Finding Grace

by K. L. Slater

  ‘Do you… work for him?’ she ventured.

  ‘Not any more but he’s been threatening me, trying to make me change my mind.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going home,’ he said, his voice flat. ‘I can’t do this shit any more. I’ve had enough.’

  ‘Oh no!’ When she’d first arrived, everyone had said how clever Gregg was. ‘I’m sad to hear that, Gregg. I know you had plans to qualify as a pharmacist.’

  ‘That all seems like a long time ago now. Before meeting Stefan.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe I’ll start again somewhere else. I’ve wanted to have a chat with you about it for a while, but I couldn’t risk you telling Stefan. He’s quite a powerful figure around here.’

  ‘I’ve sort of felt something’s wrong, I just didn’t know what.’

  ‘He gets the gear from some pretty powerful people, He’s got the perfect set-up here, unlimited customers and people he can control to work for him, which is why he never leaves the university.’

  So Stefan’s excuses about having an insatiable thirst for knowledge were a load of rubbish.

  ‘Look, Lucie, you’re a nice girl.’ Gregg sighed. ‘My advice is, stay away from Stefan. He’s into some dark stuff you don’t want to get involved in.’

  ‘What?’ Her eyes widened. ‘What kind of stuff?’

  He readied himself to speak, then seemed to think better of it. ‘Just dodgy business. I can’t say any more and I’d be grateful if you don’t mention seeing me this morning. But he’s not who you think he is and what’s happened, well, it’s serious and he’ll be looking for people to blame. That’s just the way he is.’ He grabbed his bag and began to walk away, turning back to her again after just a few steps. ‘Get out while you can, Lucie.’

  And then he was gone.

  Forty-Three

  Lucie rushed back to her room. She felt out of breath, as if her lungs weren’t taking in enough air.

  She closed and locked the door behind her. Sitting on the bed, she crossed her arms to hold herself as she rocked back and forth, raking through everything she knew to try and get some clarity.

  What to do? What to do?

  She wanted to ring her dad and ask for his advice but she couldn’t do that. The instant she let him know what she’d found and what Gregg had told her, he’d be on the next train to Newcastle ready to square up to Stefan.

  No. She didn’t need her dad to tell her the right thing to do here. There were two options. Confide in her tutor about what she’d found or call the police. Maybe both.

  As if on cue, her phone rang.

  ‘Hey, doll, it’s me. I left my bag at your place, so I’ll—’

  ‘I know what’s happened and I know what’s in the bag,’ Lucie said, surprised at the steely tone of her own voice.

  A pause at the end of the line and then, ‘Don’t jump to conclusions. It’s not what it looks like.’

  She didn’t say anything.

  ‘I’ll send a cab now. All you have to do is get in it and come over here.’ He sounded so desperate to see her, to explain. ‘I swear, I swear, it’s not what you think. But I can’t tell you on the phone. Come over and I can explain everything and then, if you still want to shop me then I won’t stand in your way.’

  He really did seem devastated she thought so poorly of him. Despite what Gregg said about the other girls, maybe… just maybe… she was different and he really did care for her.

  Stefan’s road was rammed full of parked cars, so the cab dropped her off at the corner. She clutched her tote bag closer to her. Inside it, she carried Stefan’s rucksack and its contents. It felt like a living thing, pulsing with threat and danger.

  She’d already decided she wouldn’t return it to him right away; she’d hear what he had to say, first. She would hold the threat of the authorities over him a little longer. He certainly seemed more eager to speak to her while that was the case.

  She walked the few yards to the house. Stefan lived in a three-storey Victorian villa that had long since been converted into six small flats with a communal bathroom, lounge and kitchen. Lucie had been around there a handful of times but Stefan had told her he refused to sit in the lounge when the landlady was around.

  ‘She’s a nosy cow,’ he complained. It occurred to Lucie at that point that he seemed to have a problem with women. Anyone who didn’t bow to his demands was labelled insufficient in some way.

  There were four other men living there, and of course Rhonda, who’d apparently moved in at the start of the new term when she embarked on studying for her degree. Like Stefan, that was not her first course.

