On Wednesday, the weather lifted. It was bright and typically English: warm in the sunshine, cool in the shade. When I picked you up from nursery, we headed straight to the park on the far side of the river, the sprawling one with ducks and rose gardens and zones for everyone, from the skateboarding youths you stopped to watch, eyes wide, to the dog walkers and the joggers in Lycra.

We spent an hour at the play area, on the Big Girl swings without backs, which you still tended to fall off, on the seesaw, and on your favourite, the roundabout. I ran round, turning it for you, getting dizzy and out of breath, as you beamed.

We ate ham and cream cheese sandwiches on a bench by the river and counted boats. Small racing yachts with white sails. Rowers, schoolboys mostly, wrenching their way in packs against the tide. The strains of the cox’s voice, made monstrous by a megaphone, bounced across the water like skimmed stones. A police launch bounced at speed through them all and made waves that tipped and tossed the sailing boats, the rowers and made us laugh.

You pushed down from the bench after a while and took the remains of your last sandwich to the rail along the steep embankment to the river below. You threw bits of bread, aiming at the stray ducks below on the water but attracting a sudden swirl of seagulls who made a cloud round your head and frightened you into dropping the lot.

‘London seagulls,’ I said. ‘Cheeky.’

I pulled out an apple, polished it on my trousers and bit into it. The gulls moved on and you wandered along the rail, a hand trailing on the bar, looking down at the river. You looked suddenly old in your cream coat, a proper child now, lost in your own thoughts. A girl, already growing away from me and getting ready for school. I tried to imagine dropping you off at the school gates and walking back to an empty house. I sucked juice from the apple and chewed. Richard was right. I’d be ready to go back to work by then. I needed to get earning again and, besides, I’d need to fill my days and not just count the hours until I could be there at the school gates, looking for you.

I closed my eyes and saw Richard there, standing so awkwardly in the sitting room we’d furnished together, as a couple, all those years ago. The same sitting room where we had fallen asleep, slumped against each other, a thousand times. Where I’d nursed you, stroking your downy head with the tip of a finger, utterly content, feeling as if I had at last joined the human race, joined the cycle of life. Matt was right. It was time to move on. Let him marry her, if that’s what he wanted. He could find out the hard way what she really was.

Ella was brassy. I thought of her tarty dress at the club. She couldn’t bear to see people happy. She was that kind of person. Destructive. She’d taken Richard from me. He was so naïve when it came to women. He couldn’t understand why she and I hated each other. I knew what she was up to. She wanted to drive a wedge between me and Matt, if she could. Well, she couldn’t.

I thought of Venice and the smell of the salt air from the Lagoon and the firmness of his body as he reached for me. I missed him, now, sitting here in the sunshine, more than ever. He’d done so much for me, for us. It was a miracle that he’d walked into our lives the way he did.

Someone passed, walking a panting dog, and blocked the sun for a moment. I opened my eyes, looked for you. The rail stretched along the edge of the path, empty. I pushed the last sandwiches back into my bag and got to my feet. No sign of you, no flash of cream coat, of shoes with light-up heels.

I took a step to the rail, half-smiling at myself for worrying. Of course you were there. I’d see you any minute. You were testing me again, making a point about how grown-up you were, how independent. You never went far.

I stood at the rail, the peeling paint pricking my fingers, and scanned the river below, fearing you’d somehow climbed or fallen through. No cream coat. I started to walk down the path.

‘Gracie!’

You liked hide-and-seek. Maybe that was it. I peered into the bushes along the verge, green and full-leaved now.

‘Where are you?’ I tried to make my voice a sing-song, to keep it a game. A bush stirred and I spun round, ready to smile, ready to see your face, laughing at me. A large dog, collar jangling, sniffing as it ran out onto the path.

I quickened my step, shouting every few steps: ‘Gracie!’ Reached the end of the path where it gave way to a mud trail towards the swings. My heart was loud in my ears, my breath short.

Beyond the final bushes, the grass opened out and gave a clearer view ahead. I narrowed my eyes, concentrated, searched the walkers, the dogs, the youths, the children, for your small figure in cream. The park looked empty. What if this was it? What if I never found you? My legs trembled and a cold sickness rose through my stomach into my chest.

‘Gracie!’

I tried to tamp down the panic. You weren’t a baby. You were nearly four. I was panicking. In a short time, any minute, I’d see you, I’d run to you, it would all be over and seem absurd, a story to tell people. It was only a matter of minutes, I’d say, but it seemed like forever. I could almost hear your voice in my head, saying: ‘Silly Mummy!’

‘Gracie!’

I turned, walked back to the section of rail opposite the bench where I’d last seen you. If you came running back to find me, it would be here. I climbed up on the bench and tried to see through the trees, the foliage. A middle-aged couple came past, Labradors at their heels, and gave me an odd look.

‘My little girl,’ I said. ‘Have you seen her?’

The woman frowned.

‘She’s in a cream coat.’

The man shook his head and they walked on.

