Unspoken

by Sam Hayes

  ‘Tell us what happened, Mr French. As quickly as you can,’ the constable says. Murray came running back to the boat when he saw the flashing lights of the police cars.

  ‘Where’s Ed? Where’s DI Hallet?’ I ask him. He’s too young to be dealing with this. ‘I want Ed here searching for Flora. He’s my brother-in-law.’ PC Clough ignores me.

  ‘Speed is of the essence, Mr French.’ Murray can barely speak.

  ‘I . . . I went to the village. Just to get some sausages for Alex to cook on a campfire. The kids were in the boat. They knew not to leave. Alex was baby-sitting.’ Murray falters and glances at me. ‘He was happy to look after his sister. When I came back to the boat, Alex was on the bank collecting firewood. I’d told him to stay inside the boat but he couldn’t wait to prepare the fire. When we went back inside the boat together, Flora was gone.’

  ‘Oh Murray, you stupid—’

  The constable holds up a hand to silence me. ‘What times were you away from the boat and how far away from the boat was Alex when he was collecting wood?’

  Murray thinks. Shame settles over him. ‘I was gone for a couple of hours, between six and eight, and Alex was maybe fifty feet away. That way.’ Murray points in a northerly direction. ‘Shouldn’t you be out there searching? Have you got sniffer dogs coming?’ he asks, deflecting the blame. ‘Have you got helicopters and searchlights? Please . . . do something.’ He isn’t quite yelling, not quite crying. ‘Alex, why didn’t you stay inside the boat with your sister?’

  ‘Murray, stop it,’ I tell him. He can’t blame our son.

  ‘Dad, you were gone ages. I was bored and Flora was doing her colouring. I thought I’d surprise you and get the fire built for our cooking.’

  ‘Oh, Murray . . .’ I bury my face in my hands.

  ‘The village isn’t a particularly long walk from here, yet you said that Flora could have gone missing between the hours of six and eight. Two hours to buy sausages?’ PC Clough waits for a reply.

  He’s right. ‘Hell, Murray, why were you gone so long? Where were you that took two hours?’ I push past the constable and grab my husband’s shoulders. I inhale deeply at his mouth. I am sickened. ‘You were in the pub, weren’t you?’ My voice quakes, on the edge of erupting. ‘You left our children alone at night on a boat and went to the pub.’ I push myself away from him, disgusted by his behaviour. ‘Get out there and find Flora.’ I’m crying again. Tears that won’t help find her.

  ‘Mrs French, we have a number of officers doing just that. But we need to get the facts straight here.’

  ‘It’s Mrs Marshall,’ I say, appalled at the thought of being Mrs French right now. ‘Facts? My daughter’s missing and you’re sitting here chatting. Please, go out and find her!’

  The PC turns away from me. ‘Can you give us a detailed description of the child, Mr French? Anything that will help our officers. And we may need an item of clothing or something personal of hers for a scent.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ he replies slowly. None of this is real. He’s sitting there saying these things but the words aren’t real. ‘She’s got blond hair that’s slightly auburn in certain lights. It’s quite curly and shoulder length. Her eyes are blue—’

  ‘Greeny blue,’ I add. Can’t he even remember what she looks like?

  ‘And her skin is pale. She has a birthmark at the nape of her neck. She’s about up to here on me.’ Murray stands and places his hand beneath his ribs, as if he’s patting the top of Flora’s invisible head. ‘So about four feet tall, I don’t know. Maybe an inch or two more. Maybe less.’

  ‘And she’s deaf. Profoundly deaf,’ I say. The constable gives me a worried look. ‘You will find her, won’t you?’ I grab the torch off Murray and tell Alex to stay with the boat. ‘She can’t be far away. She probably wandered off looking for you, Murray. I’m going to head for the village.’

  ‘Until she’s found, I assume abduction can’t be ruled out?’ Murray’s comment freezes me. He sounds like a solicitor. For a second, all I hear is the water slapping against the side of the hateful boat.

  ‘Indeed,’ the constable says. ‘We have to consider all possibilities. Is your daughter able to swim?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I say, inspiring hope in all of us. ‘She’s a good swimmer.’ Just how good a swimmer she is in the dark, in freezing temperatures, fully dressed, perhaps with a bump to her head, I wouldn’t like to guess. I leave the boat and step out into the darkness to search for my daughter.

