Have You Seen Her

by Lisa Hall

  ‘I doubt it, Mum. I’m sorry – Ewan has already invited me to spend Christmas with him and his family. He is the boss so I kind of had to say yes . . .’ I trail off, trying to inject at least a tiny bit of disappointment into my voice.

  ‘Don’t worry, love. Of course, you should stay there! Who wouldn’t prefer a white Christmas up north, over cold and grey Brighton? Ring me on the day, when you get up.’

  I make reassuring noises and hang up before she does, and flop back onto the bed, puffing my hair out of my eyes. It’s all OK – for now. She still thinks I’m in Scotland. I just have to keep it that way.

  I wake with a jolt a short while later, the words, it’s your fault, ringing in my ears, as though some unseen person had leaned over me in my sleep, whispering them into my ear. Thirst scratches at the back of my throat and my mouth is furred and dry, sweat coating my skin. I fell asleep without meaning to, my dreams full of Scotland and of Laurel, me chasing her along the slippery, wet rocks alongside Dochart Falls, trying to catch up to her before I lost her. There is salt on my lips when I run my tongue over them, and I realise I must have cried in my sleep, my eyes feeling heavy and sore. I tug off the hot, woolly socks that itch at my ankles, and after rinsing my face with cold water, I head downstairs, desperate for a tall glass of water – and to see if Kelly has any news following the appeal. Voices reach me before I manage to get to the kitchen and I pause in the dimly lit hallway, the wooden floor cool against my bare feet.

  ‘Why though, Dominic?’ Fran is saying, and as I peep through a crack in the doorway I can see her pacing backwards and forwards across the kitchen floor, a glass of white wine in her hand. She seems agitated as she takes a furious sip.

  ‘Jesus, Fran . . .’ Dominic pushes a hand through his hair in a well-worn gesture, ‘why can’t you just drop it? It’s not important in the scheme of things . . . you do realise our daughter is missing?’

  ‘Do I realise?’ There is an ugly sneering tone in Fran’s voice. ‘Of course I bloody realise, Dominic. This is why this is important! Why can’t you just tell the truth?’

  I stand stock still.

  ‘I told you, I am telling the truth. Why would I lie? Do you think I don’t want Laurel to be found? Seriously, Fran, you’re even more fucked up than I thought you were.’ I hear the fridge door slam shut, and the glug as it sounds as though more wine is poured.

  ‘I know you weren’t at the hospital on Saturday night, Dominic.’ Pure hate fills Fran’s voice. ‘Maybe I should call Pamela, and see where she was? Eh? Maybe that is closer to the truth.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Fran, will you shut up.’ Through the crack in the door I see him stride towards Fran and grab her by the upper arms, causing her glass to fall and smash on the kitchen tiles. He thrusts his face close to hers, his cheeks flushing a violent red, spittle flying from his mouth as he shouts into her shocked face.

  I am frozen by what I see, appalled by this ugly, violent side to Dominic, one that jars with the Dominic I thought I knew. I hover, one hand pressed to my mouth, unsure whether to burst into the kitchen and put a stop to it when the slam of the front door makes me jump and I turn to see Kelly struggling through the doorway, her arms full of plastic bags that are full, if the smell is anything to go by, of takeaway curry. I move towards her and grab a bag from her.

  ‘Hey, Kelly,’ I say in a voice loud enough to alert Fran and Dominic to her presence, ‘this smells lovely!’ I push through into the kitchen where Fran and Dominic stand on either side of the table, barely looking at each other. Fran’s face is white and pinched, her nostrils flaring as she breathes deeply, her hands rubbing absently at the tops of her arms. ‘Kelly brought some food home,’ I say, stupidly.

  ‘Lovely.’ Dominic shoves his hands into his pockets, as Fran moves to the cupboard under the sink to get out a dustpan and brush.

  ‘Here, I’ll do that,’ I say, gently nudging her to one side.

  ‘Thank you.’ She gives me a wan smile and turns to Kelly. ‘I’m not terribly hungry, Kelly. Thank you, though. I might . . .’ She waves a hand towards the kitchen door and Kelly nods.

