loose board is a patch of scuffed snow, where Sophia must have crawled on her knees. There are patches of grass where the snow has been scooped up and piled to the side, then a faint trail of pint-size prints, already half covered with falling snow. A few feet from the fence, half buried in the snow, is Elephant. My chest tightens.
“Sophia!”
I would never give her back. I never meant it, not really. Never truly imagined ringing Social Services to tell them we couldn’t cope, didn’t want to be Sophia’s parents anymore. It was a reaction, that’s all, to the hiding and fighting and not wanting to be held. It was envy, I suppose, of all the parents with straightforward kids.
“Sophia!” Louder now, unable to hide the panic in my voice as I run toward the center of the park. If this were a race, I’d be pacing myself, mindful of how far I have to run, but I don’t know, don’t care. I’ll run all night to find my daughter.
It’s already dark, the park lit only by the occasional lamppost and a soft, yellow haze from the housing estate on the opposite side. I use my phone as a torch, following the footprints and wondering how long to give it before I call 999. They’ll scramble the helicopter within minutes; they’ll fly over the woods and check the lake—
I stumble, my foot catching in a tree root, feel my breath grow ragged even though I’ve barely run a hundred yards, fear sucking the strength from my limbs.
“Sophia!” Becca catches up with me, mascara all over her face. “There’s no sign of anyone by the entrance.” She looks at the ground, at the prints she’s kicked snow over, and she claps her hands to her mouth, a high-pitched moan echoing through the silence. Her hysteria forces me out of mine.
“Go and check the play park. I’ll look in the woods.” I think of the lake, with its little island populated by ducks. Sophia’s constant questions. How many are there? What are they called? How do they know when it’s time for bed?
Then, through the crisp night air, I hear something.
“Shhh.” I grab Becca’s arm, and she gulps back her sobs.
There it is again.
Laughter.
“Sophia!” We run toward the sound, my heart thumping the same beat as my boots. I think of the day Katya left, of Sophia’s tearstained face. The fear and disappointment put there by my actions.
Sophia is on the other side of a small group of trees, throwing a snowball at a group of teenagers. One of them stoops, balls up a handful of snow, and throws it gently at Sophia’s arm.
I roar at them. “Leave her alone!”
She doesn’t look hurt, but my hands ball into fists. Closer, I can see they’re not even teenagers; they’re maybe eleven or twelve at most. Three sheepish boys and a girl who looks at me defiantly. Doing someone else’s dirty work? I draw closer, not stopping till I’m close enough for them to see who they’re up against. “Who sent you? Who told you to take her?”
The tallest lad curls his lip. “The fuck you talking about?”
“What are you doing?”
“This is a public place. We’ve got as much right to be here as you.”
“Not with my daughter, you haven’t.”
Sophia’s looking down at the ground. I pull up her chin so I can see her face. She knows she’s in trouble, and she jerks away from me.
“How do we know she’s your daughter?” the girl says. There’s laughter in her tone, but the others take up the theme.
“She doesn’t seem to like you very much.”
“Yeah, you could be abducting her.”
“Pedo!”
“Sophia, we’re going home.” I take her hand, and she snatches it away from me. Please, Sophia, not now.
“She doesn’t want to go!”
“Kidnapper!”
“Pedo!”
I hold out Elephant, and Sophia squashes her face in his wet coat, then I get out my warrant card and snap it open. “I’m Detective Sergeant Holbrook. This is my daughter. Now fuck off.”
They fuck off, running toward the housing estate, with a half-hearted wanker! once they’re safely out of reach.
I look at my daughter, my heart pounding, trying to reach a level of calmness that won’t scare her. “Why?”
“The snow’s better here.”
“You scared me. I thought someone had taken you.” Tears prick my eyes. I drop to my knees, snow soaking instantly through my trousers, and hold out my arms. “Come here, sweetheart.”
When Sophia was a toddler, all our friends’ children were coping with separation anxiety while we were struggling