Beneath the Old Oak

by Lisa Shambrook

  Dad squeezed her hand. “Some passersby stopped when Martha did and they called me. I got a lift, I collected them and took them home,” said Dad.

  “No reports of this? No doctor?”

  Dad shook his head. “I thought I could deal with it.”

  Constable Cotton bit her reply and smiled instead. “This changes things.”

  “How?” asked her father.

  PC Silverdale replied, closing his notepad. “When you first reported Mrs Frost missing, she was low risk, a missing person who’s voluntarily gone missing. There’s not much we can do for people who just leave. We keep an eye out, file a report, check out leads, but it’s their choice if they go. However, if they’re a danger to themselves or others, it changes the priority. She becomes a higher risk, and we can do more.”

  Meg’s dad raised his eyebrows. “You can do more?”

  “It’s still early days, there’s still the fact that it looks like it’s her choice to leave, but with her history, we have more to play with, we take a more active response. I’ll fill in all the forms, take a DNA sample.” He looked at PC Cotton, who nodded. “She’s on the National Missing Persons list. There’s also a service that can text her phone to send her a supportive message and let her know she can reach them for free, if she wants to. We’ll coordinate a new search taking into account what you’ve told us. If nothing comes to fruition quickly, you’ll get a Family Liaison Officer and we’ll keep you posted with everything.” He paused. “Is there anything else you want to know now?”

  “No, just find her…”

  “We’ll do all we can, Mr Frost.” PC Silverdale cleared his throat once more. “We’ll do all we can.”

  Though the police report had been filed and another search conducted, Meg’s mother did not want to be found.

  Meg recalled the previous day’s chaos with rising nausea. The search was vast and conducted immediately after the report was filed. The police helicopter hummed all day, moving to and fro across the town, and the dogs called in. Uniformed officers and house-to-house enquiries filled the streets, or at least that’s how it seemed to Meg.

  This morning more uniformed officers and their Liaison Officer arrived to accompany them to the local community hall. Lights and cameras and a small amount of press attended, and her intensely private father pleaded for Mum to come home.

  Meg now watched at home as Dad sat through marathon internet searches and desperate attempts to scroll through his wife’s social media, page after page, looking for clues. Hours of reading online blogs and lengthy research into the reasons why women run. His fingers ran through his unwashed hair, and his three-day-old shirt creased like his forehead.

  Meg perched on the edge of the sofa. Her eyes roved across the room, taking in the photographs on the walls, happy family pictures, smiling at the world. Her hands clenched in her lap and she fought her tears. Her heart thudded and her bottom lip wobbled.

  “Am I like Mum?” Meg released her question.

  Dad turned to her. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because she’s broken, and I might be too…are we both no good?”

  Dad slumped at his computer, and Meg spoke anxiously, rising from the sofa. “Dad?” Her words no more than a whisper but filled with a hopeful plea. “Dad, if I ever run away, will you come and find me?”

  Tears illuminated his red, swollen eyes and a quivering sigh escaped his lips as he swung his chair round, taking Meg in his arms. He crushed his daughter to his chest. “Sweetheart, if you ever run away and you want me to find you, no matter how far or how long it takes, I will find you. I’ll walk every road and sail every sea until you’re back in my arms, I will find you. I will always find you.”

  She tightened her arms around him. There was no need to worry, no matter how much she wanted to run, to run until her feet were sore, until her legs could barely carry her, she would never hurt her father.

  She was not her mother.

  Meg willed the nightmares out of her head. This was the third morning she’d woken to bad dreams and tears. As she pulled on her clothes Indy nudged her arm. She pushed him away ignoring his neglected meow. She bit her lip as she wandered downstairs unsure if she could stand another day watching her father search her mother’s diaries and social media. Her father’s deep voice rumbled and she wasn’t sure she could meet his eyes with a smile.

  “That was our Liaison Officer,” said Dad, placing his phone down on the table. “Checking on us.”

  “We don’t need checking up on!” Meg scowled. “They should just find Mum instead.”

