The Death of Her

by Debbie Howells

But I don’t. I can only guess. Unless you’ve lost a child, you can’t know how it feels. All I can do is offer comfort, letting her cry until she stops.

  ‘I’m starting to remember,’ she manages at last, when her sobbing subsides. ‘Yesterday, I found a place in the woods . . . We’d made a den. I could even show you.’

  ‘You will show me,’ I tell her. ‘As soon as you’re up to going out again.’

  She looks at me. ‘It’s all there, Charlotte. In my head . . .’ Choking on her words. ‘In pictures I can’t share with you.’ Her eyes are filled with pain.

  ‘Tell me,’ I urge, watching more tears roll down her cheeks. Then, more gently, I add, ‘Tell me what you remember.’

  ‘Her smile . . .’ Jen falters. ‘Her laugh . . .’ Her eyes are haunted as she looks at me. ‘How her hair is always tangled from the wind. How she likes to feed the birds.’ Her voice cracks. ‘She loves pink. Her bed is pink.’ A frown flickers across her brow as she thinks of the bed she remembers, that should be upstairs and isn’t. ‘Every night I used to read to her . . .’ Her desperation shows on her face as she looks at me. ‘I can’t bear it.’ Her voice wavers, then she starts to shake uncontrollably.

  Casey, 2001

  The moment everything changed. When before became after; when a child became an empty space. Life, fucked.

  The police came, with dogs and pointless questions. My mother rushing back from work. She thought it was my fault. I could tell from the way she looked at me. But ugly people are to blame for all the evils in the world.

  It wasn’t Jen’s fault, was it? How could it be? She had shiny, fair hair and sparkling blue eyes. Everyone liked her. She couldn’t possibly have anything to do with a missing child. Innocence and carelessness weren’t deadly. So unfortunate the tragedy happened when Jen happened to be looking after her. Oh, the deluded shit people tell themselves.

  Even after, everyone wanted to talk to her. What was it like? What did the police do? What do they think? How do you feel? Blue eyes and pretty hair made everyone rally round you. Poor Jen, who was so trustworthy. How could this have happened? It would be understandable if the sister had been looking after her. That ugly girl who no one likes. What did you say her name was? Their whispers: ‘You know what they say about her;’ ‘It was probably one of her druggie friends.’

  I learned so much about people. What they’re really like. How shallow, fickle, cruel. So easily swayed by prettiness and money. People like Jen knew the rules. It’s how the world works. Play along or suffer, Casey. Dye your hair and smile at the right time; and whatever you do, don’t tell anyone how you feel. Bury it away, where no one can force it out of you.

  I chose to suffer.

  It’s a law of nature, of the universe, that there is balance. Leah’s disappearance tarnished the fairness of Jen’s hair, dulled her eyes. I knew that when she was less pretty, her friends would drift away, leaving her alone. Then, we’d be equal. That was when it was supposed to happen, when the same balance was supposed to lift me up, make my hair shine and skin glow, bring light to my world. It didn’t. Jen had taken that away, too.

  I wanted to miss my sister. To feel heartbroken and desolate and fractured. Was it wrong that I didn’t? Life had taught me to bury my emotions, somewhere where they couldn’t hurt me. Now, with my sister gone, how was I supposed to feel? The numbness was supposed to thaw, the feeling return to my fingers, my mind, then my heart, at first smarting, stinging; a prelude to the onslaught of agony.

  But apart from hatred of Jen, I felt nothing.

  24

  Charlotte

  When I return to the cottage later that afternoon, the house is silent. Abbie Rose is in the kitchen. There’s no sign of Jen.

  ‘Is she OK?’

  ‘She’s better than she was.’ Abbie Rose switches off her iPad. ‘She had soup for lunch, but apart from that, she hasn’t moved.’

  ‘I brought a chicken pie. Assuming she eats chicken.’ I think of the birds in the garden, wondering if Jen’s one of those sentimental nutters who gives them names and thinks of them like people. Then I remember the way she dispatched the sick bird. She definitely isn’t.

  It’s a day during which Jen remains wrapped in confusion, in grief. That’s what this immeasurable sense of loss she’s feeling is. Grief. For her daughter, their life, their future. No easier because there’s the frailest hope Angel may be alive. And if she is, if Jen never sees her again, if she never finds out what’s happened, it will be a million times worse.

