Before You Were Gone

by Sheila Bugler

  She’d already told them everything she knew, but it was clear they thought she was hiding something from them. She couldn’t blame them. Her account of how she’d ended up inside the flat sounded ridiculous – searching for a girl who didn’t technically exist because she’d drowned over twenty years ago.

  When she’d come in earlier there’d been a message on the landline from Emer’s mother, asking Dee to call her as soon as she could. Dee hadn’t been able to face calling her back right away but now, fortified with wine, she went inside and dialled the number she’d found in her mother’s address book.

  ‘Ballincarraig 24696.’

  ‘Hello? Is this Ursula?’

  ‘This is she. Who’s calling, please?’

  ‘Ursula, it’s Dee Doran. Frank’s daughter. You left me a message.’

  ‘I need to speak to you about Emer,’ Ursula said. ‘Robert’s told me you called here on Friday night and filled her head with some story about her sister still being alive. As Kitty was my child, the least you could do is tell me what the hell is going on.’

  If anything dodgy was going on, it would have involved my mother, not Robert.

  Emer’s voice, like a warning.

  ‘I’m not quite sure myself,’ Dee said. ‘What did Robert tell you?’

  ‘Some cock and bull story about you telling Emer that her sister is alive and well and living in London. It was very irresponsible of you. Emer is fragile, you see. She suffers from poor mental health. I think the conversation she had with you has tipped her over the edge. She ran off somewhere after speaking to you and we’ve no idea where she is.’

  ‘She didn’t strike me as fragile when we met,’ Dee said. ‘When did you meet my daughter?’

  ‘She was with me this weekend,’ Dee said.

  ‘Put her on to me right away. She’s my daughter and I need to speak to her.’

  ‘I can’t do that,’ Dee said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I don’t know where she is. The last time I saw her was in London this morning. She was on her way to meet a friend.’

  ‘Nikki. I knew it. That’s the real reason Emer’s there. To try persuade that odious woman to take her back.’

  ‘I don’t know who she’s with,’ Dee said. ‘Sorry.’

  She hoped she was doing the right thing. The logical part of her mind knew that Ursula deserved to know where her daughter was. But Dee couldn’t forget the way Emer had looked when she spoke about her mother. A closing down behind her eyes, like she was blocking out things she didn’t want to think about.

  ‘Sorry? Is that all you’ve got to say? This is your fault, Delilah. You had no right – absolutely no right – calling my house and speaking to Emer without consulting me first.’

  ‘Emer’s an adult,’ Dee said. ‘If she wants to speak to me, or come and visit me, that’s her business. I don’t mean to be rude, Ursula, but I think it’s probably better if I hang up now.’

  ‘Wait. Please. Don’t hang up just yet. I apologise if I seem rude. I’m worried, that’s all. I’ve already lost one daughter. I can’t bear to think of something happening to Emer was well. Surely you can understand that?’

  ‘Of course,’ Dee said, relenting slightly. ‘All of this must be very difficult for you.’

  ‘This isn’t the first time, you see. There have been other times before this, too many to count, when Emer has seen someone she thinks is Kitty. Each time, she becomes obsessed. It’s taken its toll over the years.’

  ‘Would it help if I told you I think this time she may be right?’

  ‘I think what would help,’ Ursula said, ‘is if you could tell me how you got involved in all of this in the first place? So far, all I’ve had is a garbled, second-hand account from my husband. Maybe if I hear it from you I’ll be able to make some sense of it.’

  As quickly as she could, Dee updated her on everything that had happened since her first meeting with the woman pretending to be Emer in Gordon’s Wine Bar. She figured she might as well tell Ursula the truth. If she had been involved in her daughter’s disappearance, then she already knew Kitty was still alive. If, on the other hand, she’d had nothing to do with it, she certainly deserved to know the truth.

  ‘But you’ve got no actual proof that this Annie person might be my daughter?’ Ursula said, when Dee had finished.

