Frailty: a haunting psychological page-turner

by Betsy Reavley

  ‘I’m here.’

  It’s so black and dark. ‘Help me. I want to find you. Call out and I’ll follow your voice. Just shout…’

  You said I shouldn’t be scared. Please help me not to be scared. I want to be brave.

  I want to open my eyes. I’m trying, really. Maybe if I count like you said I should. Do you remember? Count sheep? That’s what you said. Just pretend they are clouds and let them float by but don’t forget to count them. Make every one count. That’s what you said. And I still remember. That’s what I listen to. Your words are the only thing I can hear. The echo around the living darkness stops me, for a little while, feeling so alone.

  ‘Daddy?

  ‘I know that when I see some light then everything will be good again. All I want is cuddles. Can I have my bear? I left him on the sofa, sleeping under a blanket. It was hot but he was cold so I tucked him in. If I can just get him then I will be quiet. I promise. Can I?’

  But there is no answer and I think maybe I am asleep or just talking to myself again.

  I feel my head turn as I search from one side to the other. But this place doesn’t have sides. I’m trapped in a black bottomless pit.

  How did I get here?

  How can I get out?

  ‘Mummy, please. I’ll be good from now on. I promise I’ll be good.’

  Libby

  I haven’t had a wash since she went missing. I’m frightened that if I’m in the shower I might not hear the phone ring. It’s silly, I know, because there are so many other people crammed into our little cottage but I feel responsible for her. She is my daughter. Not theirs.

  Nothing else exists at the moment. The business Danny and I run together has ceased for now. We frame artwork from home. He is good at it. I deal with the orders and he does the actual labour. It’s good being involved with people who like art. We have a few artists we work with, as well as buyers and dealers. No day is ever the same. We are lucky that we enjoy what we do. The money isn’t great but it keeps us ticking over and allows us to work together. He stays at home and helps me with the kids. No more office hours or the tedious task of ironing shirts. We are a team.

  But now even that feels different. We can’t look at one another. Since she disappeared all communication between us has dried up. I feel like he blames me. As if he thinks I am responsible in some way.

  And I’m angry with him too. What if she went to try and find him at the tennis court and he wasn’t there? What if that is the place that someone decided to grab her? I know it’s irrational but the thought keeps crossing my mind.

  It’s nearly six-fifteen and I’m sitting at the kitchen table alone staring at a cold piece of toast that I’m never going to eat. The sun is already making its climb and a warm beam of light is coming through the window making patterns on the stone floor. I’ve been awake for hours. I like the peace when everyone else is sleeping. Danny is in our room. I can’t stand to sleep in there with him but I don’t know why. I’d rather be in her bedroom surrounded by her belongings.

  Gracie has been sharing a bed with her grandparents. She wants to be close to someone but I can’t bring myself to cuddle her. I feel guilty that she is being loved and protected when Hope is out there, alone and probably afraid. It doesn’t make sense that I am punishing Gracie for not being Hope but I don’t have enough space in my head to concentrate on them both at the moment. And Hope needs me now more than Gracie.

  I stare at the space on the fridge where Hope’s school picture used to be, held in place by a ladybird magnet. The police took this and handed out copies to the press. She looks so pretty in that picture and I worry that is the reason she is gone.

  Today I have to face the cameras. Danny and I have agreed to go on live television and ask people to help us find Hope. Subconsciously I touch my face. Normally I’d be worried about my appearance but today I don’t give a toss. My dark brown hair is pulled back from my face in a messy bun and I am wearing one of Danny ’s T-shirts and a pair of cotton shorts that just cover my bum. It’s too warm to be modest.

  I push the toast away across the table and take myself back upstairs towards her bedroom, creeping quietly past the master bedroom where Danny is lying alone and then past our spare room where Gracie is sleeping, tucked up between her grandparents. Normally she shares a room with Hope, but Hope isn’t there and Gracie doesn’t want to be alone.

