by Lisa Hall
‘Oh, thank God.’ I resist the urge to throw myself on him in relief. ‘I found something, out there on the other side of the woods.’
‘OK,’ Dove pulls me to one side, away from prying eyes and straining ears. ‘What did you find? Tell me.’
‘At the edge of the woods – where it meets Briars Meadow – the fencing has been cut. There are drag marks . . . I crawled through it, and they’re there . . .’
‘Whoa, not so fast.’ DI Dove waves his hand up and down in a gesture designed to slow me. ‘Who is there?’
‘The travellers,’ I say, my breathing finally calming. ‘There are eight or nine caravans, all parked in the field, in the usual spot. There are drag marks, like feet, leading to the cut in the fence and then the grass is all beaten down as though someone has walked through there. But that’s not it. I saw her.’
‘You saw her? Who? Laurel?’ A spark gleams in his eye and I see why he is a detective – he loves the thrill of the chase.
‘I think so. I saw her hair. It’s in a high ponytail, she was sitting in the window of one of the caravans. I’m sure it was her. You have to go! You have to go and see if it really is her!’ My voice rises, and several people glance our way. There is no sign of Dominic, and I hope that they find him before someone tells him I saw something. DI Dove looks around, one hand on my shoulder.
‘We need someone to take you home,’ he says, as I shake my head.
‘I can take her,’ a voice pipes up, and it’s her again, the mousy woman.
‘No, I’m not leaving. I need . . . I want to be here when you bring Laurel back.’
‘Anna, it might not even be Laurel. And I need you to be with Fran, she’s on her own . . . I mean, Kelly is there, but it’s best if either you or Dominic stay with her. Just in case.’ Just in case there’s bad news. That’s what he means. Reluctantly I give a slow nod, just as Jess arrives at my side.
‘Come on,’ she says, giving a curious glance in DI Dove’s direction. ‘I have to take Daisy back to the house anyway, she’s getting bored. She keeps asking where Laurel is.’ Her mouth turns down. ‘Best to get her out of here.’
I let Jess lead me out of the hall, away and towards the lane, watching as Dove calls over another police officer, waving his arms and gesturing. There is a flash of yellow as Dominic appears from behind the building and sees Dove, changing his course to walk over to the policeman. Jess follows my gaze.
‘Let’s get you back,’ she says, one hand on my arm, one holding tightly to Daisy.
‘I should stay,’ I insist, eyes fixed on Dominic as Dove talks at him, hands moving as he shakes his head, clearly telling Dominic to stay where he is.
‘You can’t,’ Jess says firmly, ‘Dove told you to leave . . . and he’s right. Someone needs to be with Fran, whether it is Laurel or it isn’t, and better it’s you than some police officer that she barely knows.’ Especially if it isn’t Laurel, I think, letting Jess guide me away. I can’t imagine how Fran will react if it turns out that it isn’t her after all.
Jess leaves me at the front gate, smiling at Kelly who has stepped outside to the garden to have a cigarette. She smiles sheepishly back, as if ashamed to have been caught on a break.
‘I’ll be fine, Jess, you go.’ I step back, waggling my fingers at Daisy. Jess looks uncertain, but I nod at her enthusiastically. ‘Honestly, I’ll be fine. Kelly’s here. You go.’ I want her gone before Fran looks out the window and sees Daisy. I can’t imagine that she’d want to see her daughter’s best friend, not when her own child is gone. If I’m honest I’m finding it hard enough to see Daisy without Laurel beside her, and I am relieved when Jess finally turns to leave.
‘Are you OK?’ Kelly lets out a stream of smoke, picking a tiny piece of tobacco from between her teeth, and I have to struggle to stop my mouth curling up in disgust. The smell of cigarette smoke always puts me on edge. ‘I’ve spoken to DI Dove.’ So, she does know what’s going on over at the field. ‘I haven’t told Fran yet. I was waiting for you to get back. I thought she might need you.’
‘I’ll tell her,’ I say, ‘I don’t mind. No offence, but it might be better coming from me than from you. She knows me. She trusts me.’ When it suits her. Kelly wavers for a second before she gives a small nod.
‘OK.’ She stubs out her cigarette and throws the butt into the black bin. ‘Let’s head back in.’
