Little Girls Tell Tales

by Rachel Bennett

  I led the way to the kitchen. Nicole’s house always looked like an advertisement for the perfect farmhouse. Everything was tasteful and understated. With one exception – Nicole had an inexplicable fondness for bad watercolour pictures. There were five of them in the hallway and, I knew, another four in the sitting room. They all showed the same view of Bradda Head, the admittedly scenic headland above Port Erin which every amateur painter on the Island drew at least once in their lifetime. I was sure Nicole could’ve found better versions of the hill. When I’d asked her, she’d laughed, and said it was an in-joke of sorts, but never explained further.

  ‘Lovely to see you, Rosalie.’ Nicole came bustling around the breakfast island to greet us. Her kitchen was about the same size as mine, but seemed so much bigger because of the floor to ceiling windows that formed the back wall. Through those windows, there was an unrivalled view over the fields. It felt like the whole world was at their back gate. Also, because of the way the house faced, no other houses were visible. I could see why Nicole’s family had chosen this spot.

  ‘This is my friend, Cora,’ I said. My cheeks reddened as soon as I said it. She wasn’t really my friend, I’d only just met her; was I being presumptuous introducing her like that?

  But neither Cora nor Nicole noticed. As usual, I was being oversensitive to things no one else was even aware of.

  ‘Cora.’ Nicole smiled. ‘Lovely to meet you. I’ve got a pot of coffee on the go, if you fancy it. I’ve peppermint or camomile if you prefer, Rosalie.’

  I smiled. It was little things like that which made you feel welcome. ‘Camomile would be lovely, thank you.’

  Nicole sat us down at the breakfast island. She was dressed in jeans and a loose blouse, which somehow looked like the height of fashion on her. Her gardening hat was upturned on a small table near the patio door with her gloves folded inside it. Next to it was a wooden rack with a neat row of upside down wellies. When I’d called, she must’ve been in the garden. I felt bad for interrupting.

  ‘Now, I understand you’re trying to track down your sister,’ Nicole said. She pulled one of the spare stools up to the counter so she could sit down.

  ‘Pretty much.’ Cora glanced at me. For reassurance? I gave her a smile. ‘We think she came over here, to the island, about twenty years ago.’

  She went through her story again. Nicole listened with a sympathetic ear. Even though I’d heard Cora tell the story several times already, it still struck me how it affected her. She kept her hands clasped tightly in her lap. I dearly wanted to reach over and squeeze her hands. Offer some kind of tangible reassurance.

  ‘This is her,’ Cora finished. She placed the photo of Simone down on the counter so Nicole could see.

  Nicole put on her reading glasses and leaned forward to examine the photo, rather than picking it up. ‘Such a pretty face,’ she said, with a soft smile. ‘She looks a lot like you.’

  ‘She was about six years older,’ Cora said. ‘We didn’t look a bit alike when we were young. I guess I’ve maybe grown into my face.’

  ‘It was June 1999 that she disappeared, that’s what you said?’ Nicole nodded to me. ‘After you told me about it the other day, I went looking for my old diaries.’

  ‘You’ve kept diaries for twenty years?’ I asked, amazed.

  ‘They’re not like a journal or anything.’ Nicole smiled. ‘Just a calendar on my computer where I kept track of conferences and holidays and dentist appointments. Y’know, the important things in life. I keep a paper diary as well, but that’s just a record of the garden, so I know when and where I’ve planted.’

  I knew she must’ve had a careful plan to keep her garden looking so amazing. ‘So, I suppose they don’t say anything about Simone?’ I asked.

  ‘They probably don’t, no.’ Nicole refilled her coffee mug from the cafetière on the counter. ‘But I haven’t been able to retrieve them yet. I know I kept them on a flash drive, but can I find it now? Of course I can’t. It’ll be tucked away safe in a desk drawer somewhere.’

  Cora cupped her hands around her coffee mug. ‘Can you remember anything without the calendar?’

  ‘Well, I was travelling a lot back then. I was a travel rep, did I ever tell you that, Rosalie?’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘There are some stories I could tell you from those days. But anyway, from what I recall of 1999, a lot of the time I wasn’t here.’

