‘Did she have a bag or anything else with her when she left?’ Larkin leans towards me.
‘No. I don’t think so.’ I try hard to remember. ‘I gave her a five pound note that she put straight into her shorts pocket.’
‘OK. Those details are good. They will help. You’ve done well,’ Larkin reassures me. ‘Now, what happens is we will pass a description of Hope out to all officers in the area and I will inform the control room officer that she is missing. Officers will be dispatched to look for her and will start the search in and around the village. Can you please direct me to the shop that Hope got her magazine from? We need to speak to the shopkeeper.’
OCTOBER 2004
Libby
When I discovered I was pregnant it felt as if my world was falling apart. I was twenty-four, reckless and selfish. All I wanted to do was get drunk with my friends and sometimes I spent the pittance I made working as a waitress, on coke. But I was just a normal girl. I wasn’t a hooker or a coke head. I just liked having fun. We all did. The boring days were tolerated because of the promise that came with the nights. I lived in a shared house with three male friends, all of whom were as ready and willing to lose themselves in a drink or drug haze as I. That’s what university taught me: how to have fun.
I came away from Oxford Brookes with a distinctly average 2:2. My parents were disappointed. If only I’d applied myself… But I didn’t. At least not where my work was concerned. I concentrated on making friends and going to parties. It was all harmless really. Self-indulgent but harmless.
Oxford had been the only place I’d wanted to go after my A levels because my best friend wanted to go there. We’d been friends since we were thirteen and he had set his sights on Oxford for some reason. I just wanted to be where he was.
Over the four years spent living in Oxford I collected more memories than I could hold onto. I’d had a few boyfriends and one-night stands but nothing serious. I wasn’t a serious girl. I wasn’t looking for love or romance like some of them were. Even if I had, it would have been difficult since most of my friends were men and that tended to put would-be boyfriends off.
I’d always enjoyed the company of men more than women. It was partly because, like me, they were always joking around. Women my age, when they got together, seemed to spend all their time worrying about men. I didn’t understand that. I liked the banter. It was as if I had ten brothers. Sex got in the way sometimes, usually fuelled by one substance or another, but we always got over it in the end.
Once in a while things would get complicated. One of them would try it on or I’d be drunk and make a fool of myself. I’d had my heart broken a handful of times and avoided looking for love for the time being. It was easier that way.
Then, one September, I met Danny. He was a friend of a friend and our paths had never crossed before. That sunny afternoon a number of us were sitting in a pub garden recovering from a two-day bender. He sat in a corner with his beanie pulled down so that it shadowed his eyes. He was wearing an olive-green linen granddad shirt and I remember watching as he fumbled with the cuff, picking at it with his fingers. When he looked up at me I was taken aback by the colour of his blue-green eyes. He had a rich suntan that made them stand out even more. I smiled over at him and knocked back my tequila before returning to the conversation I was having with my housemate about planning a holiday to Mexico.
By that evening the party had reignited and moved back to my house, which was often the hub of the action. I found myself sitting on our flea-bitten navy sofa talking to Danny. He explained how he’d spent a year away travelling around India and Nepal. I was impressed. The most I’d ever done was spend a couple of weeks on a Thai Island and all I’d gained from that experience was severe sunburn and a trip to the STD clinic when I returned to UK soil.
Danny puffed on a joint while telling me about some of his experiences. I was in awe. He seemed so grown-up and I felt like a child in his presence, so when he put his hand on my knee and bent his face to kiss my neck I went with the flow.
The next morning when I woke up to find him in my bed snoring, I crept out of the room and took myself downstairs, wearing an old baggy T-shirt and just my pants that I’d picked up off the bedroom floor.
Downstairs was an open-plan kitchen-diner-cum-living room. On the sofa a couple of familiar faces were dozing. Another guy I didn’t recognise was curled up in a foetal position in the armchair.
The kitchen smelt of stale beer and smoke. I couldn’t see a clean surface for empty cans and bottles. Padding over to the fridge I removed half a bottle of flat coke that had the top missing and the remains of a bottle of whisky. I needed hair of the dog.
Putting the bottles down on a chair I picked up one of the dirty glasses and rinsed it in the sink before mixing the whisky and coke in the glass. It was cold and sweet and strong. Opening one of the drawers in the kitchen I searched for cigarettes and came across half a packet wedged at the back behind the cutlery. I always kept an emergency pack.
The sun was pouring into the room through the sash window and I opened it to let the warmth in and the smell from the party out. Then I lit a cigarette with a shaking hand and took a long drag. Looking up at the kitchen clock I saw that it was only half past seven. I’d only been asleep for a few hours.
The silence in the house was quickly making me feel uncomfortable. I longed to crawl back into my own bed and pull the duvet up over my head but knowing Danny still lay there prevented me from doing so. I didn’t want him in my bed. I wanted him gone. I was already regretting sleeping with him. We’d not even known each other for twelve hours.
Throwing the rest of my cigarette out of the open window, I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands and tried to bury the feeling of shame. A drink- and drug-induced panic was setting in so I did what I always did when faced with it, and started to clean the kitchen. It helped me feel like I had some control.