  Dad ran his fingers through his hair and stroked his chin. He took off his glasses and began cleaning them on the hem of his shirt.

  His telephone rang again. “Hello? Yes. You have? Where?”

  Meg stared at her father, not even daring to blink.

  “Okay, and Martha, my wife? She’s not? Nowhere? What do you want me to do?”

  Meg sank down onto a chair at the table, resting her head on her crossed arms. From her sideways angle, she could see disappointment in her father’s eyes, the way they lost interest as the police officer spoke on the other end of the line. Eventually he said goodbye and put his mobile down again. He leaned against the table, putting his weight on his splayed fingers, his head bowed and for a moment Meg wondered if he was crying.

  “They’ve found the car, her car, the Clio.”

  “Where?” asked Meg.

  “Eighty miles away.”

  Meg’s eyebrows rose. “Eighty miles away?”

  “In Longbridge.”

  “Why? What’s it doing there?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “So they haven’t found Mum?”

  He shook his head. “Nope, the car was empty. No sign of her. They’re keeping the car for now.”

  “Why are they keeping it?”

  “Because she’s not there, we don’t know how it got there—well, she drove it, we’re assuming, but…”

  “How long has it been there?”

  “They found it yesterday.”

  “In a car park? Maybe she went shopping? Or…”

  “No, it’s under a bridge. There’s nothing wrong with it, no sign of a struggle or, or anything else.” Dad pulled out a chair and sat down. “She’s just gone, vanished, left the car and gone. They watched it, but no one came for it.”

  “Are they taking it away?”

  “I imagine so, impounding it ‘til they know more.”

  “What if she comes back? What if she tries to find it? What then, if it’s gone, what would she do?” Meg’s voice rose.

  “Maybe she’d come home,” said Dad flatly.

  “Did she take the keys to the car?”

  “I don’t know, I didn’t ask.”

  “If she’s got the keys, she might to go back…”

  “They’ll investigate, there’s not much more they can do.”

  “Yes, but…”

  Dad shook his head and slammed his fists down on the table so hard Meg jumped. “There are no ‘buts’, just ‘ifs’ and ‘whens’. When they know, if they know, they’ll let us know.”

  Meg bit back her tears.

  “It’s Wednesday, she’s been gone for almost a week. I have to work. I have to go back to work.” The chair legs scraped across the floor, and Dad rose from the table. “If I don’t work, there’ll be nothing for her to come home to.”

  Meg had nowhere to go. Dad was at work, or at least that was where he said he was going, but his briefcase remained on the desk at home. Meg had no one but Indy for company, and the cat scratched at the back door desperate to leave.

  “Go on then!” Meg’s lip curled. “Go on, get lost. See if I care…” She opened the back door and watched Indy race up the garden. Cats had no conscience.

  Meg couldn’t settle, she couldn’t read more than a page and her head thumped. She peeled her damp t-shirt away from her skin and had a long, cold drink. Even walking upstairs took effort, and the condensa
tion-coated glass of water threatened to slip from her hands.

  She opened her parents’ bedroom window. The pavement without her mother’s car looked forlorn and lonely. She took another long gulp of water and placed the glass on Mum’s bedside table. For a split second she searched for a coaster, but her eyes narrowed and she left the glass standing within its ring of water.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands between her knees. Pale blue ribbons, tied to the mirror, wafted in the light breeze, and she stared at the door’s hinges in the reflection. She pushed memories from her mind and refocused on the bedside table.

  Mum’s clock and notebook were gone. She and Dad had searched the room until there was nothing new to discover.

  Meg picked up a dog-eared novel, flicking through the pages, no book mark or even a turned down page. She unscrewed the small, round bottle of perfume and inhaled heavy jasmine. She pulled open the drawer and rifled through emery boards, safety pins, scraps of paper, old clothes labels, and her gaze paused on a pair of narrow, silver hairdressing scissors. She closed the drawer.

  She had no idea why she’d come to her mother’s room.

