Free S is for Stranger by Louise Stone

grains of sand.
    ‘I’m sure the lady doesn’t want that, Melissa.’ The mother smiled apologetically.
    I took the sweet and smiled at the girl. ‘Thank you, that’s very kind. My favourite colour too.’ It took everything in my power not to hug her and hold her tightly against me. She was a younger version of Amy and, as she busied herself with the badges covering her sash, my heart swelled with longing. I wanted my little girl back. Holding the sticky sweet in my palm, I was reminded of prising open Amy’s small hand less than twenty-four hours ago and watching the lolly fall to the ground.
    After a few minutes, the girl jumped off the bench and waved goodbye.
    ‘Take care of yourself,’ the woman said over her shoulder.
    I thanked her again before I realised my phone was ringing.
    ‘Hello?’ I answered quietly.
    ‘Sophie, are you all right?’ Faye sniffed; I knew she was trying to hold herself together for my sake.
    ‘I’m fine,’ I lied. ‘Just lost signal.’
    Faye’s pregnant pause told me she knew I was lying.
    ‘Sophie, I’m worried about you.’ She added, ‘If you need me I’m always here for you.’ She hesitated andI could sense she was trying not to cry. ‘Please let me know if there’s anything I can do. Your parents would be so worried.’ She paused. ‘Are you feeling yourself lately or …’ Her voiced trailed off. ‘I mean, I know that sometimes you get a bit confused.’
    I didn’t like where this was going and I promised to phone with any further news before hanging up.
    I sat on the bench for a while watching the world go by. The sun glinted off a large bronze figure of a man walking his dog; a piece of art commissioned by the council. The gleam hit my eyes as I shifted forward on the bench to try and read the plaque beneath it.
    I was suddenly struck by an image.
    My memory was hazy. A knife. I closed my eyes, let out an audible gasp as I could almost feel the prick of the knife’s point in my back. I shook, my stomach swirled with anguish and the lapping waves of nausea trickled in and out of my brain. I urged my mind to think further, to remember anything. A fragmented image of a hand and I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter. But then all I saw was black. The same black that had erased my memory twenty years ago, and I had woken up in my own bed.
    I opened my eyes, my knuckles white as I gripped my handbag.
    It was time to meet the clinical psychologist.

CHAPTER 10
    Darren Fletcher had agreed to meet me straight away because of the urgency of the case. He was stood outside Acton Green Tube station. He wore scruffy jeans and a navy blue wool jacket. He was busy making small talk with the florist as I exited. He approached me.
    ‘Sophie? I’m Darren.’
    We shook hands.
    ‘How are you holding up?’
    ‘I’m not.’
    ‘You’re doing well,’ he said.
    ‘How do you know?’ I arched a brow.
    ‘I mean, you’re here. You’re trying.’ He gave another small smile. ‘It’s admirable.’
    We walked toward the green.
    ‘I know this is probably hard for you, but I thought whilst the fair is still here, it might jog another memory.’
    The rides and tents were indeed all still in place, only this time, it being mid-week, they weren’t lit up and instead the green had assumed a deathly solitude about it.
    I looked to where the candyfloss seller had been set up. There was nothing there now. My eyes smarted.
    Darren looked at me. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking.’
    ‘That’s where Amy was when she disappeared.’
    ‘Right.’ He caressed his unshaven chin. ‘And where were you?’
    I walked a few metres on. ‘Here.’
    ‘OK, close your eyes, Sophie.’ He looked around us. ‘There’s no one about, so try to relax and remember the sights and smells of the day.’
    I nodded.
    ‘What could you smell?’
    ‘Um,’ I hesitated. ‘Candyfloss, hot dogs, Paul’s cologne.’ I opened my eyes. ‘Even though he wasn’t there with me at that point.’
    ‘OK, close