I don’t have any choice but to agree, and my heart feels as though it’s lodged in my throat as I slide the door handle down and step into the front hallway. The house is cool, chilly almost, and I realise that the heating timer has probably switched off, and Fran hasn’t noticed. I peer into the living room, expecting to see her tucked into the huge grey Conran sofa, the plush corded material etching lines into the skin of her bare feet as she sits with them tucked up beneath her, her pose of the last twelve hours, the light from the Tiffany lamp casting a yellow glow across her face. But the living room is empty, with only the faint scent of Fran’s perfume on the air. I step along the hall into the kitchen, thinking that maybe she’s making a cup of tea, but the light airy room is also empty.
‘Shall I?’ Kelly nods her head towards the sink and I shrug. I don’t want any more tea – it feels as though all we’ve done since we got home last night is drink tea.
‘Fran must be upstairs. I’ll go and get her.’ Lightly I make my way up the wide staircase to my little box room, a tiny bubble of hope blooming inside me at the thought that Laurel might be back home with us soon. Fran must have finally gone up to get some sleep, I think to myself, before muffled voices come from the room above me, the attic room that Fran and Dominic converted into their huge, spacious bedroom before Laurel was even born. Stealthily, I creep up the tiny staircase, telling myself that I’m going to knock and make sure that Fran doesn’t need anything. But my hand doesn’t tap on the door. Instead, I find myself pressing my ear to the wooden panel, holding my breath in order to be as silent as possible.
‘No. No, honestly, it’s all going to be fine,’ I hear Fran say, as her footsteps pace across the wooden floorboards. ‘I don’t know why . . . look, it will be OK. I promise. I can deal with this. I’m OK on my own.’ More pacing, her voice becoming indistinct as she steps away from the door, presumably towards the windows that face the back garden. I lift a hand and tap the door lightly before she discovers me.
‘Fran?’ I push the door open, seeing her hand slide her phone into her pocket. ‘Is everything OK? I thought I heard voices?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say I’m OK.’ She gives me a tight smile. She still looks terrible – her skin washed out and grey, and her eyes puffy – but she has given her lashes a lick of mascara, and her lips shimmer with a faint, rosy glow, achieved from a tube of lip gloss. ‘I was just . . . I was talking to my mother.’
‘Oh?’ I don’t know what else to say. Fran very rarely mentions her mother. She told me once, rolling in after a late-night boozy wrap party, that she didn’t get along too well with her mum. That it was her mother’s fault that her father had left them, taking his generous bank balance with him.
‘She offered to fly over here. Although what she can do to help I don’t know.’ Fran shakes her head, sadly. ‘I don’t want her fussing over me. It’ll simply be easier if she stays where she is. And anyway, Dominic won’t want her here.’
I don’t know where to look, so I stare at my feet as I shift them uncomfortably on the spot. Although Fran and I have lived in the same house for three years, and Fran entrusts her daughter to my care every day, we are not friends. Although I share this house with Dominic, Fran and Laurel, this house isn’t my home and I am not really a part of the family. Fran is prickly, aloof, and quite clear where the boundaries lie between us. She is my employer, and I am her employee. This Fran, the Fran that speaks openly, that shrieks at Dominic in fear, that exposes her emotions is a stranger to me.
‘Well,’ I say, for lack of any other response, ‘shall we go downstairs? Kelly is making some tea . . .’
‘More tea.’ Fran tries to muster a smile and fails miserably, before heading for the door, her movements sluggish and slow as if she is weighed down with exhaustion. I follow after her, my socked feet slipping on the polished oak staircase. Kelly is placing three mugs of tea on the table as we enter the kitchen. Fran slides into the nearest chair and wraps her hands around a mug as if to soak up the warmth.
‘Fran,’ I say, my stomach full of butterflies. Please let Laurel be coming home. ‘I went to the field this morning . . .’
‘Yes, I know.’ For a second I catch a glimpse of the old Fran – brittle, impatient Fran – before her shoulders round and she almost seems to shrink in her chair. ‘I assumed . . . wait. Did something happen?’ Her eyes flick between me and Kelly and all of a sudden, I can’t tell her. I look at Kelly, and she takes the hint.
‘Fran, there’s something I should let you know. Something was found in the meadow behind the field.’