  Several couples are leaving the pub in the village. I run up to them like a madwoman, breathless and sweating even in the cold night.

  ‘Please . . . help me. Have you seen a little girl of eight with blond hair? She’s lost. Did she come into the pub?’ Perhaps Flora knows her daddy too well and guessed that’s where he’d be. A few more drinkers are leaving the building. I try them instead. ‘Did you see a girl tonight? Blond hair, pretty?’

  ‘I wish,’ jokes one of the men, raising a laugh from his fellows. The sick feeling in my stomach erupts, forcing me to bend into the gutter while I retch up my dinner. ‘Go home, lady. Sleep it off.’

  I rush inside the pub. Everyone turns and stares at me. ‘Has anyone seen a little blonde girl tonight? I’ve lost my daughter. Please help. Please think.’

  ‘No, sorry,’ one woman says, followed by a few more head-shakes and shrugs. They just want to get on with their drinking in peace. I see the blue staccato of a police car light in the street. I run outside again and flag down the officers.

  ‘Any luck?’ Of course they’ve had luck, I think, peering through the back window, praying I’ll see Flora sitting there.

  ‘Sorry. No news yet. The dogs have arrived and are going to search down at the river.’ And they drive off.

  ‘Excuse me, have you seen a little girl? She’s eight years old with blond hair?’ A man is walking his dog.

  ‘No, but I can help you look. Where did you last see her?’

  In my mother’s house this morning, I want to tell him. She left with her father and didn’t remember to take her coat. I didn’t even get to give her a kiss goodbye.

  ‘She was on a boat on the river with my husband. He walked up to the village, and when he got back she was gone. I thought she may have come looking for him.’

  ‘An eight-year-old left alone? Oh dear,’ he says. ‘I’ll keep a lookout. I’ll walk all around the village again. He hasn’t done his business yet.’ He points to the old Labrador and shrugs.

  ‘She’s called Flora,’ I tell him. ‘And she’s deaf.’ I start running one way, then another. I’ve lost my bearings, and when I see another police car, I charge after it back to the boat.

  The riverbank is swarming with uniforms. Two dogs sniff at the night air. Their tails are high and they strain at their leads, excited by the prospect of a search. Floodlights illuminate the area as if it’s daytime, and radios crackle inaudible messages into the sky. I wonder, amidst this riverbank mess, if anyone is actually searching for Flora.

  ‘Murray . . . what are you still . . . doing here? Why aren’t you out looking?’ I nearly fall as I go down into the boat’s cabin. I can hardly speak I am so out of breath. One officer, a higher rank judging by the plain clothes, stands beside my husband in the cabin. He turns to face me.

  ‘Oh, Ed,’ I wail and fall into his arms. ‘Thank God you’re here. Now we can find Flora.’

  ‘I’ve been looking for her,’ Murray snaps back before Ed can speak. ‘The sniffer dogs have just arrived. I’ve been looking for some clothing, her bag, anything of hers to give the dog handler, but there’s nothing here.’

  ‘Well, she didn’t have a coat with her, Murray.You drove off from Northmire without it. She just took her bag of crayons and paper and goodness knows what else. There must be something of hers around here.’ I glance about but see little evidence of my daughter. The fold-down table has lines of crayon smudged on its cracked varnish, and there is a half-finished cup of orange squash sitting beside some sweet-wrap
pers. I imagine my daughter, absorbed, head bent over her work, sucking on a sweet, her little eyelids batting in concentration.

  ‘Oh Flora,’ I say pitifully, and then, under the table, I see something that makes my heart skip. Her little rabbit. Her dirty, torn, faded and battered pale pink rabbit. ‘Look, what about this?’ I bend down.

  ‘Don’t touch it.’ Ed scares the life out of me. ‘I’m about to seal off the area. If nothing transpires soon,’ he adds, for a quick shot of hope. ‘Leave everything exactly where it is.’ He speaks into his radio and I realise he is going to make Alcatraz into a crime scene. The chances that Flora has simply wandered off are growing slimmer by the minute. He is considering the worst outcome.

  ‘Be careful with it then,’ I say. ‘She loves it. She can’t sleep without it.’ Then I wonder how Flora will sleep tonight. ‘Oh God, Murray. What if someone’s taken her? Or what if she’s curled up in a hedge and lost and freezing half to death?’

