by Claire Allan
I’d pushed away those thoughts and concentrated on what I could do and that was to make the rest of the day as pleasant as possible for Max and Ava.
They’d astounded me with their ability to eat so much ice cream and even when I’d warned them they’d end up with a tummy ache, they’d insisted on one more scoop. I didn’t have it in me to refuse them, so they’d each got one more, very generous, serving.
By the time their daddy came to pick them up, they were sitting on the sofa in my living room and we were looking through old family photographs. They loved that. Loved seeing their mother when she was a little girl. Seeing me with bad hair and worse glasses. Seeing pictures of their granddad, their uncle; people who were no longer a part of their lives but always a part of their family. Seeing us all in different, easier times.
Ava looked so much like her mother had as a young girl. Sometimes it would catch me unawares. It would almost feel as if Laura were back with me.
‘Look, Daddy!’ Ava called as he’d walked in. ‘Have you seen this picture of Mammy before? When she was my age. She’s reading one of the books from her room that I’ve read.’
‘That’s lovely, pet,’ he’d said, giving little more than a cursory glance at it before urging the kids to pick up their things and get ready to go home.
As he’d sat waiting for them, I couldn’t help but notice he still looked as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, as if there was something he was trying to tell me but couldn’t.
‘Is everything okay?’ I’d asked.
He’d sighed. ‘Just a long day,’ he’d said. ‘Maybe it’s just with it coming to the end of term, I’m almost as worn out as the children. A holiday’ll do us the world of good.’
‘It will,’ I’d said. ‘And no one deserves it more.’
He’d lifted the photo album from where Ava had left it on the table and started to flick through it, smiling every time he saw Laura.
‘I do miss her, you know,’ he’d said. ‘I wish she could see how the kids are growing. Ava’s coming to an age where she needs a mother’s influence, if you know what I mean.’
‘I can have those kind of talks with her if you want,’ I’d offered.
‘That would be good,’ he’d said, turning the page.
I remember looking over his shoulder, when I noticed something strange. There were blank spaces in the album. Spaces where pictures had been stuck in but where now only remnants of backing paper were left stuck to the glue. I hadn’t taken them out. I hadn’t looked at those albums in a long time.
By my reckoning, the missing pictures were the ones Laura had taken herself when we’d loaned her our camera to take into the school fun day. We’d been so excited when she’d shown us pictures of groups of girls. Girls she’d said were her friends. She was in some of them herself. Maybe standing to the side. Not grinning at the camera like the rest of them but offering her small, shy smile instead. She’d insisted we put them in the album and we did as she’d asked.
‘That’s strange,’ I’d said. ‘There’s some pictures missing. I’m sure I didn’t take any out.’
‘Do you think maybe Ava did? Or Max? Maybe they wanted a picture of their mum.’
My heart had contracted a little at the thought of the children smuggling pictures of their mother out of the house.
‘Sure, all they had to do was ask,’ I’d said, my heart too sore at their loss to be cross with them.
They’d run back into the room and I’d watched as their father asked them to sit down, then asked them very solemnly if they’d taken any pictures from my photo album.
Both children shook their heads.
‘It’s important to tell the truth,’ he’d said.
‘I didn’t take them, Daddy,’ Ava had said and Max just shook his head.
‘It’s okay if you did. I know you love your mum very much. I just need to know,’ I’d said.
They’d both looked at me.
‘I swear, Granny, I didn’t,’ Max had said.
‘Me neither,’ said Ava and I could see her bottom lip wobble a little.
I’d no desire to upset the children over a couple of photos, so I’d told them I believed them. I’d made sure to give them extra hugs and slip a fiver into each of their hands before they left.
It had felt like order was restored in the world and I’d sat down to bask in the memories of a mostly very lovely afternoon.
It still didn’t answer the questions about where the photographs were, though, or who’d taken them.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Rachel
We were in a hotel room. I was trying to keep a brave face. Talk it up to Molly, like it was a treat. Beth was a bit more savvy. She knew something was wrong. She wasn’t overly comforted by either the suite we had or the access we had to the swimming pool. She was clingy – not that I could blame her.
We could have stayed at home, the police had said. They’d given us the panic phones, put in the alarms and were increasing patrols even more, but Paul and I had decided to get some space from the house. For the night, at least. Until the doors were properly repaired and security lights had been fitted. I’d little desire to spend any time in his company, found it hard to look him in the face but I forced myself to act as if everything was normal. The girls needed some sense of stability.
We’d packed what we needed and drove with Paul to the police station, where I’d picked up my car and he went in to ‘help with the inquiry’.
I’d driven us to the hotel, my eyes darting to the rear-view mirror for any signs that we were being followed. I’d parked close to the hotel door, wondering if it was wise that my car was in clear view but not wanting to take the risk of parking in any secluded corners.
The woman at reception had been full of smiles and welcomes.
‘Just a wee break, is it?’ she’d said while I filled in the paperwork.
I’d nodded, looked back to where the girls were sitting on a sofa in the lobby. Molly hugging her favourite pony as if she’d never let it go and Beth was looking as if she could faint at any moment.
I’d handed over the paperwork and the receptionist had read through the details.