  ‘You weren’t?’

  ‘I was off in Greece for at least three months, which I think started in August that year. Working at a grotty tourist hotel in Mykonos. Got so horrendously sunburnt I vowed never to set foot outside without a sunhat. Met a very interesting young man called Estoban who showed me which bars would sell you a decent drink.’ Nicole’s distant gaze came back into focus. ‘Don’t tell Patrick about that last part, by the way. What he doesn’t know won’t harm him.’

  Cora edged forwards on her seat. ‘But you think you were at home in June?’

  ‘As far as I can remember. I have to tell you, it was a terribly long time ago and I’m not sure I remember anything specific.’ Nicole’s gaze went back to the photo on the table. ‘I definitely don’t remember seeing your sister. Sorry.’

  ‘She might’ve changed her hair before she got here,’ Cora said. ‘Or been dressed differently.’ The desperate edge crept back into her voice.

  Nicole shook her head sadly. ‘If I did see her, however she looked at the time, I don’t remember her. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Did you go into town much back then? I mean, is there a chance you could’ve seen her at the supermarket or—?’

  ‘I genuinely wouldn’t remember.’ Nicole kept the sympathetic smile on her face, but her tone was clipped. ‘Unless she did something extremely memorable, like run naked through the car park, I wouldn’t recall. Not after twenty years.’

  ‘We know,’ I said, trying to smooth things. ‘Cora understands how difficult it’ll be. If Simone had done anything to draw attention to herself, maybe people would’ve wondered where her parents were. Maybe they would’ve recognised her photo when it was shown on the news.’

  ‘It was never on the national news,’ Cora said.

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘But surely the police would’ve—’

  ‘I remember it being in the local news. Then it was mentioned in the newspaper about a month later, to jog anyone’s memory. As far as I’m aware, it never made it as far as the national press.’

  I frowned. Things were maybe different two decades ago, but I could remember, when I was a kid, seeing appeals for information about missing children on the news. Any child who ran off would feature on the news at some point, along with an appeal for them to get in touch. Had no one done that for Simone?

  ‘What about your niece?’ Cora asked.

  Nicole blinked. ‘I don’t have a niece. My brother has two kids, but they’re both boys.’

  ‘Oh,’ Cora said with a frown.

  ‘I tell you what,’ Nicole said. She took out her phone and snapped a quick picture of the photo. ‘I’ll ask Patrick if he remembers seeing or hearing anything about your sister. And I’ll phone round a few of my friends. Let me think, who lived in Ballaugh all that time ago?’ She pressed a finger to her lips in thought. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll ask around.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Cora said. She attempted a smile in response, but I could see the dejection behind her eyes. As much as she told everyone she knew she wouldn’t find answers, each little defeat must’ve chipped away at her determination.

  Nicole gave her back the photo. ‘And how’s your mum doing, Rosalie?’ she asked, brightly. ‘Alright, I hope?’

  ‘She’s fine. She’s doing fine. I’ll tell her you said hello.’

  ‘Please do. You’ll have to bring her round to see the garden. It’s been a while. I’ve planted up the whole southern bed. Remind me before you go, and I’ll give you a bunch of the dahlias to take to her.’

  ‘She’d love that, thank you. I’ve still got a clump of them growing in my gard
en from the bulbs you gave me two years ago. They’re looking better than ever.’

  ‘Well.’ Nicole couldn’t hide a tinge of pride. ‘Green fingers are their own reward, aren’t they? I always loved that little garden of Opal’s. I’m glad you’re making the most of it. Your mum, she used to grow the most incredible sunflowers. I don’t know if you remember? Fifteen feet tall, some of them were, with heads the size of a dinner plate.’ She indicated with her hands. ‘I had a friend at school who was afraid of sunflowers. No kidding. She said she didn’t like the way they looked at her.’

  I was ready to make an excuse to leave, but speaking about the garden reminded me. ‘Did there used to be an oak tree in our garden?’ I asked. ‘Down at the bottom, in the southeast corner?’