  ‘Of course, Fran. I’ll save you something for later.’ Kelly starts to bustle around the kitchen, pulling out plates and serving out dollops of rice as I finish sweeping the floor. I don’t know how she hasn’t picked up on the tense atmosphere that fills the kitchen; Dominic’s violence still seems to reverberate around the room.

  There is a muted buzz as Fran’s phone on the counter lights up with the glow of an incoming text message, and I lean over and pick it up. I catch the first line of the text, under an unknown number, words of sympathy from someone.

  ‘I might go and check on her,’ I say, holding up the phone and avoiding Dominic’s gaze as he looks up at me from the table, a poppadom crumbled into a thousand tiny pieces between his fingers. He looks tired and drained, and despite what I just witnessed, I can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for him.

  Upstairs, Fran sits on the edge of Laurel’s bed, Bom gripped tightly in one hand. I go to sit next to her, a waft of Laurel’s scent rising up as I perch on the duvet.

  ‘You left your phone downstairs,’ I say, passing it to her.

  She takes the phone, swiping up and running her eyes over the text message. ‘Another do-gooder, wanting to wish us well,’ she sighs, ‘some woman keeps messaging me, asking what she can do to help. How about get my daughter back for me?’ She throws the phone down on to the bed and sniffs, blinking hard.

  ‘You OK?’ I say, tucking my fingers in a loose curl of fabric in the duvet.

  ‘Just fucking dandy,’ Fran says, her cut-glass accent slipping slightly. There is an edge to her voice, and who can blame her? ‘I can’t wait for this to be over.’

  I look at her in horror, not sure if she realises what she’s said, the way it could be interpreted.

  ‘I mean, I just want her back,’ she rephrases it, makes it easier to hear. ‘I don’t want her out there, without me. Without everything that she knows. I want her in her own bed at night, where I can go in and watch her sleeping any time I like. I want to be able to go to her when she calls me. I want our lives back to normal. And I want that fucking woman out of my house!’ Her voice rises, filling the tiny room, bouncing off the mural-covered walls.

  ‘Woman?’ I say, not quite understanding. I heard her refer to Pamela, Dominic’s ex, but she hasn’t been here, has she?

  ‘Kelly,’ she spits out, her face contorting with venom. ‘The so-called FLO. Who seems to not have a clue about anything except how to spy on people. I mean, what has she actually done? Nothing. Just snooped around listening in on people’s conversations and going through our things. I found her in here earlier, looking through Laurel’s chest of drawers.’

  ‘She’s only trying to help,’ I say gently, still unsure of how to deal with this new, different Fran. ‘It’s her job, you know that.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do, and I am grateful really, I just can’t help thinking that things like this . . . they don’t happen to people like us.’ Fran looks up at me, blinking as her eyes fill with tears. ‘I ask myself, what if I hadn’t gone to the loo? To get drinks? What if I’d held her hand the whole night? She wouldn’t have disappeared then.’

  I consider how best to respond when all I can think is, Me too! I feel exactly the same – why didn’t I keep my eyes on her instead of just assuming she caught you up? Before I can speak, a light tap comes at the door and it swings open to reveal Kelly, holding a cup of tea.

  ‘I brought you this,’ she holds it out to Fran, her expression neutral, and I realise that Fran is probably right, she must have heard everything Fran just said from the other side of the door. Fran takes the mug without a word, as I sit there, dumb.

  ‘DS Wright is here,’ Kelly turns back as she reaches the door. ‘She wants to see you.’

  Fran and I file downstairs in Kelly’s wake, and I’m guessing that Fran feels as anxious as I do. Have they found something? More importantly,
have they found Laurel? I find my hands are shaking as I follow Fran into the sitting room and perch awkwardly on the edge of the armchair.

  ‘What is it?’ Fran’s voice is urgent, her hands folding together over and over in a wringing motion. Despite their row, Dominic moves closer to her, putting his arm around her shoulder.

  ‘We don’t have any further information for you – we haven’t found Laurel yet. I should make that clear before we start. I’d like to request your permission to remove some of Laurel’s belongings from the house, only for a short while,’ DS Wright says in a low voice, before dabbing at her forehead with the back of her hand. It is abnormally warm in here. ‘We need a toothbrush, hairbrush, something that contains Laurel’s DNA – do you have something like that?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dominic says, after Fran just stares at her for a moment, seemingly unable to speak. ‘Yes, her hairbrush is upstairs, but why? If you’re telling us that you haven’t found Laurel yet, why do you need her DNA?’

