by Lisa Hall
Lost in my own thoughts, I don’t notice the graffiti until I am almost on top of it. My feet slow and a swirling, nauseous feeling rises in my stomach. It looks as though Mr Snow is right, people are starting to take against the Jessops. There, scrawled in red spray paint across the back fence is the word, MURDERER.
‘It’s coming off, see.’ Kelly pauses to look over her shoulder at Fran, as she stands silently behind us, her thumb pressed against her lips as she bites at the skin around the nail. Kelly and I are crouched next to a bucket of hot, soapy water, scrubbing at the offensive stain on the fence. I feel sick every time I look at it, the idea that someone in our community felt it was OK to do this.
‘It was probably kids,’ Kelly says, catching the look on my face as I scrub hard, soap suds drifting down my wrist and soaking my sleeve. ‘Try not to read too much into it.’
‘Try not to read too much into it?’ Dominic snarls, as he paces behind us, his face pale, his breath coming in angry gasps. ‘This is your fault, you know that?’
I flinch at his words, thinking they are aimed at me, but Kelly rises to her feet, her knees clicking awkwardly as she stands.
‘Dominic, please.’ She splays her hands in a gesture designed to calm him. ‘This is purely . . .’
‘Purely your bloody fault!’ Dominic halts in front of her, pointing a shaking finger in her face, ‘If you hadn’t made us do that TV appeal maybe this wouldn’t have happened. I told you a TV appeal would make people point the finger at us – didn’t I say that, Fran? And you could have stopped that bloody psychic coming to the house – don’t think I didn’t see the front page of the papers, telling the world she was here! Now look – you should be out there searching for whoever took our daughter, not here scrubbing that shit off the fence.’ He shoves his way back through the gate and marches up the path towards the house.
‘And there he goes, storming off again,’ Fran sighs, her arms wrapped around her skinny frame as if trying to keep warm. ‘We won’t see him for hours again now. Have you noticed that?’ Her voice is almost dreamy, her eyes blank. ‘He storms off and goes to God knows where for hours, leaving me to deal with everything on my own. He should be here, with me, waiting for Laurel to come home.’ She blinks, and a tear rolls down one cheek. I get to my feet, my thighs protesting.
‘Come inside. It’s freezing out here.’ I guide her towards the gate, glancing back at Kelly who nods. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea.’
Fran is right – Dominic’s car is gone, and when we re-enter the house, it’s empty. I set about making the tea, Fran sitting silently at the table, any animation from Margaret’s visit has been washed away by the offensive graffiti on the fence. The shrill ring of the telephone makes me jump, and Fran pushes herself to her feet, but I wave her back down.
‘Sit down, I’ll get it.’ The landline rarely rings. I head out to the hallway and lift the receiver.
‘Hello?’ There is no response, merely the hiss of static on the line. ‘Hello? Can you hear me?’ My heart starts to bang in my chest, my ears straining for any little noise. ‘Is someone there?’ Nothing. The line goes dead in my hand. Fran looks up as I walk back into the kitchen.
‘Who was it?’
‘No one. There was no one there. Maybe a wrong number?’ I say, even though I don’t think it was. And there was someone at the end of the line, I thought I could make out their breathing. ‘Maybe we could check the Facebook page, while we wait for Kelly to finish with the fence?’ Perhaps reading some of the supportive messages will reassure Fran that people do love Laurel, and that they aren’t all against the Jessops.
‘OK.’ Fran logs into the laptop and pulls up Facebook just as the telephone begins to ring again.
‘I’ll go.’ I hurry out to the hallway and snatch the phone up again, pressing it hard to my ear. ‘Hello?’ Static again, the faint whistle of breath going in and out. ‘Hello? Who is this? Seriously, what do you want?’ Ransom. The word floats across my mind and my stomach flips. What if it’s the person who has Laurel? What if they’re calling to demand money? There is no response on the end of the line, and a few short seconds later the dial tone sounds in my ear. I walk slowly back into the kitchen and Fran looks at me closely.
‘Well? Who was it this time?’
‘The same again. No one there. But I could hear them breathing.’ I take a seat next to her and pretend that the dead calls haven’t unnerved me. ‘Let’s check the page, shall we?’
