Grace Is Gone

by Emily Elgar

  “You forgot, didn’t you? Our son has been waiting for you for the last forty-five minutes, Jon. You were taking him out for ‘boys’ burgers’ after school, he said.”

  “Oh fuck.” I see Jakey waiting outside the house, checking the time on his phone, staring down the road for my car, checking the time again, and my heart withers to ash.

  “Can you put him on?”

  Ruth pauses. She knows how important it is for Jakey and I to have a good relationship, for us both.

  “Wait a minute,” she says and I hear her feet running up the stairs. I picture her hand pushing Jakey’s bedroom door open, picture him facedown and burning with rage on his bed. Ruth’s muffled voice comes through the receiver, she sounds conciliatory, pleading, but Jakey’s reply is short and angry and I know he won’t talk to me.

  “He doesn’t want to talk to you at the moment,” Ruth says, playing the peacemaker. Brownie points for Ruth.

  “OK, OK, that’s fair enough. Can you just tell him one thing for me?”

  Ruth makes a gravelly sound in her throat, like she’s about to lose it with me

  “Please, Ruth, just one thing. Tell him I’m sorry, and tell him I’m going to find Grace. I’m going to find Grace for him.”

  Ruth snorts down the phone. I hear her trudge back downstairs as she says, “Jon, are you losing your fucking mind? Is that what’s going on here? You can’t even keep a burger date with our son and you’re trying to play the hero?”

  She waits for me to lash back at her, but I bite my tongue.

  “You’re delusional, Jon,” she says and hangs up.

  Ten minutes later I’ve left Dave in the pub with his hundred quid and am on my way home. I’m furious with myself for forgetting my promise to Jakey, but my anger is weighted by the realization that I might just be able to keep my bigger, far more important promise. I might be able to find Grace, or at least find out what happened to her. I heave my guilt onto a distant shelf in my mind, somewhere I rarely bother to reach. I need to think now. On the drive an endless loop of questions is running through my head, about the twins and why and how Grace got mixed up with them. Grace led a sheltered life, she’d be the last person to come across career criminals like the Craigs. Why would one of the twins be interested in a disabled kid unless there was something connecting them, something I can’t see? Could it be the pills Dr. Rossi prescribed? Simon knew about the twins, so it can’t be a coincidence. Could he have known they were involved with Grace’s disappearance? The way he said it—the twins—it sounded as though I should already know them. But then again, he wasn’t making much sense at the time; I have no real idea if he can be trusted.

  The twins. I think about the first time we met in that busy café, wonder whether Simon mentioned anything then. Maybe I didn’t pick up on it before, too focused on the article. It’s worth a shot.

  As soon as the front door shuts behind me I clatter through the flat searching for my Dictaphone. Simon’s interview tape is still in the machine. I find it at last, under some unopened mail on the kitchen table. Simon’s voice is a squiggle as I rewind the tape back to the moment when he talked about the day Danny died. Then his voice crackles, alive in my kitchen.

  “Then I saw those boys. They were only about eight, identical. I thought it was a bit odd they were on their own, running like hares down the path to the cove.”

  I rewind, press PLAY again. “They were only about eight, identical.” Rewind, play: “identical.” I listen to Simon say the word “identical” again and again until the word itself seems to break down and starts to sound like another language entirely, and suddenly everything around me feels sharper because it’s starting to make sense. Somehow Grace got involved with these twins, these brothers, the same eight-year-old boys who were there all those years ago, on 6 June 1998. The boys who watched Danny drown.

  17

  Cara

  After I leave Jon’s flat I get the bus home. I don’t like being outside, it makes me feel exposed. I see his thin face in every stranger. For the first time since all this happened, I just want to be home.

