Finding Grace

by K. L. Slater

  I tried to pick up my cup as a small barrier against her incisive glare, but my hand was shaking so much, I had to put it down again.

  ‘Stefan killed that girl. It had nothing to do with me, I—’

  ‘Hear me out.’ She put up a hand and I fell silent.

  I couldn’t cope with this, with her knowing. I couldn’t live without my children, possibly go to prison… It would be better for all concerned if…

  ‘We confronted the students, threatened them with calling the police, and that caused even more hilarity. Finally, someone explained. Apparently, Stefan, the student who’d been with us the longest – he was older than all the others and had a controlling influence in the house – had staged a mock suffocation to persuade a young student not to turn him in to the police.’

  I stared at her.

  ‘The supposed victim – Rhonda, I believe her name was – was his partner in drug-dealing activities. They acted out the murder to fool the young student into believing that she had just witnessed a brutal act. Stefan took photographs of her in the room with the “body”, and said he’d implicate her in the crime if she blew the whistle on his so-called business activities. One of the tenants even told us they’d done it before!’

  ‘But… the body…’ I said faintly.

  ‘We went upstairs to the scene of this dreadful joke, and the room was spotless. No sign of anything amiss at all. A week or so later, Rhonda came and apologised to us. She said it had all got out of hand and she was sorry we’d had to hear about it the way we did. Of course, we put them both out anyway. It was a step too far.’

  A charge surged through me. The muscles between my neck and shoulders cramped, and I felt suddenly, overwhelmingly tired. Completely devoid of energy.

  ‘The young student who’d witnessed the supposed murder ran away, they say, dropped out of university. I caught sight of her once, at the house. It would be enough to send someone crazy, believing she was party to a killing.’ Barbara reached for my shaking hand. ‘But she never was, you see. That young woman’s conscience should be clear. It’s the only gift I can give to you in this terrible time you’re going through, dear.’

  I stumbled out of the house, half running, half falling into my car.

  ‘Your coat!’ Barbara shouted after me. ‘You forgot your coat!’

  But I couldn’t go back. I just couldn’t.

  I started the car. At the end of the lane, I pulled over and opened the window. Dragged in a lungful of cold air before making a concerted effort to push it from my mind.

  I still can’t process what she’s told me. Can it really be true that Rhonda never died? That Stefan had invited me over not to try and explain his way out of the drug dealing, but to frame and then blackmail me into not reporting his activities to the police?

  Involvement in a university drug ring is one thing, but why would Rhonda agree to be involved in such a sick stunt? And where is Rhonda now?

  If it is true that she wasn’t killed, then one enormous burden has been lifted from me.

  But that doesn’t change the fact I have another terrible secret.

  Fifty-Six

  Wednesday morning

  I’ve had an ongoing battle with myself all night long.

  Yet again, life has presented me with a massive choice. If I involve the police and they conduct their investigation as cautiously and slowly as they have so far in Grace’s disappearance, something awful could happen to my daughter. I know Stefan O’Hara and the police don’t plus, I’m not tied up in knots ticking procedural boxes and following a certain order of process. In my opinion that gives me an enormous advantage in dealing with the situation myself.

  Conversely, I could forever regret my decision in not involving the police.

  Sixteen years ago, I ran away. Ran away from responsibility and my own power. I put my fate in the hands of others.

  No more. From now on, I’ll run my own life and face up to the consequences.

  I log back in to the email account.

  10.30 a.m. today. Do not tell another soul.

  I’m feeling low, Lucinda. Very low. If I decide that life isn’t worth living, I may just take her with me. Tread carefully.

  He names a little-used park a ten-minute drive from here.

  I can’t think straight. Can’t process the enormity of it. How am I going to get out of the house without the police asking questions? All I have to say is that I need to get away for a while. They can’t blame me for that.

  My fingers begin to type of their own accord.

  Will Grace be with you? I need to know she is OK.

  As I press send, my heart doesn’t know whether to sink or soar.

  I close the laptop, my heart in my mouth. My phone pings with a text message notification.

  Lucie, can you come over to ours? It’s urgent. Come alone. Bev x

  It’s 9.30 a.m. Bev has inadvertently given me an excuse to get out of the house so I can make the 10.30 a.m. meeting at the park.

  As I stare out of the window, wondering what Bev could want to see me about that can’t wait when Blake comes out of the shower. He has a small towel tied around his waist and he’s rubbing at his wet hair. He has olive-toned skin and always looks slightly tanned and healthy even in the winter but I can see he’s lost weight on his stomach and arms.

  ‘DI Pearlman called. There have been one or two calls that could prove to be promising leads,’ he says. ‘I’m going over to the station to go through what they have.’ He hesitates, obviously weighing up if it’s a good idea to tell me. ‘Want to come?’

  ‘I’m going over to Bev’s for a coffee,’ I say. ‘I want to thank her for helping Dad.’

  I don’t know why I don’t tell him about her text message. I just feel a conviction that it’s best not to say anything.

  Blake pulls a face. ‘Mike’s probably still a bit sore about it. Maybe you should wait a while.’