I climbed down and sat heavily on the bench. The strength drained from my legs. I looked down the path one way, then the other. Just vacancy, stretching on forever. I felt utterly lost. I must be sensible, keep calm, but for a moment, I lost all sense of what to do. Should I set off round the park, walking briskly, searching? It was a large park. How much did I cover? How far should I go?

Or should I sit here, half-hidden from the lawns by the bushes, and try to stay calm, trust you to find your way back to me?

My breathing was so shallow that my chest ached. I pulled out my phone. A mechanical voice told me that Matt’s mobile was switched off.

I left a message: ‘It’s me. Sorry to bother you but could you call me back? Please.’

I already imagined myself feeling a fool when he called, later, and we were already together, crisis over. I’d laugh about it, about how flustered I’d been, honestly, what a hopeless mother.

I got to my feet again, paced back to the end of the path and this time headed out down the dry mud trail towards the swings. Of course. You’d be back on the roundabout, on the seesaw. I almost ran to the gate and into the playground. It was clouding over and the swings were quieter now. I scanned the equipment. Ran round the grassy mound to check the baby swings, to look inside the play train. Nothing.

I sank to the grass. It was cool and damp through my jeans. How long had it been now? Ten minutes? Twenty? I didn’t know. I pulled my diary out of my bag and looked for the number of the hospital, then dialled it. My hands shook.

Switchboard. The woman who answered sounded mechanical. A foreign accent. East European.

‘Doctor Matthew Aster, please.’

‘Who?’

I stiffened. ‘Matthew Aster. Paediatrics.’

A pause, then the call clicked onto music. I got to my feet, restless, and started walking round the edge of the playground, scanning the park.

The woman finally clicked back onto the line. ‘No doctor with that name.’

‘A-S-T-E-R.’ I spelled it out with exaggerated care, trying not to lose my patience. ‘Paediatrics. You know, children?’

‘I know that.’ She sounded shirty. Tap, tap as she checked. ‘I can’t help you.’

‘Can you at least put me through to the department?’

‘Are you a relative?’

‘A relative?’

‘Of the patient?’

I wanted to reach into the phone and shake her. ‘I’m not trying to reach a patient! I’m trying to contact a doctor. Doctor Matthew Aster.’

‘I’m sorry, there’s no—’

I ended the call, pushed the phone back in my pocket. Stupid woman. Anyway, Matt might have picked up the mobile message by now, might be trying to call me back.

I left the playground, rushed back towards the riverside path. I was almost at the bench when I saw you, a daub of cream, crouched down low right at the far end of the path, close to the entrance to the park. You were bending forwards, your forehead pressed against the bottom bar of the railings, peering at the river below.

I broke into a run. As I got close, you must have heard my thundering feet, my panting. You glanced round, unconcerned, saw me, then looked down again.

‘Gracie!’ I put my arms around you, tried to pull you to me in a hug. ‘Where were you?’

You fought me off, annoyed at being interrupted. ‘Look.’

You pointed down at the river. The fast-flowing water was brown with churned mud. A stick swirled past, followed by a piece of clear plastic, swollen, rising and falling in the current like a jellyfish.

‘What?’

‘Wait.’ You stared down, transfixed. ‘I saw her.’

I sucked in my breath, trying to be patient.

‘Who?’ I knew the answer before you spoke.

‘Catherine. She waved to me.’

You seemed so separate from me. So calm.

‘Don’t be silly, Gracie. There’s no one in the water.’

You weren’t listening. Your mind was elsewhere. My heart thumped. The panic, the running and now this, your strange stillness.

‘Gracie.’ I crouched low, took hold of your arm. ‘Don’t ever run away like that again. You hear me?’

You ignored me, focused on the flowing water.

I reached more firmly for your shoulders and pulled you round to face me.

‘Gracie, listen to me. Mummy was very worried. We’ve talked about getting lost, haven’t we? It’s dangerous. Very dangerous.’

You stared back, cross. ‘I wasn’t lost, Mummy. I was here.’

I put my arms round you and pulled you to me again, relishing the soft warmth of your body against mine in the few seconds before you struggled free.

---

About half an hour later, as we walked back home, hand in hand, my phone rang.

‘Everything OK?’ Matt.

‘Fine.’ I was exhausted. All I wanted just then was a cup of tea, a chance to sit down in the knowledge that you were there, safe, at home. ‘Long story but we’re fine now.’

‘You’re sure?’ He sounded concerned. ‘I’m sorry. I only just got your message. I was worried.’

‘Me too.’ I swung your hand in mine as we walked. ‘I lost Gracie. That’s all. But I found her again.’

He went very quiet. ‘And you’re OK?’

‘I’m fine. I’ll call you tonight.’

When I hung up, you said: ‘I wasn’t lost!’

‘I couldn’t find you, Gracie.’ You seemed to have no sense of the fact you’d run off and how frightened I’d been. ‘I was worried.’

‘But I wasn’t lost,’ you said again, indignant now. ‘I was right there.’