  Mum seems surprised but pleased when I collapse into her arms. I breathe in her particular mix of hairspray and the pear-drop smell of nail polish. She strokes my hair and I feel a little safer. She doesn’t ask where I’ve been and neither of us mentions the row. I don’t even care anymore if she knew Grace and Meg were lying about Grace’s age, if she knew Grace’s real name. She would have been trying to protect Meg, trying to be a good friend and keep her secrets. There’s no harm in that. Besides, those things are nothing compared to the revelation that Grace can walk, even run. The only thing that matters to me now is that Mum and I are together, safe. It’s a sunny day so Mum draws the curtains in the sitting room and brings me hot drinks while I lie on the sofa. I keep my eyes open. Whenever I close them I sense him, as though he’s waiting for me in the thin space between my eyelid and eyeball. He’s always smiling at me. I’m grateful Mum doesn’t ask any questions. She just seems relieved to have me home. I listen to her whisper to Zara on the phone in the kitchen.

  “You were right, Zar, she needed time, just like you said. Repressed trauma.”

  I imagine Zara smiling, congratulating herself on being right.

  “I’ll keep a close eye on her: she needs to be reassured that Simon can’t get to us. Poor love has had a worse time than any of us, after all. I’m going to take a few days off, stay here with her, if that’s OK with you?”

  I’ll let her think it’s Simon I’m frightened of, not GoodSam, with his sharp teeth and cruel, laughing eyes. My back itches where the barbed wire broke through my skin. I curl up, tighter. I want to stay here forever, tiny and hidden from the world. I try not to think too much, but it’s the fear I can’t control. It comes for me like a frost, sudden and silent, leaving me petrified. I see Grace’s spilt chair again, the sticky dent where Meg’s forehead once was. I feel the force of the blow from the lamp again and again, like a fist to my stomach. I hear the sound horribly dulled as he crushed the precious alleys and paths full of Meg’s life, her memories, her joy. I wonder what part of her he killed last.

  At some point during the afternoon the doorbell rings and I hear Martin and Sylvia asking questions about me. I wonder how long it’ll be until the whole estate knows that I’ve finally crashed, as I’m sure they all said I would. Mum runs me a bath and afterwards, when my skin is pink and steaming, she makes me get into bed and without me asking brings beans on toast for dinner. She sits on the end of my bed, propped up on her elbow, watching me, smiling with every mouthful.

  “This reminds me of when you were little, Car, remember?”

  I don’t remember a specific time, but Mum does.

  “It was just after your dad buggered off. You cried so hard you made yourself sick.”

  She says it with a small smile, like it’s a happy memory, not one full of misery. She pats my leg through the duvet. I feel like her pet but I don’t care.

  “I think we should both take a few days off work. I want you to recover properly from everything. You rushed too much last time, that’s why we’ve ended up back here. But this time I just want you to take it really easy for a good few days, OK?” She takes a bottle of unmarked pills out of her cardigan pocket. “Meg gave me these a few months ago when I was going through that patch of insomnia—do you remember?”

  I don’t, but I nod.

  “They’re just pills to help with sleep, they sort of melt everything negative away so your mind doesn’t churn right before bed. Once you’ve finished eating I want to see you take a couple and then you’ll have a good night’s rest and we can see where we are in the morning . . .”

  Mum’s other cardigan pocket starts to glow and vibrate with a phone call. She looks at the screen and says, “It’s only Zara, I’ll call her back later.” She drops the phone back in her pocket; it stills for a moment. She frowns at my half-finished food, before taking out the phone, which has started ringing again.
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  “You should answer it, Mum,” I say, flicking a few crumbs off the duvet. “It might be something important.”

  She gives me an “Are you sure?” look before sitting up and pressing the answer button.

  “Zar, I’m just busy now with Cara, she’s—” but Mum doesn’t finish what she’s about to say. I hear Zara’s voice, small but urgent on the end of the line.

  “Oh God, really?” Mum says. My bed rises as she stands. I feel all my back muscles tense.

  “You’re sure?” Mum sounds almost excited.

  Zara babbles some more on the other end of the phone. I tell myself it doesn’t necessarily mean something bad. Knowing Zara, it could be anything from Grace being found to an unexpected sale in Topshop.

  “God,” Mum says, phone clamped to her ear as she walks across the hall and stares at the pictures on the hall wall. “I can’t figure out whether this is good news or not. So it’s a secure unit, is it?”

  I’m out of bed now. I don’t want to miss anything.

