My Little Girl

by Shalini Boland

  Claire shakes her head and clamps her teeth together in fury. ‘That bitch,’ she hisses.

  ‘Wow!’ Oliver slumps back against the counter. ‘So it really was Laurel.’

  Gayle keeps going. ‘We can’t jump to conclusions. Ms Palmer says she has no idea how her prints got on there.’ Gayle pauses. ‘There is one strange thing… they also found Jill’s prints on the egg mayo sandwich and on one of the water bottles.’ She directs her gaze to me.

  ‘What?’ My hand flies to my throat. ‘That’s impossible. I’m sure I didn’t touch anything while I was on the boat. I remember when I followed you in there I was thinking that we shouldn’t touch anything. In fact, I’m sure I told you the same thing.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Claire nods. ‘You did.’

  I screw up my face, trying to remember. ‘Although… my mind was all over the place, so I guess it is possible.’ I scratch the top of my head. ‘Maybe I did inadvertently touch them. I really don’t remember.’

  The police took all our prints and DNA samples at the start of the investigation – I suppose situations like this are the reason why. Gayle is staring at me without any kind of expression on her face. Oliver and Claire are darting glances from her to me. There’s a lump in my throat. They surely can’t think that I had anything to do with this.

  I turn to my daughter-in-law. ‘Did I touch the wrapper, Claire?’

  She shakes her head. ‘To be honest, Jill, I really can’t remember. We were both in such a state.’

  Gayle nods and turns her focus back on me. ‘The DI might want to talk to you at some point, Jill. But I’ll let her know what you said, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ I’ve suddenly gone all jittery again. The warm, hopeful feeling I had earlier has evaporated to be replaced by genuine fear that they might actually believe I’m guilty of having something to do with my granddaughter’s disappearance. No. It’s nonsense.

  Gayle continues her update. ‘Although we were unable to get the specific location, we discovered that the message Jill received yesterday originated from the Christchurch area. So we’re confident the person responsible is still local.’

  I nod. ‘Okay. The other thing I was wondering is how could Laurel have sent me the message, when I was with her at the time I received it?’

  ‘She could still have sent it,’ Claire says. ‘All it takes is a tap of her finger.’

  ‘True.’ Oliver’s jaw tightens. ‘Or it could have been Phil who sent it.’

  ‘Speaking of which…’ Gayle pulls something out of her bag and passes it to me. ‘Here’s your phone back.’

  ‘Oh, thank you.’

  ‘We found the boat’s owner by contacting Bournemouth Water Leisure about the mooring. It’s owned by a gentleman who’s been living in Portugal for the past two and a half years. He hasn’t been back to the UK in almost a year, and was upset to hear that his boat had been broken into.’

  ‘And you believe him?’ Oliver asks, his shoulders tensing.

  ‘We’re checking out his story.’

  ‘You’ve been working hard,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’

  She nods at me with half a raised eyebrow and I somehow feel as though my words came across as patronising. Or like I’m trying to be the teacher’s pet by praising her. I didn’t mean it that way. I only meant to be appreciative.

  A noise from the hall has us all turning our heads.

  ‘Was that the front door?’ Claire stands.

  I suddenly feel quite shaky. ‘Has someone just let themselves in?’

  Forty-One

  JILL

  ‘Hello!’ A female voice drifts down the hall. ‘Claire? Are you in? Your front door was unlocked.’ Freya walks into the kitchen with a cautious expression.

  We all relax when we see who it is, but there’s also a wave of disappointment that it’s not Beatrice, the one person we’re all desperate to see.

  Freya must see something in our expressions because her face falls. ‘Hi, oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you had company. I’ll come back another time.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, come in.’ Claire gives her a hug and makes the introductions. But Gayle gets up from her seat. ‘I’ll get going.’

  ‘You don’t have to go,’ Claire says.

  ‘Sorry,’ Freya says again. ‘I’ve obviously come at a busy time. Honestly, I’ll leave you guys to get on with…’

  But Gayle is already on her way out. ‘I’ll call if there’s any more news.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Oliver calls after her, ‘I forgot to make your tea.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ Gayle turns and gives him a rueful smile before turning to my daughter-in-law. ‘Don’t worry, Claire. You look after your guest. I’ll see myself out.’

