by Linda Huber
There were more police officers here than she could count, and she’d given them every last detail about Frith’s short life that might be relevant. ‘All’ she had to do was wait in the kitchen with PC Jill, who was evidently there to look after her – or perhaps to make sure she didn’t do anything dodgy? The police had gone through the entire house looking for God knows what before departing outside. They were going up and down the street now, searching for Frith and Bridie, and Margie too, though whether they were all together was anyone’s guess.
Her mobile buzzed on the table, and she scrabbled to connect. Steve, at last.
‘I’m sorry, Liane, but I was with an old lady who was dying. I’m wondering—’
‘Frith’s disappeared. I’m scared, Steve. It isn’t Tony this time. She seems to have run off and – can you come?’
‘Oh, no. I’ll be with you ASAP. Have you called the—’
‘They’re here now.’
‘Hold on, love. I’ll be right with you.’
Liane ended the call and sat panting, fighting for control. Having the police here taking everything so seriously made it all so horribly real.
Jill was making tea. ‘Here you are. Drink that, it’ll help.’
No, it wouldn’t, but at least it was hot. Liane sat with icy hands cupped around the mug until Steve arrived. He came straight in without ringing the bell, and she staggered over to him. He smelled of hospitals.
‘Oh, Steve. The police are asking round all the houses nearby. If they don’t find her, they’ll start a larger search.’
He grabbed her, and she held on tightly, the beat of his heart pulsating against her face.
‘She must be somewhere, love. We’ll get her back. She’ll be engrossed in her game again and not listening for shouts.’
Oh, no, she wouldn’t. Liane dropped down at the table again, and Steve pulled a chair up close and sat hugging her.
‘Again? Has this happened before?’ Jill leaned forward.
Liane’s hands were in constant motion. ‘Once – she didn’t come straightaway when I called her. I think she was testing the boundaries after being sickly for so long. She and Bridie, they have dens in the gardens and—’ Liane came to a halt. ‘I’m babbling.’
Jill reached for her phone. ‘I’ll pass that on, and about the dens too, but they’ll be searching the gardens, don’t worry.’
Steve took Liane’s hand, gazing up at the police officer. ‘Wait, this might need passing on too. Liane, the old lady who died in the A&E short-term ward today – she was brought in yesterday, but she wouldn’t give a name right up until the last moment when she said Margaret. I’m wondering if she might have been Margie. She talked about an Aiden, and her kits, and just at the end she mentioned Bridie and Daisy. If it was Margie, then no one’s living over there now. Frith and Bridie would be out alone.’
Jill got to her feet. ‘Can you find out if your old lady’s been identified yet, please?’ She moved out to the hall and started calling in the new information.
Liane held Steve’s hand while he had a short conversation with someone at the hospital before ending the call. Apparently, the old woman’s identity still wasn’t clear.
He put his phone on the table. ‘They’re going to send a pic of her clothes – we’ll see if you recognise them.’
Liane frowned. It seemed unnecessarily complicated. ‘Can’t they send a photo of her?’
‘They might to the police, but not to me. She still has patient confidentiality.’
Did it matter, when the woman was dead? Liane jumped as another call came into her phone. Daria. This wasn’t what she needed.
‘Hi, Liane, I’m wondering if you’ve found a gold chain bracelet? I lost one yesterday but – what’s wrong?’
A sob escaped as Liane tried to control her breathing. ‘Frith’s gone missing. Bridie too. And Margie might be dead.’
‘Oh, no. You must be out of your mind. Let me know if I can do anything. I’ll call you another time.’
Liane was left listening to a silent phone. What if she never saw Frith again? How did Daria cope?
Jill came back in. ‘Our officers have spoken to some people who noticed the girls on the street this morning, heading up the hill, and someone else saw a dark-haired child alone later on. It’s looking hopeful they’re in the area.’
Liane forced back a sob. She needed more than ‘hopeful’. A few minutes later Steve’s phone vibrated. He seized it and tapped, then held it out to Liane.
‘Here you go. Do you think these could be Margie’s?’