  DS Wright is silent for a moment as if gathering her thoughts together, and I realise that she doesn’t want to convey what she has to tell us. She’s awkward, uncomfortable, a tense vibe filling the air and all of a sudden, I remember that feeling from before – that cold, sick sense of dread that fingered its way up my spine, as I heard the thud, then the deafening silence, punctuated with all that blood, a deep crimson stain spreading out across the cold, grey floor. I take a deep breath, willing the dizziness to leave me before I need to put my head between my knees.

  ‘There are a number of footprints in the mud surrounding the lake area at the back of the field where the event was held last Saturday. These might be old – I have someone out there casting whatever prints they can – but it does seem as though there has been some activity in that area. So, with that in mind . . .’ she trails off for a second and I tuck my shaking hands under my thighs out of sight, ‘we’re going to dredge the lake.’

  CHAPTER 9

  Two days later, a bitter wind bites into my cheeks as I stand alongside Fran and Dominic, behind the blue police tape that keeps us clear of the lake edge. I see Jessika behind the cordon at the edge of the woods, just as my phone flashes with a message from her – ‘Behind police tape if you need me ’ – and as I raise my eyes to her face, she lifts a hand in a tiny wave. I slide my phone back into my pocket without responding, the smiley face emoji grating on my nerves even though I know she only means to give her support.

  The press are lined up further along, and I pull my hat down low over my face, but they aren’t interested in me. They’re not even interested in Fran and Dominic right now – all eyes are on the lake and what might come out of it. DI Dove didn’t want us here – in fact, he told us in no uncertain terms to stay at home – but as the dredging dragged into a second day, Dominic wouldn’t have it, despite Fran begging him to stay with her. In the end, we all filed out of the house together this morning, and now we’ve been standing here in the freezing, damp November air for hours, waiting, waiting, waiting.

  A movement out of the corner of my eye distracts me from the grey, flat water of the lake and I turn my head to see the mousy woman from the school step off the path and cross the churned-up, muddy grass towards us. I glance at Fran, who stands a few feet away, her arms folded across her body, eyes scanning the water, and step away, wanting to stop the woman before she reaches them. The Jessops don’t need a stranger hassling them, not right now.

  ‘How are they?’ Without a word of greeting, the woman nods towards the Jessops.

  ‘How do you think?’ I say, frowning at her. She wears a headscarf over her mousy brown hair, a bulky black jacket, and paint-flecked jeans tucked into filthy black wellies. ‘Was there something I could help you with?’

  ‘I just wanted to show some support,’ she says, ‘it’s a difficult time for them.’

  I nod my head. ‘Yes, it is. I’m sure they’ll be very grateful. I’ve seen you at the school before, haven’t I?’ I’m curious about this woman – I’m sure I’ve seen her many times when I’ve collected Laurel, but I simply can’t picture which child is hers.

  ‘Yes, my . . .’ her voice is croaky, and she stops to clear her throat, ‘my daughter went there. I still help out on the PTA sometimes.’

  That explains why I can’t place her as a mother – her daughter must be at least eleven if she’s already left the school. She must be dedicated to Oxbury Primary if she’s still willing to be on the PTA.

  ‘I’m Anna,’ I say, ‘Laurel’s nanny.’

  ‘I know who you are.’ Her tone is short, and I look at her in surprise. ‘I mean . . . I’ve seen you with Laurel before. I didn’t introduce myself properly. I’m Ruth.’ She holds out a hand, with short, slightly grubby fingernails and I have to force myself to take it. I give it a brief shake and then drop it, resisting the urge to wipe my hands on my trousers. ‘This is so heartbreaking, isn’t it? I went to drama school with Fran briefly, years ago, not that I’m sure she’ll remember me.’ I have to force myself not to raise my eyebrows at this news – compared to Fran, Ruth doesn’t seem the drama school type at all. I realise she is still speaking. ‘Is there anything I can do for them?’ Ruth nods again in Fran and Dominic’s direction.

