The Death of Her

by Debbie Howells

  Abbie Rose doesn’t comment. ‘And you haven’t seen her since then?’

  ‘Like I said, the last time we saw each other was at that party.’ I get up and walk over to the window. On the beach, I can just about make out clean, barrelling waves and, floating beyond them, the lone dot that must be Rick.

  ‘Do you remember much about that time? When Leah disappeared?’

  ‘God. It’s not something anyone could forget in a hurry. It was awful.’ I watch Rick catch a wave, wishing I could surf as well as he can. ‘No one could believe a child could just disappear. It was like a black cloud over everything – it changed our lives. Everyone’s parents became overprotective. And people gossiped . . . Eventually it died down, but at the time, it was like the world had ended.’ Turning to face her, I add, ‘Sorry, Detective Inspector. I don’t mean to sound indifferent. It was terrible. It destroyed Leah’s family. Did you know that?’

  ‘Did you know them, Charlotte?’ Abbie Rose’s eyes linger on me.

  ‘Not when it happened.’ I’m not sure what to say, wondering what it will do to Jen right now, to have the police asking about another missing child, particularly one that was never found. ‘I knew of them. I was good friends with Leah’s older sister for a while, but that wasn’t until later.’

  ‘Do you know what happened to them?’

  ‘I heard her father left. Her mother was really strange – I think she had a breakdown. Casey died – only a year or so ago. I think she suffered the most.’

  ‘Casey was Leah’s sister?’

  ‘Yes.’ I don’t say it out loud, but I’m remembering how it was for Casey – the hardest of lessons, having to haul herself out of the darkest place. It was either that, or give up. Life makes no concessions for the bereaved. It goes on regardless, mercilessly, ruthlessly. ‘Did the police ever find out what happened to Leah?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s still hard to believe something like that could happen. Especially here. It’s so quiet . . .’ Apart from the influx of drunken teenagers in the summer, it’s true. That’s why, as soon as they’re old enough, most young people can’t wait to move away. Yet here I am, back again, I muse, not far from where I started. So, it seems, is Jen.

  Abbie Rose nods. ‘I wanted to ask you if you’d come and see Evie – Jen, I mean. The attack has left her memory badly affected. Seeing a familiar face could really help.’

  I don’t answer straight away. I’m wondering how it would be for Jen. Too much of a reminder of the past? ‘Are you sure it’s a good idea? Of course I’d like to see her, but I wouldn’t want to make things any worse for her.’

  ‘To be honest, I’m not sure things could get much worse.’

  My ears prick up. ‘Really? How bad is it? It must be awful for her.’ I look at Abbie Rose quizzically, but her face is blank. ‘I could see her tomorrow morning?’ I add. ‘Say, around ten?’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll tell her you’re coming. She’s in the Royal Cornwall hospital – in Truro.’ She hesitates. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know if she has family nearby?’

  I shrug. ‘I’m out of touch. But I remember her aunt’s house. It’s out in the sticks – near Bodmin. We went there sometimes during the school holidays,’ I say, vaguely. ‘You know, gangs of girls camping in the woods. Being so remote, Helen’s place was perfect.’ I try not to smile inappropriately. ‘All our parents thought camping was such an innocent, idyllic thing to do, which it was – until we got older, of course. By then, Helen was deaf as a post. She had no idea what we really got up to.’ I pause. ‘Just teenage stuff – nothing bad,’ I add quickly, thinking of drunken nights and the boys who used to join us but remembering I’m talking to a police officer.

  ‘You don’t by any chance remember the address, do you?’

  I pause again, thinking not so much of the cottage, but the woods where we used to camp. ‘Not off the top of my head.’ But then I remember something. ‘Actually, I think her aunt’s full name was Helen Osterman.’

  Abbie Rose writes it down. ‘That gives us something to go on.’ Then she gets up. ‘I better get back. Thanks for your help. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  But I’m still puzzled about something. ‘Why have the press been calling her Evie?’

  ‘It’s what she calls herself. From what you’ve told us, it looks as though she changed her name, though we don’t know why. I’m hoping a face from the past might trigger her to remember something.’

  ‘OK.’ I shrug. It’s understandable – maybe she wanted to break any association with what happened to Leah. Jen, Evie; it makes no difference as far I’m concerned. ‘Whatever. At least I know.’

