by Anni Taylor
“The bakery?” She glanced over at the bicycle. “You rode all the way into town? Goodness, that’s a hike. I would have given you a lift in.”
“Oh, I like going for long rides.” That wasn’t quite true, but it was true enough. I’d enjoyed the independence of being able to get away from Braithnoch on my own.
“Well, be careful on these foggy days. The visibility can be quite poor.”
I smiled ruefully. “So I discovered.”
A frown stippled her forehead. “I should have warned you about the fogs. They can be extreme, here. Never mind, you’re back again safely. Hope you’ve been okay staying out in the cottage. I imagine it can feel a wee bit scary out there on your own.”
“I’m liking the quiet, to be honest. A refreshing change from Sydney.”
“Good.” She twisted her fingers around her wedding ring, her eyes hesitant. “I feel that I didn’t get a chance to chat with your last night. What made you decide on this particular job, Isla?”
“Just looking for a change, I guess.”
“So, you just found our little ad in the magazine?”
“It was also posted online.”
“Oh, okay. Greer arranged all that. She’s a lot savvier with that kind of thing than me. How’s everything going so far?”
“Things are good. I have lots of ideas. Alban’s probably not going to be the easiest subject to capture, but I’ll manage it.”
“Oh? Yes, Alban can be a bit difficult. Look, I think Greer’s given you too much to do. I know a local photographer who can handle the portrait side of things. This photographer is a bit of a gruff old billygoat—he’ll be able to wrangle my Alban.”
“Oh gosh, no, I didn’t mean to complain or anything. I have clients like this all the time. I just need to learn to be firmer.” I grinned. “Like a billygoat.”
She returned a smile that didn’t reach into her eyes. “Well, I’d best let you get on with things.”
Stepping back, she allowed me space to move out of the shed.
“I meant to tell you,” I said, “your photography is lovely. I saw your images of the snow in the hallway. Have you thought of taking it up professionally?”
She batted that idea away with a slim hand. “Alban wouldn’t be happy with that. He’d prefer I be here with Rhiannon. He’s very traditional. I used to do nursing, but not since Rhiannon was born.”
“What about you?” I said carefully. “What do you want to do?” It was a risk being so personal with her, but I hoped she wouldn’t take it the wrong way. Maybe I could find a way of making friends with her, after all. Photography could be a common ground.
She shook her head. “Alban’s work takes up all the space in this family. That’s how it is sometimes in marriages. I guess I knew it when I married him—he was always ambitious.”
I inhaled a short breath. “Why don’t you come out with me later today? We can take photos of Braithnoch together.”
“That sounds lovely. I haven’t really thought to take pictures of the scenery here. I guess I’ve always been caught up taking pictures of my girls.” A sadness gathered in the corners of her lips and eyes.
Two cars drove in, straight past the cottage. The first was Alban’s. He turned his head, noticing Jessica and I standing there together, a frown causing a deep crease in his forehead. The second car was Greer’s. She smiled and waved.
“Isla,” Jessica said, “I’ll have to say no to the photography. It was a nice thought, but I really just don’t have the time or the energy. And it’s really too difficult with Rhiannon to take care of.”
I didn’t have a young child and didn’t know what it took to look after one, but it seemed to me that there was something that was not quite right with Jessica, but I didn’t know what it was.
Greer stopped her car and jumped out, running back up the driveway towards us. Alban continued driving up to the house.
“Is Rhiannon still having her nap?” called Greer, as she made her way over. “I told her we’d make some drop scones for afternoon tea.” She looked across at me. “How about you? Fancy some nice hot drop scones?”
I gave her a confused smile. “What’s a drop scone?”
“Oh,” Greer said, “you’re in for a treat. They’re like pancakes…or flapjacks—not sure what you call them in Australia—but they’re decidedly yummier.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said. The rest I’d wanted to take would have to wait.