  Something flickered across Nicole’s face; there and gone before I could figure it out. Then her smile came back. ‘A horse chestnut,’ she said. ‘Not an oak. Dallin used to collect conkers from it when he was a toddler. Lovely old tree, it was.’

  ‘Why was it cut down?’

  ‘It got hit by lightning.’ Nicole’s gaze slipped away from me. ‘During a storm. The whole thing was hollow, you see, although no one knew that until afterwards. When it caught fire, it went up like kindling. Terrible shame.’

  ‘I don’t remember it at all.’

  ‘No, you would’ve been too young. Dallin was—’ Nicole frowned as she counted the years in her head. ‘I guess he would’ve been about eight or nine? But he was away from home when it happened. Actually, I think he was staying at your Dad’s house.’

  I frowned as I tried to think when that would’ve been. Dallin had spent almost as much time at our dad’s house in Douglas, as I had at Mum’s. Possibly it had been during either TT or Manx Grand Prix week, which took up two weeks in June and August respectively, because Mum had gone through a phase of worrying about Dallin living so close to the TT course. Personally, I didn’t think Dallin was daft enough, even as a kid, to wander into the middle of a road race, but you never did know.

  ‘Let me get you those dahlias for Opal,’ Nicole said. She hopped off her seat and snatched up the secateurs from the side table. ‘It was lovely to meet you, Cora. Sorry I couldn’t be more help. I do hope you find what you’re looking for.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Cora said again.

  I realised she was still gripping the picture of Simone in her hands. As we left the house, she carefully tucked it back into her wallet.

  We stood in the garden for a few minutes while Nicole busied herself cutting a half-dozen long stemmed flowers for me to take to Mum. Cora looked like she had something on her mind. Her lips moved in absent thought.

  I nudged her with my shoulder. ‘You alright?’

  She blinked, coming halfway back to herself. ‘Yes. I’m fine. I was just thinking. How old are you?’

  I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and tried to ignore the warmth that rose to my face. ‘I’m twenty-six.’

  ‘And Dallin is a few years older than you.’

  ‘About two and a half. Although you wouldn’t know it from the way he acts.’ I smiled, but Cora was preoccupied.

  ‘This might be nothing …’ She stared to say, but was interrupted by her phone ringing.

  It took her a moment to dig it out of her jacket pocket. The ringtone rose louder and louder, as if shouting its urgency. At last she got the phone out, checked the screen, then answered.

  ‘Hi Dallin,’ she said. ‘What’s up?’

  There was a tense note to her voice. With a lurch, I realised Dallin wouldn’t be calling for no reason.

  He’s found something.

  ‘What?’ Cora turned away from me and put a finger in her other ear, so she could hear Dallin better. ‘What’s happened? Where—?’

  She listened for a moment, her shoulders hunched, her face turned away so I couldn’t see what she was thinking. Nicole raised her head as well. We caught each other’s eyes and knew we were thinking the same thing. What’s happened?

  ‘We’ll be right there,’ she said at last, then ended the call.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked. I was half-dreading her answer.

  But when it came, it wasn’t at all what I expected. ‘Someone’s been in my tent,’ Cora said.

  Chapter 23

  The campsite was tucked away down the backroad that led to Druidsdale. It occupied a large field behind The Raven public house and was right next to the humpbacked bridge at Ballaugh, where, during the races, motorbikes would go over at enough speed to become airborne for a split-second. A few years ago, one unlucky racer had hit the bridge with too much speed and fired himself into the wall of the pub. Now, during TT week, they put up a load of crash padding at that spot.

  I had never been to the campsite itself, aside from my brief visit the day before to drop off Cora’s car, but I’d heard other people commending it for being family- and dog-friendly. Those were apparently the most important features in any campsite.

  As I turned into the big field, I saw a man sitting on a bench, on the veranda outside the wooden cabin that doubled as an office for the owners of the site. When he saw my car, he dropped the cigarette into an ashtray that was nailed to the arm of the bench.

  ‘You’re the owner of the tent, are you?’ he asked as I rolled down my window. ‘I’d approach with caution if I were you. Your friend’s very angry.’

  ‘Where’s the site manager?’ Cora asked.