  Abbie Rose walks over to the door. As she opens it, she pauses, a quizzical expression on her face. ‘Up until that time you last saw each other, do you happen to know if Jen was ever pregnant?’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be asking Jen that?’ After talking about Helen’s place, I’m uncomfortable all of a sudden. It was years ago. Why is she so interested in the past?

  ‘She can’t tell me much about anything right now.’ Abbie stands in the doorway. ‘I’m trying to help her build a picture of how her life was.’

  I hesitate, not sure what to say. Not sure either why Abbie Rose wants to know. ‘There was a rumour . . . but I’m fairly sure that’s all it was. Probably spread by a couple of girls who had it in for her. She didn’t look pregnant – certainly not when I saw her. I don’t know if she’s still the same, but she was skinny back then. I can’t imagine she’d have been able to hide it . . .’ I frown. ‘But there was a time she wasn’t around for a while. And no one knew why. I’m sorry, I don’t really know any more than that.’

  Abbie Rose frowns. ‘Why would those girls have had it in for her?’

  I shrug. ‘The usual reasons. Because she was thinner and prettier and smarter than they were. Plus, everyone liked her.’ Meaning boys, in particular, but Abbie Rose seems smart enough to work that one out.

  ‘I see.’ Abbie Rose pauses. ‘There isn’t any other reason?’

  I shake my head. ‘Nothing comes to mind.’

  ‘Perhaps we can talk more tomorrow. You can always call me if you think of anything else.’

  She hands me a card, and then I follow her outside to her car. After she drives away, I wander around the side of the house and onto the grass, which needs cutting again, feeling annoyed by the shrieks of children floating up from the beach below. The beach may no longer be a secret, but most holidaymakers are too lazy to walk the half mile down the stony path from the road, then clamber down the rocks. It’s not for the faint-hearted. Other than the occasional lunatic like Rick, who carries his surfboard down there, those that venture all the way to the shore are few, and an irritation I’m forced to tolerate.

  He’s still out there, the water flat between sets as he waits for the next wave to roll in. Rick has his own philosophy, about how the universe brings us what we need. I learned from him when he tried to help me surf bigger waves; how to clear my mind as I sat on my board, to feel the rhythm of the ocean.

  Nothing is by chance. A wave is the culmination of many factors. There’s the swell, the wind, the shape of the coastline, the ocean floor. It shows the divine timing to all things, because you can’t hurry the perfect wave. He’s taught me the need for patience as you see a set coming, the importance of relying on your judgement. The perfect wave will come when the time is right.

  I stand there watching him as he deftly rides a wave to the shore then, instead of paddling out against the tide, catches the rip. Its powerful flow is an easy ride out past the waves, when you understand the forces at work, as Rick does. When you don’t, it’s an easy way to die.

  5

  It’s overcast as I drive to the hospital, drizzle painting the landscape a dull grey. On the way, I stop at the art shop in Truro I’d found online, which is overpriced but convenient, thinking it will save me a trip to Wadebridge, but half of what I want is out of stock. I leave with paper and a limited palet
te of watercolours and ask them to order the rest, irritated because it means I have to come back, then carry on to the hospital.

  Walking along the corridors to the critical care unit, I’m overtaken by apprehension. Jen and I were acquaintances rather than friends. I haven’t seen her in years. If I was in her position, I’m not sure I’d want one of my old classmates turning up out of the blue. But if there’s no one else, maybe she’ll be pleased to see me.

  The quiet of critical care is broken by electronic noise and low voices. Everyone’s busy, but eventually I catch one of the nurses.

  ‘I’m here to see Jen,’ I tell her. When she looks at me blankly, I add, ‘Evie? Evie Sherman?’

  ‘Can you wait here?’ She walks briskly away through some swing doors, then comes back a minute or so later with Abbie Rose.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Charlotte.’ Abbie Rose looks drawn, as though she was up half the night. ‘I wanted to have a word with you before you see her.’

  ‘Sure.’ I frown, wondering what’s on her mind.