‘Do you think it has something to do with Laurel, the dead calls?’ Fran asks, leaning forward on her elbows, frowning hard. ‘Ransom, maybe? Kelly should be able to trace the calls, right?’
It’s as if she’s read my thoughts. ‘I guess. I don’t know.’ The Facebook log-in screen loads and I swivel the screen towards Fran, so she can log in. As she types in her password, the telephone starts to ring again and my stomach lurches.
‘I’ll answer it this time.’ Fran shoves her chair back, the feet scraping across the tiled floor and making me wince. I follow her out to the hallway, waiting anxiously as she snatches up the receiver.
‘Hello?’ Her voice is surprisingly firm. ‘Who is this?’ She waits for a second and I hear the muffled tones of the person on the other end of the line. ‘How . . . you utter bitch.’ Her face crumples as she slams the receiver back into the cradle, her hands flying up to cover her eyes.
‘Fran?’ I go to her, but she shakes her head, waving a hand at me. ‘Who was it? What did they say?’
‘I don’t know who it was . . . it was a woman’s voice though. Not one I think I know, but I’m not sure. There was something familiar about it maybe?’ She pulls her hands away from her face and I see she is crying again.
‘But what did they say?’ I ask, a cold finger running its way down my spine.
‘They said . . .’ Fran hiccups, ‘they said that Laurel going missing was all my fault.’
Kelly comes in from the garden, and straight away I tell her about the phone call, despite Fran’s feeble protestations.
‘We can try and trace it if they call again,’ Kelly says, ‘but if it leads back to a pay-as-you-go phone we won’t have much luck finding the caller ID.’
‘It’s probably just a prank,’ I say, trying to make Fran feel better. ‘No one honestly thinks that you had anything to do with Laurel going missing. How could you have done? I was right there with you the whole time.’ I deliberately don’t mention Dominic, and the persistent nagging feeling in my belly that I get every time I think about his absence that night, the way he asked me to not mention it to Fran.
‘Yes. OK.’ I can almost see Fran pulling her big girl pants on to get on with things. ‘I’m going to reply to some of these messages of support that have been left on the “FIND LAUREL” page.’ She pulls up the page and starts scrolling. ‘Oh, there are some lovely ones.’ She smiles as she reads, and Kelly pulls up a chair next to her. It doesn’t take long though for the smile to slide off her face, and for a frown to appear on Kelly’s brow.
‘What is it?’ I ask, scooching round to their side of the table so I can see the screen. To top off everything else that has happened today, there is another message from Lois Burns. Just as vicious and vitriolic as the last.
‘Where were you, Dominic? You should have been there, looking after your kid.’
‘Well done on the acting, Fran. Acting like you could give a shit.’
And then, again, the same as before:
‘Maybe if you’d looked after her properly this wouldn’t have happened. You don’t deserve to have children. Maybe now she’s with someone who does.’
‘Jesus,’ I breathe out, bile scorching the back of my throat. I swallow hastily, before I risk a glance at Fran. ‘That’s just . . .’
‘Horrible.’ Fran’s hand goes to the necklace around her throat. She looks ill, is the only way to describe her, as though the life has been sucked out of her. ‘How could someone say such horrible things?’
‘I’m going to make a
call, get DS Wright to start looking into this,’ Kelly says, closing the lid of the laptop and walking away, fumbling for her mobile phone. Fran pushes her chair back, gets to her feet.
‘I’d like to be alone for a while,’ she says as I also stand. ‘I’ll be in my room.’ And she hurries from the kitchen, leaving me alone, the bitter taste of hatred lying thick on my tongue.
Later, the house quiet, I sneak along to the bathroom for a shower, Dominic having come home earlier and gone straight to Laurel’s room where he sat, with the door closed, for over an hour. Dinner was a half-hearted, stilted affair, Kelly rustling up soup and cheese sandwiches that ended up laying dried and curling at the edges when nobody could face eating them. How does she do it? I wonder, as the hot water thunders over my head, how does she spend day after day in the thick of events like these? As I rub shampoo into my hair, a thick clump falls out in my hand, washing away down the drain, and I blink back tears.
