Frailty: a haunting psychological page-turner
Page 1
Table of Contents
Prologue
AUGUST 2013
Libby
OCTOBER 2004
Libby
AUGUST 2013
Hope
JULY 2005
Libby
AUGUST 2013
Libby
Hope
Libby
Libby
Hope
Libby
Libby
Hope
Libby
SEPTEMBER 2013
Libby
Hope
Libby
OCTOBER 2013
Libby
NOVEMBER 2013
Libby
Hope
Libby
Libby
Danny
Hope
Libby
Hope
Danny
Libby
Danny
Libby
Danny
Libby
Danny
Libby
Danny
Hope
Libby
Danny
Libby
Danny
Libby
Danny
Libby
Danny
Libby
Danny
Libby
Danny
Libby
Danny
Libby
Danny
Libby
JANUARY 2014
Libby
Hope
APRIL 2016
Libby
MAY 2016
Hope
Libby
Libby
Hope
JULY 2016
Libby
OCTOBER 2016
Libby
Libby
Libby
Hope
A Note from Bloodhound Books
(Untitled)
Also By This Author
Acknowledgements
FRAILTY
by
Betsy Reavley
Copyright © 2016 Betsy Reavley
The right of Betsy Reavley to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2016 by Bloodhound Books
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.bloodhoundbooks.com
For Alexina
Not even the brightest future can make up
for the fact that no roads lead back
to what came before – to the innocence
of childhood.
Jo Nesbø
What is tolerance? It is the consequence
of humanity. We are all formed of frailty
and error; let us pardon reciprocally
each other’s folly – that is the first law
of nature.
Voltaire
Prologue
I look around and try to see in the dark. Everything feels strange here. Far away and yet close. I’m scared. I’m really scared. Hello. Is anyone there?
‘Mummy?
‘Mummy, can you hear me? I don’t know where I am. I don’t like the dark any more. Please let me out. Please. I’ll be a good girl. I’m sorry. Please.
‘Mummy?’
And I wait for a sound. Anything. An echo. The sound of my own voice but there is nothing.
I keep waiting for my eyes to see something. Anything. But that doesn’t happen. I am still surrounded by the blackness. It sits on my skin like rain. Close and muggy. I expect there to be wind. Normally there is wind. From somewhere it just appears and rustles through the trees. But not here. Not in this place. Here things are different and I don’t understand.
How did I get here? What have I done to deserve this? I try and remember. I try to get a picture of my life in my head. I try. I keep trying really hard. It makes my brain hurt, the way trying to do my times table would. I close my eyes and for a moment lock out the darkness. Normally I would hear myself breathing but there is just silence. This place has no sound. Trying to understand what is happening to me I hug my arms around my legs. But I’m not cold. I don’t think I am feeling anything.
‘Daddy?’
Wanting to move, to search this place I reach out my hands in the bitter blackness and try to feel something. My brain is telling my feet to put one in front of the other. I don’t know if I can, though. There is nothing to see. Nothing to aim for.
Walking, at least I think I’m walking; I go on and on, hoping to find something. Hoping that a chink of light will appear and light the way. That my hands might feel something that tells me where I am.
After hours or seconds, I don’t know which, I give up and let the darkness swallow me. I can’t escape it. It is like the universe that is never ending. That’s what my teacher said. He said it went on and on. I couldn’t understand it. Nothing goes on forever, does it?
All of a sudden everything I thought I knew, everything that was real, seems suddenly far away and the fear comes creeping back, as if it is a living monster that hides in the dark and waits for me. Tucking myself into a little ball I try to hide. But I feel it growing closer. It’s here in this place. Whatever it is. It’s closing in and it is going to get me. I call feel it and it knows I am here. But I can’t get away. I have nowhere to hide. ‘Mummy, please help me.’
I wait for her to answer but she doesn’t and the silence comes nearer.
Holding onto my head I try to remember where I should be. But I can’t. So instead I scream and scream and scream.
AUGUST 2013
Libby
‘She’s gone. I’m telling you. I don’t know where she is.’ My breathing is frantic and the woman on the other end of the line doesn’t seem to understand my concern.
‘When did you last see your daughter, ma’am?’
‘I just told you, a few hours ago. She should be home by now. She doesn’t wander off. Something’s happened. Please, just send someone over.’
‘Could she be with neighbours, or a friend?’ The flat voice on the end of the line is starting to wind me up.
‘She is eight years old. She knows that she must come straight back when she goes to the shop. That was,’ I look down at my wrist watch, ‘nearly two and a half hours ago.’ I look down at Gracie who is sitting on the sofa digging into a fromage frais with her fingers and making a mess. ‘I’ve been to the shop, I’ve asked the neighbours, I’ve called her friends. No one has seen her. She’s eight. Something has happened to her. I’m telling you.’