The pair of trousers could have been anyone’s. It was impossible to see details on the photo. Steve swiped to the next image, and Liane grabbed his arm.
‘Yes! That’s her pullover – she was wearing it the other day. I remember the baggy neckline. And—’ She used her thumb and finger to enlarge the image. ‘Look how frayed it is, too. Oh, no – she’s dead?’
Liane leaned against Steve. How unreal this all was; her whole body was raw with pain. In the course of an hour, her life had morphed from Frith hiding, to her little girl being lost or abducted. A shiver ran straight through Liane’s gut – there’d been those young hooligans in the park recently. Okay, there was a difference between pinching a little kid’s skateboard and physically harming her, but if some idiot scared Frith even a tiny bit… Shuddering, Liane pressed the heels of her hands on her eyes. She was one of those mothers you saw on the news on TV, with shiny, blotchy faces, grief and horror etched in every pore and wearing God knows what. She was a member of the sisterhood no one wanted to join, condemned because she hadn’t watched her child every second of every hour. Her stomach heaved and she fled from the room, hearing Steve tell Jill to leave her for a moment. Bless him.
Liane vomited into the downstairs loo, then leaned against the basin, panting. A knock on the door, and Steve was behind her. He filled a glass with water and handed it over.
‘Hold on, Liane. It’s all we can do.’
She stood there, rinsing and spitting while he leaned against the wall, one hand on her back. For four years, she’d been there for Frith, through three ops and countless procedures, with loving, reassuring words on her lips and terror in her heart. She’d managed that, but this was so much harder. It wasn’t true that watching someone you loved go through hell was the most difficult thing you’d ever do. Not being able to watch was ten times worse, a million times worse, and where was her baby?
Steve passed her a towel, and Liane pressed it to her cheeks.
‘I’m all right.’ She wasn’t, but he’d know what she meant.
The back door crashed open. ‘Mummy!’
Oh, my days. Liane raced out and Frith flew into her arms, panic streaming from every cell in her body.
‘Mummy! Bridie went away and she didn’t come back to the den and Margie’s got lost too and there are policemen in all the gardens and I’m scared, Mummy, what’s happening?’
Liane sank to her knees in the middle of the kitchen with Frith in her arms. Her baby. She had her girl back and whatever had happened, Frith was okay. Shaking, agitated, but she was here and no one had hurt her… and oh, thank you, thank you. She cradled the little girl, inhaling deeply. Frith was panting against her chest, her hot little head pressed into Liane’s neck.
‘Frithy, where did Bridie go? It’s important we find her because, um, Margie’s in hospital. That’s why the police are here, we need to find Bridie to help her.’
‘Margie’s in hospital?’ Frith’s mouth and eyes were round Os of astonishment and dismay. ‘Who’s going to look after Bridie? And the cats?’
Jill pulled a chair up beside them. ‘That’s what we have to organise.’
In two minutes, Jill had the story from Frith – the trip up to the main road and back, and Bridie going inside and not coming back – then went out to the hall to call the news in. Liane stroked Frith’s back; the poor kid was trembling. And, oh, heck, poor Bridie. Looking for her mammy, and all the time Margie was
dying in hospital.
Twenty minutes later, Sergeant Bryson knocked on the back door and came in holding three clear plastic bags containing what might be grimy rags from Margie’s house. His expression was grim – what did that mean?
He came inside and sat down. ‘We’ve been in Margie Donohoe’s. Did you know it’s in a state?’
‘Yes. I went in this morning to look for Frith.’
‘We’ve found several things that could be Bridie’s – we need something for the dogs to scent. Can you tell me if she’s worn any of these clothes recently?’
Liane kept hold of Frith’s arm. ‘Look, but don’t touch, sweetie. Did Bridie have anything here on this weekend?’
Frith leaned over, and together they stared at the bags. One held a truly ancient pair of cotton trousers and a T-shirt, another a filthy pink jacket. Liane peered at the washing label on the jacket: Lavado a máquina 30°.
Sergeant Bryson was looking too. ‘Does the family have any connection to Spain, do you know?’
Liane and Frith both spoke at once.