  The bedroom is a mess. I gave her the five pounds to buy the magazine because she at least tidied up all the bits of Lego that kept digging into my feet every time I entered the room. Hope has never learnt to tidy up after herself, despite all my nagging. But I suppose I’m not exactly a good example. I can’t remember the last time I dusted. I don’t even know if we own a duster. Have I ever bought one?

  The laundry basket is over flowing with pink garments. When the girls were little I tried to tell myself I would not conform to making them wear the colours associated with their sex. I dressed them both in blue as small babies but I kept coming across old women in the street who said, ‘What a lovely little boy.’ So I gave in and succumbed to the norm. Neither their father nor I ever wanted them to be the same as everyone else but we didn’t want them to stick out like a sore thumb or, god forbid, be bullied. The decisions one makes as a parent aren’t always in line with philosophical ideals we hold dear.

  Sitting down on her single bed, and lying back down on the sheet I push the fairy decorated duvet away down the bed with my feet. The window is open, as if I think she might climb back in. I don’t want anything to stop her from coming home. Perhaps, like Peter Pan, the girl will return to her world through the window. The thought makes my heart ache.

  The memory of the press conference stops me from allowing myself to sink into the mattress. Hope has been asking for a new duvet cover but I told her she didn’t need one and refused. If she came home now I’d get her whatever she wanted.

  Despite it being early in the morning I am already beginning to feel the distinct sprinkle of sweat on my brow. This oppressive heat is only exacerbating my feeling of claustrophobic panic. I decide the only answer is a cold shower.

  Leaving the bedroom in the same mess it’s been in for days, I gently close the door and tiptoe along the landing into the bathroom. The window is closed and the small tiled room feels like a sauna already.

  Desperate for some fresh air I throw the window open and hang my head outside. Below, the silent garden looks up at me. The grass is too long, the borders are wild and the apple tree has grown too large. Suddenly every single thing in my life appears to be out of control. There is an urge to go into our bedroom and shake Danny. He should have mown the lawn and he should keep the tree pruned. He should have protected Hope. Then, remembering my numerous failings, I sink onto the floor.

  I should not have let Hope out of my sight.

  She wasn’t outgoing like some of the other children. She was never far from my side. She liked everything to be just so. For hours she would spend time putting her toys into size order. I used to worry that she was obsessive compulsive. But as she grew and the mess spread, I learnt to relax. She was more like me than I first thought. It made her easier to understand. Suddenly we had a common ground. But her failings only reminded me of my own and in reality I wasn’t so forgiving. Now I wish I had been. I wish I’d ignored all the silly rules that made me bug her to tidy her room, and sit at the table when she was eating her dinner. What does any of that actually matter? Would it make her a bad child if she had a messy room and sat eating pizza while watching TV? These are just stupid things people do. Everyday things. It’s not who we are.

  Dragging myself up off the floor I reach over the bath and turn on the shower. Even the cold water doesn’t feel as cold as it should. Nothing is right.

  A few hours later and I am clean. Sort of. The close air still tickles my skin threatening a new outbreak of sweat at any moment.

  The house is alive now. My in-laws flap about in the kitchen trying to get Gracie to have some
breakfast. Upstairs I hear the familiar drum from the shower as Danny prepares himself for the difficult day ahead.

  Sitting on an old armchair that used to belong to my grandmother and still smells of her, I slowly nurse a cup of tea that someone gave me to drink. For the first time in a few days I am not wearing that old T-shirt and shorts. I’ve slipped into a pair of fresh shorts and a clean green T-shirt. Clare suggested I change. She is right, of course. Appearances are important. The press will hang me if I give them any reason to. Not that I give a shit what they think. But I need their help to find Hope. If they don’t like me, it might impair their judgement and ability to assist the search.

  I can smell croissants warming in the oven. The scent carries on the warm air and fills the downstairs of the house. Hope loves croissants. If I buy a pack from the supermarket she finishes the lot before anyone else has had a chance to eat one. They never last more than a few hours in this house.

