Free Escape Velocity: The Anthology by Unknown Page B

“She might be wondering where you are.” You really want to go downstairs to see how Sara got in. You’re sure her parents would be less than keen on her wandering into a stranger’s home and might well be outside frantically searching for their missing daughter. Also you are beginning to feel nervous; there could be serious complications to Sara’s presence.
           Sara looks up as if you are the lost child. “Mummy knows where I am.”
           “ Well that’s OK then. Would you like a drink? I‘ve got orange juice and chocolate biscuits.”
           “ Yes,” then after a pause, “please,” and she picks up Dolly and put her arms out to be carried down as I rise from the chair. “I want to spin,” she says, looking at my swivel chair as I pick her up.
           I plonk her on the seat and wheel the chair out until it spins freely. She immediately holds her arms, Dolly and feet out straight. I set the chair spinning quite slowly and Sara looks at me crossly. “Faster.” I push again. Her smile returns then, with squeals of delight, she increases the spin rate by pulling her legs in and hugging Dolly.
           I watch, careful to ensure the chair won’t topple then, as it slows, sweep her off and down the stairs to more squeals and giggles. Downstairs the doors are locked, the windows closed. How had she got in? I ponder the problem while Sara eats biscuits and gulps her orange juice. She seems happy, carefree and well looked after, perhaps three to three and a half and neat, in a blue dress (albeit with orange juice stains now) white sandals and blue socks. I dash upstairs to retrieve the doll’s bedroom.
           “ I think Dolly needs a waste basket in her bedroom, don’t you?”
           Sara looks down into the model and then up to me. “Mummy has one by her bed.”
           “ Then Dolly should too,” I say. “Do you want me to fix it?”
           “ Oh yes, please,” a joyful voice despite her mouthful of biscuit.
           I rush into the bathroom to fetch an old hotel shampoo bottle. In the garage I cut the top off, find the Velcro tape, and then quickly return to the kitchen.      
           Sara finishes eating and tells Dolly, in a very serious voice, that she is about to get a wastebasket and she will have to keep her room very tidy. She looks at me as I rinse and dry my rapid handiwork. “I told Dolly.”
           “ Well let’s fix it.” I say. “Where do you think Dolly will want to keep her waste basket?”
           Sara looks into the model for a moment, sits Dolly on the bed, and then points to a spot between the dresser and the bed. I fix it down using Velcro and watch entranced as Sara teaches Dolly about her new acquisition.
           “ Oh,” I say. “We can’t have a rubbish bin without rubbish, can we?” I crumple the biscuit wrappings off the table and pass them on.
           Her absolute glee as she drops them into the shampoo bottle leaves a full feeling in my chest. For less than an hour she had filled my life but I cannot defer the question of finding her mother any longer.
           On the pretence of taking Dolly for a walk I ask all the neighbours who are home if they know Sara and so ensure no anxious parents are desperately searching the local estate for a missing child. We draw a blank and by then Sara has walked far enough and is asking for her mother. She thinks I know her mother and her whereabouts. We go back to my house and, as she uses the toilet, (thankfully with no need of my help) I look up Social Services, and explain that I have found a little girl in my house and I don’t know what to do with her. Social Services are, surprisingly, no slouches and two of them arrive with a policewoman within twenty minutes.
           So you go over the day’s events, careful not to say the doors were locked, and then they ask if you’re sure you’ve no