Daria's Daughter

by Linda Huber

  ‘Margie! It’s Liane from over the garden. I’ve got Tabitha here with her kittens. Is Frith with you?’ Silence. Liane slid the box with Tabitha and her family into the bottom of the nearest cupboard and left the door open a few centimetres. There. Privacy for Tabitha for as long as she wanted it. Now to find her daughter, and it was sounding mighty quiet in this house.

  ‘Frith! Are you here?’

  Nothing. Could Margie have taken the girls to the shops? Without asking, that would be a bit much. The cats had all followed her inside and were milling around her legs and miaowing, so Liane filled one of the bowls with water – the sink was as bad as the floor – and set it down. Several cats pounced on it, so she filled another to stop a riot, then listened again. Still nothing.

  Liane came to a decision. She would check the house first, then if she didn’t find the girls, she’d run up the road to the shops, and if they weren’t there – she didn’t know what she would do.

  She strode through the kitchen into the hallway, where the carpet was thick with cat hairs and the smell matched the appearance. An ancient wicker cat bed was behind the front door, and a frayed old woollen cardigan was hanging on the stair post, a long tear visible at one shoulder. Horror choked Liane. Poor old Margie; she wasn’t taking care of herself, that was clear – why the heck had Bridie’s mum left her here? It was incomprehensible. The only piece of furniture in the hallway was a little table, a solitary envelope lying beneath it. Liane squinted down. The back side was uppermost, with the sender’s name, but judging by the frayed edges and smudges of dirt, the cats had been playing with it. The only readable letter was a capital A. She stepped past it.

  The living room furniture was old and shabby and the television was like something from the 1950s. This room, too, could be in one of those ghastly TV programmes about people deep cleaning houses. Cat hairs were everywhere, and piles of crockery, mostly mugs, lay on every available piece of furniture. Liane moved across to the window, where a knitted blanket was scrunched up, partially covering a lighter-coloured pink garment with a zip. Were all these cat beds?

  A dull sound came from upstairs, and Liane’s heart leaped. ‘Margie? Frith?’ She scuttled back to the hallway. Oh, no. Suppose Margie was ill up there, or worse? Liane clenched her fists.

  ‘Margie? I’m coming upstairs. It’s Liane, Frith’s mum.’ Silence from above. Liane held her arms crossed over her front as she walked upstairs and put her head into the main bedroom. An unmade bed, a wooden chair, a thick smell. The grime-covered bathroom had several inches of disgusting dirty water in the bath, which glugged and moved as Liane stood there. That was the sound she’d heard. What was presumably Bridie’s room held a chest of drawers and a bed covered with two knitted blankets. There wasn’t a toy in sight; oh, this was awful, poor Bridie. But this house was empty, and she had to find her girl. Move, Liane.

  Outside, up the hill, fast as she could, and along the road. Heart thumping, Liane jogged towards the shops. Frith… Daria’s face slid into her mind, and she moaned inwardly. But here she was at the top already.

  The little row of shops only held four possibilities. Liane stuck her head into the chemist’s, the minimarket, the post office and the newsagent’s in turn. No Margie, no girls. The fifth shop was empty, but a poster on the boarded-up window announced a charity shop was opening there soon. Back home, quick, Liane.

  It was faster going downhill. Liane thundered back into Margie’s kitchen, where the same silence reigned. She grappled for her phone and called their landline. If Frithy’d gone home in between, she’d answer that. Nothing. Could Margie have taken the girls somewhere else? Surely not.

  Or – oh, no. Had the girls gone to the park? Those little toughies were still around. Or – Tony?

  Liane ran across the garden, connecting to Tony’s phone on the way. For a wonder, he took the call.

  ‘I can’t talk now, Liane, we’re in the middle of rehearsing. I’ll call you back.’ The connection broke.

  Frith wasn’t with him. It was time to get help, proper help. Liane ran across their own garden, but the silence that greeted her at the back door told its own story. She flipped her phone open again. How many times had she called 999 for an ambulance to take a blue and gasping Frith to hospital? This time: ‘Police. My daughter’s missing. She’s four.’