  Putting the cold mug of tea down on the coffee table I wander over to the French windows and look out. The garden is so still and I am reminded of how Hope and Gracie both recently tried to persuade Danny and me that we should get a dog. I can picture their little faces now. We laughed, Danny and I. Never have two children tried so hard to manipulate their parents. But we found it funny and charming and promised we would consider getting a dog next year.

  As I remain staring out of the window, lost in another world, I feel a hand come down and touch my right shoulder. It feels alien having another person touch me. I’ve avoided all human contact since she disappeared. It feels as if I am cheating on her by being close to anyone else. Silly, I know.

  When I turn around, expecting to find a member of my family, I am surprised to find Kerry, the family liaison officer, standing behind me.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I cannot stop myself from sounding clipped.

  ‘We’ve had a development in the case.’ Her cheeks are flushed red and I can’t help thinking she looks as if she needs a poo.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A search was done on the ViSOR offenders register,’

  ‘Sorry, but you forget I don’t speak your language. What is that?’ My frustration is tangible and I watch her shift on the spot.

  ‘Yes, right sorry, the Violent and Sex Offenders Register. It’s come up with a name.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mr Chadrad.’

  ‘You mean Amit? The man who runs the village shop?’

  ‘Yes. He is at the station now, helping us with our enquiry.’

  Libby

  ‘You still want us to go ahead with the appeal?’ Danny and I sit at either end of the sofa looking at Kerry who is perched uncomfortably on a chair opposite.

  ‘At this stage, Mr Chadrad is only answering questions. He has not been arrested.’

  Danny and I look at each other.

  ‘But you must think he knows something if you hauled him down to the station.’ He grips his bare knees with his hands. His shorts have ridden up his brown thighs. Instinctively I reach over and rest my hand on his. He looks at me and his face softens for a moment.

  ‘Can you tell us why Amit was on the sex offender list?’

  ‘I am not at liberty to say.’

  ‘Well that’s helpful.’ Danny puffs his cheeks out and sinks back into the sofa.

  ‘The press appeal will take place at one-thirty. Are you still happy to go ahead?’

  ‘Yes of course. If you think it will help.’

  ‘Someone out there knows what happened to Hope. It’s possible your appearance will help jog a memory.’

  Danny and I both nod silently as Kerry stands up and excuses herself.

  ‘Amit. I just can’t believe it. He was always so sweet to her,’ he leans forward and puts his head in his hands. ‘God help him if he’s hurt her.’

  ‘We don’t know that.’ I can’t help thinking that the longer it takes us to find her the less likely it is that we will find her alive.

  ‘It’s so fucking hot in here.’ Danny stands up and marches over to the French windows, throwing them open and letting out a long, loud sigh. ‘I just feel so helpless.’ There is a crack in his voice. I want to stand up and go over to him. I want to put my arms around him and tell him everything will be fine. But I don’t. I can’t.

  ‘Let’s just get this appeal out of the way. We don’t know anything for sure yet. Maybe the police are wrong.’

  ‘Maybe they’re not.’ He turns to look at me, his eyes filled with tears.

  The next few hours leading up to the appeal pass by very slowly. I spend most of my time in the garden watching from a distance as Gracie splashes in the padding pool in her pants. Her nakedness makes me feel uncomfortable and I have a desire to make her put her clothes on, but I don’t because I know it’s irrational. She is playing happily while Clare sits in the shade of the apple tree and watches her fondly.

  I examine my mother-in-law’s face. She is an attractive woman with good cheekbones and pretty eyes but her expression is sad, even when she smiles. The worry is etched into her brow. I decided there and then that I need them to leave. Having Gracie in the house is too difficult. She shouldn’t be subjected to the heavy anxious atmosphere that cloaks our home.

  As Gracie rips handfuls of grass up and drops them into the water I approach Clare and rest my hand on her shoulder. She turns and tries to smile.

  ‘All OK?’ she cannot hide the fear in her voice.

  ‘Yep.’ I pause for a moment trying to work out the best way to ask her to leave. ‘You and Paul are being amazing. I know this is agony for you both.’