  Freya looks a bit flustered. ‘Sorry, I just stopped by to see how you’re all doing and if there’s been any news. I brought a loaf of Mum’s bread and some jam. They send their love, by the way.’ Freya plonks a paper bag on the counter and sits opposite me. ‘Nice to see you, Jill. How are you doing?’

  ‘A bit shaken if you must know. This whole business is just—’

  ‘It’s terrible, I know. I can’t even imagine what you’re all going through.’ Freya shakes her head and blows air out through her mouth, her blue eyes filling with emotion. ‘I just wish I could do something more. Has there been any progress? Was that woman here about…?’

  ‘She’s a detective, our family liaison officer.’ Oliver leans against the counter, filling Freya in on the past twenty-four hours while I sit quietly, trying not to fly into another almighty panic. Why were my prints on that sandwich packet? Did I really touch it? I honestly don’t think I did, because I remember being quite forceful with Claire that she should not touch anything. So why would I then go and do the very thing that I was telling her not to? I wasn’t exactly thinking straight, so who knows? I certainly can’t remember clearly enough to know for sure.

  Once Freya has been caught up on what’s been happening, Claire starts speaking. ‘I know this is probably nothing, but there is something else that’s been playing on my mind…’

  We wait for her to continue, but her cheeks are flaming and she looks reluctant to continue.

  ‘Well?’ Freya nudges.

  Claire shifts in her seat. ‘Actually don’t worry, it’s really not important.’

  ‘You have to tell us now,’ Freya says.

  ‘Honestly, it’s nothing.’

  ‘Freya’s right,’ Oliver says. ‘You can’t leave us hanging, Claire.’

  She sighs. ‘I’m only telling you this because it happened, not because I think it’s relevant to anything.’

  I stay silent, but I have to admit to being intrigued by what’s got my daughter-in-law so flustered.

  Claire tuts and flicks her hair behind one shoulder. ‘Okay. So yesterday, before I followed Jill to the river, I went to the fair.’

  Ollie frowns. ‘I thought the fair had gone already?’

  ‘Yeah, it has,’ Claire replies. ‘To Wimborne.’

  ‘You went to Wimborne?’ Oliver’s frown deepens.

  ‘Yes. But I didn’t find anything there.’ She scratches her ear and clears her throat. ‘Anyway, as I was leaving, I saw one of my clients parked opposite the showground. Stephen Lang. He’s the one who brought round flowers after Bea disappeared, and he offered to help, if we needed it.’

  ‘The white lilies,’ I say.

  Claire turns to look at me. ‘Yes.’

  ‘White lilies?’ Freya repeats.

  ‘He brought round white lilies,’ I clarify. ‘I told Claire at the time those flowers are symbolic of death. I don’t know why I said that, though. It was quite an insensitive thing to say.’

  Freya raises an eyebrow. ‘Well that’s not creepy at all.’

  ‘I think Lang has a crush on me, that’s all.’ Claire pulls a face and shrugs.

  ‘What? Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ Oliver cries, his expression darkening. ‘We should definitely tell Gayle.’

  �
��Really? But it’s just a crush.’ Claire doesn’t sound enthusiastic.

  ‘I’m not happy about some weirdo stalker bringing you death-flowers and following you all over the county.’

  ‘That’s a bit dramatic,’ Claire replies.

  ‘I agree with Oliver. You should tell the police.’ I stare at my daughter-in-law until she finally nods heavily.

  ‘Fine,’ she replies.

  ‘It can’t hurt,’ Freya adds.

  Claire sighs. ‘If we tell the police about that, then I’m going to have to tell them the rest – about me going to the fair and, well, technically I was trespassing.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ I soothe. ‘It’s understandable, in the circumstances.’

  ‘Hmm.’ She looks doubtful.

  The doorbell rings, taking our attention, and Claire seems relieved by the distraction. All this coming and going is making me dizzy. But maybe it’s Gayle back with good news about Beatrice. Oliver goes to answer it and comes back a few moments later with a bulky grey-haired woman who looks maybe a decade older than me. I vaguely recognise her face, even though it’s pulled into a grimace and her whole body is bristling with anger.