  ‘Earlier, Evie – Jen – got quite upset. Frantic, actually. She’s beside herself about her daughter. I’d hoped to talk to her about Leah Danning, just to see if the name triggered any memories, but she’s far too fragile. She’s been given a sedative, but I wanted to ask you to bear that in mind. It’s probably best not to talk about anything that could upset her further – at least for now. Hopefully, as her memory comes back, it will be easier.’

  ‘Of course.’ I try to imagine how it is, to lose all sense of your life. To not remember who you are.

  ‘I’ll show you where she is.’ Abbie Rose starts walking back towards the swing doors.

  I hedge. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, if she’s upset?’

  Abbie Rose pauses. ‘There’s a three-year-old child missing. Right now, we have to try everything.’

  Her words remind me that this isn’t just about Jen. She has to explore every means she can to find out more about Jen’s missing daughter. I follow her through the doors and along a short corridor of private rooms. Outside one of the doors, the presence of a police officer somehow surprises me. But after an attack of the severity Jen’s survived, I guess it’s standard procedure. As we reach the room, Abbie Rose pauses. ‘Evie’s in here. It might be best to keep calling her Evie – for now.’

  The room is small and white, and the high ceiling and large window give it an airy feel. The woman on the bed doesn’t move. It’s definitely Jen, only a pale shadow of the girl I remember. Her eyes are closed and her face is turned away from us.

  I’m too hot all of a sudden. I take off my jumper and drape it over a chair near the door. ‘Maybe I should come back another time,’ I say uneasily. ‘I don’t want to disturb her.’

  Abbie Rose takes a step towards the bed. ‘Evie? Are you awake? There’s someone here to see you.’

  I watch the slightest flicker of Jen’s eyelids, indicating she’s heard, before very slowly, she turns her head.

  Abbie Rose glances at me. ‘It might be easier if you come round here, where she can see you.’ Then she turns to Evie. ‘Charlotte’s here, Evie. She remembers you. You used to go to the same school.’

  ‘Hello.’ I move closer, watching as her eyes focus on me. ‘I’m Charlotte. Harrison. Do you remember me?’

  Her face is skeletal, with dark circles under her eyes, her hair lank and unwashed. But it’s not just Jen who’s changed. My hair is short and bleached blonde instead of dark and ridiculously long, which is how it used to be. I’ve put on weight, too. As I watch, Jen – Evie – blinks. I can’t tell if she tries to nod. The movement of her head is barely perceptible as her eyelids close again.

  ‘Just talk to her,’ Abbie Rose says quietly. ‘The sound of your voice might trigger something.’

  I look around helplessly, not sure what to say. ‘Do you remember camping at your aunt’s cottage? There were a few of us who used to – in the summer.’

  I wait for a flicker of recognition, anything that suggests she’s heard what I’m saying. But as I take in the machines she’s wired to, how still she is in the hospital bed, I know she hasn’t.

  ‘Evie? Did you hear what Charlotte said?’ Abbie Rose tries to rouse her, then glances at me. ‘I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere today. Sorry. I’ll walk out with you.’

  ‘Thanks for coming here,’ she says, once we’re away from Jen’s room. ‘I’m sorry it was such a waste of your time.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ I’m still thinking of how fragile Jen looked, as though she’s hanging on to life by the finest thread.

  ‘It’s probably the sedative. If it’s not too much to ask, could we try again? Maybe in a day or two, when she’s stronger? We’re trying to find her parents, but right now, you’re the only person who’s come forward who knows her.’

  I nod – reluctantly. It’s one thing to spend a few minutes with her to see if it jogs some memories, but another altogether to get more involved.

  ‘I may be going away in a few days,’ I lie, just because I don’t want to commit to anything. ‘But perhaps I can see her before I go.’

  When I get home, Rick’s there.

  ‘Where were you?’ He’s less angry with me, but there’s still something eating him, I can tell.

  ‘You know that woman who was attacked? The one you told me about? It turns out I used to know her.’

  Rick looks astounded. ‘How on earth did you work that out?’

  ‘Photos,’ I tell him. ‘Devon and Cornwall Police Facebook page. So I called them. I wasn’t sure at first, but it’s definitely her. I’ve just been to see her.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Truro – in hospital. She’s very weak and she’s lost her memory. The police wanted me to see her, to try and help her remember.’

  ‘And did she?’