‘I’ll send someone over shortly, ma’am.’
‘Tell them to hurry up. It’s Mill Cottage, Frogge Street, Ickleton.’
‘Please try to remain calm and stay by the phone in case someone calls to tell you her whereabouts. An officer will be with you soon.’
I place the receiver down, hands shaking, and turn to look at Gracie again. Her round blue eyes are filled with concern. She doesn’t understand fully but she knows something is wrong. I move over to the sofa and sit down next her, trying to avoid the smudges of yoghurt on the fabric and wrap my arm around her skinny shoulders.
‘Are you sure you haven’t seen Hope?’ I try to keep my tone light.
‘No, Mummy. Hope go to the shop.’ She
sucks on her yoghurt covered fingers and looks into the empty pot. ‘Can I have more yoghurt, Mummy?’
‘Yes.’ I sigh. ‘I’ll get you one.’ I stand up and make a move towards the kitchen.
‘Rawberry, please.’ Gracie calls out.
‘Yes. Rawberry.’ I feel the tears begin to well up and take myself off so my three-year-old daughter won’t see me cry.
Once in the kitchen I open the fridge and stand there for a while letting the cool air stroke my skin and dry my eyes. It is August and stiflingly hot for the time of year. England is in the grip of a rare heat wave. I’ve been living in my cotton dress and flip-flops for the last week.
As I reach into the fridge to remove a small yoghurt pot I notice how brown my arms look. Then I remember that we have booked to go on holiday to Brittany in a week. I hope we won’t have to cancel it now. Or maybe when she gets home that’s exactly what we will all need.
My thoughts turn strangely calm and I close the fridge door and fetch a teaspoon from the kitchen drawer. Gracie won’t use it: she prefers to eat with her hands, but it doesn’t stop me going through the motions. One day she’ll use the spoon.
I take her yoghurt back into the sitting room and offer it to her. In the corner of the room an electric fan spins furiously, doing little to cut through the warm air.
‘Tee-tee?’ Gracie takes the yoghurt pot from me and plunges her little fingers into the creamy contents.
‘OK. Just for a little while.’ I smile and pick up the remote control. As a very small child Gracie could never say television. She called it ‘tee-tee’ so that is what is has become known as. Even Danny and I referred to it as ‘tee-tee’.
When I know that she is engrossed in an episode of Mr Tumble, I get up and return to the kitchen, clutching my mobile phone in my hand.
For the fifth time, I try to reach Danny on his mobile.
‘Hi. I’m not able to answer your call right now but if you leave a message I’ll phone you back.’ Beep.
‘Please call me. It’s really urgent. Call me back.’ I leave my message and hang up.
Danny left just after lunch to go and play tennis with a friend. I’d been to the courts looking for him when I realised Hope was missing but no one was there. The game must have finished and he’d forgotten to turn his phone back on. He was probably in a pub enjoying a pint in the sunshine.
For a moment I thought about going to look for him but then I remembered what the emergency operator had said. I needed to stay at home and wait for the police to show up. Where were they?
Not knowing what to do with myself I stand in the kitchen doorway watching Mr Tumble fool about, not hearing anything he is saying. I am in a daze and the world is on mute. Even Gracie’s little chuckles are lost to me. All I can do is wait for that knock on the front door. Surely it can’t be long now.
I nearly jump of out of my skin when my mobile phone starts ringing.
‘Hello?’ I answer in a panic and do not check the name on the screen.
‘Hi Lib. What’s wrong? Is everything OK? I just got your messages.’ Danny’s rich voice travels down the line.
‘I’ve been calling and calling. Come home. You have to come home now. I can’t find Hope.’
‘What do you mean, you can’t find her?’
‘She’s missing. She went to the shop a few hours ago and hasn’t come back. Just come home.’ The tears start to fall again.
‘Have you looked for her?’ He is trying to remain calm but I can hear the fear in his voice.
‘Of course I have! I went to the court to see if she’d come to watch you. I’ve been to the park and I’ve called around her friends. No one has seen her. The police are on their way. Just get home now.’
‘OK. I’ll be back in ten.’
The line goes dead and as I slip the phone back into my dress pocket I notice Gracie’s little face peering over the back of the sofa at me. The sunshine flooding in through the French windows is bouncing off the faded peachy pink wallpaper and reflecting on her face, lighting it up.
‘Where Hope gone?’ her yoghurt covered fingers are curled around the back cushion.
‘Hope will be home soon, sweetheart. Don’t worry. You just watch Mr Tumble.’ My attempt at a smile fails. Gracie remains looking at me for a moment before deciding that the TV is more interesting.