  ‘Sue!’ Claire stands while Freya raises her eyebrows in my direction.

  Oliver shifts awkwardly, shrugging apologetically to Claire. ‘Sue wants to have a word.’

  I try to think where I know her from, and then I remember – this is Philip’s mother, from next door. I’ve spoken to her a handful of times before, usually on Oliver’s doorstep where we’ve commented on the weather.

  ‘Who are these other people?’ Sue’s normally soft west-country drawl is clipped and harsh today. Seems like she hasn’t recognised me either.

  Oliver swallows. ‘This is my mother, Jill, and our friend Freya.’

  Sue harumphs. ‘Well I don’t suppose it matters if they hear what I have to say.’

  ‘How can we help?’ Oliver asks.

  She folds her arms across her chest. ‘My Philip… has been at the police station… since yesterday.’ As she talks, she tilts her head first one way, then the other like a seesaw, as she emphasises each phrase. I’m almost hypnotised by the movement. ‘How could you think that Philip has anything to do with what’s happened to your little girl? I know you’re going through a lot right now, but this is just…’ She throws her hands up in the air. ‘It’s just unbelievable, is what it is. As if it isn’t enough that my house has been searched twice, top-to-bottom, my Philip then had to spend all last night in a police cell.’

  No one says anything for a moment. Eventually Freya clears her throat. ‘I know it must be hard, but the police are just doing their job. They have to interview everyone, and they’ve got evidence they have to follow up.’

  Sue huffs. ‘Well, I understand that, but we’ve been neighbours for years.’ She turns to Claire. ‘I never thought you’d turn on us like this. It’s pretty obvious you’re just looking for someone to blame and you’re using my Philip as a scapegoat.’

  ‘Now hang on a minute…’ Claire’s expression clouds over.

  ‘I think Freya’s right,’ Oliver interjects. ‘Let’s all stay calm and wait for the police to do their job, okay?’

  But Sue isn’t stopping or calming down. ‘And that woman my Philip’s taken up with, Laurel, do you know her?’

  ‘She’s my ex-wife,’ Oliver says quietly.

  ‘What?’ Sue almost screeches. ‘Your ex-wife is trying to get in with my Philip? This is all very strange.’ She shakes her head. ‘Once this is over and my Philip comes home, I’m putting the house on the market and getting as far away from you people as possible. I was already thinking about moving somewhere with fewer steps, and you… well, you’re not the nice family I thought you were, so this has made up my mind. There’s something dodgy going on here.’

  ‘Okay, Sue, I think that’s enough.’ Oliver guides his neighbour back out the way she came, but she continues to rant even as she’s stepping outside. The front door closes loudly, cutting her off mid-flow.

  ‘What a dreadful woman,’ Freya mutters under her breath.

  ‘She’s worried about her son,’ I reply. ‘I’d be the same if it were Oliver at the police station. I’m sure she’ll calm down.’

  ‘Unless he’s arrested and found guilty,’ Claire adds. ‘In which case, I’ll call the estate agents for her.’

  The uneasy feeling in my chest has hardened into a knot of anxiety and I suddenly realise why. ‘There’s something that’s really worrying me,’ I announce, looking up at Claire and Oliver.

  ‘What?’ Freya asks, concern etched across her face.

  ‘If Laurel and Philip really are guilty of taking Beatrice, then who is she with now?’

  Forty-Two

  CLAIRE

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Freya’s making us each a sandwich while I stare at the message on my phone. Reading it has sent my pulse rocketing. This is the last thing I expected. What on earth can it mean? I’m already unravelling over Beatrice. Jill was right to worry about who’s looking after her. If Philip and Laurel are being kept in for questioning by the police, then Bea could be locked up all alone. She’ll be scared, hungry, thirsty. We need to find her as quickly as possible.