  The woman on the phone took details and promised help straightaway. Liane’s fingers were shaking so hard she could barely make them do what she needed them to, but eventually she connected to Steve. Voicemail; he was at work. Could nothing go right today? Sobs choking her, she left a garbled message and collapsed onto a hard kitchen chair.

  The police were as good as their word. Minutes later, a car drew up outside, and Liane flew to the front door. Two officers, a middle-aged man and a younger woman, were walking up the path.

  ‘Liane Morton? Is it your girl who’s missing?’ The man flashed his ID at her. Sergeant David Bryson. The woman was PC Jill Summers.

  Liane stood back to let them in, then took them into the living room.

  ‘Tell us exactly what happened.’

  David Bryson's face grew progressively grimmer as Liane went through a brief account of that morning. ‘Okay. We’ll need more detail than that, but we’ll get the search started first. I’ll need a photo of Frith.’

  Liane scrolled through the photos on her phone and tapped on a good one. She passed it to Jill. The sergeant was on his phone, talking to heaven knows who about her child. Liane clasped her hands to her chest, rocking back and forth on the sofa.

  There was nothing more she could do now.

  Chapter 41

  The road with the buses was busy. Evie stared along it, first one way, then the other. Some of these houses were like Mummy’s and Daddy’s – this must be the right way. She started along the road.

  Frith was pulling at her arm. ‘Bridie, we should go home. My mummy would be cross if she knew I was here.’

  ‘If we find my mummy, she can explain to yours.’

  Frith’s chin was wobbling. ‘It might take a long time to find your mummy. We haven’t even found the house yet.’

  Evie blinked hard. It was true. The houses here were different nice houses, not the one she and Mummy and Daddy lived in. But she didn’t want to go back to Mammy’s when Mammy wasn’t there.

  Frith took two steps back the way they’d come. ‘Oh, no! Look! Let’s go.’

  She pointed along the road, and Evie turned to see what was wrong. A little group of boys was coming their way. They were big boys and they were shouting in a nasty way and kicking a can along the pavement. Evie grabbed Frith’s hand and they went quick quick quick back down the hill.

  A lady was coming out of a gate as they were running past.

  ‘Careful, girls. Where are you two off to so fast?’

  ‘We’re going home. Down there.’ Frith pointed, then grabbed Evie’s hand again and off they went.

  The woman called after them. ‘Better stay at home – you’re too small to be out alone!’

  Evie could hardly breathe for running so fast when they arrived back at Mammy’s garden.

  Frith made a big ‘Uff!’ just like Mammy. ‘Shall we tell Mummy you can’t find your mammy? She’d know what to do.’

  Evie pulled her hand away. Mammy wouldn’t like that, would she? Remember what she’d said about the shouty old lady who lived next door and was always banging on their door and being nasty. Mammy never talked to other grown-ups.

  She shook her head. ‘No. Mammy would be cross if we did that – maybe she’s home again. I’ll go in and look and you can wait in the den.’ She pulled Frith up the path and gave her a little push towards the bush with the purple flowers before running to the back door.

  ‘Mammy?’ The kitchen was quiet, and Evie stood still. There was no one here, you could tell. And Mammy wasn’t in the garden. Evie rushed up to the bathroom, then on the way downstairs again a noise came in from outside – sirens!

  She stood still,
arms crossed over her front, her eyes scrunched up. The sirens were making her tummy wobble and it was nasty. There’d been sirens before, hadn’t there? She was with Mammy somewhere, and the sirens were behind them in the rain, going to – were they going to Mummy? And her head had hurt and it was all so funny and wrong. Were these sirens going to Mummy too? Evie crouched down, hugging her tummy as huge big waves of wanting to go to Mummy washed over her. It was like jumping into the swimming pool, and all the water went everywhere, but then Mummy would catch her and it was fun again. She had to find Mummy.

  Evie ran, quick as she could round the side of the house to the front gate, and peered back up the hill. The sirens were gone, but they’d been going this way, hadn’t they? Up to the nice houses? She started up the hill, then stopped. Frith was waiting in the den. But this was more important. She’d go up the hill again and look along the other road, very quickly. The bad boys weren’t there any longer, and Mummy would be happy when Evie came home.