  I shake my head. ‘They’d sedated her, but they’re desperate. Her child’s missing. They’ve asked me to go back in a couple of days.’

  ‘God.’ Rick’s silent for a moment. ‘Makes you wonder what sick bastard would do that to someone. I mean, a child, for Christ’s sake . . .’

  ‘I know.’ I nod, numbly, and then a tear snakes its way down my face.

  Rick sees it. ‘Hey, are you OK?’

  I nod again. ‘Seeing her brought back memories, that’s all.’

  He comes over and puts his arms round me. ‘Have you thought about talking to someone?’ His voice is softer. ‘About your parents? It might really help.’

  He’s referring to the little I’ve told him about my parents – a father who threw me out and a mother who stood by and let him make her daughter homeless. It’s why I stayed away from here for so long. ‘Maybe.’ But I’m saying it to keep him quiet, instead of what I want to say, which is that it’s too late, and no amount of talking can change what happened to me.

  I’m hoping it’s a truce between us. When he sees the painting materials I’ve bought, I can tell he approves. But he doesn’t explain why he’s been so mad at me. The mood passes, a large block of ice slowly thawing while I consider whether we’ve had our time, sooner than I’d reckoned on. But then we’re transient, Rick and I. We always will be.

  The truce lasts for twenty-four hours. I come in from a walk to find Rick standing there with a face like thunder.

  ‘Were you going to tell me?’ he says angrily.

  ‘Tell you what?’ I’ve no idea what he’s talking about.

  ‘Don’t fuck with me, Charlotte. You tell the police you’re going away in a few days, but you don’t bother to tell me. Where are you going?’

  Rick calls me babe. He never calls me Charlotte. ‘How do you know what I told them?’

  ‘You left your jumper at the hospital. One of them very kindly dropped it off. He said that normally they wouldn’t have, but you weren’t answering your phone and they’d hoped to catch you before you left.’ He stands there with his arms folded. ‘So? Are you going to tell me?’

  I consider tellin
g him the truth for a moment – that I didn’t want the police to get too reliant on me – before bloody-mindedness kicks in. ‘None of your fucking business,’ I spit back, sick to death of how he’s suddenly on my case about absolutely everything. ‘You don’t tell me everything you’re doing, Rick. Why should it be different for me?’

  ‘You are goddamned selfish,’ he shouts. ‘For a moment there, you almost had me fooled. I’d actually started to believe that there’s another side to you. That you wanted to help your old school friend—’

  ‘She’s not really my friend,’ I interrupt. ‘I just knew her. I don’t owe her anything.’ It’s not how I meant it to come out.

  Rick stares at me, then when he speaks, his icy calm makes my skin prickle. ‘That’s just it with you. It’s all about you. You don’t owe anyone anything, do you?’

  ‘It’s not that simple.’ I’m shaking my head. I care about Rick – to a point. But people always take advantage of you. This is supposed to be a year for me.

  ‘It really is.’ His voice is flat. ‘It’s dead simple. Life’s about people, Charlotte. You know what? I’m going away for a bit. See if you can work it out while I’m gone. And if not . . .’ He starts walking towards the stairs.

  ‘If not, what?’ I shout after his back. ‘Don’t you dare bloody walk out like this.’

  He freezes. When he speaks, there’s a hint of menace in his voice I haven’t heard before. ‘I’ll do exactly as I please.’

  6

  Rick doesn’t tell me where he’s going – or who with. I wonder if he’s met someone else. It might explain why he’s behaving like this. But the clock is ticking, our relationship slipping through my fingers like grains of sand, the independence that once drew him to me now pushing him away.

  After he’s left, I get drunk. Not just drunk enough to numb my anger with Rick and the sense of insecurity creeping over me. I get blind, falling-over, forget-everything, throwing-up drunk.

  It’s midday when I wake up with the mother of all hangovers. Desperately thirsty and unable to keep even water down, I spend the rest of the day in bed, not even bothering to open the curtains. Screw Rick. If he doesn’t want me, he can go to hell. My mobile buzzes once. Half asleep, I let the call go to voicemail, imagining a repentant Rick anxiously checking up on me, then wake hours later to find it wasn’t Rick at all. It was Abbie Rose.