  Right now, it’s just Freya and I here at the house. Oliver’s dropping his mum back home. Poor Jill has been quite overwhelmed with all this morning’s activity. First Gayle coming over with an update, Freya showing up, and our incensed neighbour, Sue Aintree, barging in. Jill had been growing paler by the second. Then she quite rightly brought up her worries about who currently has our daughter. The same worries that are tearing me apart right now. If Laurel and Philip are guilty, but refuse to admit it, then they’re obviously not going to give up Beatrice’s location. But if they’re not guilty, then we’re back to square one and no nearer to finding her…

  And now I get this text message.

  ‘Claire?’ Freya nudges me from my thoughts. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Uh, yeah, fine.’ I get up from the table. ‘I’ve just got to make a quick call. Back in a mo, okay?’

  ‘Course. Do you want Cheddar or cream cheese in your sarnie?’

  ‘Either’s great. Thanks, Frey.’

  ‘No worries.’

  I step outside onto the searing-hot terrace, close the back door behind me and walk a little way up the garden. Already sweating under the midday sun, I find a shady spot beneath an overhanging buddleia, sharing the space with a thousand bees and butterflies.

  The text message appears to be from Kai, the boy from the fair. He’s asking me to call him ASAP. He must have got my number from Sam, the woman I gave my card to. This is weird. I’d already written off the fair as a dead end, my suspicions unfounded after scaring that little child and her mother half to death in their camper.

  I call him and wait. Kai answers after a couple of rings. At first, all I hear is loud music and all the shouts and screams of the fair. But then he speaks. ‘Hello.’ His voice is gruffer than I remember.

  ‘Kai? It’s Claire. What’s this about? I just got your message.’

  There’s a pause and I make out a faint muffled conversation. ‘Hang on. Just gotta find somewhere a bit quieter.’ I hear his breath as he walks, and the thud of his footsteps. The background noise grows fainter. ‘That’s better.’

  I wish I’d brought a drink out into the garden with me; my throat is dry and tickly. I swallow and lick my lips.

  ‘Claire, you still there?’

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘Okay, so here’s the deal. I’m going to tell you this thing, but you’re not going to tell anyone you heard it from me, okay? My old man will kill me if he knows I’ve been speaking to you.’

  ‘Your old man?’

  ‘My dad.’

  ‘Who’s your dad?’

  ‘Monty, the fairground manager. You met him, remember?’

  ‘Yeah, I know who Monty is. I just didn’t realise he was your dad.’

  ‘Well he is, and he wo
uldn’t want me blabbing to you. So you have to swear you won’t say anything.’

  ‘Um, yes, fine.’

  ‘Swear it then.’

  ‘Okay, I swear I won’t tell anyone you spoke to me.’

  ‘Good. So, last week, on our way to set up the Christchurch site, one of our small caravans was stolen. We sometimes leave a couple of them in lay-bys and have to come back for them – not enough towing vehicles. We do it all the time. Anyway, before the Christchurch set-up, one of them was gone when Tanner went back for it. The old man was proper pissed off.’

  ‘That’s… not good, I guess. But why are you telling me this?’ I’m confused and disappointed by his story about the caravan. I thought he’d messaged me to tell me he knew where Beatrice might be, or that one of the workers had seen her.

  ‘Think about it. It seems like a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t get it.’

  I can hear the exasperation in his voice. ‘You know… what better place to hide a stolen kid? A caravan that you can park pretty much anywhere. And if she’s found, who do you think’s gonna get the blame?’

  I inhale sharply. Could Kai be right? Is that what’s happened? Is someone using the fairground caravan to hide Beatrice?

  ‘Did you report it as stolen?’

  ‘No, we usually sort these things out ourselves.’

  ‘Surely it would help to report it.’

  ‘If we reported it missing and then they found your girl inside, we’d be suspects, wouldn’t we?’

  I think about what he’s saying, but have to disagree. ‘I don’t think you would. Does that mean you’re looking for it yourselves?’

  ‘No. After your daughter went missing, the old man called a stop to the search.’

  ‘What! Why?’

  ‘People like to blame us for everything. As soon as the fair arrives, anything goes missing in town, it has to be our fault – electronic gear, jewellery, cars, kids… you name it, we get the blame. If we found the caravan with your daughter inside, we’d be caught up in the police investigation.’