  Lucie had felt jealous of her at first, had felt envious and was worried that Rhonda would turn Stefan’s head. But she needn’t have worried.

  ‘She’s a snooty bitch who thinks she’s above the rest of us,’ he’d fumed one day when Rhonda asked him to tidy up his DVDs, which were scattered all over the lounge floor. ‘Always done up like a dog’s dinner too, the little whore. She could do with someone giving her a lesson in manners.’

  Lucie felt uncomfortable at his obvious vitriol, but relieved at the same time. Although Rhonda always seemed to be simpering around him when they were out, Stefan obviously couldn’t stand her, so she pushed any thoughts of the two of them hooking up out of her mind.

  Stefan seemed reluctant for her to visit often but that didn’t matter because Lucie hated spending time at the house. Even though the landlord kept it fairly well-maintained inside, the ageing property was in need of some structural work doing. It was cold and had draughty rotten windows that sucked any warmth from the three-bar fire.

  The landlady and her husband often visited the property, cleaning and pottering around downstairs, and although she’d seen them both from a distance, she’d never actually met them.

  Stefan increasingly insisted they spend time together there, instead of in Lucie’s admittedly tiny but clean room on the university campus. Once she was with him, though, and they were relaxing with a drink, she forgot all about her surroundings and focused on the man she loved.

  It had seemed that life was so good. And now this.

  As Lucie approached, she saw the front door was slightly ajar. Stefan’s room was on the top floor and he probably wouldn’t hear her knock anyway above the music he told her he liked to constantly play in the background.

  So she pushed it open. She felt disappointed that Stefan was nowhere to be seen. He’d asked her to text him as soon as she was in the taxi and she had done so. He hadn’t replied but she’d expected a bit of a welcome when she got here; he’d seemed so eager to have his chance to explain.

  Someone had put the chain on the front door but hadn’t quite secured it properly, and when Lucie pushed it, the chain slipped off and she was able to get in.

  She walked past the communal kitchen, wrinkling her nose at the food-caked crockery piled high on the side. Half-eaten kebabs and pizzas spilled out of their cartons and cardboard boxes on the table in the middle of the room.

  She held her breath and walked quickly past the mess, only breathing properly when she reached the inner hallway and the stairs.

  She heard Stefan’s music drifting down from the top floor, and there was rather a lot of banging, too. It sounded like someone was moving furniture around.

  Lucie started to climb the stairs.

  Forty-Four

  Lucie

  Monday afternoon

  After Barbara Charterhouse’s impromptu visit, I go back upstairs, not trusting myself to avoid a scene in front of Fiona.

  I hear raised voices from in the hallway; Blake and my dad. It’s clear they’re having some kind of disagreement but I don’t go down. After what I’ve found out, I just don’t feel strong enough to face Dad right now.

  I hear the front door open and slam shut, followed by low voices speaking.

  Blake seems contrite when he follows me up. ‘Your dad’s gone home. I offered to drive him but he insisted on calling a cab.’ He
hesitates. ‘Why don’t you have a little lie-down, Luce, maybe take one of Dr Mahmoud’s tablets?’

  ‘Why’s that? To stop me wondering why she wanted to speak to me?’ I snap. ‘I’m assuming that’s why you got rid of her so quickly?’

  ‘It was just a gut reaction to send her packing before she upset you again,’ he sighs. ‘She’s a trouble maker. You know that.’

  I sit on the edge of the bed and cover my face with my hands. I can’t stop thinking about Dad’s predicament and every minute that passes, my heart bleeds a little more for my daughter. Two of the people I love most in the world.

  Blake sits close to me and puts his arm around my shoulders. ‘Come on, Lucie. It’ll be all right.’

  ‘Will it?’ My hands fall away and I glare at him. ‘Will it really all be all right?’

  ‘Truthfully? I don’t know.’ He hangs his head and stares at his feet. ‘But I have to tell myself it will be all right in the end. I have to keep faith, or… I won’t be able to carry on.’

