MISSING PRESUMED DEAD. A Short Story.

If I could only take back the words I would but I was feeling tired and irritable when I said them. Jack was never here when he was wanted and Stephen was always playing that loud music and Emily was so moody lately which was in sharp contrast to when she was little. She was always the one to sit on my knee for that extra cuddle. I was always the one to whom she’d come with her little problems. I can remember so clearly her first day at school. Her tearful little face pressed against the school gates, imploring me to take her home. How I wish despite her moodiness that she was at home now. Instead she’s goodness knows where.

We had this argument you see. It started with a discussion about her not tidying her room, about staying out way past the agreed time to return without so much as a word as to her whereabouts and when we could expect her. Then it progressed. It snowballed as it rolled on, gathering up the hurtful insulting remarks flung from both sides until it became unrecognisable as the reasonable discussion I’d hoped to have at its beginning. I said some terrible unspeakable things of which I never knew myself to be capable. Of course I didn’t wish she’d never been born, of course I didn’t mean that if I never saw her again it would be too soon, of course I didn’t believe that she in particular had thwarted my ambitions and that if I’d not have had children I could have had a better life. I said these things though and now I can’t unsay them. I can’t apologise either because I don’t know where she is. She could be dead. One thing’s for certain, she’s not as lonely as I am right now. I wonder if she’s needing me as much as I am her? I’ve spent fifteen long yet fleeting years nurturing her and guiding her and building a relationship which I thought to be fortress strong, only to see it fall like a house of cards. I huffed and I puffed and I blew the house down. I turned from the reasonable person I thought I was into the big bad wolf who has somehow done worse than devour its young. Now the rubble is at my feet. Have I really come to mean so little to her? The worst of it is that Jack and Stephen seem so unaffected. Yesterday I broke down in the bank but Jack just goes to work like an automaton. If only he’d put his arms around me! All he says, when he isn’t blaming me that is, is that she’ll come home but what if she can’t? What if she doesn’t? What if she won’t? Tell me what then eh? What then?

We’ve been married for seventeen years. Val was everything to me. When we had the kids I felt excluded so we drifted apart. She loved them so much that sometimes I felt like no more than a provider – The money provider, house provider, sperm provider and a substitute for the hot water bottle. Now our Emily’s run off. I can’t say whether she’s got a boyfriend or if she’s with a girlfriend or a stranger. Wherever she is all her friends are denying they’ve seen her. The police are now involved and her description has been circulated. I dread the months escalating into years without us ever finding out what has become of her. I dread the phone ringing yet long for it to at the same time. I dread never hearing her voice again. I long to just go to Val and put my arms around her and comfort her but if I were to I’d cry. When I was ten and cut my knee that was the last time I cried and then my father ridiculed me, telling me boys don’t cry and I’m hardly a boy now am I? I’m a man and a father myself – A father who has lost, albeit temporarily – His only daughter. Val, Stephen and I are like parallel lines which meet but never touch. You’d think an experience like this would unite us wouldn’t you? Wars unite people There are support groups for everyone from alcoholics to people suffering from alzheimer’s disease and indeed for those with missing relatives but I just can’t talk to anyone. I know Val thinks I don’t care. Goodness knows what Stephen thinks.

Sometimes I’m glad she’s gone. We did nothing but bicker over what T.V. programmes to watch, the hi-fi and who should use it next, over whose turn it was to do the washing-up and over whom our parents loved best. Now I feel so guilty. Maybe if Mum hadn’t had so much agro from me she wouldn’t have shouted so much and Em wouldn’t have gone off. Funny that! I haven’t called her Em since we were kids. It was always “Fish Face” or “Moody Blue” or “Dog’s breath”. I thought her friends were low-lifes. Sometimes I think she’s okay because she’s a survivor. I can’t watch ‘Crimewatch’ which makes Mum think I’m callous. When we went out the other day I saw this girl who looked just like her from the back. Mum noticed her too and shouted out Em’s name. Then she felt a right nerd when the girl turned round and it wasn’t her. Dad had to take her for a cup of tea because she became hysterical again. I found her tranquilisers the other day and counted them. I’m a bit scared in case she pops all of ‘em. I don’t say so though in case I put the idea into her head. I’ll give Em hell when she does come home. If I muck up my exams it’ll be down to her giving me all this hass.

I hate this city. I thought London’d be great but it’s crap. I can’t go back though. It’s a matter of pride isn’t it? I look eighteen and can take care of myself. It was lousy at Sharon’s. Kipping on the floor and hearing her and her boyfriend doing it in the next room. First off I ran away to teach them a lesson. Mum’s always on my case and Steve was always her favourite – The beloved son – Her “fave rave”. I sort of remember her blubbing when I started school but that was because she no longer had an excuse not to get a life. Anyway the row gave me the excuse I needed to huff off. The pregnancy test I did the other day was positive. I just couldn’t stand all the righteous moralising and the recriminations and the stuff about couldn’t I have been more careful. I was bloody careful! Barry’s condom burst and I certainly can’t tell her about Barry. Come to think of it I can’t even tell him. It was a one-nighter anyway. He’s one of eight and can’t stand squabbling kids. I can’t get no benefits ‘cos I ain’t got an address. Still perhaps Roy will let me busk with him for a bit to earn some money. I doubt he’ll stick by me though once I start to show. Perhaps I can get a proper job to see me through till the baby’s born. No way would I have an abortion! God knows how I’ll afford new clobber when these clothes don’t fit no more.

The knock at the door came early. Sergeant Reynolds was on the doorstep asking for Jack to go to the station to identify a body found in the Thames. The body was of a young girl who’d been badly beaten about. Obviously she’d not commited suicide. Emily’s mother was told she need not come as it was not a sight she should see.

Jack returned. Speechless he just sat staring at his wife. He’d never seen the like of that before – Well ordinary people don’t do they. With shaking hands and ashen faced he took the tea Val made him. Half of it was spilled and the other half gulped in an attempt not to be sick again. “Well Jack! For god’s sake tell us! Was it our Emily or wasn’t it”?