Tearing a black bin bag off of the roll I set about filling it with empty cans, bottles and the contents of ashtrays that lay dotted about. I didn’t care if I woke the sleeping people in the living area. I just needed to get rid of the evidence. I needed it gone. Looking at it and smelling it was making me feel ashamed.
The stranger in the armchair opened one eye and glared at me before rolling over and burying his face into the fabric of the chair, trying to shut me out. When I was sure he couldn’t see, I gave him the finger. No one looked at me like that in my own house.
By the time the second bin bag was full I was starting to feel better. Then Danny appeared in the doorway wiping the sleep out of his eyes. He looked as awkward as I felt.
‘Morning.’ I busied myself tying the sacks and refused to look him in the eye. He just stood there and didn’t say anything as if he was expecting me to say more. I returned to the kitchen and finished my flat coke and whisky. Seconds later I felt his presence behind me, looming like a dark shadow.
‘What are you up to today?’
‘Sleeping.’ My tone was cutting and as I turned to look at him I felt guilty. His face was forlorn and I was the cause.
‘Oh.’ He started to fumble with his shirt again and looked down at the floor. ‘Do you want to get some breakfast or something?’
‘No. Not hungry. I never eat breakfast.’ I put the glass into the sink and moved towards the corridor. ‘See you around.’ I turned and tried to smile at him but couldn’t manage it.
Danny remained in the kitchen looking lost as I rushed up the stairs and into the comfort of my bedroom.
Things went on like that for a while. He chased and I backed away, apart from when we got pissed and then I let my guard down. Danny was determined. He texted me and kept up his pursuit despite my knock-backs. We suffered a number of false starts before I finally realised what I had.
The following June we got together properly. We went on dates like other couples. It was lovely. We planned holidays and chatted, putting the world to rights. He was so clever. His mind impressed me.
Danny had just finished a philosophy degree and, like me, was hanging around Oxford trying to figure out his next move. Unlike me he had come away with a very good degree and would no doubt do well in life.
By August we were head over heels in love and inseparable. After a week spent lying on a beach in Brittany, we decided to move to Brighton. We had only been together for a few short weeks but it felt right. Both of us knew it was a risky move but it was one we were prepared to take. He had inherited some money from a grandparent and we dreamed of buying a bar and running it together on the seafront.
Danny was as keen to take a leap into the unknown as I was. I’d met my soul mate.
Then in October everything changed. My period was late. I’d been ignoring it for a few weeks but inside I knew. I went home to visit my parents and brother for a while and only when I was far enough away from Oxford, and Danny, could I entertain the idea of taking a pregnancy test. I remember that moment as if it was yesterday.
My mum and dad had gone out for supper with some friends and my younger brother, Alex, was downstairs in the kitchen drinking wine with his girlfriend.
I went into the bathroom and made sure the door was locked before removing the pack from my slouchy hoodie. It was a double pack. I wanted to be sure of the result.
Sitting down on the cold loo seat I placed the white stick between my legs and peed, trying, but failing, to keep my hands out of the stream. When I was certain the stick had absorbed enough urine, I balanced it on the edge of the bath, flushed the loo and washed my hands.
It was the longest minute of my life. I paced backwards and forwards watching the clock on my phone and counting the seconds. Finally, the timer went and it was time for me to look at the test. Not wanting to touch the pee-covered stick I peered down at the indicator window. Two pink bars meant I was pregnant. One meant that I wasn’t.
Two bright pink lines sat clearly in the window. Quickly reaching for the box that contained the second test I removed it, tore the foil wrapper off and returned to my squatting position on the loo, urinated again and repeated the whole process. Three minutes later I was looking at the results of the second test. There were two pink lines.
Feeling sick and beginning to shake, I made my way downstairs to the kitchen where Alex and his girlfriend Daisy sat sharing a bottle of red and some olives. Alex looked up at my ashen face and asked what was wrong.
‘I’m pregnant.’ I blurted out. ‘I’m fucking pregnant.’
Daisy, who I didn’t know very well, remained very quiet as I began to sob. Alex got up out of his chair and came and put his arms around me. He was two years younger but six inches taller.
Apart from the physical presence of my brother, all I can clearly remember is the fear. A gut wrenching fear that gripped me and made me shake.
Maybe I was pregnant or maybe I was ill. It was hard to tell the difference.
I was in love for the first time, with someone who gave a shit about me. The idea of losing him scared me more than anything I could have possibly imagined. I couldn’t think straight. Every little process my brain tried to undertake caused me further pain.
When I woke up two days later it all became clear. I wanted him. I wanted Danny. We didn’t want a baby. Not yet. Not that way. So I went and saw a doctor and I made an appointment. It was suddenly simple. And when I’d settled it in my own mind then I was ready to confront him.
None of it played out the way I expected it to.
‘So, I’m pregnant.’ I said down the phone, feeling a million miles away from him. ‘But it’s OK,’ I interrupted before he could object or hang up. ‘I’ve got an appointment and I’m dealing with it.’
Still silence.
‘Please say something. Anything. It was a mistake,’ I continued.