  ‘I don’t think there’s anything any of us can do,’ I say, sadly, fighting back the knot in my throat as I turn back to look at the lake. The police team are crowded at the water’s edge, while the Jessops are still held back by the crime tape. Fran’s face seems oddly calm and I wonder if she took something. I know she keeps sleeping tablets in her bathroom cabinet, and I’m pretty sure I saw a Valium bottle in there once when I was looking for a spare bottle of Calpol.

  ‘Well, let me know if I can help in any way. I have texted Fran but she hasn’t replied. Maybe I’ll drop off a casserole or something. I can’t imagine any of you feel like cooking.’ Ruth lays her grubby hand on my arm and I give her a small nod, even though I doubt we’ll touch any food she brings over – none of us have an appetite. She’s a little strange, but she seems harmless enough, and of course she’s interested in what’s happening, especially if she really does know Fran from years ago. It makes it all seem a little closer to home when something like this happens to someone you know. Laurel’s disappearance has rocked the whole community. Peering past her, I catch sight of a mane of honey-blonde hair, as the woman from the school hall I met on the day of the appeal is being held back by Kelly.

  ‘Of course, that would be . . . great. I have to go, I’m sorry.’ I flash her a quick smile before hurrying over to where Kelly holds up a hand, clearly telling Ella she can’t go any further. Lord knows how Ruth made it past her.

  ‘It’s OK, Kelly,’ I say, ‘I know her.’ Kelly reluctantly stands to one side, telling me that I can speak to her here, but she’s to go no further.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, pleased to see her, despite the circumstances. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘God, I look like I’m snooping again, don’t I?’ she says, pulling a face. ‘I heard what was happening . . . it’s . . . well, everyone seems to know what’s going on.’ She looks down at her shoes, and as I peer past her shoulder I see she’s right – word has got out that the police are dredging the lake and there are people starting to congregate on the edge of the woods, the closest they can get without being moved on. I think I catch a glimpse of Mr Snow standing at the edge of the cordon, his black umbrella still in hand.

  ‘I just wanted to see how Dom was holding up.’

  I look over my shoulder to where he paces along the restricted tape line, one hand raised to run through his hair, before he scrubs his hands over his face. Fran stands apart from him, as if frozen, still staring into the water, her face a blank mask. ‘We need to get this part over. I can’t bear to think of Laurel being in that water.’ Just the very thought of it makes my blood turn to ice in my veins.

  ‘She won’t be in there, she can’t be,’ my new friend says positively, one hand shooting out to grip mine, squeezing my fingers t
ightly in hers.

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ I ask, feeling the familiar hot burn that signals tears behind my eyes again. I wish, for the millionth time, that I’d kept Laurel in my eyeline that night.

  ‘I can’t be. But if we can all hope . . .’ she says simply, before she freezes at something over my shoulder. I turn to see Fran clinging to Dominic as DI Dove approaches them. Without thinking I turn and run across the thick mud, almost falling in my haste to hear what has been found. If Laurel is in that dark, silty water.

  ‘What is it?’ I gasp. ‘Did you find something?’

  ‘She’s not in there,’ Fran says, tears in her eyes, her whole body shaking. ‘Oh, Anna, they’ve looked and she’s not in the water.’

  ‘Thank God.’ I put my hands over my eyes, sucking in air to try and calm my racing heart. Thank God. I look over to the trees to where Ella stands, but no one is there.

  We head back to the house in silence, me walking a little way behind in an attempt to avoid any cameras, as the press take some final snaps of Fran and Dominic. As we leave, Jessika comes over and offers to walk back with me, but I shake my head, not feeling able to make conversation with her even though I know she won’t be expecting anything from me. Although relief floods through all of us, there is still the thought that now we are back at square one – no one knows where Laurel is, and no one knows who has taken her.

  The mood is heavy and sombre, and I scuttle away into the kitchen on the pretence of making a pot of tea, but really, I just want to be alone to process how I feel about things. Of course I didn’t want them to find anything in the lake, but where do we go from here? What happens next? With Laurel gone for six days already, we are well outside the so-called crucial twenty-four hours. All the police have to go on so far is a witness saying they saw Laurel getting into a dark-coloured car. We don’t even know for definite that it was Laurel. I feel a little as though there is only dead end after dead end and every minute that passes means a minute longer without Laurel. How must Fran be feeling? If I’m feeling like this, it must be ten times worse for Fran, even though she seems to be holding up OK.