‘What?’ Fran’s voice has a tremor to it that almost sounds false and I feel a tiny bubble of inappropriate nervous laughter prick in my chest. ‘What did they find?’
‘I saw something,’ I step in, the chill of the house settling into my bones, and I wish I’d thought to flick the heating back on. ‘In the meadow . . . there are caravans parked up there. I saw a blonde girl sitting in the window of one. I told Dove and he’s gone there now, I mean, the men I saw were dark, all black hair and tanned skin, so why would there be a blonde girl with . . .’ I trail off, as the blood drains from Fran’s face.
‘So, she could be there? She’s in the meadow?’
‘We don’t know.’ Kelly lays a hand on Fran’s arm, who pulls away as though burnt. ‘Officers have gone to the scene and as soon as they know something, they’ll tell us.’
Fran nods, but stays silent, her fingers creeping to her mouth as she starts to nibble at the skin around her cuticles. ‘Where is Dominic?’
‘He’s there,’ I say, ‘I left him there, with the police.’
Fran lets out a long sigh. ‘I’m sure he’ll find somewhere more important to be on his way home.’
I look away, not knowing what to say, as Kelly also turns and reaches for the mugs, even though no one has touched the tea. Fran slides a hand towards her pocket, before catching herself and raising her fingers to her mouth again. I wonder if she is thinking about calling her mother back, about telling her she’s changed her mind and she does want her to come.
The next half hour drags as we wait for news, Fran’s eyes closing as she sits at the kitchen table, a puddle of sunlight highlighting the reds in her dark hair, the skin round her nails now ragged and sore. The crash of the front door opening jolts all of us back to life, and Fran and I both jump to our feet as DS Wright and Dominic enter the kitchen.
‘Where is she? Where is she, Dom?’ Fran looks frantically past him, trying to edge away and head towards the front door, but he grips her tightly by the upper arms.
‘Fran,’ he says, his voice breaking, ‘stop for a moment. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t Laurel.’ She sags against him, and he pulls her into a tight embrace before he raises his eyes to mine. ‘Someone made a mistake. It wasn’t our girl.’
CHAPTER 6
There is a crushing sense of disappointment at Dominic’s words, heightened when Fran shoves Dominic from her and rushes from the room.
‘I’ll go after her,’ Kelly says, a grim look on her face, as Dominic sinks into the nearest kitchen chair.
‘I’m so sorry.’ I feel the mistake as if it were an actual physical pain, a shaft of hurt piercing my skin. And not just mine – it seems I got everyone else’s hopes up for no reason. ‘I really thought . . . the hair, it was the hair. She was wearing it the same way Laurel wears it, and it was the same shade . . .’ I trail off, the bitter taste of failure thick on my tongue.
‘It was a genuine mistake,’ DS Wright says, ‘and better that you raised it with us, because it could have been Laurel.’
‘It was their daughter,’ Dominic says wearily in a husky voice, his head resting in his hands. ‘It was their own little girl. She takes after her mother – blonder than you, Anna, she was. Up close she looked nothing like Laurel.’
‘The drag marks were caused by them,’ DS Wright tells us, ‘apparently the girl sneaked out through the cut fence to watch the fireworks. When they found her, she didn’t want to leave. Had a paddy by all accounts, and they ended up dragging her back to the caravans. They only arrived yesterday evening, a little before the bonfire started. Officers had already spoken to them late last night and told them to move on today.’ Her face twists in something like disapproval.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper again, ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘There’s nothing you can say.’ Fran has appeared back in the doorway, faint smudges of mascara beneath her eyes revealing she has shed yet more tears. ‘It was a mistake, Anna. You weren’t to know that it wasn’t her. Us sitting here crying isn’t going to help get Laurel back, is it? DS Wright – is there anything else you can tell us?’
I blink back tears, frantically trying to rid myself of them before they fall. Fran is right, sitting here crying won’t get Laurel home to us. Although slightly forced, Fran seems to be trying to channel her usual brisk self, and I guess that is the only way she can cope with what is happening in this house right now – to try and keep control of events the way she always does. I can imagine her sitting upstairs, beating herself up, punishing herself for her emotional outbursts and hating herself for losing control.