  ‘What if,’ Ed snatches the speculation from me, ‘you take care of your wife, Murray, and leave the worrying to us?’ He tries to sound sympathetic but this is the second time I’ve seen him at work recently and there’s none of the real Ed in him at all.

  I don’t bother correcting him about ‘wife’. It somehow offers a little comfort. ‘I have my most capable men on the job,’ Ed says. A vein pulses on his neck. ‘We’ve started work on this quickly. The first couple of hours are the most important.’

  ‘But she could have gone missing as soon as Murray went to the village.’ I look at my watch. ‘That’s up to five hours ago now. So much can happen to a child in five hours.’ Then my mind tries to destroy me with images of everything that could have happened to her. ‘Oh, Ed. Please get her back.’ The tears crash down my face. ‘Tell me she’s just wandered off and is in the next field. She won’t be able to hear us calling her. She’ll think we’re not searching for her.’

  ‘That’s a highly likely scenario, Julia, and her deafness doesn’t help the search, I admit. Our dogs will soon pick up a trail.’ Ed reaches out and gives me a brief hug. ‘Mike, is your team ready?’ A man and a dog have come aboard.

  The dog’s nose calmly scans the air before she bows her snout and leads her owner off the front of the boat.

  ‘That’s odd,’ Murray comments. ‘Flora would never leave the boat at the bow. The climb over the side is too high for her.’

  ‘Does that mean that someone took her off?’ I rush to the forward deck to see where the dog is leading her owner. I see the zig-zag beacon of the officer’s flashlight and hear the other dog bark in anticipation on the bank. It is quickly silenced.

  ‘Why didn’t they use Flora’s rabbit for a scent?’ The forgotten toy still lies on the floor inside.

  ‘Flora’s trail will still be fresh for the dogs,’ Ed explains. ‘We have a dog that’s trained for water search. If necessary.’ He adds the last bit for my benefit, I know. I push the image of Flora in the water from my mind. She needs me to be strong. ‘I’m going to brief my men with an update on the search plan and put a police diver on standby. Sit tight.’ Ed gives me a wisp of a smile before leaving me alone. Beside me, a thousand miles away, Murray is buried in his own misery, drowning in guilt.

  ‘Come on,’ I say to him. We have to stay positive. ‘Let’s search a wider area. Where would a little girl want to go on a freezing cold night?’

  Murray opens his mouth, but before he can answer, I stare out into the night, wide-eyed, and whisper to him, ‘Home.’

  MURRAY

  I hold my breath and stick my face out of the window, squinting because the freezing air stings my eyes. I scrutinise every inch of the verge and hedgerows as Julia cruises slowly along the country lanes. Alex has been instructed to look anywhere and everywhere as we drive home with the headlights flashing beacons in the night.

  ‘What if she walked across the fields?’ Alex asks. ‘She’ll get lost. She might get killed by the man that hurt that girl.’ We’d all been thinking about Grace Covatta, but no one had dared mention her name. Not in the same breath as Flora’s.

  ‘That won’t happen,’ I reassure my son. ‘Not to Flora.’ And after Julia gives me a sharp look, I turn back to scan the dark lanes. When all I can see is my own gloomy reflection in the glass, I can’t help wondering if Alex might be right.

  Alex is a good boy. He’s mature for his age, smart at school, and only occasionally pulls stunts that remind me he’s an eleven-year-old boy. I really trusted him to look after his sister. And I wanted him to know that I trusted him. The thought of dragging Flora across the fields in the dark was less appealing than leaving her cosy and content with her brother inside Alcatraz. She would have towed along behind me, moaning, and ended up on my back, shivering in the frost. Besides, I’d promised to be quick.

  The walk to the village didn’t take as long as I’d expected. I marched around a couple of unfamiliar lanes and was about to ask someone if there was a shop in the village when I spotted the pub. It was warm, inviting and promised a moment’s salvation. I would drink quickly.

  ‘A pint of that, please.’ I gestured to a local ale. Nothing about what I was doing felt easy. Leaving Alex in charge was like going out without shoes on. It wasn’t something I’d normally do, but I’d resolved to make him feel grown-up; just give him the first sniff of responsibility. And what could possibly happen? I’d thought as I walked away from the boat. The benefits of keeping the kids warm and comfortable inside Alcatraz outweighed any risks. I knew my kids. They wouldn’t leave the boat unless there was a real emergency.