  When PC Miller returns for the night, I give Jen the pills he’s picked up from the chemist, hoping they offer her some respite from the emotions battering her.

  The following morning, there’s no sign of her on the sofa. Quietly pushing her bedroom door ajar, I see she’s in bed, still sleeping. I take it as a positive sign that she got herself up there.

  The weather has blown through, leaving a lovely morning, the sun glistening through the trees, the birds in full song. Downstairs, as I draw the curtains and open one or two windows, I hear the sound of someone moving around.

  When I go back upstairs, Jen’s door is more ajar. ‘Hi? Evie?’ I knock, then push it open.

  ‘Charlotte?’ She’s standing by the open window, wearing a jumper over her pyjamas. It hangs off her gaunt frame, drawing attention to how thin she is.

  ‘Hi. I thought I heard you. I wondered if you’d like some help.’

  She turns away from the window. ‘I was about to come downstairs.’

  There’s a silent understanding between us as I say, ‘I’ll help you.’

  I get her sitting at the kitchen table, then make her some breakfast, but she doesn’t eat much, just nibbles at some toast.

  ‘Thank you for staying with me,’ she says at last. ‘I mean it. I thought they were going to insist I go back to the hospital.’

  ‘So did I.’ I sit down opposite. ‘But they can’t force you, Evie. Not if you don’t want to go.’

  ‘I don’t know what the police are thinking.’ Suddenly her face is stricken with anxiety. ‘I don’t understand. Why hasn’t anyone seen us?’

  Yet again, I’m trying to imagine how it is to have all these disconnected strands of thought, none of which make sense. ‘It looks as though you were hiding.’ I pause. ‘Has anything come back to you?’

  She looks blank. ‘No.’

  ‘Do you think it’s strange that there aren’t any medical records?’ I ask.

  She shrugs. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. But if Angel hadn’t been ill since we moved here, I wouldn’t have taken her to the doctor, would I?’

  It’s the only logical explanation. ‘It’s possible . . .’ I hesitate. ‘But most mothers of young children like to know they’ve registered somewhere – just in case.’

  ‘Maybe I was going to . . . I just hadn’t got round to it.’ Jen looks away.

  Outside, I see Abbie Rose walking towards the back door. There’s a rush of cold air as she opens it.

  ‘Morning. How are you today?’

  Jen nods. ‘I’m OK.’

  Abbie Rose pulls off her gloves and jacket, then sits down at the table with us. ‘Someone else has recognized you from the photo on our Facebook page. A Tina Wells. Apparently she buys your vegetables and eggs for her farm shop.’ She looks at Jen expectantly. ‘Do you remember her? Her shop is on the outskirts of Wadebridge.’

  Jen’s frowning. ‘I’m not sure.’ But as has happened before, the name seems to set a process in motion, as Jen searches for something to link it to.

  ‘Don’t worry for now. It may well come back to you later on.’ Abbie Rose pauses, a more serious look on her face. ‘Evie? There’s something else I need to talk to you about.’ There’s one of her strategic pauses. ‘I’m afraid there’s been another attack.’

  About bloody time someone told her, I’m thinking, wondering what else Abbie Rose is keeping to herself.

  Jen looks ashen. ‘Who? When?’

  ‘About a week ago, a girl was f
ound in a field that’s part of the same farm where you were attacked.’

  ‘Found?’ Jen stares at her. ‘Is she dead?’ Then more fearfully, ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’

  Abbie Rose pauses, then nods towards me. ‘It was actually Charlotte who found her.’

  Here, in Jen’s kitchen, it seems surreal to hear Abbie Rose talking about the body I found. Jen’s reaction makes it plain why the DI’s waited so long to tell her, wanting to delay another shock unless absolutely necessary.

  Jen’s eyes flit from one of us to the other. ‘Why?’ she says at last. ‘Why didn’t one of you tell me sooner?’

  I want to tell her the truth, which is that I thought she should know, but Abbie Rose asked me not to. ‘Honestly, we just thought you have enough to worry about . . .’

  ‘How could you?’ Her words are accusing, her eyes glittering with anger. ‘Both of you. How could you hide it?’

  I glance at Abbie Rose for help. ‘Charlotte’s right, Evie. You haven’t been well.’

  ‘I’m not a fucking child.’ Her voice is high-pitched. ‘It’s linked. It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ She seems to shrink in her chair as she stares untrustingly at both of us.

