Finders, keepers

I only took my eyes off her for a second. Swinging pigtails, soft legs.

Scan quickly back up the path, peer into the woods calling her name, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. It’s cold. Sweat prickles my neck. I tell myself she can’t have gone far, whistle the dogs. They don’t come back. I call their names. Maybe they’re together, you hear stories about dogs looking after children.

I clamber down the muddy bank to the river, the light is going, bile rises in my throat pushes curses out.

I shout her name, No child, no dogs. My heart throws itself against my ribs. Surely, she’s playing somewhere. Child has such an imagination. Push brambles aside to look under the bridge. She can’t have come this way, would have caught her hair, and there are nettles.

Where is she? And why did I come out in these stupid shoes, I never walk in these shoes and these dogs need walking every day just to keep them sane. Where are they anyway? I whistle them again.

Mud seeps between my toes.

I shout her name. Begin to run wildly down the path. I know I look crazed, try to steady my voice as a man approaches with a dog, I can see the alarm in his eyes. Or is it guilt.

“My daughter, she’s only 6, she was right next to me, brown hair, green coat”. He shakes his head and looks at me strangely.

Pounding blood deafens me. I try to breathe. What about where the bridge crosses the river, maybe she’s fallen. No, she’s too sensible to fall and she knows not to go in, anyway, it’s shallow near the edges. What about where the path crosses the lane?

It only takes a second, a car pulling up, she is watchful, stops skipping as she sees the man, who bundles her into the back of the car. Feisty but so small, no match for a grown-up man. She would scream, fight. But there’s no-one to hear.

The need to hold my child shudders through me, an ache in my arms and chest. Wish I’d brought my phone. I’m running on the path down by the river, calling her, scanning wildly from side to side as branches snatch at my face and my thin cotton dress, why am I wearing this for walking in? I stop, my slippers squelching in the mud, the thin fabric of my nightdress stained and torn.

That’s when I realise it’s a dream. I shake with relief, knees slip-slide in the mud as I thank God, rock myself waiting to wake up. But something is wrong. The river carries on rushing past and I don’t wake in my bed with her small arm around me, her hair spread across my pillow. The trees, still and steadfast rustle their objections. It’s cold and muddy, I start to shiver.

Voices, calling my name, seep through the river damp air and the half-light.

Here’s two men I don’t recognise, I whistle the dogs again, where are the damned dogs. I’ve never been afraid walking alone.

The man with the dog is behind them. He points at me, they come towards me, matter of factly. How do they know my name? I pick myself up and start to slip run along the path but it’s no good they walk so fast and confidently, they catch me up easily. I try to explain about my daughter, she’s only 6 I say, have they seen her? They tell me she is safe. Well, how do they know. I don’t have time for this. Go away I say but their arms are on mine, I fall to the ground, feel my cheeks burn as this stupid dress I’m wearing rides up, exposing white gooseflesh. Get your hands off me! I’ve heard of women being assaulted like this; I won’t stand for it. It’s futile to fight them, but I try anyway, my fists flail and I bite into the larger one’s hand until he swears and pushes me away roughly. I taste his blood, bare my teeth. A she-wolf.

*    *   *

I wake up in a bed that seems vaguely familiar, although I haven’t slept in a single bed since university. Perhaps it was a dream. But I look down at my hands and see that there is mud under the nails, when I run my hands through my hair a leaf flutters onto the sheet beside me.

Next to the bed, a woman in early middle age with brown hair and a kind fringed face. I smile. Maybe I’ve had a bump on the head.

There’s a picture on the bedside table of me with my daughter and the dogs, on the side of a mountain somewhere. We’re smiling at the camera, my daughter sit-sliding off my knee. Her fringe is short and I’m holding her up a bit under her arms. She’s beautiful.

“What happened to me? Am I in hospital? Did they find my daughter?”

The woman’s eyes mist briefly before she smiles. There’s something in that expression that catches at my soul, snags like the brambles in my hair. Strands of it left behind.

“She’s safe, don’t worry.” She puts her hand on top of mine and I look down at them together. I can’t make sense of it, is that my hand? The skin so loose it seems to fall from the bones, blotched with brown spots.

I snatch it away. Reach for the hand cream waiting on the bed-side table.

She shows me a picture of us together on her phone, we’re smiling and holding up wine glasses.

I close my eyes, breathe, thank god. When I open them shame pulls my eyes away from hers.

“Mum” her eyes fill with tears she tries to blink back.

I only took my eyes off her for a second. Hurriedly navigating the eddies and weir then, just like that, the woman replaces the girl. And my beautiful dogs; how I loved to watch them run. My soul silently whispers its protest like the trees.

She doesn’t take long to compose herself, she’s a fighter alright. Reaches for a tray with a pot of tea, two cups.

“Here you go” she passes one to me. Hand shakes as I bring the scalding liquid to my lips.

“I’ve brought someone to see you”. The swoosh of a tail, a wet nose touches my hand where it lies meekly on the covers. The tail thumps when I stroke the soft head and I feel my soul rise. I sit up and bury my face in his neck, hoping she doesn’t notice my grateful tears.

But when I look up, she’s smiling her pleased with herself smile.

“Can we go out? I want to walk in the mountains”.