  ‘We all love her.’ Clare swallows hard.

  ‘I know you do and I don’t know what I would have done over the last few days, if you hadn’t been here.’ In tandem we both turn as Gracie lets out a little scream. But it’s not a terrified scream; it’s full of joy. ‘Clare, this is really difficult for me but I need to ask you a favour.’

  ‘What, sweetheart?’

  ‘I need you and Paul to take Gracie away for a little while.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Please go home, Clare. Take her away from all of this. It’s not right that she should have to be subjected to it. She’s so little. I don’t want her here.’ Clare looks at me for a moment and processes my request. ‘I know you and Paul want to be here and be involved but there’s nothing you can do. Christ, there is nothing any of us can do, is there? Please take Gracie back to your house. Spoil her, let her have fun. Remove her from this nightmare.’

  She nods.

  ‘There is one condition.’ Her steely brown eyes fix mine. ‘You keep us up to date with every little thing that goes on. I don’t give a damn what time of night it is – you call us.’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’ I want to cry.

  ‘I will go and tell Paul then we will pack our things and get going.’

  ‘Thank you, Clare.’ I watch as she gets up from the garden chair and carries a towel over to Gracie.

  ‘Come on, poppet. Time to get dry. You are coming to stay with Nana and Papa for a little while. Isn’t that exciting?’

  ‘Can we go to swings at Nana house?’ Gracie stops splashing and stands in the sunlight, dripping wet, her hair clinging to her delicate pale neck.

  ‘Yes and get ice cream.’ Clare grins at her granddaughter then wraps her in a baby blue towel and lifts her out of the water.

  ‘Icing! Icing!’ Gracie still can’t pronounce some of her words properly, just like Hope couldn’t at her age. Then for a second she stops squealing with excitement and looks across the garden at me. ‘Mummy coming Nana house?’

  I get up from resting on my heels and approach my daughter.

  ‘Not this time, trouble. You are going on a special big girl adventure. Mummy and Daddy stay at home.’

  ‘And wait for Hope?’ the question makes me catch my breath.

  ‘Yes, piglet. And wait for Hope.’ Clare quickly wipes a tear away and makes her way back towards the ho
use carrying Gracie. ‘You be good girl for Nana and Papa, OK?’

  ‘OK Mummy,’ she waves with her little hand as the distance between us grows before wrapping her arms around her grandmother’s neck and disappearing back into the house.

  When I am certain they are safely inside I collapse on the ground and cry and cry and cry.

  I cannot bring myself to wave them off. We say our goodbyes in the house. I kiss Gracie and hold her tight not wanting to let go. Am I doing the right thing? I don’t trust myself any more.

  Danny picks up their luggage and carries it out to the car for them, ignoring the few reporters who linger outside the house like a bad smell.

  When he returns we hold each other in the living room for a long time.

  ‘Have we done the right thing?’ I prise myself away from his grip and look up at his sad face.

  ‘Yes.’ Danny wipes a piece of hair, which has worked its way loose from my bun, out of my eyes.

  I know he’s right but everything I do makes me feel guilty.

  ‘The house is so quiet.’ We stand together alone in the living room for the first time in three days.

  ‘We’ll get her back, you know.’ Danny sounds so sure of himself and I secretly wonder if he really believes it. ‘Let’s get ready. The car will be here to pick us up soon.’ He checks the time on his mobile phone.

  ‘Will you do most of the talking?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll do it.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m not sure I can hold it together.’

  ‘No one expects you to, Lib.’

  Half an hour later there is a knock at the door.

  ‘Ready?’ Danny looks at me and takes me by the hand.

  ‘Nope, but that’s beside the point.’ I smile as best I can trying to ignore the growing whirlwind of butterflies in my stomach.

  We step out into the heat but the sun has temporarily hidden behind a large grey cloud that lingers low over the village.

  No one speaks and the atmosphere in the car is stuffy as we make our way to the police station, where a room has been set up for the appeal.

  Danny and I get out of the car and follow Inspector King into the building.