I return to the kitchen to get a glass of water. It’s so hot and a wave of dizziness hits me. Checking my watch again I notice nearly twenty minutes have passed since I called 999. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to dial it again and beg them to hurry.
Doing all that I can to fight the shock that is flooding my body, I lean against the kitchen table and take small regular sips of the water. I can’t afford to fall apart. I have to think clearly. I have to find her.
A sudden knock at the door makes me spring into action. I put the glass down on the table and rush into the hallway. Taking one deep breath in an attempt to calm myself, I turn the handle and pull the door open.
Standing on the front step in the bright sunshine are two police officers.
‘Mrs Bird?’
‘Yes, come in.’ I step back and let them pass. ‘Go through there,’ I indicate to them with my head, taking one last look out along the road hoping that I might see her walking home.
Gracie comes running up to me and grabs hold of my dress, smearing pink yoghurt all over the white cotton. She looks at the officers warily and I pick her up.
‘Hello,’ says the policewoman, smiling at Gracie.
‘It’s OK, girlie. They’ve come to help find Hope.’ Gracie gives a nod of acceptance and I lower her back down to the floor. ‘Why don’t you go and watch Mr Tumble and I’ll go into the kitchen and talk to the nice police?’
She shrugs and skips off back to the sofa as I lead the uniformed man and woman into my kitchen.
Sinking down onto one of the farmhouse chairs I put my head in my hands. Their arrival has made the situation all the more serious.
‘I’m Sergeant Hughes and this is Sergeant Larkin. We need to ask you a few questions to get an idea of what’s happened. Can you please tell us when you last saw your daughter?’ The fair-haired officer pulls out a notepad and hovers his pen over the paper.
‘At about one fifteen she asked to go to the shop and buy a treat. I’d told her this morning that if she tidied her room she could have a magazine. She’s been to the shop on her own lots of times. It’s only at the end of the road.’
Suddenly guilt catches in my throat. Am I a bad mother for letting her g o alone?
‘Has she ever been late back before?’ Sergeant Larkin has a kind face that puts me at ease.
‘No. Never. It’s only a few minutes down the road. It should have only taken quarter of an hour. When thirty-five minutes had gone by and she hadn’t come home I put Gracie in her pushchair and wandered down to look for her. The shopkeeper, a nice man, said he’d seen her a while ago. She’d bought a magazine and left the shop earlier. So I went to look for her at the playground. She wasn’t there either so I thought maybe she had gone to watch her dad play tennis. He’ll be back soon. I called him. But there was no one at the court. Then I started to panic so I rushed home and called around her friends. No one has seen her. I’ve searched the house, in case she came back while I was out looking for her. She’s not here–’
‘Would you mind if I had a look?’ the male officer interrupts. ‘Sometimes kids think it’s funny to hide. Best we check.’
‘Go ahead.’ I wave him out of the room. ‘But I know she’s not here.’
Sergeant Larkin sits down on the chair opposite me. She looks hot and sweaty in her uniform so I offer her a drink.
‘Oh yes please, some water would be great.’
‘She’s not the type to hide or run off. Something has happened to her. I know it.’ With a shaking hand I pass the officer her glass of water.
‘We have to check.’ She smiles kindly before taking a long drink. ‘So she’s never disa
ppeared before?’
‘No. She’s not like that. She’s a good girl. She’s nervous of strangers and being on her own.’
‘And there aren’t any problems at school or home that could be worrying Hope?’
‘It might be Saturday to you but it’s the school holidays for us. She’s a happy kid. There’s nothing wrong at home.’ I feel myself growing defensive.
‘I have to ask these questions.’ The officer shifts in her seat.
‘She’s definitely not in the house.’ Hughes reappears in the kitchen looking hot and bothered. I notice the large sweat patches on his white shirt.
‘I told you that already.’ My misery cuts through the air.
‘Right, Mrs Bird, we need a description of Hope. Can you tell us what she was wearing?’
‘I’ve got a photograph if that helps,’ I start to leave the room but Larkin reaches out to stop me.
‘That will be great but first can you just describe her to us?’
‘OK.’ I feel all my energy leave my body as I return to sitting at the table. ‘She has mid-brown shoulder-length hair. It’s straight. She always wears it down.’ I smile at the thought of her silky hair. ‘She has blue eyes.’ I put my head in my hands and rack my brain to try and think what she was wearing. ‘She had a white and green strappy cotton top on. It was decorated with little green flowers around the hem that look a bit like clover and she had blue denim shorts on that were just above her knees. She’s got lovely brown skin. Her grandmother is Indian and Hope is lucky to have a few of her genes. On her feet she was wearing her pink plimsolls.’