‘Oh, you’re local,’ she’d said, her eyebrow raised a little.
‘We are,’ I’d said, refusing to be drawn any further, much to the apparent disgust of the receptionist.
‘And how long will you be staying?’ she’d asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ I’d told her. ‘Tonight, anyway … obviously. And tomorrow, maybe. Is it okay to confirm in the morning?’
‘I’ll have to check with the computer if we have availability,’ she’d said and tapped her long acrylic nails on the keyboard in front of her, pulling all sorts of ‘I’m thinking’ faces before finally looking up. ‘Well, yes, at the moment we do have availability for the family suite tomorrow night, but if a confirmed booking comes in …’
‘We’ll deal with that then,’ I’d said.
I was tired. I was scared. I needed a shower and something to eat. I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, which I’d managed to throw up in the police station. I could feel sweat trickle down my back and the air was thicker now than before, as if rain was on the way but not soon enough. My head hurt.
‘Of course, madam,’ the receptionist had said, handing me three key cards and telling us where our room was.
She’d started to launch into her full spiel about when breakfast was served and what was available in the gym facilities, but I’d been too tired to listen. I knew it was rude, but I didn’t have the energy to care.
‘Come on, girls,’ I’d said and we’d headed off to our first-floor suite.
Molly was bouncing on one of the two single beds in the living area, claiming the bed nearest the door for her ponies and her, while Beth sat on the sofa and started flicking aimlessly through the TV channels.
‘How long’ll Dad be?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know, darling,’ I told her.
‘They’re talking to lots of people. Everyone who knew Clare.’
‘Will they talk to me?’ she asked.
‘I don’t think so, pet.’
‘I wish none of this had happened,’ she said.
All I could do was agree.
‘I don’t think I want to go home ever again.’
‘Well, Beth, the police are securing our house. It’ll be the safest house in Derry by the time we get back. And I promise you, I’ll not leave you alone again.’
‘Can I tell my friends what happened?’
To be honest, I was impressed she hadn’t done so already. I expected her to be on Snapchat as soon as the police left, filling everyone in.
‘Don’t look at me like that, Mum. I know this is serious. I’m not going to tell people what happened or where we are.’
I sat down beside her and took her hand.
‘You’re a very smart young woman, Beth Walker, and I love you very much.’
‘Do you love me too, Mammy?’ a little voice from the corner of the room piped up.
Molly was sitting cross-legged on her bed now, her eyes growing tired. She hadn’t had a nap all day, so I knew she’d be exhausted.
‘Of course I love you, poppet,’ I told her. ‘You girls are the most important thing in the world to me.’
‘And you won’t leave or let the bad man take you away?’ Molly asked.
‘I promise,’ I said.
But I kept thinking of the picture, the score marks, the circle drawn around my face. Those words. The truth was, I was as scared as my girls were. I pushed down my emotions, told the children I needed to get a shower and that they could order anything they wanted from room service.
While they discussed what the menu had to offer, I locked myself in the bathroom, stuffed a towel into my mouth then screamed and cried as if my heart were breaking.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Elizabeth
Maybe the photos had been gone a while. I tried to think of the last time I’d looked through them. It had been months, if not longer, but I knew the last time I’d looked they were still there. I’d have noticed if any had gone.
I shivered, despite the heat, a feeling of foreboding washing over me.
There was one possibility I didn’t even want to think about.
I pushed it away. Told myself that it was impossible. There had to be a more logical explanation – the events of the last week had instilled an unnecessary level of fear and paranoia in me.
I set about locking up the house, making sure every window and every door was bolted and double bolted. Windows and doors I may not always have made sure to secure before, because I’d felt secure enough in my own home – in this secluded corner of the world – that I never imagined anyone would ever want to gain entry through. To try to come in.
I wasn’t one for drinking, but my nerves were sufficiently rattled to prompt me to pour a measure of Jameson Irish whiskey, from a bottle that once belonged to Paddy. It was so old I wasn’t even sure if it was still drinkable, but I sipped from it anyway. Feeling its warmth slide down my throat to my stomach, I grimaced at the taste, but if it helped me to relax that had to be a good thing.
Izzy looked up at me as if I’d lost the run of myself, drinking alcohol, pulling faces, talking to myself.
‘Don’t you judge,’ I chided her, only to be rewarded by the saddest puppy-dog stare in return. ‘I’m sorry,’ I immediately replied, bending down to pet her and ruffle her fur. ‘I’m the worst company in the world right now.’
She curled her body into mine and I lowered my aching bones down onto the floor to enjoy the warmth of her beside me – the non-judgemental nature of her very being, as if there was nothing in the world I could do to disappoint her. If only it were so easy with humans.
The sound of a car crunching on the gravel in the yard made me jump. I got to my feet slowly, my muscles straining at the effort. Then I peeped out of the window to see DI Bradley climbing out of his car. This wasn’t expected; I felt my skin prickle. That sense of foreboding again. Nothing good could come from him visiting me this late in the evening.
I opened the door just as he raised his hand to knock, managing to startle him in the process.
‘I heard your car pull up, looked out the window,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘Can I come in, Elizabeth?’