  ‘I want this stuff out in the open between us.’ I pull on a jumper over my T-shirt and jeans. ‘They’re good friends and I can be honest with them regarding my own feelings about what Dad has done.’

  Blake sticks out his bottom lip as if he doesn’t wholly agree. But I’m relieved when he doesn’t press me on the issue.

  ‘Are you going to Bev’s the back way?’

  I shake my head. ‘I’m going to drive down the road. I’m sick of hiding away from the press, feeling like a terrible parent. They don’t know anything about us, why should I hang my head in shame?’

  Blake kisses the top of my head. ‘That’s my girl. I like this new positive you.’ His voice softens. ‘I feel good, Luce. I feel like we’ll get Grace back. I know it doesn’t make any sense but it’s a relief to hear there are new leads possibly coming in as a result of the live appeal.’

  ‘I believe we’ll get her back, too,’ I say, pressing my cheeks to his shoulder. ‘I honestly do.’

  ‘If you wait five minutes I’ll walk you out to your car. I’ll speak to the press about going to the station regarding the appeal calls and you can slip away.’

  And that’s what we do. I’m astonished it works so well. The press are like putty in Blake’s hands when he explains I’m going to a friend’s for a coffee and then follows it up with his visit to the police station.

  Just before I pull my car door closed, I hear their barrage of questions begin. I’m proud of Blake, taking it all in his stride. He’s so used to crowds of people and public speaking and they behave better in the face of his confidence.

  I drive the short distance down Violet Road to Bev’s.

  Slowing down opposite Abbey Road, my eyes prickle. I can see my baby, dressed as she was when she left the house Sunday morning. Grace was here. Safe. On her way home to us, her loving family. And then something terrible happened. Stefan O’Hara happened.

  I feel a rush of energy shoot through my torso. A tangle of emotions. How dare he just barge into my life again and again, causing grief and mayhem?

  I will get Gra
ce back. Whatever it takes, I will bring her home.

  A minute later I park up in front of Bev and Mike’s house. My stomach flutters a little and I can feel the beginnings of a headache start up at the base of my skull.

  I don’t know why, but something in me feels suddenly nervous as to why she has summoned me to come alone.

  Fifty-Seven

  Olivia

  Livvy stood behind the living room door.

  Grace going missing had felt like moving very slowly on one of those walking escalators at the airport and then something going badly wrong with it so that suddenly, you were running really fast and couldn’t get off.

  At first, Olivia’s dad had told her not to worry, that Grace would probably come back very, very soon. But she hadn’t come home. Then Grace’s parents were on TV begging for the public to help them and had asked the person who’d taken her to bring her back home.

  There had been nothing in between… slow and very fast. And Olivia had been caught out.

  She’d stood behind the door as her parents watched the live appeal yesterday. Had heard her own mum crying and her dad saying soothing things to her in a low voice.

  Then Grace heard the policeman on television describe what Grace was wearing and that she had been carrying a small pink rucksack, too. And that’s when Olivia knew without any doubt it was important to tell her parents that Grace’s bag was actually under her bed.

  Her parents had gone very quiet. They’d looked at each other in the strangest way and Olivia saw the fear in their eyes. And then she’d felt afraid, too.

  Now Grace’s mum, had arrived and Olivia felt sick.

  The living room door was slightly open and she could hear Lucie crying in there. They were talking in low voices and it seemed Lucie was thanking Olivia’s mum for doing something.

  ‘I’m so sorry it caused problems between you and Mike,’ Lucie said.

  This must be something to do with why her parents had been arguing so much recently. Everything was suddenly such a mystery. The adults were keeping secrets from each other and it seemed that was allowed. But when children kept secrets, that was frowned upon. It was confusing and annoying, too.

  They were whispering again but Olivia couldn’t catch much of it. And then her mum raised her voice slightly.

  ‘I don’t know what got into her, hiding it under her bed like that. I’m so sorry, Lucie.’

  She hadn’t hidden it under the bed. Grace had! And sworn her to secrecy, too.

  Olivia had said nothing about Grace’s rucksack for all the right reasons – she’d thought at the time, anyway – but now she’d managed to make Grace’s mum feel even sadder and she felt very sorry about that.

  She pushed open the door and both mums sat up a bit straighter in that way adults do when a kid walks in; as if they haven’t been talking about anything interesting.

  ‘Hi, Livvy,’ Lucie said in a funny bright voice that seemed at odds with her blotchy, wet face.

  ‘Hello.’ Olivia’s voice came out so quiet, so small, she felt like a bad little mouse in one of the picture books she had when she was little. There had always been a happy ending back then.

  ‘I think you have something to say to Lucie, don’t you, Olivia?’ her mum said in her kind but stern voice. ‘I think you have something to give to her.’

  ‘Sorry I didn’t tell you I had this.’ Olivia stepped forward and held out the rucksack. Her heart hammered inside her chest like it was desperate to escape Lucie’s sad face.

  ‘Thank you, Livvy,’ she said, taking the bag. ‘Can I ask why you didn’t tell us before now that you had the bag?’

  ‘Grace told me to keep it a secret,’ Olivia said quickly. ‘She said she didn’t want anyone to read her diary.’