  I melt a little and reach for his hand. He’s hurting terribly too and here we are bickering over Barbara bloody Charterhouse when our only concern should be Grace. Yes, I’m terribly concerned about Dad, of course I am. But he’s an adult. He’s made certain choices and is now dealing with the consequences.

  I can’t take that responsibility on my shoulders right now, however tempting, or I’ll crumble. I resolve to try and put Dad’s problems out of my head for now, however impossible that seems.

  A thought that comforts me is that my husband and best friend are truly loyal. I feel very fortunate knowing that now.

  ‘I have a meeting at the community hall at three.’ Blake squeezes my hand and stands up. ‘Jeffery has gathered the troops with a view to extending the search,’ he says. ‘I’ll be an hour at the most and then I’ll come straight back here so we can talk some more.’

  Five minutes after he leaves, my phone rings. I’ve had calls and messages from numerous people, no doubt well-meaning, but I can’t face answering them. I thought I’d left the phone on silent.

  I look at the screen, expecting it to be Blake, already paranoid about checking if I’m OK. But it’s Nadine.

  ‘Just ringing to see if there’s anything I can do,’ she says flatly, fully expecting me to turn down her offer, I should think.

  ‘Thanks, Nadine, and yes, there is. Could you possibly come over and look after Oscar for a while? Blake’s out and there’s somewhere I have to go.’

  There’s a beat of surprised silence before she clears her throat. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘If you could get here as soon as you can. Thanks so much.’

  I end the call and gather my courage. Despite Blake reassuring me about the reasons he got rid of Mrs Charterhouse so quickly, I just need to satisfy the niggling feeling I have. Until I find out she definitely didn’t want to speak to me about something related to Grace, then there’s still a loose end that needs tying up.

  Even though he doesn’t seem ready yet, I change Oscar. I’d hate to give Nadine another reason to find me lacking.

  After that, I brush my hair, wash my face and clean my teeth, then manage to find a clean top that doesn’t reek of body odour.

  Nadine arrives ten minutes later.

  ‘Oscar’s in his chair in the living room,’ I tell her when I beat Fiona to the door. She nods to Nadine and retreats back to the kitchen. ‘He’ll be ready for feeding soon, you’ll find his food in a bowl in the fridge.’

  ‘Where are you going, Lucie? Blake told me you’d agreed to stay put for any news.’

  ‘I refuse to be a prisoner in this house any longer, Nadine. Everyone else is doing something useful to find my daughter, and I intend to do the same. I’m not going far, I’ll be about an hour.’

  ‘You can’t go out there; the press will eat you alive! Have you seen the things that are being said about you?’

  ‘I’m not scared of the press,’ I snap back. ‘And I’m not interested in their vile little stories. They haven’t a clue what happened to Grace.’

  Nadine’s face assumes a sly expression. ‘You do know what they’re saying online, I take it? That you were negligent letting Grace walk home alone? That Oscar has had a mysterious bump to the head? Some of the local people are saying you’re thought of as quite strange.’

  ‘I don’t give a fuck what they say about me.’

  Nadine gasps at the profanity and touches her throat.

  I stuff my feet clumsily into my flat ankle boots, holding her stare. ‘All I’m interested in is finding out as much information as I can to bring Grace home.’

  Nadine calls out as I head for the front door. ‘Where shall I tell Blake you’ve gone if he comes back and asks?’

  That brings Fiona rushing out of the kitchen again. She hovers in the doorway, a quizzical look on her face.

  ‘Just tell him I’m out,’ I say flatly. ‘That’s all he ever tells me.’

  ‘Lucie, it’s imperative we know where to get hold of you,’ Fiona says firmly, and Nadine nods with smug approval.

  ‘I have my phone,’ I say tartly. ‘But if you must know, I’m driving over to Barbara Charterhouse’s place. I won’t be long.’

  ‘I’m happy to come with you?’ Fiona offers.

  ‘Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I have my phone if you need to get in touch.’ I grab my jacket from the coat stand.