  ‘She had a photo of Kitty and Emer,’ Dee said. ‘And when I went back the next day to speak to her, she was clearly hiding from me.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean anything,’ Ursula said. ‘If that’s all you’ve got, then I’m sorry, Delilah. I simply cannot believe such a far-fetched story.’

  ‘I know it sounds ridiculous,’ Dee said, deciding now wasn’t the time to tell Ursula she couldn’t stand to be called by her full name. ‘But I’m telling the truth about everything that happened.’

  ‘I only have your word for that. I should never have called you. I can see that now. I’d hoped you might be different to your father, that you might actually want to help my family. Clearly, I was wrong. Please don’t try to call me back. I won’t pick up.’

  She hung up before Dee could respond. Which was probably just as well, because anything Dee wanted to say right now was probably best said to an empty room. Dee understood it would be upsetting – devastating, in fact – for a mother to learn that a child she’d thought had died over twenty years ago might still be alive. But she couldn’t excuse Ursula’s immediate insistence that everything Dee had said was a lie. As for the way she’d spoken about Dee’s father, the less Dee dwelt on that the better.

  Deciding to put the conversation out of her mind for now, Dee refilled her glass and went back out to the deck. Staring into the black night, she listened to the growling waves as they rolled in and out across the shingle, thinking back to that moment inside the flat, staring down at the crumpled body six floors below.

  The police hadn’t confirmed the dead man’s identity, but she’d worked it out from the questions they’d asked. He was Michael Holden. Annie’s father. Which explained, at least, why Annie had been visiting him. Dee had given the police the address she had for Annie and she wondered if they’d managed to find her yet. If they hadn’t, how long before Annie even knew her father was dead? Twice since coming home, Dee had tried the mobile number she had for Annie. Both times, she’d got Annie’s voicemail. She’d left a message, telling Annie she needed to speak to her urgently. So far, Annie hadn’t called her back.

  Dee’s laptop was open on the table in front of her. Until now, she’d put off searching for the inevitable news story about the man thrown from a block of flats in south London. But three quarters of a bottle of wine had given her the courage she needed to look it up. So far, only the local south London news had picked up the story, although Dee guessed it would hit the national news within the next twenty-four hours.

  There was nothing on the news sites that she didn’t already know. The victim, not yet formally identified, was a sixty-five-year-old man who’d been living alone in his flat. Police had confirmed they were treating the death as ‘suspicious’ and there was one ‘significant witness’ helping with their enquiries.

  That would be me, Dee thought, draining what was left in her glass and going inside to refill it. As she put another bottle in the fridge, she felt it. The flicker of something at the furthest edges of her mind. What was it? She tried to focus on it, but it kept slipping out of reach.

  She went back over everything she knew about Kitty and Lucy and Annie. Two girls in a small town in Ireland. Another girl in a small town in Sussex. A town ten miles from where Dee was standing right now. Annie Holden, who might be Kitty Doran – Dee’s cousin. Her father’s niece.

  And there it was. The thing that had been staring her in the face all along. Her father. She hadn’t seen it before, because she hadn’t wanted it to be true. But it was the only thing that made sense. Because Dee knew her dad. No matter how he’d felt about his brother, he wouldn’t have been able to sit back an
d do nothing if his niece needed help.

  Carrying her glass outside, Dee paced back and forth along the deck, needing to move because her mind was racing and her body couldn’t sit still. Her footsteps were hollow and loud on the wooden boards as she reworked Kitty’s story in her mind.

  In June 1997, Lucy Ryan disappeared. Whatever happened to Lucy that night, it had involved her best friend, Kitty Doran. Three weeks later, Kitty’s parents faked her drowning and managed to get Kitty out of Ireland. At some point, Eamon Doran asked his estranged brother, Frank, to help him hide his daughter. Somehow, Frank – Dee’s father – had persuaded Michael and Fiona Holden to take the eleven-year-old girl and pretend she was their daughter.