A sure sign of stress, my hair came out in clumps in Scotland once the accusations were made. And now it’s happening again. I carefully rinse the soap from my hair, trying not to touch it too much. How long before this nightmare is over? There are so many pieces, it’s like a jigsaw that I can’t quite fit together – today, the graffiti and the abusive messages added another element to it all, another part of the picture that I can’t make fit. Does the person who did this have information about Laurel? Or are they just out to be vindictive? The blonde hair on Dominic’s jacket, the psychic raising her eyes to his – you know where she is – the phone call from the woman who quite clearly wasn’t a work colleague. Is it all related? Or am I simply clutching at straws?
CHAPTER 16
Shouting rouses me from my dozy state of almost-sleep, and I blink, my eyes feeling dry and sore. Twisting my head round to look out of the window, I can see that I must have been asleep for at least a couple of hours – the sun has set behind the houses, and while it isn’t quite fully dark yet, the sky is a deep indigo colour, the last dying rays of the sun scorching the horizon a deep orange-y red. The moon is already out, and I can see the beginnings of a glittery frost on the cars parked across the street. I haven’t slept properly since the night before Laurel disappeared, and I find myself sleeping when I don’t expect to. Muffled voices float up through the floorboards again, and I swing my legs round and tiptoe to the door, inching it open just a crack.
‘Fran, please . . . you’re being a little bit unreasonable, don’t you think?’ Dominic’s voice is low, as if he doesn’t want to be overheard.
‘Unreasonable?’ Fran’s voice is considerably louder, ‘you’re talking about going back to work – full-time – when Laurel isn’t home. How can you even think about it?’ Her voice breaks on the last word, and I hold my breath, waiting to hear Dominic’s response.
‘The hospital needs me, Fran. They’ve covered my list for two weeks, but they can’t cover it any longer. People have had their operations put off already – and for some of them this is life-saving stuff. I have to go back. But I’ve told them that if anything – any tiny little thing – comes to light about Laurel, I’m coming straight home.’
‘Oh, Dominic,’ Fran gives a soft laugh, full of bitterness, ‘we both know that isn’t true. Maybe if you’d been there that night, maybe if you’d kept your promise to Laurel, instead of putting the hospital first, then she would be here tonight.’ He still hasn’t told her he wasn’t at the hospital. I bite back the gasp that springs to my lips. There is a thick, heavy silence from downstairs before Dominic speaks again.
‘Is this how it will be now? Even if . . . when . . . she comes home? You’ll blame me, forever?’ I hear the jangle of keys as he scoops them up. ‘You’ve always been happy to spend the money, Fran. And you haven’t exactly been there for her yourself – always at that bloody theatre, rehearsing lines for auditions that you never win. How many school plays, parents’ evenings, fêtes, have you missed because you just had to be in London, so Anna had to take her? We’ve both made mistakes, Fran.’
I peer over the bannister to see him slide his keys into his pocket and pull open the front door.
‘I’m going out for a while,’ he says, not looking back at Fran.
‘That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it?’ Fran’s voice rises, and there is a screechy tone to it. ‘Just run off? Leave me here, on my own, to deal with everything. Well, go on then. Off you go. I only hope she’s worth it, whoever she is.’
Dominic shakes his head, and I step back quickly into my room as Fran turns and starts thundering her way up the stairs. I sit back on my bed, watching Dominic out of the window as he strides away up the street, his head down, not looking back. The door to Laurel’s room clicks open, and then closed again as I hear Fran heading in there. I’ll let her calm down – if I go in there now, she’ll only turn on me. It wouldn’t be the first time I got it in the neck for something someone else has done to upset her.
The thought of leaving floats across my mind again and I have to force it away. What if Laurel comes home and you’re not here? How can you leave her to these two, warring and fighting, always in a constant battle? the devil on one shoulder asks me; What if she never comes home? Will you just stay here forever? the one on the other side asks. I sigh and scrub my hands over my face.