  “What is it?” I mouth at Mum but she just shakes her head. She needs to concentrate.

  My insides twist and I think of Jon. Has he gone and done something stupid? Got himself arrested again?

  Mum’s nodding along with whatever Zara’s saying, before at last she rounds off the call.

  “OK, Zar, well, thanks for letting me know. Pop over for tea tomorrow if you want. Cara and I will be here.” She turns to me, smiling at the thought that we’ll be here tomorrow, together. She hangs up, drops the phone back into her pocket with a long exhale.

  “What is it, Mum?”

  She takes my hand and, turning towards me, says, “I don’t want to upset you, Car, but you should know. It’s not . . . it’s not nice but it may help you feel a bit safer.” She’s trying hard to smooth away the smile that keeps creeping onto her lips. “Simon Davis tried to kill himself this morning.”

  I feel my body twitch involuntarily. Mum doesn’t notice, and keeps talking.

  “You know Zara’s cousin Remi is dating a police officer? Well, he told Remi and of course Remi told Zara.” Mum lowers her voice to a whisper. It sounds mean, too gleeful for the words. “He was in a secure psychiatric hospital but he got a razor from somewhere. He must have made such a mess.” I see the dark red rust color of Meg’s broken head.

  “Oh, Car, you look terrified. Sorry, love, I didn’t mean to upset you.” She pulls me into a hug, rocks me back and forth. I smell all the chemicals on her. I can’t breathe.

  “Shhhh, shhhh,” Mum sighs into my ear even though I’m not making any noise. At last she lets me go, still holding my hand, and smiles at me sadly.

  “Come on, get back under the covers.” I let her lead me and she sits back on the end of my bed. It makes me think of all those times I saw Meg sitting on the end of Grace’s bed.

  “I can’t decide whether I’m glad they caught him in time so we can fight for justice, or if I wish he’d managed it, saved us all the pain of the trial,” Mum says.

  I swallow and try to look like I don’t care either way.

  “Mum, I’m feeling really knackered again, I think maybe I’ll try to go back to sleep if that’s OK.” I wriggle down under the duvet. Mum smiles and strokes my hair.

  “You want me to stay with you, Car? I don’t mind.” Under her palm, I shake my head.

  “I’ll be all right, Mum, I promise, I just want to sleep.” I hear her pick up the bottle of pills she left next to me.

  “I’m leaving two here for you, by your water glass. I think you should take them.”

  “Maybe later. Thanks, Mum.”

  Outside, the sky is the inside of a shell, all pink and peach. Mum draws the curtains against it, as though the beauty of it will make me feel worse.

  “Good night, darling.” She leans over and kisses me. “Love you.”

  “You too, Mum.”

  I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until at last Mum closes the door behind her and I feel my lungs relax. There’s a buzzing sound in my head, like my thoughts are all out of tune with each other. Simon tried to kill himself. I can’t imagine his desperation, the loneliness of knowing the truth but feeling the world turn its back. Simon didn’t kill Meg and he didn’t try to hurt Grace. I bet Danny’s death wasn’t his fault either. I think all this, but I can’t prove any of it, and I’m presented with a choice: either I join everyone I love and ignore my instincts about Simon or I fight for him because I know he’s innocent and he can’t fight for himself. As soon as the question takes shape in my head, I’ve answered it.

  I pick up my phone from my bedside table and scroll through my contacts. The sound of meticulously planned laughter echoes out of the sitting room; Mum’s watching one of her talk shows. Jon picks up after just one ring.

  “Cara, how are you feeling? Any better?” His voice is softer than usual.

  “Yeah. Look, Jon, Mum just told me something.”

  Jon swears softly when I tell him about Simon. I don’t mention the razor; I don’t want to picture any more blood.

  Through the phone I hear the sound of a car door slamming shut.

  “Where are you going?” I ask in a loud whisper.

  “It doesn’t matter, Cara, you need to stay at home, be with your mum for a while.”