  ‘The press will have a field day if you go out there,’ Nadine says faintly. ‘Have you seen the state of your hair and clothing? You look like a madwoman.’

  I ignore her insult and step outside the front door.

  Immediately, cameras begin to click and whirr, and there’s a flurry of activity as the press at the gate realise who I am. The noise level increases dramatically, everyone shouting at once but I catch a few questions.

  ‘Mrs Sullivan, is there any news about Grace?’

  ‘Can you tell us where you’re going, Lucie?’

  ‘Where’s your husband? Are you two keeping strong?’

  ‘How’s the baby’s head? Are you struggling to cope with him?’

  They don’t jostle me when I step outside the gate, but they get pretty close. I feel a bit dizzy and realise I haven’t eaten anything today. I try to keep my eyes on the pavement in front of me. Ten more steps will do it and I’ll be inside my little Fiat.

  I’m just about five steps away from my vehicle when a woman in a houndstooth coat strides in front of me, stopping dead and forcing me to stop walking. She shoves a microphone into my face and a guy with a large camera next to her starts to film.

  ‘We’re so sorry to hear Grace is missing, Mrs Sullivan. Is there any news?’

  Other faces crowd in around her, holding microphones and cameras that point at me from different angles. I start to feel disorientated.

  ‘What? No. No news.’ I step forward, but she doesn’t budge.

  ‘I know the whole community is hoping for Grace’s safe return; we all pray she’ll be home soon. How are you coping?’

  I jiggle my car keys. ‘Sorry. I have to go somewhere, I can’t—’

  ‘Can I ask what possessed you to let Grace walk home alone, Mrs Sullivan?’

  ‘What?’

  She moves closer. She’s heavily made up and has perfectly sculpted brows that are at least two shades too dark for her.

  ‘She’s just nine years old. Did any part of you think it might be a bad decision? Did your husband try to change your mind about—’

  ‘Get out of my way!’ I push past her and yank the car door open, sliding inside.

  I feel like I’m hyperventilating. They’re crowding around the driver’s-side window, peering in at me.

  I have to get away from here. Just like Nadine warned, they’re all blaming me for what’s happened.

  Forty-Five

  Monday afternoon

  ‘Well, this is a surprise,’ Barbara Charterhouse says when she answers the door. In her tweed skirt, twinset and slippers, she looks far less f
earsome than she did in the café. She cranes her head to look past me and sees I’m alone. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I wondered if… Could I have a quick word?’

  ‘You’d better come in,’ she says curtly. ‘I got the distinct impression you weren’t interested in talking to me when I called at the house, earlier.’

  ‘I’m afraid I was upstairs,’ I offer limply. ‘I did come down but by then, you’d already left.’

  ‘Yes. Banished by your husband, to be precise.’

  Several dogs bark from somewhere in the depths of the sprawling farmhouse. When I got out of the car, I saw immediately that the exterior was in grave need of repair: peeling paintwork and weeds sprouting from the guttering. Now that I’m inside, it’s the same story. I can smell food cooking, but underneath it is the unmistakable odour of damp.

  ‘You’ll have to forgive the state of the place,’ Barbara says, a little more cordially, as I follow her into the kitchen. ‘Harold isn’t well at the moment, so a lot of stuff isn’t getting done. You can sit there if you like.’ She indicates a large, scratched wooden table with a collection of mismatched chairs around it.

  She plucks a black kettle from a stand at the side of the open fire and fills it at the sink.

  She sits down opposite me, her face unsmiling. ‘I said to Harold only this morning, “We may have our differences, but I wouldn’t wish this on the Sullivans.” I wouldn’t wish it on anybody.’

  ‘Thank you. It is… devastating, as you can imagine.’

  ‘Of course. I didn’t think anything of it when I saw your little girl on Sunday afternoon. Very brightly dressed she was; you couldn’t miss her. I said to Harold, “Is that the Sullivan girl?” But he was driving and missed the whole thing. Predictably hopeless, I’m afraid.’

  So far, she’s the last person to see my daughter, and that must have something to do with the rush of familiarity I suddenly feel in her company.