Warhol's Prophecy

3

THE INFORMATION CENTRE was usually busy, but to Hailey it seemed even more crowded this day. Visitors, both frequent and infrequent, could go there to obtain free maps of the large shopping complex. It was also where wheelchairs could be hired, or small buggies for young children. There were several children in there now. The atmosphere inside was one of amiable chaos, a little like the entire precinct itself.

There were two women working behind the small counter, dealing with various queries and enquiries, each managing to retain the fixed smile of those in public service.

Hailey found herself queuing behind a woman in her seventies who was balancing unsteadily on two crutches and glancing around sniffily at the other occupants of the information room, and indeed at most of those passing by outside. She turned and looked appraisingly at Hailey, who was more intent on getting past her to attract the attention of one of the two officials behind the counter.

‘Excuse me,’ said Hailey, wiping away her tears.

The old woman glared at her disdainfully. ‘I’m next,’ she said, moving closer to the counter.

‘Look, I’m sorry, but this is an emergency,’ Hailey told her.

‘I’ve been waiting for ten minutes already. They’re not very fast here, are they?’ the woman sneered audibly.

Again Hailey moved slightly forward.

‘You must wait your turn,’ the old woman snapped, scowling at Hailey full in the face through eyes milky with cataracts.

This time Hailey ignored her and pushed towards the counter, where one of the two women glanced first at her, then at the old woman, who looked as if she was about to strike Hailey with one of her crutches.

‘I was first,’ the old woman said angrily.

‘My child is missing,’ pleaded Hailey. ‘Please put out an announcement.’ She wiped away more tears.

The official, whose badge proclaimed CHRISTINE, looked at her companion then back at Hailey.

‘Would you like to come through?’ she offered, gesturing Hailey towards a door at the end of the counter.

‘I shall report this,’ the old woman shrieked, as Hailey disappeared into a small office beyond.

Christine Palmer closed the door behind them, and motioned for Hailey to sit down.

She pulled a pad and pen towards her and took a seat opposite Hailey, studying her briefly, taking a mental note of the swollen, puffy eyes and red cheeks. The shoulder-length brown hair looked unkempt, and her mascara was smudged around one eye. She offered Hailey a tissue, which she gratefully accepted.

‘What’s your child’s name?’ Christine asked with a practised tone that implied she had asked the same question hundreds of times before, when dealing with hundreds of equally distraught parents.

Hailey told her – adding Becky’s age as an afterthought.

‘And what’s she wearing?’

‘A red knee-length coat, white sweatshirt and black leggings with stars on the seams.’ She blew her nose.

Christine wrote dutifully.

‘Can I have your name, please?’

Again Hailey told her.

‘And age?’

‘What’s the point of that?’ Hailey snapped.

‘Some kids remember things like that instead of their addresses. They remember strange things.’ The woman smiled efficiently. ‘Every little helps.’

‘Twenty-nine,’ Hailey said. ‘Just get an announcement read out, will you, please?’

‘Where did you lose her?’

‘I didn’t lose her: she wandered off,’ Hailey retorted. ‘It wasn’t my fault.’

‘I didn’t say it was. I just asked.’

‘One minute she was beside me, the next she was gone. It wasn’t my fault.’

Shifting blame? Justifying yourself? Tut-tut.

There was a second of silence.

Then Hailey explained to Christine what had happened, and where – watching as she finished scribbling it all down on her pad. Then the woman nodded and got to her feet.

‘I’ll get this read out,’ she reassured Hailey.

‘Someone will find her, won’t they?’ Hailey said quietly, as if expecting the other woman to respond to a question that couldn’t possibly be answered with any certainty.

‘Let me get this read out first,’ Christine Palmer said, and disappeared momentarily, leaving Hailey alone in the small room.

The walls were painted a dull yellow, and adorned with a number of leaflets advertising attractions within the shopping centre itself – including, Hailey noticed, a crèche.

If you’d put Becky safely in there, she’d still be OK.

But, for the most part, Hailey absorbed very little. Or, at least, what she did see didn’t register. She could still think of nothing but Becky. How could she not?

The door opened a moment later and Christine Palmer re-entered.

‘They’ve made an announcement,’ she said.

‘Now what?’

‘All you can do is wait, Mrs Gibson.’

Hailey ran a hand through her hair and exhaled almost painfully. She noticed that Christine Palmer was carrying two steaming styrofoam cups. The older woman sat down and pushed one towards Hailey.

‘Coffee,’ Christine explained. ‘Out of a machine, but it’s better than nothing.’ Her tone was apologetic.

‘Shouldn’t it be tea and sympathy?’ said Hailey, annoyed at herself for the acidity of her tone. She sighed and accepted the coffee with a wan smile.

‘This happens here fifteen or twenty times a day,’ Christine said, sipping her own coffee. ‘Missing kids, I mean.’

I don’t care about the others!

‘I can’t believe I let it happen,’ said Hailey.

‘You can’t keep your eyes on them every second.’

‘I’ve been trying to tell myself that,’ Hailey continued, fiddling around in her handbag for her Silk Cut. She pulled one from the packet and lit it, ignoring the NO SMOKING sign on the wall behind her.

‘They usually turn up within about twenty minutes,’ Christine reassured her.

‘How?’

‘Either someone recognizes the description and brings them here, or they make their own way once they’ve heard the announcement. The older ones at any rate.’

‘Someone brings them in!’ Hailey said incredulously. ‘You mean any bloody stranger?’

Christine watched her impassively.

‘Look, I’ve got kids of my own. I know how you feel,’ she said.

‘Do you?’ Hailey snapped. ‘My daughter is lost out there somewhere. Do you know what that feels like?’

‘Were you on your own when she went missing?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Were you with a friend or boyfriend or husband who might have seen something? Perhaps . . .’

‘My husband’s at work,’ Hailey said, cutting her short. ‘There was no one with me.’

‘Would you like to call him?’

Hailey shook her head.

‘No sense in two of us worrying, is there?’

‘What does he do?’

‘He’s a partner in a local removal and haulage firm.’

‘How long have you been married?’

‘Six years.’

‘Any other kids?’

Hailey smiled. ‘I appreciate the consoling small talk,’ she said quietly. ‘Is it part of the job? To keep the distraught parents’ minds occupied?’

‘That’s some of it.’ Christine smiled. ‘And I am nosy too.’

Hailey took a drag of her cigarette, then a sip of coffee.

‘We got married in Barbados,’ she said, as if content to speak of something else – something other than the disappearance of her daughter. As if that act alone would help her forget the pain she was feeling.

‘That’s romantic,’ Christine offered.

‘Rob said he never could have got married over here. All the messing about before the wedding day, and then the ceremony itself, he said it was too much. We might as well spend the money on a good holiday and get married at the same time.’ She chuckled. ‘We had a little do for some friends when we got back, but that was it.’

‘Did you get married on the beach?’ Christine asked with genuine interest.

‘No, in a church. Just the two of us, and a couple of locals they hauled in to be witnesses. Then we went back to the hotel for photos.’

Hailey looked at her watch. ‘How long now since the announcement was read out?’

‘About five minutes.’

‘It feels like hours.’

Christine reached across the table and gently touched her hand.

‘You can go back to work if you like,’ Hailey said. ‘I’m not going anywhere, am I?’

Again she glanced at her watch.

It felt as if time had stopped, and she wondered if it would ever begin again.