‘Well,’ Wright says, pushing her dark hair away from her face and gratefully accepting the hot tea that Kelly thrusts in her direction – she’s good for refreshments, if nothing else – ‘we have made some headway following the initial door-to-door enquiries.’
‘Really?’ Dominic lifts his head and gazes around the kitchen. ‘Why are we only hearing about it now?’
‘As you can understand, checking out the possible sighting of Laurel became our priority, and I have only just received the most recent updates from the team that are carrying out the enquiries.’
‘So, what is it?’ The words tumble out before I can stop them and Fran stares at me, putting me back in my place without saying a word. Laurel is her daughter, not mine. Wright doesn’t appear to notice though.
‘There has been a report of a child matching Laurel’s description getting into a car along the lane from the bonfire last night, at a time that corresponds to when Laurel went missing.’
‘What?’ Fran whispers, her face a chalky white. She licks at her lips and raises a shaky hand to her mouth to wipe at it.
‘Obviously, we are taking this witness very seriously, and we will be investigating further,’ DS Wright says, glancing between myself, Fran and Dominic, as though wanting to make it absolutely clear that this could also be another dead end.
‘Tell us what happened. Tell us who saw it and exactly what they think they saw.’ Dominic is on his feet, fingers gripping the edge of the table tightly, so tightly that his knuckles are white.
‘A resident of the area looked out of the window at approximately eight fifteen last night, supposedly to watch the fireworks display, and saw a young girl getting into a car not far from the entrance to the display. She describes the car as an “off-roader” which we are taking to mean an SUV. Officers are with the lady now, showing her pictures of different vehicles to see if she can narrow it down for us. At the moment an SUV, possibly dark in colour although she can’t be sure, is all she can tell us.’
‘And what about the driver?’ Dominic says, a sheen of sweat sparkling on his forehead, in the patches where his silver hair has started to recede. ‘Did she see who was driving it? A man? Woman? Did she see anything?’
‘She says it was too dark to see who was driving, and to be honest, she didn’t really think anything of it at the time. All she saw was a small girl, wearing a pink coat, climbing into the back seat of a dark car.’
‘How can she
be sure it was Laurel?’ Fran asks, her voice barely above a whisper. She clears her throat, making a harsh, raspy sound that seems too loud in the thick silence of the kitchen. ‘I mean, Laurel wouldn’t get into a car, would she?’ She looks to me and I shake my head, reluctantly. ‘She wouldn’t go off with a stranger. I know my daughter, DS Wright, and she wouldn’t willingly get into a stranger’s car, not after everything I’ve taught her.’
‘She might, though,’ I say, unable to keep the words in, knowing that I’m about to effectively tell the police that I know how Laurel would react to this situation better than Fran would. ‘Sorry, Fran, I don’t mean to contradict you, but she might. Laurel is a very friendly, outgoing child.’ I think about the way she stops to greet Mr Snow every afternoon, the way she always has a smile and a wave for everyone, regardless of whether she knows them or not. ‘And she’s only little. If a stranger told her that you had said she was to go with them, there’s every chance that she might have got into a car.’
‘We don’t know for certain that it was Laurel,’ DS Wright says, as Fran turns an icy-cold gaze on me, her eyes narrowed. I don’t know which is worse – the idea that Laurel might have got into a car belonging to somebody she doesn’t know, or that it isn’t her and we are still no closer to finding her. ‘But I have to ask you if you know anybody who might have a dark-coloured SUV?’
‘No. We don’t know anyone who has a dark-coloured SUV. And she wouldn’t have got in it anyway.’ Fran’s nostrils flare as she speaks, deliberating turning her face away to let me know that she is in charge of this, not me, that I shouldn’t have dared to contradict her.
‘Of course. As I said, officers are working with the witness concerned, and as soon as I have anything more to tell you, I will.’ A shrill ring pierces the air, and DS Wright excuses herself to answer the call. I let out a breath that I haven’t even realised I’ve been holding.
‘Do you mind if I . . .’ I wave a hand towards the staircase, and Dominic gives a little shrug. I need to step away for a moment, away from the tension, the words that lay between all of us, unsaid. The blame that I feel lies on my shoulders for mistaking that girl for Laurel and raising everyone’s hopes. I escape to my tiny box room, pausing only briefly on the landing to turn the heating back on. Dominic is behind me and I let out a little gasp of shock.