  Was that really what had happened? After the last few weeks, it seemed too simple an explanation. Dee sat down, went back onto her laptop and scrolled through the stories she’d found about Michael Holden, trying to find out when the family had moved to Alfriston. That had to have happened after Kitty/Annie came to live with them. Alfriston was a small town, the sort of place where everyone knew everyone else’s business. If a childless couple suddenly appeared with a daughter they’d not previously had, it would have sparked all sorts of gossip and speculation.

  Dee had almost given up searching when she found it. A single sentence that confirmed everything:

  Holden, former landlord of the Victoria pub in Eastbourne, had been living in Alfriston with his wife and daughter since October 1997.

  The Victoria pub. The name triggered a barrage of memories from Dee’s early life. Sunday roasts in winter time. Dee and her parents gathered around one of the wooden tables by the fire. Sitting at the grand Victorian bar with her father and her ex-husband on one of their frequent visits back to Eastbourne when she was living in London. Sunny afternoons in the small beer garden at the back of the pub. Watching Ireland win the Five Nations rugby tournament in 1985, when she was sixteen. And again in 2009 after it became the Six Nations. Her father taking her to ‘the Vic’ for a drink after the break-up of Dee’s marriage; sitting beside her at a small table in the corner, his concern for her written all over his face, as he told her Billy Morrison was a fool and she was better off without him.

  The Victoria had been her father’s local after he’d moved to Eastbourne in 1961. There were other decent pubs in the town, especially back then, but her father rarely drank in them. He’d never been a big drinker, but when he went out to meet friends, those encounters invariably took place inside the Victoria. It was the sort of boozer where the locals all knew each other and you could wander in on your own at any time of the day or night and know you’d find someone to have a chat with.

  And in that moment, Dee realised why Fiona Holden’s face had seemed so familiar. Dee remembered Fiona and Mike from their time running the pub – a laid-back, happy couple who’d always made a point of giving Dee a treat whenever her parents took her with them to the pub.

  Other memories now. Her mother, whispering to her father after Fiona had come over with a bar of Dairy Milk for ten-year-old Dee.

  Such a shame they can’t have kids of their own. They’d make such lovely parents.

  Her body started to tingle, a fizzing sensation beneath her skin that happened when a story came together. Her fingers itched with the need to do something. She picked up her phone to call Emer, then put it back down again. First, she needed to check her facts. Instinctively, she knew she was on the right track. But in journalism, instinct only got you so far. Every story you wrote, every word you committed to paper, had to be backed up with facts.

  She went back onto the internet, looking for an address for Fiona Holden in Alfriston. She didn’t find one, but wasn’t about to let that put her off. Alfriston was a small place. If she drove over there tomorrow morning, Dee was confident she’d find someone who could tell her where Fiona lived.

  Her phone buzzed with an incoming text. Her stomach fluttered when she saw the sender’s name. Ed, his message short and to the point, as always:

  Just checking you’re okay?

  She missed him. Even now, six months after their relationship had ended. She missed him and hated herself for it. She should be stronger than this. Damn it, she was stronger than this. She put the phone down without replying to the text, lifted her glass and drank some more wine. She wasn’t going to let herself get drawn back into that. They’d broken up because, ultimately, they weren’t a good match. She’d do well to remember that. Now, and in the future.

  Thirty-four

  As it turned out, Dee didn’t need to resort to walking around asking strangers if they could tell her where Fiona Holden lived. A quick phone call to Louise and she had all the information she needed. The only problem was, when she told Louise why she needed the address, her cousin insisted on coming with her.

  ‘You don’t know what you’ll find when you get there,’ Louise said. ‘I’m not about to let you go over there by yourself.’

  ‘Haven’t you got work to do?’ Dee said.

  ‘I’ll call in sick,’ Louise said. ‘Let me get the kids to school and I’ll pick you up right after that.’

  ‘Can’t we go separately and meet there?’

  ‘Do you know how bad that is for the environment?’ Louise said. ‘And don’t suggest taking your car. We both know I’m a better driver than you are.’

  This ‘fact’ was new information to Dee, but she let it go. Louise had, potentially, saved her a lot of time by finding the address so quickly.

