by D. S. Butler
Janet shoved her hands in her pockets. Her lips were so tightly pursed, they were almost white. She was barely holding it together.
I backed away and picked up the tea tray again. Before I made it to the kitchen, I heard the front door slam, and when I turned Janet had gone.
I carried the tea tray into the kitchen expecting Angie to be there, but there was no sign of her.
It was late. Maybe she’d gone home. I washed up the tea-things in the butler sink, hoping Angie would return, but she didn’t.
I dried my hands and leaned against the kitchen counter. The room was large, but cosy at the same time. It was the room that most reminded me of Nicole - a collection of funny fridge magnets, a pile of magazines, a goofy photo of Nicole and Sienna, shoes beside the back door.
The flagstone tiles were cool and comfortable after the hot August day. The large farmhouse-style table dominated the kitchen. A Lesley Pearse paperback lay beside a duck egg blue cushion on the window seat, and I could imagine Nicole sitting in that spot in the sunshine, enjoying her book as Sienna listened to music.
I walked over to the small window nook and sat down. How had it come to this? How did I know so little about my friend and her daughter? I wished I could turn the clock back to Friday night. Had she hinted something was wrong? Had I overlooked something important?
Or did she simply not trust me enough to confide in me?
I looked out of the window and spotted a glowing light in the garden. I leaned forward, steaming up the glass with my breath. It was a bonfire. August wasn’t the usual time of the year for bonfires. Who was out there and what were they burning?
Chapter Eight
I walked over to the front door to grab my shoes from the rack. The back door was open and led directly onto the patio. Closing the door behind me, I walked towards the glowing light and the heavy smell of smoke that wafted towards me.
Now that the sun had set, the temperature had fallen, and I shivered as the cool night air touched my skin.
A tall figure stood beside the fire. Steve. He stooped over, leaning heavily on a large stick. He used the stick to poke the fire, sending a flurry of tiny sparks into the air.
What was he doing out here alone? And what was he burning? I slowed as I got closer to the fire, wondering what to say to him. What could I say to comfort a man who’d just lost his wife in a horrifying act of violence?
When I was a few feet away, he turned and saw me. He watched me silently as I approached.
“Steve, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe this has happened.”
He turned back to the fire and gave it a vicious stab with the stick, producing another shower of sparks. “Thanks for coming back, Abbie. I’m sure Nicole would have been touched.”
His words were polite, but his tone was emotionless.
“You must be so worried about Sienna.”
He turned back to face me. His glasses reflected the flickering light of the fire. “I’m sure she’ll turn up.”
I was speechless. That wasn’t the response I’d expected from Sienna’s stepfather.
“I want to help in any way I can. I could go through Sienna’s social media accounts… contact her friends?”
“The police are already doing that.”
“Maybe tomorrow I could hand out posters or something in Wokingham or Reading. It’s a long shot, I know, but someone must have seen her… She must be devastated to run off like this.” I was babbling, but it was better than slowing down so my brain could dwell on the various things that could have happened to Sienna. The best case scenario, as far as I was concerned, was that Sienna had heard about her mother’s death, and unable to cope emotionally, she’d run away. The alternative was much worse. Sienna hadn’t run away… Something or someone had prevented her from returning home.
Steve made an odd sound, a cross between a laugh and a sob as he walked closer to me. He had a smudge of charcoal on his left cheek. “Thanks for caring, Abbie. But Sienna will come back eventually.”
“You don’t think Sienna…”
“I don’t mean to be rude, Abbie, but I’m not up to talking about Sienna yet.”
I stared at him. Not up to talking about Sienna? His stepdaughter was missing. His wife had been murdered, and I would have thought he’d be desperate to know whether Sienna was safe.
I swallowed, trying really hard to understand his behaviour. People reacted to grief in strange ways. The last thing Steve needed from me was judgement.
“Okay, Steve. Just let me know how I can help.”
Maybe I could have been more sympathetic. I could have said I understood, but the truth was, I didn’t. I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t more worried about Sienna.
“That’s just it. There’s nothing you can do to help. Nicole is dead.” His features tightened as he said those words. “I know you want to help, but no one can.”
He moved past me, walking quickly back towards the house, leaving me staring at the flickering flames of the bonfire.
I felt like I’d been talking at cross purposes with Steve. Of course, nothing I could do would bring Nicole back or make him feel better, but there were practical things I could do to help. For a start, I could look for Sienna. I could help with the funeral arrangements and contact Nicole’s friends to let them know what had happened.
I took a step back as the bonfire crackled, hissed and released a plume of smoke. I turned to look back at Yew Tree House.
Would the funeral be delayed? The fact Nicole had been murdered must make it difficult to arrange things. I didn’t know when the police would release Nicole’s body or whether they’d already done so.
I wanted to help him because he was Nicole’s husband and Sienna’s stepfather, but Steve and I had never been close, and I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to confide in me now. I walked away from the crackling bonfire and back into the house. It was time for me to leave. I’d offer again to help Steve in a day or two but understood why he wanted to be alone now.
As I stepped into the kitchen, I heard a low whining sound.