  ‘On the phone to the police.’ He waved us onto the grass. ‘Hope everything’s okay.’

  I drove at a steady eight miles-per-hour over the grass towards where Cora pointed. Her tent was a green dome-shape that looked comfy for one person but definitely too cosy for two. Mostly I spotted it because Dallin was standing outside with his arms folded and his face like a thundercloud.

  ‘Someone’s been in there,’ he said. He barely waited for us to get out of the car. ‘They’ve been through all your stuff. It’s a mess.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ Cora crouched down and stuck her head into the tent. ‘Who would do that? Is anything missing?’

  ‘I haven’t looked at anything. You should check your stuff though.’

  ‘Is your tent okay?’ I asked him.

  ‘Yeah, untouched.’ He scuffed the ground with the toe of his trainers. ‘I only noticed this because Cora’s tent was unpegged at the front. I know she didn’t leave it like that this morning.’

  Cora sat back on her heels with her rucksack in her lap. ‘Looks like everything’s here. They just tipped out all my clothes. I didn’t leave anything valuable in here. Everything worth more than tuppence is in my pockets. It’s just—’ Cora let out a breath, ‘—first my car, now my tent. Why would someone do that? It’s not necessary.’

  Peering past her, I got a glimpse of the tent interior, strewn with clothes and paperback books. ‘I hate to say it, but it could’ve been kids,’ I said. ‘They might’ve crawled in here on the off-chance you had booze.’

  ‘That’s what the site owner said as well.’ Dallin switched his glare to a collection of ridged tents at the bottom of the field. ‘There’s a gaggle of twenty feral kids in those tents over there. Some kind of birthday holiday. Some of the older ones might’ve done it.’

  ‘You don’t sound convinced.’

  Dallin rubbed the side of his face. He badly needed a shave. ‘If this was just some random, one-off occurrence, sure, I’d be happy to write it off as scrotey kids. But yesterday someone ruined two of Cora’s tyres. Today, this.’ He turned his pale gaze to me. ‘I don’t like it. Seriously, I do not like it at all.’

  ‘Are you going to call the police?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  It was the first time I’d seen him less than completely sure about anything. It unnerved me. ‘You should.’

  Dallin let out a measured breath. ‘It’s likely out of our hands anyway. The site owner is making phone calls in his shed over there. Chances are, his first call was to the police.’ He gave a hollow laugh. ‘They’re
going to be super happy to see us again so soon. Especially after the names I called them yesterday.’

  I walked around the tent. At the back, two other pegs had been pulled loose, as if someone had yanked up the flysheet to check there was nothing hidden underneath.

  ‘If someone was looking for something, what would it be?’ I asked.

  Dallin lifted his hands in exasperation. ‘Alcohol. Phones. Money. Whatever people are daft enough to leave in an unsecure tent.’

  ‘And if they weren’t looking for those?’

  Cora frowned. ‘What’re you getting at?’

  ‘Do you have anything specific that someone would look for? Not necessarily something of value, but which someone who knew you might look for.’

  Cora narrowed her eyes. ‘You think it’s the same person who damaged my car.’

  ‘It’s a possibility. Two apparently random acts in the space of two days? Both designed to freak you out as much as possible with the minimum of effort?’

  ‘They didn’t cause any damage this time,’ Dallin said.

  ‘Don’t be so sure.’ I snagged the inner lining of the tent and lifted it. ‘Look at this.’

  Someone had slit the groundsheet open in a long, straight gash. The cut was about four inches long. The heavy fabric of the tent meant the damage wasn’t visible until I pulled the material taut.

  Cora let out a stream of expletives.

  ‘There’s another one here.’ Dallin had gone to the other side of the tent. ‘I hadn’t even noticed.’

  ‘No. That’s the point.’ Cora stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. ‘We wouldn’t have realised until tonight, when the rain came in and soaked all my stuff.’

  It was a nasty, malicious action. ‘I think the person lifted the flysheet here,’ I said. ‘Maybe they planned to cut the fabric from the outside.’ I straightened up and looked around. ‘There are too many people within sight. They could’ve been spotted. So they went inside the tent to cut it, where no one would see them.’