  ‘Two eighty-five, please, mate.’

  I handed over a twenty-pound note. ‘Is there a shop around here? I’m after some sausages. Perhaps a tin of beans and some bread.’ I sipped my pint. It was good.

  The bartender glanced at the clock. ‘You’ll be lucky to find it open now. If that’s all you’re after, I reckon my Margaret will have something in the kitchen for you.’

  ‘That would save me much flack from my son.’ I grinned and drew a large mouthful of the beer. It dropped right down inside me as if it belonged there.

  ‘Off the boats, are you?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes. My son wanted to try a spot of outdoor cooking tonight. It’s a boy thing.’ I rolled my eyes and dipped down to the halfway mark on my pint while the man called for his wife. He instructed the middle-aged woman to search the kitchen for what I wanted, and as if by magic, she quickly reappeared with everything Alex could want for a campfire supper.

  ‘That’s great. How much do I owe you?’

  ‘Don’t mind the money. Just try a couple more of my ales and we’ll call it quits, eh?’ The barman was already pulling back on the polished pewter arm of a beer I’d never even heard of. ‘Drink up,’ he said. ‘And tell me what you think of this.’

  And so I did. At least four more times over the next hour, and with each pint consumed, the urgency to get back to the boat waned by an exponential amount. The kids would be fine. Alex would come looking for me if there was a problem. It was only when Margaret emerged from the kitchen again at least two hours after I first sat down at the curved bar that I decided I should be on my way. The beer had loosened my world.

  ‘Good to see you then, Dan.’

  ‘Don,’ the barman corrected.

  ‘And thanks for the sausages.’ I slowly turned around looking for them, and eventually found the wrapped packet under my stool. I felt dizzy and sick. The beer was stronger than I was used to. ‘See you again maybe. And thanks for all this.’ I held up my loot and set off for the river. Ten minutes later I dashed back into the pub for my jacket.

  I finally found Alcatraz through all the fields, but only because of the whistling. ‘Alex?’ I called out. ‘Is that you? Where are you?’ I saw the line of my boat’s windows through the hedge and I soon emerged on to the bank. ‘Alex,’ I called out again. I was annoyed that he’d got off the boat.

  ‘Over here, Dad.’ He was a little way up the river. I heard him
panting and the thud of his quick footsteps pounding the bank as he ran back to me. ‘I was just getting the firewood ready. You were gone ages. Did you get the sausages? We’re starving.’

  ‘I sure did,’ I said proudly, and held up the paper packet that Margaret had kindly given me. ‘And I made some new friends.’ The beer filled my belly and my brain banged against my skull. By choice, I usually drank whisky. ‘You should be inside keeping warm. Let’s go and get Flora and she can help light the fire.’ We stepped aboard. ‘You shouldn’t have come out,’ I muttered. ‘I told you to stay in the cabin with your sister.’

  None of it mattered now. I was back. With sausages. We were going to have a fun evening. No more ticking-off.

  ‘She’s probably asleep by now. She was bored,’ Alex said.

  I went into the cabin, and because of the alcohol, I didn’t feel that first stab of fear that every parent suffers when they can’t instantly locate their child. Last time I’d seen Flora, she was sitting at the table colouring. ‘Where is she, mate?’ I went to the tiny bathroom and pushed against the door. It swung into the cubicle, proving it empty. ‘Shit,’ I remember saying, although I still trusted that she was on board. ‘Were you playing hide and seek?’

  ‘No.’ Alex reddened. He knew what was coming.

  ‘She must be in here somewhere.’ I went to the front of Alcatraz and flung open a couple of storage lockers big enough for a child to hide in. Nothing except the stale whiff of damp tarpaulins and ancient rope. I opened the semi-glazed door to the forward deck and checked right up into the point of the bows. Nothing. I must have missed her in the kitchen. The ale did its best to dampen my instincts, but my heart still raced against the sluggish effects.

  ‘Flora, where have you gone?’ It was a cross between fear, worry, frustration and a belief that my darling little girl was having a game with me. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d spent ten minutes hunting for her.

  ‘She was here, Dad, honestly. She was just colouring and then she played with her dolls.’