  She picked up her glass of water and moved to wipe the wet circle. Her fingers loitered over the ring then she whipped her hand away and left the wet halo untouched.

  Downstairs, Meg threw the back door wide open and wandered outside.

  August heat prickled against her skin, and she strolled up the garden to the laburnum. It was only a few days since she’d last sat beneath the tree, but it seemed like weeks. She leaned against it, hugging her knees to her chest. She shifted as scars in the trunk bit uncomfortably against her back and Indy’s mew broke the silence.

  “You’re back. You have no sense of loyalty,” she told him, plonking him on her lap. He jumped right off and wound his body through her legs. Suddenly tears, as heavy as the hot, cloying air, slid down her face.

  She had no idea how long she cried, but it was long enough to leave her eyes puffy and sore. She wiped them with balled-up fists and heard a click, a garden gate kind of click. She stared through the rhododendron’s thick foliage as her next-door neighbour moved up her garden. Meg tensed, stifling her sniffs. The elderly woman dipped out of sight behind the foxgloves and then her kindly face loomed over the hedge.

  “It’s hot isn’t it?” she said, a little out of breath.

  Meg gazed at her.

  “I saw you come out a while ago,” she said. “Wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  Her words were so matter of fact and so unexpected, that Meg’s tension evaporated and more unbidden tears rolled down her face.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry!”

  “You didn’t.” Meg shook her head. “I mean, it’s not your fault, Mrs Hillman.”

  “I don’t want to pry, but you look like you could do with someone to talk to, or if you don’t want to talk, there are always cupcakes…”

  Meg smiled. She didn’t mean to, but cupcakes always made her smile. “Mrs Hillman…” she began.

  “Joan, call me Joan,” said the old lady.

  “Joan,” Meg smiled again, “I’d love a cupcake.”

  “Then why don’t you come on over?”

  Meg got to her feet, ignoring Indy’s protest, and walked to the low wall separating their gardens. She climbed over, waiting for her neighbour to catch up.

  It was strange, walking into her neighbour’s home. She hadn’t caught much more than a glance of Mrs Hillman for many years, but the old woman’s invitation had woken a need, and that need was for the next thing Mrs Hillman offered.

  As they stepped into the kitchen, almost identical to their own, yet back to front, the kindly woman held out her arms, and Meg melted into them.

  They remained like that for some minutes before Meg awkwardly pulled away.

  “Don’t apologise, I’m not stupid, a bit of a hermit these days, but not stupid. Losing someone is hard, no matter how they go, and until she’s back where she belongs, I’ll be here. I’m here for anything you need, anything. Now come and have a cupcake.”

  Meg smiled through her tears and picked a yellow frosted cake, sinking her teeth into a comforting mouthful of zest.

  “Oooh, this is good!” Meg bit again then stopped mid mouthful and stared at Mrs Hillman. She pointed at the cake. “Mrs Hillman, these are yours?”

  She nodded. “Your mother visits quite often.”

  “…and brings these home, or chocolate ones, or raisin, and even apple muffins. Did you make the flapjacks too? Or were those hers, she said they were hers!” Meg finished the cupcake and stared.

  “No, the flapjacks were hers—but she made them here…”

  “These…” Meg pointed at the cupcakes. “I thought they were shop-bought.”

  Joan shrugged.

  “Why didn’t she say she came here? I didn’t think she had any friends! Have the police spoken to you? Do you know where she is?” Meg’s words were fast and accusatory, but Joan shrugged again. “You know she’s missing, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I know she’s missing, I’ve spoken to the police.”

  Meg gazed at the cakes, and absently stuck her finger into the swirly icing on the nearest one. “She’s gone.”

  Joan gently took Meg’s arm and led her to the kitchen table. They sat down and Meg rubbed the icing between finger and thumb. Joan spoke softly. “Your mum’s been coming over here for a very long time. I don’t go out much anymore, and she does my shopping.”

  “She does?” Meg was surprised.

  Joan nodded. “I don’t need much, just me for a long time now.”