“Yes, Rhiannon’s still sleeping,” Jessica told Greer. “I shouldn’t wake her. She gets terribly grumpy.”
A grin dimpled Greer’s cheek. “I can wait for her to wake. I haven’t any work this afternoon.”
I sensed that Jessica wasn’t happy about Greer’s intrusion into her house, but she said nothing more.
I put my bags away in the cottage and the three of us walked up the driveway together. I wished Jessica had agreed to the photography. It might have been nice to have some girl company out on the moor.
I perched on a stool in the kitchen while Greer started pulling things out from the cupboards. Jessica seemed a bit disconcerted by the mess.
Alban walked down the stairs with a very sleepy Rhiannon.
“You didn’t go waking her, did you?” Jessica rushed to take her from him.
“I went to check on her and she was awake.” He shrugged. “If you’ll all excuse me, I’ll be in the office.”
“Yes, go away Daddy.” Greer shooed him away. “We’re making some very yummy drop scones and you’ll just eat them all up!”
“I’ll be back for the scones.” Alban grinned as he walked away in the hallway.
Rhiannon suddenly perked up, clapping her hands.
“Not too much sugar and jam, Greer,” Jessica warned.
“Of course not.” Greer winked at Rhiannon, making her giggle.
Jessica lifted Rhiannon into her highchair and switched on a small TV nearby, putting it onto a children’s show.
Jessica seemed a little more relaxed now, helping Greer with the pancake mixture. Greer was a whizz with the pancakes, making a high stack and then dividing them up on plates. She presented Jessica and me with a plate of three fluffy pancakes with strawberry jam, and a plate for Rhiannon.
“Oh dear, I forgot to tell Alban the scones were ready,” Greer said, wiping her hands.
Jessica rose quickly. “I’ll take him a plate.” She hurried away with the stack of five pancakes that Greer gave her.
Greer caught my eye. “I think she’s a wee bit tense at the moment. It’s coming up to the anniversary of when Elodie….”
I understood immediately. “Oh no. How sad.”
She nodded. “But what can you do? Life goes on. How’s the scones?”
“Delicious,” I told her. “If I ate like this every day, I soon wouldn’t fit into my clothes.”
“Nonsense,” she replied. “It’s good cold-weather fare. And nothing wrong with some meat on your bones.”
I was about to point out that there was very little meat on Greer’s bones, then stopped myself. She might be one of those people who were unable to put on weight even if they wanted to.
Jessica returned to the dining room, heading straight across to her daughter. “No, sweetheart. Don’t play with the food. You’ll just get sticky fingers.”
Rhiannon rubbed her hands together, seemingly to investigate the degree of stickiness.
Her mother sighed. “I think your little tummy must be full.” Grabbing a damp cloth, she began cleaning the toddler’s hands.
The children’s show on the TV abruptly changed to a news broadcast:
Next week will mark the two-year anniversary of the death of Greenmire schoolgirl, Elodie McGregor, who was abducted outside her Greenmire home. Eight-year-old Elodie died five days after the abduction due to the effects of the sleeping medication she’d been forced to take. She was found in a playhouse in the woods surrounding her home. Authorities are no closer to discovering who is responsible for this shocking crime—
Greer practically flew across the room to switch the TV off.
Just before the TV screen went blank, an aerial image flashed up of the forest, pinpointing the location of the playhouse. The trees were bare, as they were now. The aerial picture had shown a thick line showing the route the abductor had taken out of the forest.
I frowned. Had I seen the exact line of that route somewhere before? The route was very distinctive, consisting of oddly straight lines instead of curving around the trees. Like a soldier marching. Who would walk—or run—though a forest like that?
A cry choked from Jessica’s throat and every part of her seemed to crumple, her hands shaking as she wiped Rhiannon’s face. Rhiannon, oblivious that it was her sister’s face that had just flashed up on the screen, clapped her hands, still fascinated by the sticky jam.