‘Sorry, it’s not a good time. I’ll call you later.’ And that was it. The phone line went dead. I held the receiver in my hand and remember looking down at it in horrified shock.
‘He hung up.’ I looked over to my brother and Daisy. ‘He just hung up.’
The next twenty-four hours were agony. I cried, I screamed, I cursed and then I collapsed. I almost prayed. Almost.
What I held onto was that I had a plan. I was dealing with it in the only way I knew how.
My parents remained in the dark. I couldn’t cope with their opinions or disappointment.
Alex was my sounding board. He always has been. Never judgemental. He has the ability to see through the shit and give an unbiased opinion.
On the day I had the doctor’s appointment I’d finally sorted my head out. Did I believe in abortion? Probably not. It was all new to me. The only think I knew for sure was that I wanted Danny in my life. The prospect of losing him was unthinkable. I did my best to bury the image of a little life growing in my tummy.
He took me by surprise, turning up in his parent’s aging Toyota estate unannounced. I was prepared to do it all without him. I didn’t want him there. But he appeared, knocking on the front door looking sheepish.
‘What are you doing here?’ My words were crisp and I did my best to hide my terror.
‘I need to talk to you.’ His large eyes were hooded by the shadow from the hat he wore.
‘A bit late for that.’ I crossed my arms across my chest and tried to feign disinterest.
‘Look I’m sorry, OK. I was a bit shocked.’ He sounded so reasonable. It hadn’t occurred to me that it was that simple. I’d felt abandoned.
‘I’m dealing with it. I don’t need you here. It’s all taken care of.’
And that is how it went for all of twenty minutes. After I’d let him into the house and explained his impromptu visit to my folks, we scurried upstairs to my teenage bedroom and lay on the bed, both staring up at the beamed ceiling, debating the existence of the peanut that had made itself at home in my womb.
An hour later we were in his car on our way into Cambridge, leaving behind the comfort of a quiet village.
Neither of us spoke. I think the radio was on. I doubt either of us could have handled the silence.
Finally, we arrived at the soulless concrete car park, which had sprung up out of nothing and now dominated the south side of the city. He parked and we both made our way towards to Cineplex in silence. We didn’t hold hands. The physical contact would have been too much.
Once at the bowling alley we both stood, like gormless kids, gawping at the girl behind the desk who was chewing her gum furiously. Neither of us said anything. I think we were waiting for her. But she just stared.
‘You want a game?’
We looked at each other but didn’t speak to her.
‘Do you want a game?’
‘No.’ I blurted it out. ‘I want a beer.’
She smiled through her thin lips, showing her bright pink bubble gum. ‘Bar’s over there.’ She nodded with her head and rolled the gum around her mouth. ‘Next.’
Danny and I moved aside.
‘Come on. Let’s go to the bar.’
By the next morning it was all decided. We were going to be parents.
AUGUST 2013
Hope
This is such a strange place. Everything smells funny and weird. Mummy says I have a nose like a dog because I’m always talking about smells but here they are different. Nothing is what I am used to. My head aches and I feel sick all of the time.
If I wasn’t so frightened I could pretend I was on holiday because it is a bit like that, in the way that everything is so different from what I’m used to. But this isn’t a holiday and I am frightened.
When I curl up into a ball I get scared by the touch of my own hands, as if they aren’t mine and they might be someone else’s. That is what the dark does to me. It makes monsters and Daddy told me that monsters aren’t real but now I know they are because I’m in this place, whatever it is, and I can feel the monsters creeping around me.
‘Daddy, are you there?’
When I had a bad dream and I thought there was a witch under the bed mu
mmy made me look. I just knew I would see that witch hiding and I stood behind mummy while I ducked down. But there was no witch there. Mummy was right. But it isn’t like that here. I know if I looked here I would see something horrible so maybe I should be happy I am in the dark, but my imagination keeps coming up with really bad stuff.
I don’t understand any of this. It is so fuzzy, not like when I had the dream about the witch.
When I move I hear a jiggle sound but a loud one like pots and pans and I know that the sound is made by me. It is a bit like the sound of when Mummy uses a metal spoon in a saucepan she is cooking in. Like scrapping. The noise sounds cold. That is the only way I can describe it.
‘Mummy, I want to come home.’
After I start to understand that the noise happens every time I move I spread my fingers out and feel about in the blackness and when my hands touch the thick chain it makes me want to cry.
Someone is keeping me here attached to this chain that is fatter than my arm and I am terrified I will never get away.
I am too scared to try and escape. I don’t know where I am or if there is somewhere for me to go so it is best if I just wait for someone to come and get me. Maybe I am in here by a mistake. Maybe this place is like Narnia and I am trapped in a wardrobe.
I don’t know why I am in here. I don’t want to be. I just wanted a magazine. How did I end up in this place? Why can’t I remember?
Please don’t let me be stuck in a nightmare. Don’t let the witch or the monsters be real.
Or maybe I am like the child in the story about the boy who cried wolf and ended up stuck in a well. This smells a bit like a well, all wet and sweaty. But if this was a well I would be able to look up and see light and I can’t. I can’t even see my own hands.
Frailty: a haunting psychological page-turner Page 2