‘I don’t think—’
‘Bridie’s mummy goes to Spain a lot. And Bridie was wearing that T-shirt yesterday.’
The sergeant smiled. ‘Good girl. That’s what we need to know.’
Chapter 44
Daria slid her glass into the dishwasher and swung through to Kit’s living room, where her phone was on the coffee table. Everything was so hard, so impossible. Thinking over and over about Evie and her death and what life would be without her – she would go mad if she went on like this.
So, this was the end of the road. She would make today the first day of the rest of this new life she’d never wished for, and it was up to her to make it a success. She lifted her phone and connected to the GP surgery.
‘It’s Daria Geddes here. My little girl died in a road accident a few weeks ago, and I’d like to organise bereavement counselling. How should I go about it?’
‘Mrs Geddes, yes.’ Keyboard sounds punctuated the woman’s voice. ‘I can give you an appointment to see the nurse here, and she’ll go over your options with you. Would Wednesday at ten o’clock suit you?’
Daria accepted. There. She had taken a step towards facing tomorrow. She lifted a magazine and leafed through it, then flung it back on the coffee table, the brief burst of positivity over.
It didn’t matter what she did, the constant Evie-ache was still pulling at her heart – and now there was Frith, too. Frith’s smiling face slid into her mind, and Daria reached for her crutches. It was awful when you were het up and worried, and couldn’t pace around the room like you were itching to. Would Liane let her know if Frith was found? She got up and went to the window overlooking the botanic gardens. A young family with two little boys on scooters were heading for the park gates. Daria swallowed hard. She and Noah would have brought Evie here too, if things had been different.
It was nearly an hour since she’d called Liane. A quick text to find out how the search was going; she could do that. Now she knew how people had felt about calling her after Evie’s death. It was hard to find the right line between being concerned and being too familiar.
She sat down again with her phone, her heart beating faster – but it had beaten faster still for Evie, hadn’t it? Any news yet? xx
The phone rang almost before Daria had drawn breath. ‘Sorry, Daria – she’s found. I should have let you know.’
Liane’s voice was brittle – something still wasn’t right.
‘Is she hurt?’
‘No, she’s fine. She and Bridie went walkabout, then came back to their den, but Bridie’s gone missing again. And it seems that Margie who she was living with, her grandmother…’
Liane’s voice dropped on the next few words, and Daria pressed her phone to her ear.
‘… passed away today, in hospital.’
‘Oh, no. Liane, I know you have lots of closer friends, but – I mean – can I do anything?’
There was silence for a few seconds, and Daria flinched. The two of them were more acquaintances than friends nowadays, and Liane had Steve there to help; he and Frith were talking in the background.
Liane’s voice was still low. ‘If you could come round, it might be helpful, thanks, Daria. Most people are at work, and they – the police – are looking for Margie’s relatives, but I may have to go to the hospital later, you know, for, um, Margie, and I’d like Steve with me if I do.’
Daria flinched. Identifying your dead neighbour, how terrible. ‘Of course I can come and stay with Frith. I’ll be with you in quarter of an hour.’
Daria rang off and ordered a taxi. Rain was spotting the windows as they drove across the city. She gazed out glumly. That poor little girl, out all alone, lost and maybe panicking. It was an odd story about the grandmother in hospital, though. Why had nobody helped the child?
Steve opened the door when Daria arrived at Liane’s. ‘Good to see you, Daria. Come in.’
He ushered her into the living room, where a young woman in police uniform was sitting on an armchair while Liane and Frith were on the sofa, Liane with a white face and Frith absorbed in an iPad.
Daria sat down carefully in the other armchair and laid her crutches on the floor. Liane grimaced at her. ‘Still no Bridie. Coffee?’
Steve was on his feet already. ‘I’ll make it. Milk and sugar, Jill?’
The police officer got up too. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’
‘Can I have an ice lolly? Please?’ Frith put the iPad on the arm of the sofa, then rushed out when Liane nodded.
Daria stretched out her legs. ‘Have you heard from the hospital yet?’