“Jess?” Greer whirled around to her. “If you need to take some time out, we can watch Rhiannon.”
Nodding, Jessica stood. With her head bent low, she headed upstairs. Greer and I exchanged sad glances.
Greer lifted Rhiannon out from the highchair. “C’mon, Rhi, where’s that lovely tea set of yours? I’ll pour you out a nice, warm tea.”
Rhiannon lit up, taking several trips to fetch an exquisite, ceramic set of teacups and saucers. They looked way too fragile to be children’s toys. By the way that Rhiannon was cradling them in her arms, I guessed that her mother had instructed her to be careful with them.
Greer set a cup and saucer down on Rhiannon’s child-sized table and poured some tea. Then she let Rhiannon put the milk and sugar in and stir it.
“Could I have a tea, too, please, Greer?” I said, playing along.
“Of course you may, Isla,” said Greer, winking at me.
We set up the whole tea set on the table. I cut miniature round shapes out of a leftover pancake and arranged two of them on each plate. The little girl almost fainted with delight.
Half an hour passed before Jessica returned. She’d redone her hair and makeup and announced that she was taking Rhiannon to the park.
Greer walked me out to the cottage. “I’ll be back for dinner a bit later on.”
“Oh, good. It’ll just be you and me. The McGregors will be out.”
She raised an eyebrow. “They are? They’re normally such homebodies.”
“Jessica told me they’ll be going away for the weekend. For Rhiannon’s second birthday.”
“Oh, of course. Of course that’s coming up.” She sighed. “Rhiannon’s birthday and Elodie’s abduction—those two events will always be linked, sadly. I’m glad they’re taking Rhiannon away and making her day special. There was no party on her birthday last year.”
“She seemed to love playing tea parties.”
Greer’s thin eyebrows knitted into a frown. “Just between you and me, I don’t think she gets to play nearly enough. Jessica is focused on protecting her—understandably enough—but Rhiannon rarely even gets to play with other kiddies. Well, I’ll see you later on. Best toddle off to the office and get some work done.”
As soon as I was inside the cottage, I found myself curling up on the sofa with a blanket. I felt guilty that I hadn’t achieved anything today. I hadn’t taken a single photograph. But I was aching and exhausted from the lengthy bike ride today and desperately needed to rest. Putting ear phones in, I listened to my favourite music on my phone.
Outside the window, the light was still drab. The mist had disappeared, and a wind had blown in, shaking the branches like a madman. I had to admit that the cold was starting to get to me.
Already, I longed for a warm Sydney day.
You’re just tired, I reminded myself.
I was glad the McGregors wouldn’t be here for dinner. The constant tension between them set my teeth on edge.
Glancing back at the trees, I was reminded of the news segment on the TV, and the aerial image that had been shown. I remembered the precise path that the abductor had taken when they exited the forest on the night that Elodie went missing. Where had I seen it before? Had I come across it in town today?
It was going to bug me until I remembered. I always noticed lines. With my photography, I paid close attention to the invisible lines that connected and dissected a scene. Such as a horizon sitting on the two-thirds line. Or a subject positioned to the middle or off-centre of a grid. Or a child’s kite flying high on a diagonal, drawing attention to the rising sun.
There were invisible clues in lines.
12
ELODIE
Greenmire, Scottish Highlands, December 2015
ELODIE TRIED TO WAKE. Boots crunched the ground all around her, somewhere out there in the darkness.
Urgent voices called her name.
Elodie! Elodie! Elodie!
Who were they? Did she do something wrong? She remembered nothing. Her head felt somehow squashy and heavy.
She could hear the forest. The rustling wind. The sound of boots on old, dry leaves. Why was she in the forest? And where was Mum? She’d gone to get potatoes. Was she back yet?
A woman cried out, there’s something here! A kiddies’ playhouse of some sort.