‘Of course,’ I said, stepping backwards, suddenly self-conscious about the whiskey glass still in my hand. ‘I was just having one to steady my nerves. It’s been a difficult few days.’
‘Well, if I wasn’t on duty I’d be asking you to pour me a drink, too,’ he said with a tired smile.
‘The pressure must be on at this stage,’ I said, more than aware I was stating the obvious.
‘Very much so. And I’m hoping you can help me again.’
‘I’ll do whatever I can,’ I told him, leading him through to the kitchen, where he sat opposite me at the table.
‘I’m afraid there was an incident earlier today, at the home of one of Clare Taylor’s friends.’
‘One of the girls who received the flowers?’ I asked, and he nodded.
I wondered if it was the same woman who Ingrid had mentioned earlier. Whose husband the police wanted to talk to.
‘I can’t reveal all the details, but I was wondering if you’d look at a picture for me, see if it rings any bells for you at all.’
I shrugged and he took out his phone, drew his finger across the screen, scrolled and then turned the screen to face me.
‘This was left at the home of Rachel Walker today. There was an attempted break-in. Rachel has confirmed the identity of everyone in the photo and tells us she believes the girl on the right-hand side of the picture to be your daughter, Laura.’
I knew the picture immediately. It was one of those that had disappeared from my photo album. The realisation was like a kick to my stomach. My eyes were drawn directly to the image of Laura, then to the newly but angrily scored-out face of another girl. Clare. Her face obliterated by angry strokes of a red pen. No trace left at all of her smile, or the confidence she’d exuded back then.
Then I looked at the red circles drawn around the faces of the two other grinning schoolgirls. The angry words written beneath one – a girl with blonde frizzy curls and a look of defiance I’d never seen on the face of my own daughter, despite our many similarities.
I felt tears prick at my eyes. That sense of foreboding from earlier rose into something I could barely contain.
‘Is that Laura?’ DI Bradley asked.
‘It is,’ I stuttered, reaching out to touch the screen as if there were a trace of her in her image.
He paused for a moment then showed me another picture.
‘If you look here, this was written on the back of it. The names of the girls in the picture. “Julie, Rachel, Clare and me. 1990.”’
I stared at my daughter’s childish handwriting, the memory tearing at my heart.
‘It very much looks as though this photo belonged to Laura,’ he said softly. ‘Does that look like her handwriting?’
I could only nod. My girl’s handwriting. I didn’t realise just how much I missed something as silly as handwriting until I saw it in front of me. My hand flew to my mouth as if to try to contain the grief that wanted to spill out.
‘I think from this point in the investigation we reasonably have to assume that whoever carried out the attack on Clare Taylor, and whoever’s been leaving messages for you, and for those of the friends and family of Clare Taylor, is connected to your daughter and has been able to access her personal belongings. The big question, of course, is who?’
I couldn’t speak. I just kept looking at the picture of my daughter. So alive. So full of hope. I thought of the missing space in the photo album.
DI Bradley continued. ‘Elizabeth, I know this is horrible and it’s bringing up all sorts of memories from a very difficult time. But given w
hat’s happened, we’ll be looking into Laura’s file. We have to question whether the same person who targeted Clare, who’s now targeting her friends, could also have targeted Laura two years ago.
‘Perhaps she felt threatened by that person. We believe the man responsible to be a very manipulative and narcissistic creature. He’s clearly capable of carrying out acts of extreme violence. Did she ever mention feeling threatened by anyone? Scared of anyone? Any information at all that you can give us about the people in her life could break this case.’
The room about me began to sway. The edges became fuzzy. I wasn’t sure if I was whispering, talking or shouting.
‘But Laura took her own life. She left a note. Nothing about her death, nothing, bears any resemblance to what happened to Clare.’
‘And it could be that investigation will find just that,’ he said. ‘But we can’t ignore what’s happened and we want to make you fully aware of what’s going on.’
I felt the whiskey that hadn’t properly settled in my stomach rise. Swallowing it back, I looked at DI Bradley, tried to focus on him and his voice. Tried to think about what he was telling me. What it could mean.
Had someone driven my daughter to her death?
I thought of the picture he’d shown me. What he’d said: ‘Manipulative and narcissistic’, and ‘capable of carrying out acts of extreme violence’. The room swam around me and DI Bradley’s voice faded further into the distance.
I was aware of a strange tingling feeling at the back of my neck, the sudden arrival of a sheen of cold sweat on my brow. I tried to focus – on the sights and sounds in front of me, on the familiar smell of home, on the feeling of Izzy at my feet.
A searing pain seemed to hit me like a lightning bolt, right on the top of my head. I wanted to scream but I was already fading. I tried to stop myself from falling, sideways, the darkness growing as I fell.
I was already unconscious by the time my head hit the stone floor with a sickening thud.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Rachel
Paul looked haggard when he joined us in the hotel. I imagined I didn’t look much better. I didn’t know what to say to him. Or how to act with him. I couldn’t jump straight in asking all the questions I needed to because the girls were with us. They’d been through enough trauma. But it seemed Paul wanted to talk and was in no mood to wait.
