gone.

A deathly chill passed over my body, my heart dropped into my stomach. Half a beat later, I snapped out of it and quickly retrieved my phone off the ground. I moved erratically from one side of the stalls to the other, my eyes desperately scanning the crowds.

‘Did you see where that little girl went?’ I asked the candyfloss seller.

‘Huh?’ The overweight man squinted at me through his spectacles.

‘The little girl who just asked you for candyfloss. Did you just sell candyfloss to a girl about this high?’ I showed him. ‘Auburn hair?’

He shrugged his shoulders and called over me to the next customer. I whipped around. Droplets of sweat formed on my upper lip. I clasped my throat; dry as parchment paper.

‘Amy!’ I called out, my voice drowning in the hubbub of the fair.

I attempted to control my shaking hand as I scrolled through the phone menu looking for Paul’s name. It went straight through to voicemail. I tried again. My eyes darted left and right searching for any sign of Amy’s pink duffle coat or strawberry blonde hair. She had vanished. I prayed to god she had found her way back to her father. It didn’t seem possible: I had taken my eyes off her for less than thirty seconds. I wanted to scream at the woman staring at me as she passed by with a pushchair and her young son hanging onto the handle, I wanted to shout at the man who had just dug his elbow into his friend’s side and nodded in my direction. They both walked off laughing. Thirty seconds. Where had she gone in thirty seconds?

Paul eventually picked up.

‘Sophie?’

‘I can’t find her, I can’t find Amy,’ I shouted over the mounting noise. ‘Is she with you?’ A moan escaped my throat. I pushed the phone up against my ear in an effort to drown out the arcade games and music.

‘What do you mean you can’t find her?’

‘She was here,’ I said. ‘Oh god, oh god …’ My face crumpled. Large tears landed on my lips, I licked them away and wiped my nose on the back of my sleeve. ‘Where are you?’

‘At home,’ he answered.

‘Home?’ I shouted. How much time had passed? My mind felt a familiar fuzziness, the same sensation warning me of the onset of a panic attack. My body telling me I was in danger. ‘What are you doing there?’

‘Where are you?’

‘What do you mean, where am I?’ I shouted, throwing my free arm into the air. ‘I thought I was with you! At the fairground!’

The phone line went silent.

‘Sophie, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wasn’t at a fairground with you today.’