  ‘There’s no proof as yet, but yes, we’re considering the possibility. Two attacks at around the same time and the same place, seems quite a coincidence.’ Abbie Rose speaks quietly.

  ‘How did you find her?’ Jen’s eyes bore into me.

  ‘I was walking – along the coast path. I saw these birds circling. It seemed odd, so I went to look.’ The image comes back to me, of the mutilated flesh, the dried blood. I try to block it out.

  ‘Do you know who she is?’

  ‘We think so.’ Abbie Rose pauses. ‘She was a local girl – only twelve years old. She was reported missing by her teacher two weeks ago. Apparently, she was always going off on her own, so to start with, no one thought much of her disappearance.’

  ‘Not even her mother?’ Jen’s incredulous.

  I can imagine what Jen’s thinking, because I’m thinking the same. How can a mother let her child go off, for days on end, without even knowing where she’s gone?

  Abbie Rose sighs. ‘According to everyone we’ve talked to, Tamsyn did what she liked when she liked . . .’

  A look of shock crosses Jen’s face. ‘What did you say her name was?’

  ‘Tamsyn.’ Abbie Rose frowns at her. ‘Why? Do you know—’

  But Jen interrupts. ‘What does she look like?’

  ‘Tall for her age. And lanky. With red hair and freckles.’ Abbie reaches for her phone, scrolling through emails until she finds what she’s looking for. ‘Here.’

  As she passes it to Jen, her hand goes to her mouth and her eyes widen with horror as she recognizes the girl. Looking across, even on the small screen, there’s an attitude in the set of the girl’s chin, the look of defiance in her eyes.

  Suddenly tears are pouring down Jen’s face.

  ‘You know her, don’t you?’ After Jen’s lack of clarity about almost everything, it seems like a breakthrough. Abbie Rose looks at her sharply. ‘Do you have any idea how? Or where you might have seen her?’

  But her hopes are short-lived, as Jen shakes her head. ‘All I remember is her face.’

  ‘It’s strange you know her.’ She looks at Jen more closely. ‘When you think no one round here seems to know you, and no one’s looking for you. With the exception of Nick and Charlotte and Tina Wells from the farm shop, she’s the only person so far who’s familiar to you. I have to call the station and let them know. When you think of her, does anything else come to mind?’

  ‘No . . .’ Jen shakes her head. ‘Just her laughing. Loudly. She was outside. She wasn’t with anyone. That’s all I can remember.’

  ‘OK . . .’

  When Jen falls silent, I can’t help wondering if this will trigger her to remember more.

  I go outside to feed the chickens. By the time I come back, unbelievably after Abbie Rose’s revelations, Jen’s curled up on the sofa, asleep.

  ‘It’s probably a good thing,’ Abbie Rose says quietly. ‘She needs to rest in order to heal.’

  Gathering my things together, I’m about to go back home for the day when I hear Jen calling out.

  I follow Abbie Rose to the sitting room, where Jen’s sitting with an expression on her face I haven’t seen before.

  ‘I had this dream. When I woke up, I could remember things – about the past and Nick and where we lived. In detail. It’s happening. My memory’s coming back.’

  25

  ‘I don’t remember before or after,’ she says urgently, as Abbie Rose sits in the armchair with her notebook, while I hover on the edge of the sofa. ‘It’s like looking at a single chapter of my life – in isolation. Nick’s in it. We’re not in this house, though.’

  ‘This is good, Evie.’ Abbie Rose gets out her phone. ‘Do you mind if I record you? That way, you can just talk, freely. It’s probably better than stopping and starting while I write.’

  ‘OK.’ Jen waits for her to set her phone to record.

  ‘It’s on. You can start.’

  Jen begins. ‘We’d been looking for a family home. Not too far for Nick’s commute. But we needed space, Nick said. Air that didn’t reek of traffic fumes. Somewhere quiet enough so that when you sat outside, you strained your ears to hear anything. It was Nick who found it. The first time we went there, I remember just staring at the rambling house in front of me. I wasn’t in love with it. I wanted to be, if only to share how Nick was feeling, but it was too big. Too dark; an L-shape of grey-brown stone and clapboard the colour of tree bark.