If I’m honest, I’d thought about leaving a few times, long before Laurel disappeared, but couldn’t bring myself to leave her with Fran and Dominic. Both of them busy with their careers, I was often, as Dominic just threw back in Fran’s face, the only one available to take her to school plays and go to parents’ evenings. And I was attached to her – the way her eyes lit up when she saw me in the playground at the end of the school day, the way she snuggled down under the duvet while I was reading her a story. We have a connection, the two of us, one that I can’t bring myself to break even though she isn’t here. You’ve been more of a mother to her than Fran ever has, a voice whispers way back in the dark corners of my mind. No, I can’t leave. Not without knowing that she’s home and safe. The click of the door breaks into my thoughts and I see Fran coming out of Laurel’s room through the gap in my door. She hurries down the stairs, and I wait a few minutes before I follow her down.
‘Fran? Everything OK?’ She is closing the door to the garage as she steps into the kitchen, and she jumps, placing her free hand to her chest.
‘Oh. Anna. You made me jump. I was only grabbing this.’ She waves a bottle of wine in my direction. ‘One of Dominic’s “good” ones from the cellar.’ She says cellar, she means garage. But I don’t pick her up on it, I wouldn’t dare. ‘Actually. Shall we save it for later?’ Her eyes darken, and I shrug. I don’t drink. I don’t know how many times I’ve told her that, although I suppose she can be excused for forgetting lately. I haven’t touched a drop since I left Scotland. ‘I think I might take a walk down to the church.’ She looks at me, and I can feel her desperation leaching off her in waves. ‘Come with me? I’m not sure I want to be alone right now.’
‘I’m sure Kelly would . . .’ I start.
‘No, not Kelly. I want you to come, Anna. Kelly doesn’t even know Laurel.’ Fran lifts her chin as if daring me to say no.
‘I’ll get my coat,’ I say.
We walk in silence along the narrow lane that leads to the church, the sun completely set by the time we reach the top of the slight hill that the church sits on. It’s almost eerily quiet, the moon casts a pale, white glow across the pavement and our breath comes in smoky clouds as the temperature drops. Again, there is that faint tinge of bonfire smoke on the air, that makes my stomach flip. In the houses further along from the church one brave soul already has Christmas lights in the window, despite the fact that we still have another week before November fades into December, and they twinkle brightly, a puff of colour in the dark, chilly evening. We follow the short gravel path to the heavy church doors, pausing when we reach them. The dark oak doors are pulled tightly shut.
‘Is it even open?’ I ask, in a
low voice, as though if I speak too loudly I’ll wake the ghosts in the graveyard.
‘A church is never closed,’ Fran says in a solemn voice, shaking her hair back from her eyes before she reaches for the handle, turning it stiffly and shouldering the heavy door open. Inside, the church is dimly lit, and the temperature is not much above what it is outside. Fran makes her way in confidently, and I get the feeling that despite the Jessops’ not being a particularly religious household, she has been here before.
She heads straight to the front of the church and fumbles in her pocket, pulling out a pound coin that she throws into a tin before helping herself to a candle. I stand there silently as she lights it, her head slightly bowed, the lights from above reflecting on her hair. She presses her hands together in front of her mouth and closes her eyes, whispering to herself (or to God) fervently. Awkwardly, I glance around the church while I wait for Fran to finish, the musty aroma that seems to fill every church I’ve ever been in making me want to sneeze. Finally, Fran opens her eyes and turns, making her way to the empty pew behind us. She slides in and then taps the seat next to her for me to sit.
‘It’s so peaceful, isn’t it?’ she says, her eyes fixed on the lit candle ahead of us. ‘I find it easier to think here.’ So, I was right – she has been here before.
‘I didn’t think you and Dominic were especially religious,’ I say, cautiously.
‘Oh no, we’re not, not really. Can you see Dominic putting God before his patients? That’s why we never go on a Sunday.’ Fran gives a small smile, casting her eyes down and clasping her hands in front of her, almost as if she’s playing a part. I can practically see her on the screen, portraying the devout, religious mother. ‘I’ve just found it gives me some peace, to come here and think about Laurel. The vicar has offered to hold a service to pray for her safe return.’
I say nothing, unsure of what to think. In Scotland, church was a big part of family life. Today is the first day I have set foot in a church since I left the village, and it doesn’t feel peaceful, or calming to me. It feels claustrophobic and stifling.