  Her legs were sore when she got to the top. The big road wasn’t as busy now and there weren’t any buses coming. Evie stood at the corner and looked downhill. Mammy’s house was such a long way away down there, it was hard to see which one it was. She would go along here for two minutes and look at the nice houses to see if Mummy was back yet. Or Daddy. Evie trotted along, keeping to the inside of the pavement because Mummy always made her walk on that side because it was further away from the cars. It would be so nice when she found Mummy again and got a big squishy cuddle and smelled Mummy’s lovely perfume. This must be the right way, surely. The houses along here had gardens in front of them and they all had trees and bushes, too, mostly big ones.

  Evie ducked into one driveway where you couldn’t see the house properly from the pavement. It wasn’t her house – she’d known that, hadn’t she? She was just being careful.

  Was Frith still in the den? Evie crouched down by the garden wall of the house that wasn’t her old one. Her legs were too tired to run.

  ‘Hello there! Are you having a rest?’

  A lady was standing on the pavement, not as old as Mammy but older than Mummy, and she was smiling.

  Evie stood up. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you all by yourself? Is this your house?’

  Evie wound one leg around the other. ‘No, I live over there.’ She pointed behind the old lady. ‘I’m out playing with my friend. She’s in our den.’

  The lady moved on a step. ‘That’s nice. You stay in the garden, though, pet, this is a busy road.’ She walked away, her shopping bag swinging in one hand. Evie waited a few minutes, then hurried on in the other direction. She was the only person going this way on the whole long pavement. An old man was across the road, walking along the other way and holding a great big grey coat around him in a funny way. He stopped and waved to Evie. And—

  Another siren. Evie stood still. It wasn’t far away, but it wasn’t on this street. She came to another road and checked both ways before running across. It was a little street like Mammy’s. And now there was another siren, and – oh! Policemen! They were walking up the other road, quite a long way away but they were coming closer.

  Evie ducked into a gate and crouched behind the garden wall to think. This wasn’t fun, and she still hadn’t found Mummy. It might be better to go back to Mammy’s and see what Frith was doing. Frith’s mummy would be able to help, even if it did make Mammy cross. Yes.

  She left the wall and sped back the way she’d come. Across this road, careful – and on and on and the next road was the big hill down to Mammy’s house. Evie came to the corner and stopped, her hands flying to her face. Oh, no. There were policemen down there too – a lot of them, all walking about, and two police cars as well. Policemen were scary. What were they doing? She watched for a moment. They were going in gates and knocking on doors, that was what. Better stay away until they were gone.

  Evie scurried across the road. Here were some shops. She stuck her head into a little one with tins and sweeties, but Mammy wasn’t there and a lady was looking at her so she ran off again, past the shops and on – there were a lot of trees in the distance, like in a park. She could go there and wait for the policemen to go away again. There might be swings, too.

  Three men were coming this way on the pavement, all laughing and pushing each other, so Evie ducked into another garden and hid behind a bush until they were past. The park was after the next lamp post. She slid through the big black iron gate and stood looking around, then walked slowly along the path. This wasn’t a park, though. It was the place they brought the dead people to bury them, and then other people brought flowers to remember. They’d gone past in the car one day and Mummy had told her all about it. Evie walked on slowly. She’d been in here once before, hadn’t she? With Mammy. There were a lot of flowers, and some big stones standing up with writing on them. Some of the stones weren’t standing straight, and the ones over on the other side were very old. She came to a little path between a row of old stones and hesitated. It was better on the big path, but further along there was – oh, no, it was the same old man who’d waved at her before. Evie scuttled into the smaller pathway and walked along looking at the old stones. There weren’t many flowers here, so maybe the people buried here had no one to remember them. That was sad. The trees were nice, though, and there was a great big one with floppy branches in the middle. She’d go and look at that in a minute – oh! What was that?

  It was like music, except it wasn’t. Evie crept further along the pathway.