It was coming from the utility room, the small room off the kitchen that stored the washing machine, tumble dryer and large chest freezer. I opened the door and saw Charlie lying on the floor. His basket was beside him, but he’d chosen to lie on the flagstones. It was a warm night so perhaps that was his way of cooling down.
“Hey, Charlie, how are you doing, boy?” I asked and knelt down beside him.
He looked up at me with big, sad, intelligent eyes, and I wondered how much he understood. He’d obviously picked up on the atmosphere in the house and had to be missing Nicole. It must have been very confusing for him.
I wasn’t sure why he’d been shut in the utility room. Was that Angie’s doing? Or Steve’s? Charlie normally had the run of the house. He was a gentle, well-behaved dog and was usually happy to greet visitors with a wagging tail. Perhaps a dog with a more exuberant personality would have to be shut away when the house was full of strangers, but Charlie had always reacted well to new people. I stroked him and muttered reassuring words. I doubt it helped a great deal, but maybe some human interaction would make him feel less lonely.
His water bowl was nearly empty, so I filled it at the small sink in the utility room and put it back beside him on the floor. He had a full bowl of food that he hadn’t touched. That was definitely a sign he was upset. Nicole was always joking any food they dropped on the floor was hoovered up within a fraction of a second by Charlie.
I had an overwhelming urge to take Charlie with me. But that was ridiculous. The hotel wouldn’t allow dogs, and besides, Charlie belonged here with Steve and Sienna.
“I’d better go now, Charlie, but I’ll see you soon.”
Charlie raised his head when I reached the door, and when I opened it, he rested his head back on the floor and gave another soft whine. I reluctantly closed the door behind me.
There was no sign of Steve downstairs, so I said goodbye to the family liaison office
r and headed for my hire car. My feet crunched over the gravel, and halfway across the driveway, I turned and stared back at the house.
I felt an odd sensation someone was watching me, but there was no one there when I looked. I unlocked the car and got in. As I started the engine, I noticed my hands were trembling.
I needed a place to stay and wanted to be as close to Yew Tree House as possible in case Sienna returned. The DeVere Hotel in Eversley was the nearest place to stay. I hoped they’d have a vacant room. I wouldn’t be staying there for long, though. It wasn’t cheap.
In less than five minutes, I pulled onto the long road leading to Warbrook House. The large mansion had been built in the eighteenth century and recently converted to a hotel and conference centre. I’d grown up in the area and knew of Warbrook House, but I’d never stayed there before. It felt odd coming back here and having to stay in a hotel. Despite being less than a five-minute drive from Nicole’s house, the hotel was actually in the neighbouring county of Hampshire rather than Berkshire.
I parked, grabbed my luggage from the boot and headed to the entrance. The reception area had been modernised, and the lobby was relatively quiet. A receptionist sat behind a high desk, I wasn’t sure whether she was very short or her chair was too small, but she could barely see over the top of the counter.
I asked for a room and gave the receptionist my details. My luck was in. They didn’t have any single occupancy rooms, but she offered me a deal on a standard double room, including breakfast. The price made me wince, but I was too tired to look for anywhere else.
She got to her feet, gave me a tentative smile and started the check-in process. She kept shooting me nervous glances, and I wondered whether I’d seen her before at some point. I tried to organise the jumble of thoughts in my head as I filled out the paperwork, but it was no good, I couldn’t place her.
“Thank you, Miss Morris,” she said quietly. “You’re in room thirty-two. That’s just up the stairs to your right. Breakfast will be served between seven thirty and nine thirty tomorrow morning.”
I thanked her, leaned down to grab my bag, and headed for the stairs.
My legs ached as I climbed the stairs. Travelling had drained my energy, and I was looking forward to getting some sleep. I walked down the corridor glancing at the room numbers until I finally reached room thirty-two. Using the key card, I opened the door and held it open with my hip as I put the card in the slot beside the light switch.
The lights flickered on, but it didn’t make much difference. I always found hotel rooms too dark. It was almost as though they didn’t want you to see into the corners of the room.
The door was heavy, a fire precaution presumably. I gave it an extra hard shove as I made my way into the room. Unfortunately, as it swung closed again, it caught the edge of my bag, and I groaned knowing that it had probably hit my laptop.
Inside, I put my holdall on the luggage rack and headed to the bathroom to wash my hands and face. The bathroom mirror gave me a clue as to why the receptionist had regarded me so strangely. I had a black smear of dirt on one cheek. I rubbed the mark with a finger and it came away easily. I must have somehow got some charcoal on me from the bonfire.
My hair was a mess, the result of hours of travelling, and my eyes were wide. I looked wired, like someone on the edge. No wonder the receptionist had been a little wary of me.
I washed up. I really wanted to take a shower, but first I needed a drink.
I took a miniature gin and small can of tonic water from the minibar and fixed myself a G&T. Relieved to see my hands had stopped shaking, I swallowed down the drink in three gulps.
I’d needed that.
I couldn’t shake the feeling there was something strange about this situation. The tragedy of Nicole’s death alone was enough to turn my world upside down, but the fact no one knew where Sienna was had me on the edge of panic.
