Swishing around the living room in a floor-length, pale-blue dress, my daughter, Kayleigh, 15, beamed. ‘You look so grown-up,’ I choked as her dad, Martin, then 54, took photos.
It was July 2015 and Kayleigh was going to her school prom. While my eldest, Kyle, then 18, was out, the rest of our family had gathered to see her off.
Kallen, then 12, Kodi, eight, Kye, six, Kayden, four and Karli-Mai, two, all looked at their big sister in awe. Kayleigh adored her younger siblings, always teaching them to cartwheel, or plaiting Karli-Mai’s hair. And as she got older, she was great company for me when the younger kids were in bed. We’d play cards on the sofa while watching EastEnders.
As a curvy teen, she’d suffered some bullying about her weight, knocking her confidence, but after switching schools a few months earlier, she seemed much happier. Now, if she wasn’t transfixed by her mobile or tablet, she was out swimming or at a friend’s house.
And she loved her school prom, coming home all flushed and excited.
Then one evening in November 2015, Martin was due to drop her at the local leisure centre to meet a friend for a sleepover. ‘See you tomorrow,’ Kayleigh grinned as I kissed her on the cheek. The next day, like any other girl she texted, asking if she could stay over again that night.
‘Must be enjoying herself,’ I thought, plus she’d always been sensible, so I replied saying yes. Only, the next morning, the friend she was supposed to be with phoned our landline.
‘Is Kayleigh there?’ she asked.
My stomach started churning. ‘I thought she was with you,’ I stuttered, dread swamping me as she explained she hadn’t seen Kayleigh all weekend. And it got much worse – a stranger had phoned her after finding Kayleigh’s smashed phone on a pavement.
Denne historien er fra February 03, 2020-utgaven av WOMAN'S OWN.
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Denne historien er fra February 03, 2020-utgaven av WOMAN'S OWN.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
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