  Day Thirty-Two – Monday 18th May (afternoon)

  Chapter 42

  Everything was fuzzy and far, far away. Margie screwed up her eyes – it was still too bright here. The voices around her had gone funny too, sometimes right up in her ear, sometimes so distant she could barely hear them. It wasn’t unpleasant, more the sensation of something unravelling. Where was she? Where was Ned? And, oh, her Bridie. Her darlin’ girl. This was no use; it was time to go back to Bantry Bay and sit on the beach, yes.

  The light and the voices faded as Margie sank into the dream. Looking out over the sea, the wind in her hair and high-pitched small voices all around as happy children splashed and shrieked. Her Ned, his arm slung around her, pulling her close to steal a kiss. This was heaven.

  ‘Hello, my love. Want a drink?’ A hand was gripping hers, and Margie opened her eyes, shaking her head slowly. This wasn’t heaven; she was in hospital, she remembered now. But why? Everything was fine. Truth to tell, she hadn’t felt this good for a long time. The young man was nice; eyes like her Ned’s, he had. Was this Aiden? He had his daddy’s eyes. But no, Aiden was over the sea and far away. When would she see him again?

  But she wouldn’t, not in this life.

  Stark certainty chilled her to her bones, and Margie’s moan came straight from her soul. She wasn’t long for the world. Would death come here, in this warm, soft place where the voices around her were kind? She moved her head to see more. The young man called Steve had pulled up a chair by her bed. That was nice. She tried to smile at him.

  ‘What’s your name, love? Is there anyone at home we could get in to be with you?’

  Home was Ireland. And Bridie, where was she? She’d left Bridie – no, she was looking for Bridie.

  ‘Find my girl.’

  ‘We’re trying to find your Aiden. What’s your girl called?’

  ‘Daisy. And Ermie. Find all my girls and boys.’

  ‘I’ll get someone onto that for you. Are they in Ireland? No? Here in Glasgow? We should be able to find someone, then. You hang on for me.’

  A buzzing noise was coming from his pocket. He fumbled with something – and then he was gone again. Like Bridie, he was, here one minute, gone the next.

  And the fog was everywhere and the waves were crashing on the beach and her lips were salty from the spray. Her Ned, her Bridie, they were there and they were waiting. And oh, it hurt her cheeks to smile.

  The young man was back. He was frowning, but he took her ha
nd in his again.

  ‘We’re looking for Daisy now and Nurse Stella’s coming to see you too. You know, the one from Ireland.’

  Ireland. But Daisy wasn’t in Ireland, and neither was—

  ‘Find my li’l baby girl.’

  ‘We’re trying to find someone for you, my love. Can you tell me your name?’

  Darkness was hovering. ‘Margaret. Margaret and Ned.’ They’d made their vows to be man and wife, and they had been. He was the only one for her, her Ned.

  ‘Okay, Margaret.’

  Her eyes were closing and she couldn’t stop them, but the hands enclosing hers were warm. Margie held on for dear life. The world was moving, far away into the distance then swooping up close. The fog lifted for a second.

  ‘Find Bridie. And Daisy and Topsy. And Tabitha and her kits, all my babies.’

  ‘Bridie? Kits?’

  The young man was squeezing her hand, just like her Ned had.

  ‘My baby girl.’

  He was stroking her head, and the world was leaving her. Or she was leaving the world. Her Ned, her Ned was waiting, with her darlin’ li’l Bridie.

  ‘Don’t worry, my love. We’ll find your girls. I’ll look after them for you.’

  His voice faded as the rushing in her ears started, the sound of the sea. It was everywhere. Her Ned was holding her hand, so warm and firm. Summer sunshine was chasing the darkness, everything was light and airy and she was floating, away, away into brightness and she’d never be back, she’d never be—

  Time of death, 13.47.

  Chapter 43

  Liane banged her phone down on the kitchen table. That was the second time she’d tried to call Steve, but his phone was still off. There had to be a way to contact him in an emergency. Or didn’t newish partners count as people who were allowed to interrupt him? If they’d been married it would have been different. Or if he’d been Frith’s dad.