  As he says it I know he’s wrong, I don’t need to be here. I need to know who Grace really is—whether she’s being held against her will or not. I need to know whether GoodSam or someone else was waiting for her in the shadows at the graveyard, whether they’re controlling her. But then I remember the way she looked at me, the sneer on her lips, the fact she was lying to us all about being able to walk, about her age. She didn’t look like a victim. This isn’t over. Not yet.

  I pull off the duvet. My legs feel heavy from lack of use after only a few hours and I shake them back into life. Mum folded my jeans neatly on the chair in my room. I grab them and start to pull them on as I keep the phone fixed to my ear.

  “You spoke to the bloke you know in the police, didn’t you?” I say, knowing I’m right—it’s what I’d have done if I were him. He knows something.

  Jon doesn’t say anything for a while, weighing whether to tell me or not. I cup my hand round my mouth, force myself to talk quietly.

  “Look, I’m the only one who’s seen GoodSam or whatever his name is. I’m the only one who’s seen Grace since she was taken, I know what she looks like now. You think even if you do find her that she’s going to talk to you? A reporter who’s screwed her and her dead mum over once before? Of course she won’t. She’ll never talk to you, Jon, but she knows me. Remember how she talked about me in the diary? She always looked up to me. She’ll listen to me.”

  Jon’s quiet on the other end of the line, thinking. I know he wants to keep me safe, but he also knows I can help. At last he says, “Look, if I agree to this it’s on the understanding that you’ll do as I say.”

  “Of course.”

  “No bloody running off and meeting up with psychopaths on your own. Understand?”

  “Yes, yes, I promise.”

  “If I tell you to stay or if I tell you to go somewhere, you do it without messing around, without even questioning me.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And, Cara, do your mum a favor: don’t just disappear, talk to her, let her know you’re OK, that you’ll be safe, and that you’ll be back tomorrow. If you do all that then we have a deal.”

  “Thanks, Jon.”

  I have no idea what I’m going to tell Mum. I grab a T-shirt out of my drawers. “I’ll meet you at Goat Beach, same spot as before?”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he says.

  Underneath the concern, there’s a hint of excitement in his voice and I think he’s secretly pleased I’m coming along. I want to ask him what he knows, where we’re going, but I know it’s best for us to talk in person.

  “See you soon, then,” I say, before I hang up. I finish getting dressed and grab my backpack, shove in
some overnight stuff before picking up a notepad and chewed pen. Mum—I’m sorry. I can’t tell you where I’ve gone but I promise I’m safe and will be home tomorrow. Please try not to worry too much.

  I pause before I write, I love you. Cara x.

  I open my bedroom window and, dropping my bag outside to the ground first, I crawl through the open window and jump down into the golden late afternoon light, the smell of cut grass and warm asphalt immediately filling me with hope. I start walking quickly towards the park and remember the only piece of advice my dad ever gave me, when I was small and terrified of the dark. He told me that monsters are always scarier when you stay and wait for them, that if you call them out and look them straight in the face they’re usually not as bad as they seemed. Now, as I walk towards GoodSam, I find myself hoping that, for once, Dad was right.

  Raynor Beach

  5th June 2019

  I didn’t think I’d ever get away from her. I tried to tell a nurse once—“Mum gives me pills I don’t need”—but the nurse looked at me as though I’d slapped her clean across the face. I was going to tell Cara but Mum got there first. She saw us becoming close and stopped us from being alone. Then Cara stopped visiting altogether and I felt a new space open up inside me, a hollow where hope used to be.

  A part of me gave up. I thought I’d be lying next to Danny soon, my grave freshly earthed. I saw us—Danny and me—as ghosts in the cemetery, together at last. It didn’t sound so bad. I took all the drugs she gave me and I fell deeper into the lie my life had become. No one knew who I really was. I didn’t know who I was, not anymore. I was lost even to myself.

  It was winter, soon after the operation to fit my PEG tube, when everything changed. Mum had given me so many different drugs I’d been out of it for days. I was on the sofa, wrapped in blankets and, as a reward for being so sick, Mum let me look at our Facebook page. I only had a few minutes, but it was enough. A message flashed up from a boy: Tony Craig. He was so thin in his picture I thought at first that he was sick too and just wanted someone to talk to, but when I opened his message I saw I was wrong.