me shiver. Perhaps the police have already visited the flat and realised I’m no longer living there. They could already be checking the records of my credit card and mobile phone. When they discover I haven’t used either since Mabel was taken, they’ll be even more suspicious and their search will intensify. But will they find out about this place? It’s hard to say.
A sustained whine from Mabel cuts into my worried musings. ‘All right,’ I say, bending down to remove her from the chair, ‘let’s risk it.’ I carry her into the bedroom and lay her on the spare bed. ‘You can wear your new pink snowsuit. We’ll take the car and drive somewhere remote, then if you’re a good girl, I’ll take you out in the pushchair. Maybe we’ll even go as far as the sea. I don’t suppose you’ve seen the sea yet. It’ll be too cold to play on the sand, but it’ll be fun to see the waves.’
I pack a bottle and some healthy snacks, then assemble her changing bag with a set of spare clothes in case she’s sick or does a nasty poo. Such a lot of fuss to go out for the day! Once we’re in a proper routine, we’ll be fine, but at the moment I’m spending more time getting ready to do things than actually doing them.
‘Come on, sweetie.’ I open the front door to be greeted by a blast of cold air. ‘Oh dear, let’s get you into the car straight away.’ I strap her into the seat, put the changing bag next to her, then get in myself. Before reversing out of the gravel driveway, I pull a silly face at her in the rear mirror, hoping for a smile, but she’s staring out of the window, her young mind elsewhere.
‘Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside!’ I warble, driving along the twisty lanes. It’s a song my grandmother used to sing when I visited her in Brighton. My parents liked to dump me with her in the school holidays so they could carry on working. ‘Oh, I do like to be beside the sea!’ I didn’t particularly like it, as it happens. Grandma used to make me swim in the freezing grey waters of the English Channel, whatever the weather. Afterwards, I’d sit on the beach, a damp towel around my shoulders, eating gritty sandwiches with blue lips.
I glance in the mirror, hoping for a glimmer of enthusiasm from Mabel for my singing, but she’s already fallen asleep. ‘Come on, it wasn’t that bad,’ I laugh, shifting down a gear to navigate a sharp bend.
As we journey southwards, taking the back roads towards the coast, I start to relax a little. When all the fuss is over and everyone’s given up looking for her, we’ll have more freedom to go out and about. We’ll head west, where there’s more sand and the temperatures are milder. I’ll let her toddle around on the beach, and when she’s a little older, we’ll dig holes to jump over and build sandcastles, decorating them with shells. We’ll hunt for shrimps in the rock pools and we won’t put even our toes in the water unless it’s baking hot. I’ll buy her ice-cream cornets with a chocolate flake and we’ll stop for fish and chips on the way home. Warm Mediterranean waters and supper in a Greek taverna is more my style, but sadly, I’ll never be able to take her abroad. Not without a passport.
All of which reminds me that I’m going to have to change her name. I look at her in the rear mirror again, wondering what on earth to choose. I should start using her new name now, so that she gets used to it. I’ve always wanted to call my daughter Miranda. Or Sophia. Or Imogen. Would any of those suit her? Difficult to decide when I’m so used to thinking of her as Mabel, even though I never would have chosen it myself. I need something more personal, more appropriate.
‘What name would you like?’ I ask her. ‘How about Dolly, after my dear old great-aunt who gave us her home? What do you think? Would you like to be called Dolly, or would you prefer Dorothy? Or Dotty. Or even Dot?’ Mabel doesn’t respond. I chatter on regardless, posing the advantages and disadvantages of the various shortenings, but she remains resolutely asleep and uninterested.
We’re only about five miles from our destination when I notice