  While she waited for Louise to pick her up, Dee called Emer.

  ‘It’s me,’ she said, when she got Emer’s voicemail. ‘I’m heading out for a few hours this morning, but I’ll be home later. Let me know if you’re coming to Eastbourne today. I can pick you up from the station.’

  Dee didn’t mention that the police were also keen to speak to Emer. Apart from Michael Holden’s killer, Emer was probably the last person to have seen him alive. If anyone had been hanging around the stairwell or near the flat, Emer may have seen them.

  Hanging up, Dee called Shay Flaherty. He’d left her a voicemail while she was being interviewed by the police yesterday. By the time she’d got out of the station, she didn’t have the energy to call him back.

  ‘I may have something on O’Brien,’ he said. ‘So far, it’s nothing more than a rumour, but I’m going to follow it up today and see if there’s anything in it.’

  ‘In what?’ Dee said.

  ‘Someone who’s worked with O’Brien told me his wife and her ex-husband were swingers. This source, who was very cautious about speaking to me, says there’s a woman in Loughrea who might be able to shed some light on this. I’m driving down to see her today. She’s from the Travelling community. One of O’Brien’s favourite causes, in case you weren’t aware of that.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Dee said. ‘I’ve read all about his charitable endeavours. This woman you’re going to see, any idea what she’ll be able to tell you?’

  ‘Not yet. But I’ll keep you in the loop. How about you? Anything you’d like to share with me?’

  ‘I’m getting closer,’ Dee said. ‘Hopefully I’ll have more news by the end of today.’

  She saw Louise’s red SUV turning into the narrow road that led to her house. Telling Shay she’d speak to him later, Dee ended the call and waited for Louise’s car to pull up alongside her.

  ‘We covered the murder trial,’ Louise explained, as Dee clambered into her car. ‘That’s why I know where they live. Of course, she may have moved since then.’

  ‘It’s worth a shot though,’ Dee said. ‘Jesus Lou, you can’t really lecture me about the environment when you drive around in this thing.’

  ‘I have a family,’ Louise said.

  ‘So do lots of people,’ Dee said, ‘but they don’t all have cars like this.’

  ‘Only because they can’t afford it.’

  Dee knew when to give up so she changed the subject before the conversation became any more ridiculous.

  ‘What d
o you remember about them?’ she asked.

  ‘It was a weird one. Actually, I remember your dad being really upset about it. Of course, I assumed it was because he knew Michael from the pub. It never occurred to me there could be any other reason.’ Louise shook her head. ‘This story about your dad helping to hide his niece. Do you really believe he’d do something like that?’

  ‘I think he’d have done anything to keep a child safe. Although I’m struggling to accept that there might be this whole other part of his life I didn’t know anything about.’

  ‘How could you have known?’ Louise said. ‘You were living in London then, weren’t you?’

  ‘1997. The year I got married. I had a job I loved and a husband I adored. The truth is, I didn’t give much thought to what was going on in my parents’ life back then. I was so caught up in my London life. Do you think my mum knew? I hope so. I’d hate to think of him keeping secrets from her.’

  ‘All couples keep secrets from each other,’ Louise said. ‘It doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with their marriage.’

  ‘You said the trial was weird,’ Dee said, once again moving the conversation onto safer ground. After the catastrophic end to the affair that had almost ruined Louise’s marriage, Dee wasn’t ready to hear about any other secrets her cousin might be keeping from her husband. ‘What was weird about it?’

  ‘Everything,’ Louise said. ‘Mike Holden had never been in trouble in his life. Then out of the blue, he killed a man but never gave a reason for why he did it. He had psychiatric assessments but I don’t think anyone was ever able to find anything wrong with him. He always claimed he didn’t know the victim, and the police were never able to prove otherwise.’

  ‘There must have been theories about why he did it.’

  ‘Lots of theories,’ Louise said. ‘Most of them that Mike was involved in something dodgy. But I never really believed that. If he was, it would have come out sooner or later, and it never did. What about you?’

  ‘What about me?’