  Lucie didn’t reply. She opened the rucksack and took out the things inside. She held the T-shirt up to her face and breathed in. She did it again and again. Then she took out the diary and looked at the fastening.

  Olivia slid her fingers into the tiny pocket of her jeans that hardly held anything at all. She pulled out the tiny key she’d found in the corner of her desk drawer and she gave it to Lucie.

  ‘I think Grace might’ve written about a secret she had,’ Olivia said.

  Fifty-Eight

  Lucie

  As Livvy hands me the tiny key that will unlock Grace’s diary, our hands touch and I have to fight the urge to grasp her small, cool fingers and pull her to me.

  Just to feel her in my arms, so similar to my Grace… to hold her close and bury my face in her silky hair. My heart is cracking open…

  I don’t pull her to me, of course I don’t. The last thing I want to do is scare Livvy.

  She must have been nervous and confused. Not wanting to betray her best friend and yet feel a building sense of worry about the contents of the rucksack.

  I don’t open the diary here. I stand up to leave but before I go, I confide in Bev.

  ‘Please don’t mention this to anyone, at least for a couple of hours. Now I’m out of the house I’m going to drive to a quiet place to look at the diary. I need a little peace, that’s all. Away from Blake, my dad… Fiona.’

  ‘I understand, course I do,’ Bev says. ‘But don’t leave it too long, Luce. The police need to know you’ve got her bag. It could be important.’

  I nod, but I know what’s important is to get to the park.

  Back at the car, I feel sick with nerves at seeing Stefan again, but also an unmistakable excitement and relentless hope that I’ll be seeing Grace. Whatever it takes, I’m bringing her back with me today. I have to.

  I slide into the driver’s seat and lock the doors. As I pull away from the desperate faces at the kerbside, I allow myself a sigh of relief.

  It doesn’t take long for the tension to return.

  What will Stefan want from me in return for the safe delivery of my daughter? I know him well enough to fully expect that he’ll lay out demands. And I’ll agree to all of them. I will. If he’s crazy enough to think we could get back together, I’ll indulge him in that, too.

  I’ll say exactly what I need to to ensure my daughter is back in her own bed tonight and I’ll deal with the aftermath when it comes.

  The traffic is light and I arrive at the park ten minutes before our scheduled meeting. I park on the street, just down from the entrance and take Grace’s backpack from the passenger street.

  I hold it to my chest to try in vain to get a sense of her. I grip the straps where her fingers would have held it on Sunday afternoon.

  I pull out the T-shirt and breathe the scent of my daughter in again. Then I force myself to lay it aside and I reach for the diary. I take the tiny key Livvy gave me out of my pocket and unlock it.

  I flick through the pages, stunned that my Grace has been writing in it so regularly. I have never seen her do so. I’d like to read each and every entry but I scoot forward until a week before she went missing.

  Her entries are neat and written in a variety of coloured glitter gel pens I remember buying her as a stocking filler for Christmas.

  I smile wistfully as I scan through the entries, each one a snapshot of a wonderful nine-year-old with a zest for life. She talks about her favourite food, the music she’s listened to in her bedroom, the building excitement of her birthday party and trip to Alton Towers.

  And then.

  The Thursday before she went missing – just three days earlier – the tone of her writing changes.

  It happened again at school. Just before the bell rang I heard someone shout my name. Livvy said not to go to the fence, but I had to. Then it happened again. They said not to be afraid, they only wanted to warn me that my Mum is a liar and they said the bad thing again, the horrible thing… I want to tell Mum but I’m scared it will make her poorly again.

  The diary falls from my hands as I let out an anguished yelp. He’s got to Grace… at school of all places. I can’t bear that my beautiful girl was afraid of speaking to me because she couldn’t trust I wouldn
’t sink into one of my anxious, depressive states. I never realised she even noticed this stuff. I’ve been living in a cave.

  I pull my jacket closer to me, shivering. My hands are shaking and I am terrified what’s going to happen. I’ve under-estimated Stefan. He knows everything about me… about us, our family. He was in touch with Grace and I never ever knew it.

  But how? He was paralysed when I last saw him.

  Tugging my beanie hat down low over my forehead and sticking my gloved hands in the deep pockets of my quilted coat, I lock the car and walk, head down, quickly alongside the hedge that runs the length of the park. Glancing around to make sure nobody has followed me, I slip through the gap at the far end.

  I stand next to an old oak tree, its enormous girth indicating that it is probably over a hundred years old, and look around. I spot two dog walkers and a man in the distance in regulation overalls picking up litter with a grab-and-grip stick.

  And then I see someone over near the road but amongst the trees, looking around the park just as I am.

  Time seems to slow as I take in the back of the darkly clothed, darting figure.

  It’s a man, but his movements are surely too quick to be Stefan.

  My heart is hammering. I can’t afford to put a foot wrong here. This is my chance to get my daughter back and I’m going to make it count.

  I walk a little further into the park and sit on a bench. It’s cool and the sky is clouded over. Little moody pockets threaten rain.

  I keep running over Grace’s diary in my mind. School is a place your child should be safest and yet Stefan had managed to defy even their safety processes to frighten Grace.