Free Father Unknown by Fay Sampson

Millie in bed.
    The doors swung open on a foyer filled with chatter. Coffee cups were being lined up on the counter. Small children dodged around the adults’ legs. A mixture of nationalities was streaming towards the worship centre, exchanging greetings as they went.
    â€˜Nick, Suzie, good to see you. How are you?’
    Alan Taylor, Springbrook’s minister, looked younger than his fifty years. His brown eyes glowed with enthusiasm and his broad grin was genuine.
    Suzie felt herself enfolded in friendship. The great thing about Springbrook was that nobody censured you for the times you didn’t appear. They just seemed really glad when you did. Alan hadn’t been there long, but he had lifted the spirits of the place.
    â€˜We’re fine, thank you.’
    It was silly, really, this English habit of insisting that everything was well. But she could hardly have blurted out at the church door: ‘I’m worried stiff that Tamara Gamble may be in danger.’
    And yet, as Alan Taylor released her hand and turned to greet the next arrivals, something in her wished that she had.
    She and Nick found themselves seats towards the back. Suzie let the organ voluntary soothe her worried thoughts. She had been right to come. It would help to get things into perspective. She’d been almost as foolish as Millie, letting lurid imagination run away with her. As Nick kept saying, there would be a simple explanation for Tamara’s disappearance and subsequent silence.
    She leafed through the service sheet and the week’s notices. As she lifted her head she saw a couple moving along the side aisle to seats nearer the front. She stiffened with surprise. Of course, she should have known they would be here.
    The woman was small and slender, with short dark hair elegantly arranged across her forehead. The man was large, with a fleshy pink face. Little curls of pale hair covered the back and sides of his head, leaving a bald crown.
    She nudged Nick urgently. ‘There’s Lisa Gamble. Sorry, Dawson. Tamara’s mother. And that’s Leonard Dawson with her.’
    â€˜The dreaded stepfather. I’ve seen him here before. He looks a decent enough guy. A bit pompous, but amiable.’
    â€˜That’s not his reputation with his pupils. Tom knows a boy who goes to his school. He says he scares the daylight out of them.’
    â€˜Well, at least they don’t look as though they’re sick with worry because Tamara’s missing. Whether she’s at home or not, I’d put money on their knowing where she is. I knew Millie had got it all wrong.’
    â€˜We can’t see their faces from behind.’
    â€˜Well, here’s your opportunity. You can go and talk to them after the service.’
    There was no time for more. The minister announced the first hymn. The congregation rose.
    â€˜ O Lord our help in ages past. ’
    The old familiar words comforted Suzie. Nick was right. Everything was fine. Well, not everything. Fourteen-year-old Tamara was still pregnant. Unless her stepfather had forced her to do what she didn’t want to and get rid of it. How? The black thoughts were crowding back.
    She joined in the prayers with more heartfelt intensity than ever before.
    The service was over. People were heading for the coffee bar or stopping to talk with friends and welcome newcomers. Suzie saw the Dawsons making straight for the exit. She wriggled past the people between her and the aisle and hurried after them.
    â€˜Lisa!’
    It was Mr Dawson who turned first. That broad pink face should have looked genial, but, close to, there was something about the smallness of his eyes and the hardness of their look that sent a different message.
    Then Tamara’s mother turned too. Suzie stopped in shock. It had been a month or two since she had seen the new Mrs Dawson. In that time the other woman seemed to have aged years. Her cheeks were sunken. There were black rings under her