  “Mrs Hillman, why didn’t she tell us, why does she keep secrets?”

  “Call me Joan, please, Hillman sounds like an old car, and I may be old, but I don’t want to sound like an old car. Motorbikes were more our thing.” Joan smiled. “I don’t know why she didn’t tell you, your mother has lots of…needs…” Joan’s words trailed off.

  “Needs…and I don’t?” Meg’s voice betrayed bitterness.

  “Don’t be too hard on her.”

  Meg bit her lip and gazed at the chequered tablecloth. “So how did you see me out there?”

  Joan rested her hands on the table, regarding Meg with thoughtful eyes. “I saw you go out. I like sitting by the window.”

  “Usually the front window,” said Meg.

  “Yes, usually the front window, but I saw you when these came out of the oven. After icing them, I thought I’d check on you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Joan reached out to touch Meg’s hand. “If you ever need someone…”

  As Meg fought tears, another sound made her glance up, her eyes flashing. “Dad’s home, someone’s home—I heard the front door!” Meg pushed the chair back and it toppled to the floor as she leaped up. She left her neighbour at the table and sprinted out of the house and over the joint wall. She raced across the grass, almost tripped over the door step in her hurry and barrelled into the lounge.

  “Dad!” Her heart was in her mouth. “Dad, what’s happened?”

  “They found someone.”

  Meg froze and stared at her father as he stood in the centre of the lounge, his hair tousled and his hands trembling in front of him.

  They found someone,” he repeated, lifting his grey face to gaze at his daughter.

  “Who?” she whispered.

  He lifted shaking hands and drew short, trembling breaths. Meg’s feet were rooted to the carpet, her legs wobbling beneath her.

  “They called me again…” He could barely speak.

  “Who did they find? Was it Mum?”

  He shook his head and Meg felt her legs collapse, she grabbed the desk for support.

  “It wasn’t her, it wasn’t her…” Dad fell to his knees and Meg rushed to his side. “It wasn’t her, but I thought, I thought…”

  “Hush, Dad, shhhhh, quiet, it’s okay, it’s not her…” Meg’s throat burned as she tried to stop her tears, and
she held her father tight as his anguished sobs filled the room. “It’s okay, Dad, it’s fine, it’s good, it’s not her, it’s not her, Mum’s okay.”

  “I’m sorry, Meg, I’m so sorry.” Her father noisily blew his nose. He sniffed and cleared his throat. “I’m really sorry. It just threw me—completely.”

  She nodded.

  “I’d only been at work for twenty minutes when they phoned.” He blew his nose again. “I went down to the station to sign papers, stuff about the car. Then I overheard him talking to Officer Cotton. She was checking details on a body at Longbridge and matching them. I wasn’t supposed to overhear.” Dad took a deep breath. “It wasn’t her, wrong shoe size, wrong height. They didn’t even think it was her! I had to get out of there.”

  “They could have discussed it after you’d gone!” Meg rubbed his back.

  He picked up his glasses, perching them back on his nose, pushing them up and into place. “It just threw me, that she might be…might be…”

  “Dad, don’t think it, she’s out there somewhere, she’ll come home, I know she will!”

  He choked back his tears clenching his jaw. “Meg, I’m sorry, you don’t need to see me like this, you’ve had enough of that from your mother!”

  “It’s fine, Dad, really, it is!”

  He shook his head and straightened his sweaty shirt. He took his daughter’s face in his hands and gently kissed her forehead. He spoke, his voice still thick with emotion. “It’s okay. I’m not going to fall apart.”

  Meg allowed a sigh to escape.

  “Meg, I won’t fall apart and I won’t disappear, I promise you that.” He suddenly saw his daughter clearly, and grinned. “What’s that on your nose?”

  She lifted her hand and rubbed off dry, gritty icing. “Lemon,” she replied.

  “Lemon icing?”

  She nodded. “Did you know about Mum and Mrs Hillman next door?”

  He smiled. “I know she does her shopping, and I know she brings cakes back home!”