The atmosphere at Yew Tree House had been odd, too. I’d expected sadness, grief and tears, but it was almost as though everyone had been waiting for the other penny to drop, preparing themselves for more bad news.
I couldn’t allow myself to think that way. There was no reason to believe any harm had come to Sienna. The most logical explanation was that she was distraught after her mother’s death and needed some time alone.
I put the empty glass on the desk and walked back to the bathroom.
I took a quick shower, fiddling with the impossibly small bottles of shampoo and shower gel the hotel provided. It seemed to take an age to get enough shampoo out of the bottle to create a lather. But letting the hot water wash away the grime of travelling felt good.
Wrapped in a towelling robe, I grabbed my laptop and put it on charge. There wasn’t much I could do to find Sienna tonight. My search would have to begin in earnest tomorrow, but I could at least send her a message so she knew I was here for her if she wanted to talk.
I sat at the desk, even though I longed to lie down on the bed and put my feet up after such a long day, because the battery on the laptop was nearly empty, and I wanted to send Sienna a message before it got too late.
It should have been easy to type a quick message to let Sienna know I was thinking of her, but it was harder than I’d expected.
I started off typing: Sienna, I’m so sorry…
Chewing on a thumbnail, I paused to think over why I was sorry. I was sorry for so many things. I was sorry that Nicole’s death had left Sienna motherless at only fifteen, but I regretted letting Sienna drift away from me over the past few years.
I took a deep breath, put my fingers back on the keyboard and continued with the message.
I flew back to the UK as soon as I heard the news. Please come back home. If you need me, I’m staying at the DeVere hotel in Eversley. I’d love to hear from you if only to know that you are safe. As I’m still using my Indian mobile, calls will probably be expensive, but you can contact me through messenger if that’s easier.
I added my mobile number at the bottom of the text and stared at the message on the screen for a few seconds and then hit send. I waited, hoping that she had messenger on her phone and would see the message straight away. There was a small tick mark by my message, indicating it had been sent. That should change to read once Sienna had seen it.
When Sienna had been younger, I emailed her a few times a week. She loved to get emails in the same way I’d loved to get letters when I was a little girl, but slowly, I’d drifted out of the habit of sending the emails.
I looked at Sienna’s Facebook profile. There was nothing new of note. Just a few more messages from her friends offering their condolences, still no responses from Sienna at all.
I clicked over to my own profile page, opening up the photographs. I had quite a few with Nicole. I hadn’t had a Facebook account when I’d been at college studying nursing — thank God! Facebook hadn’t existed then. That was definitely a good thing in my opinion. I was glad my drunken exploits wouldn’t be visible to the world for the rest of my life.
But Nicole had scanned and uploaded some of our old photographs from our last year at university in Southampton. We looked so young! I clicked on one of the images, enlarging it. Both Nicole and I smiled widely at the camera, drinks in hand. I didn’t remember the occasion but we both looked happy. We were sitting on the grass, probably outside the uni bar. Nicole looked so vibrant and happy. I studied her face as though I could commit every last detail to memory. I focused on her curly hair, pale skin and expressive, big, blue eyes. She had been so beautiful.
I clicked on to the next photograph. It was also taken in our third year, and I remembered it had been taken shortly after an awards ceremony. I was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans and beaming at the camera, or whoever was taking the photograph, like a mad person, holding up my bottle of Corona. My eyes were slightly unfocused. It hadn’t been my first bottle that night.
Nicole stood beside me, wearing a purple jersey dress and thick black tights. We were surrounded by friends. Tom, a
medical student, who looked even more drunk than me, gave the camera a goofy smile. Sammy had an arm around Tom’s shoulder and her mouth was open as though she’d been in the middle of a sentence when the photo was taken.
Nicole stood on my left, but she was the only one not looking directly at the camera. Instead, she looked off to her right. Her face was pensive and tense. It was hard to see what she was looking at.
The photograph had been taken in the student union bar, I remembered that night well. Nearly all the students from our course were there as well as some of the professors. After a tense week preparing our final presentations, everyone was letting off steam. For our degree course, we were required to give a presentation about a clinical subject of our choice, and afterwards the top three were given an award.
After overcoming my fear of speaking in public, I’d been allocated third place overall. I’d been thrilled and determined to celebrate into the early hours. Perhaps that’s why I hadn’t noticed Nicole wasn’t relaxed and happy like the rest of us.
She was looking towards a group of teaching assistants and professors. The majority of them had their backs to the camera, and it was hard to tell who was who. It didn’t help that over fifteen years had passed since that night. I recognised Professor Elaine Johnson from her closely cropped hairstyle and her shoulder pads. Her jackets were like something straight out of the eighties. Beside her stood Professor Eric Ross, who’d taken our biochemistry classes. I recognised him from his signature tweed jacket. A couple of others looked familiar, but I couldn’t place them after all this time.
I shut the laptop, climbed into bed and sighed. The photograph was a moment frozen in time. A passing expression on Nicole’s face had been captured, but it didn’t tell the whole story.
I closed my eyes and leaned back against the pillows. I was reading too much into an old photograph because I was on edge. The picture must have been taken around the time Nicole discovered she was pregnant with Sienna.