  ‘Nick was ecstatic, striding around the outside, enthusing madly about everything. His eyes were bright with excitement, with his dreams. I could tell from his face it wouldn’t matter what I said. He’d already moved us in.’ She pauses. ‘Nick was a dreamer. I knew all his boxes, too, and this ticked every one of them. He’d found his house, with room to host parties and big, noisy family Christmases. The family house he wanted us to grow old in. I remember I was gazing at it, when he came up behind me and grabbed me, holding me still, not moving. Whispering. “This is what silence sounds like.”

  ‘I listened, hearing nothing, not a voice, nor a single car; and a feeling of fear came from nowhere. Fields separated us from our nearest neighbours. After city life, it was quiet, with too many twisted pines and oaks that were knotted with age. It looked as though someone had reached in, parted the canopy of branches and placed the house beneath.

  ‘As I’d stepped inside through the front door that first time, I remember I shivered. It sounds weird, but the house felt hostile, almost as though it didn’t want us there.

  ‘It needed too much work. It was far from perfect. We’d talked all weekend about it, until Nick persuaded me that we should make a silly offer and leave it in the lap of the gods. Convinced we didn’t have a chance, I let him, but I was wrong.

  ‘We’d already had an offer on our own house and I’d never got round to telling him that I couldn’t shake my sense of unease, that I just felt my life spiralling out of control. After that, it had all happened so fast, so effortlessly. We moved in on the hottest day of the year. I remember being in one of the bedrooms, pausing, leaning on the windowsill, looking down at the parched lawn, at the flowers bravely holding up in the heat, then across the garden towards the woods.

  ‘I wasn’t sure about the woods. After living in a town, they were too dark, stretched for too many miles. Anyone could be out there and you wouldn’t see them. I always felt someone could have been watching me and I wouldn’t have known. It was his dream. Not mine.’

  I’m flabbergasted by the detail with which she recalls what happened. Then uncertainty flickers on her face.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  She nods. ‘It’s just . . .’ She breaks off. ‘How can I be sure that what I’ve remembered is real? It doesn’t seem like I’m talking about my life. I don’t feel anything. It’s as though I
’m talking about someone else’s.’

  I’m not sure, either. It doesn’t sound like the Nick I met.

  ‘Take your time, Evie. It’s OK.’ Abbie Rose tries to reassure her.

  ‘I don’t think I didn’t want to move there.’ She goes on. ‘I know I didn’t. The house was too big. And just now, talking to you, I’ve remembered how unhappy I felt.’

  ‘What happened between you and Nick?’ Abbie Rose sounds curious.

  She’s silent; thinking. ‘It feels like that house changed something – or something happened while we lived there. It must have.’

  ‘And this was before Angel was born?’

  Jen nods. ‘I can’t remember exactly when we moved there, but that would make it at least four years ago. What I told you just now . . . I remember it’s how he was. Always pushing me, to want what he wanted. Frustrating me, because he never listened.’

  ‘You don’t remember how long ago you split up?’ I can see what Abbie Rose is doing, trying to fill in the gaps in Jen’s fragmented narrative.

  But suddenly it’s as though she’s said enough. ‘I’ve told you everything I know,’ she says, anxiously.

  ‘It may seem confusing now,’ Abbie Rose tries to calm her. ‘Think of it like jigsaw pieces. On its own, each piece doesn’t tell you much, but the more of them you put together, the more of a picture we can build. It’s OK, Evie. At some point, all of this will make sense. I’m sure of it.’

  Her reassurance seems to work, but Jen’s frown returns. ‘It’s Tamsyn.’ She’s clearly anxious. ‘What if her disappearance is connected with Angel’s in some way? Could she have seen someone take her? Could it be the same person who went after me?’

  I’m silent. But maybe somewhere in the depths of her damaged mind, it’s Jen who has the answers.

  I can’t get out of there fast enough. Jen’s fear, anxiety, uncertainty; they’re a miasma, filtering through from room to room, until the entire house is infected. In my car, with my music turned up earsplittingly loud, a sense of normality returns.

  But as I drive home, too late I remember my promise to Jen that I’d go walking in the woods with her. Not that she’s up to it yet. I can imagine Abbie Rose voicing her disapproval. But I know, also, that my escape is no more than a brief respite. Later this afternoon, I’ll be compelled to drive all the way back, a fly in a spider’s web – needing answers as much as Jen does. Trapped.