A playhouse? The only playhouse Elodie knew of was an old thing made of greyed wood, somewhere in the forest. Daddy had taken her to see it a couple of times. He’d told her that he and his friends made it when they were about as old as she was now. She could see the top of it from her bedroom window. It had always seemed like something from a fairy tale, from a faraway place that wasn’t real.
Others came running.
Voices of adults grew louder. Men and women.
She heard them calling out:
I can’t see in. How do we get this thing open?
There’s a latch. Look.
She can’t have latched it from the outside.
Yes, but someone else could have. Right?
What if—?
She was scared. Couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t move.
All she could see was a flashing light. But no people. No faces. The people were just invisible figures in a dark world. She wanted to protect herself, but her body felt wooden. Like a doll, lying discarded on the floor.
Why couldn’t she see?
The voices came again, this time surrounding her:
For the love of—
There she is!
Don’t frighten her!
Is she alive?
We’re not supposed to touch her. Better call—
She’s a child. I’m not waiting for instructions—
Their words and questions made panic spiral in her stomach.
One of the women was close by her now. “She’s sleeping. Just sleeping. Thank God.”
Elodie knew she wasn’t sleeping—because she could hear them. She couldn’t hear people when she was asleep. The people didn’t seem scary now. They were going to help her.
She could hear volleys of shouts in the forest.
There weren’t normally all these people in the forest.
She was being taken away.
Carried.
For a moment, the people fell quiet. She tried to take her chance to speak, but, somehow, she couldn’t make herself form the words inside her head.
All she heard was the wind picking its way through the bare branches, until the crackling sounds of a radio came. She heard her name again—her full name this time.
Elodie McGregor has been found. Repeat. Elodie McGregor has been found. Condition not yet known. Currently unconscious.
Suddenly a roar. A deep voice. Someone crashing forward, scooping her up. My girl, my girl, my girl…. Daddy. It was Daddy. She’d barely recognised his voice at first.
His voice struck terror in her. Was that because he sounded so different? She didn’t know.
“Sir,” someone said. “Mr McGregor. I’m afraid you can’t take her away. Evidence, and all. The less people who handle her, the better.”
“Who did this? Who?” His voice cracked in a way Elodie had never heard befor
e, filled with a barely controlled rage.
“I can’t answer that, sir. She was alone when she was found.”
“Where was she found?”
“I can’t answer that either, sir. We need to race her off to hospital.
Please give her to the officer and stand back.” The motors of vehicles whirred and rumbled.
They were taking her to the hospital. That was what the policeman said. They’d make her better, and then she could see again, and she’d be able to figure out what was happening to her.
All the way along the dark road, she could hear the wind and the sound of an engine and the occasional lorry as it passed.
She battled to stay awake, to move through the strange squashiness in her head and find her way out.
13
ISLA
Dinner last night with Greer had been fun. We’d sat with plates of pasta in front of the fireplace in the house, watching a movie, talking and laughing. I’d been quietly disappointed when Greer had said she couldn’t be here the next night. With the McGregors away for the weekend, I’d be winging it here at Braithnoch all alone. She offered to cancel, but I told her not to worry. I’d be fine. I couldn’t expect to have my hand held every day.
I peeked outside a window of the cottage. This morning had dawned much brighter than it had the day before.
Slinging my camera over my shoulder, I set out. I’d made sure to dress for the weather this time, bundling myself into a thick jacket and scarf. I felt like a scout, prepared for anything nature had to throw at me.
The world was beautiful in every direction. I almost decided on going up into the hills again, then changed my mind. I wanted spectacular light for when I photographed the hills and mountains. Instead, I walked to the end of the driveway and took some long shots of the house with the mountains behind.
I spotted a path leading between the forest and the fence. A path would be easy to follow, and I wouldn’t be risking getting lost, as I could just follow it back again. I headed in that direction. It was a long walk before the forest thinned and the scenery changed to grassy fields. The fields were a lot prettier than the tussocky moor I’d walked the other day.
