Whistle in the Dark

by Emma Healey

  Instead, she went through a little gate, and along a sandy path – where the catkins that had fallen off the birch trees wriggled under foot – and came to the Nine Ladies. The stones seemed like old friends. She went and stood in the middle of them and noticed a patch of bare ground there, where everyone came to stand. She took a photo, thinking she might start her own Instagram account, then slipped the phone into the top pocket of her shirt.

  Hanging on the great oak tree were Lana’s earphones. They shone in the golden afternoon light, and Jen moved under the branch and held the buds in the palm of her hand. The back of one had come off and a few tiny wires poked out. She thought of them nestled in Lana’s ears, how intimate these objects were, how much a part of her daughter, and she lifted them to her own ears.

  At least she finally knew, for certain, what had happened. Despite the miles between them, she felt close to her daughter in a way she hadn’t in months, so much so that she almost thought she could hear her voice, as if the earphones were connected to Lana. ‘Mum,’ she could hear her call. ‘Mum?’

  The voice came from the direction of her heart and Jen smiled at the sky for a moment before realizing it wasn’t her heart but her shirt pocket that the voice was coming from. Her top pocket, where her mobile was. She fished the phone out and dislodged an ear bud.

  ‘Hello?’ she said.

  ‘Mum, for fuck’s sake. This is the third time you’ve pocket-dialled me. Where are you? Dad says you’re on your way.’

  ‘I am on my way.’

  ‘Good,’ Lana said. ‘Because we need you.’

  Acknowledgements

  For the help with research, thanks to:

  Jon Daniels, at Dolomite Training (with special thanks for getting us out of the caves alive)

  Martin and Sarah Falkingham

  Christopher Healey

  Cora McKechnie

  For the useful conversations about writing, thanks to:

  Oonagh Barronwell

  Jack McDavid

  Priya Parmar

  Sarah Perry

  Shai Sendik

  Alice Slater

  M. O. Walsh

  Catriona Ward

  For the feedback on early drafts, thanks to:

  Andrew Cowan

  Hannah Harper

  Kathryn Healey

  Debra Isaac

  Charlotte Stretch

  Louisa Theobald

  Rowan Whiteside

  Lucy Yates

  For the support and insight, thanks to:

  Venetia Butterfield

  Karolina Sutton

  For the meticulous copy-editing (on this book and Elizabeth is Missing), thanks to:

  Sarah Day

  For the encouragement, thanks to:

  Everyone who contacted me via email and social media, wrote me letters, or spoke to me at events after Elizabeth is Missing was published – your kind words kept me going throughout the writing of this book.

  For all of the above and much, much more, thanks to:

  Andrew McKechnie