‘No. I’m really hoping I won’t have to identify poor Margie. Her house is in a dreadful state, you know, she obviously hasn’t cleaned it properly for months and there are cats every— oh, my gosh, I’d forgotten about Tabitha. I left her in a cupboard with a boxful of brand-new kittens.’ Liane passed her hand over her eyes. ‘Don’t say anything to Frith, huh?’
Daria nodded. ‘We always had cats when I was little. A nice peaceful cupboard sounds about right for new kittens. I wouldn’t worry.’
Frith arrived back with a lurid green ice lolly, followed by Jill carrying a tray. Daria sipped her coffee, then admired Frith’s prowess shooting beans on the iPad. It was bittersweet, having a child leaning on the arm of her chair, showing her something and chatting away solemnly. A lump came to Daria’s throat when Frith broke off in the middle to ask Liane when they’d find Bridie. The little frown on her face was so like Evie’s expression when she’d been worried about something. Deep breath, Daria.
The sound of the doorbell made them all jump. Jill went to answer it, and returned with a tall police officer.
Frith whispered in Daria’s ear, her eyes wide. ‘That’s Sergeant Bryson. He’s looking for Bridie.’
Daria rubbed the child’s skinny shoulders.
‘And I hope we’ll find her soon.’ Sergeant Bryson was staring meaningfully at Steve. ‘Could someone take Frith through to the kitchen for a while?’
Steve and Frith trooped out, and Daria turned her attention to the police officer beside Liane on the sofa. He’d have said if he’d wanted her out too, so presumably this was something general, just not for Frith’s ears. He was holding a clear plastic bag which he deposited on the floor by his feet, and—
Daria’s body froze, then she lurched up and took two painful steps across the room. She swept the plastic bag into her arms, a silent scream tearing from her throat. This was – but it couldn’t be – how was this possible? Shaking all over, she stretched out one hand to Liane, her mouth working.
Liane was beside her in a second. ‘Daria?’
The world swam, then everything went black.
A voice was talking in the distance. Daria moved her head – something rough was scratching her cheek. She opened her eyes and blinked. She was lying on the floor, Steve’s concerned face only a foot from hers.
His fingers were on
her wrist. ‘You’re okay. You passed out. Lie still for a bit, huh?’
Daria lay until he let go her wrist, then she struggled to sit up. Still on the floor, she leaned back against the sofa, breathing raggedly. Liane and Frith were nowhere to be seen, but the police officer was perching on the armchair, the plastic bag on his lap.
Daria pointed at it. ‘That’s – that’s Evie’s jacket.’
‘Evie?’ Sergeant Bryson frowned at her.
Daria opened her mouth to explain, but this scowling policeman – how could she tell him about the devastation in her life when his mind was firmly focussed on another child? She motioned to Steve, who summarised the accident and Evie’s death into one sentence while Daria sat limply, fighting to get her head back together. With an effort, she pulled herself up onto the sofa.
Sergeant Bryson was making notes. Daria couldn’t take her eyes from the jacket. Ice chilled around her soul as shivers vibrated through her body. It was Evie’s, definitely Evie’s. The last time she’d seen this was moments before the accident. Daria’s stomach cramped, and she choked back the bile that rose in her throat.
Sergeant Bryson glared at the jacket. ‘And Evie was wearing this? How can you tell it’s hers and not another the same style?’
Daria stammered in her haste to get the words out. ‘My parents live in Spain, they sent this last year.’
Sergeant Bryson shook the bag around, peering into it. Daria needed all her self-restraint not to grab the jacket and hug it to her heart. This was madness. Evie’d been wearing that jacket in the minicab. Or – had she? Daria bent double over her knees, her body shaking. How impossible it was to find even a microsecond of the crash in her memory. Had Evie been wearing the jacket, or had she taken it off during the drive to the airport? Daria pressed her hands together. Suppose she’d been holding the jacket – it could have been thrown out along with her and picked up by anyone. Daria’s mind sharpened. Think, woman. It was perfectly possible Margie had walked past sometime on her way to the main road, seen the abandoned jacket and taken it for her granddaughter. Another little girl had worn Evie’s jacket.