“Maya?” she says. “I see what you mean about the hair now.”
“Her sister looks exactly the same,” says Mr France. He is being my parent because my own parents and Granddad are talking to another lot of police who are sure that Zahra has run away with an imaginary boyfriend.
“So he thinks he’s got you then?” says the inspector, speaking for the first time.
“Yes,” I say. “But I didn’t see the murder. I don’t know why he would want me.”
At that point Mum breaks free from the police who are questioning her and rushes over, brushing away Mr France and sitting right next to me, huge tears racing down her face.
“What are you doing sitting here?” she says to Inspector Khan. “My daughter’s been kidnapped by a murderer!”
* * *
The police drive us all home. And then we have a policewoman who makes us tea and tries to read stories to the twins.
I feel sick. Completely sick.
We could search. But there’s no point in searching if she’s been kidnapped.
There’s a fluffy cardigan at the end of my bed. I pull it over my head to cut off the world, but the world’s inside my head and it’s accusing me of doing this.
“It’s all my fault,” I say out loud.
It isn’t, I think. It’s all the man’s fault.
I don’t make myself feel any better.
I sit on my bed looking at Zahra’s duvet. There’s a dent where she must have been sitting this morning to put on her shoes. Her pyjamas are in a heap on the floor so I pick them up and fold them neatly. I put her battered rabbit on the top and arrange his ears. They’re soft. I pick him up and stroke him against my face.
Mum comes in. Her face is exploded and red, her eyes have practically disappeared. Dad’s standing behind her. He looks grey and shocked. Mum kneels on the floor and starts to tidy under Zahra’s bed. Dad stands in the doorway, listening to the conversation in the kitchen.
I can hear Granddad talking to the policewoman.
“Any news?” I ask.
“No,” says Mum, from under the bed. “But I’m sure they’ll find her.” Mum’s voice trembles as she says it, and she wipes her tear-stained face on the corner of the duvet. Dad squeezes her shoulder. They look completely unlike my parents. They’re like new exhausted people I’ve never seen before, old and young at the same time.
In the distance, another helicopter circles and a church bell strikes.
“Ten o’clock,” says Dad.
“Oh, Maya,” says Mum, and she lunges towards me, grabbing my arms, the tears bursting out again. “Maya – what are we going to do?”
* * *
Only the twins go to bed. The rest of us pace around the kitchen, waiting, listening to the policewoman talking on her lapel phone.
Inspector Khan arrives and asks me more questions.
“Will you get her back?” I ask.
The inspector pulls the crease of his trousers straight. He studies the skirting board as if it might hold the answer then nods his head.
“Don’t worry,” he says, not meeting my eye. “I’m sure we’ll get your sister back.”
I go back to our room and lie on Zahra’s bed, clutching her rabbit and rocking and worrying. I stare into the mirror. A dark face, black hair, white streak, just like Zahra. Just like Dad.
Why couldn’t they get it right?
Why didn’t they take me?
Chapter 8
At about half past four in the morning, Granddad cooks breakfast. The smell of toast floats into my nostrils and I wake up feeling almost normal until I remember that Zahra’s gone.
Dustbin lorries grind through the streets and the traffic rumbles past the flat. The first helicopters of the day hover over the river and all life starts again.
It’s Friday. I should be going to school. I should be really excited about the end-of-term party.
I stumble off the bed. I’m still wearing my school uniform.
Two new policemen are drinking coffee at the kitchen table.
“Morning Maya, love,” says Granddad, extra cheerfully. “Your mum and dad are out in the van helping with the search. Fancy an egg?”
I notice the radio is burbling in the background, but Granddad reaches over and turns down the volume. I’m guessing Zahra’s disappearance will be headline news.
“Anything?” I ask the policemen.
One of them shakes his head, the other doesn’t even look at me.
Precious appears in the doorway, her heavy night-time nappy hanging below her knees and I force myself to smile. “Precious,” I say. “Let’s sort you out.”
She runs to the bathroom ahead of me and lies on the floor, her legs in the air, expectant. I breathe through my mouth to undo the nappy and I’m just untangling her fingers from my hair when I hear a kerfuffle at the door.
Bare-bottomed, Precious springs to her feet to see what’s going on and I follow.
Mum, Dad and a policeman burst into the flat closely followed by Zahra.
“Zahra!” I yell, racing down the passage to hug her.
“Maya!” she shouts, and I squeeze her as tight as I dare.
“What happened?” I say.
Precious races around our knees, dancing and shouting although she’s no idea what’s going on.
“We found her – outside the school!” says Dad.
“Well, I’d been there about a minute,” says Zahra.
“Just a moment.” Inspector Khan appears at the top of the stairs, behind Detective Sergeant Parker, whose lipstick has disappeared overnight. “We need to talk to Zahra before she forgets anything – if that’s all right.”
Zahra sits on a chair at the table, looking small. Everyone else stands in a circle around her, except for Inspector Khan. He takes off his overcoat. Underneath, he’s wearing the same perfect suit. If he’s slept in it, it doesn’t show. He looks at a chair, carefully brushing the seat with his hand before sitting down. He takes a pair of tiny glasses from a case and balances them on his nose. His very dark eyes now seem larger. Detective Sergeant Parker stands behind, taking notes, while Inspector Khan watches Zahra very carefully. She’s putting a brave face on it, but she’s shaking, and I can see by the salt tracks on her cheeks that she’s been crying.
“Tell us, in your own words—”
“So it all started when they stuck the bag over my head—”
“A bag? They put a bag over your head?” the inspector stops her.
“Yes – I went to the toilet, then back up the hallway, and I was actually on the back of the stage, behind the curtains. Someone came from behind, put something black over my head and then bundled me into a zippy holdall thingy. I could hear all the people in the hall, but they were so loud I don’t suppose anyone could hear me shouting.”
“It was very full, ever such a big crowd,” says Mum, grabbing Dad’s arm and smiling.
“Thank you,” says Inspector Khan. “And then what?”
Granddad lands a plate of toast and marmalade in front of Zahra and she takes an enormous bite, thinking about her answer. “Then they blindfolded me.”
“In the bag? Where?”
“After the bag, I think there was a car – then they unzipped the bag and tied something around my eyes and my wrists. In a room – all I saw for a titchy bit was some white ceiling.”
“Paint? Plaster?” asks DS Parker.
Zahra shrugs. “Dunno – just white.”
“Did you see any faces?” asks Mum.
The corner of the inspector’s mouth twitches. “And did they ask anything?”
“They wanted my phone, so I handed it out to them. They asked if I’d shown the pictures to the police. I said I didn’t have any pictures.” She looks at me. “I said I wasn’t you,” she says, her lower lip trembling. “They wanted you.”
There’s a silence while the inspector looks from Zahra to me, and from me to Zahra. “How many people do you think there were?” he asks. “Take your time to
answer.”
Zahra chews her toast. I’m pretty sure she’s already got the answer in her head, but she’s probably trying to get it right. “One – maybe two, I’d say.”
“Man – woman?” asks DS Parker, just before Mum does.
“I only ever heard a man. And he mostly wasn’t speaking English.”
“I know this is a long shot,” says the inspector. “But do you think he might have been talking in say, French, with an English or Scottish accent?”
“I’ve no idea – he might have been,” says Zahra.
The inspector sits back and stares at his manicured fingernails. “Did you get any impression of the size of your captor?”
Zahra runs her fingers around the top of a mug. “They picked me up really easily, as if I didn’t weigh anything.”
“A big man then?” says Mum.
“Yes,” says Zahra, glancing at me. “A solid one.”
* * *
I sit behind Zahra, my arms around her shoulders, while she snuggles into her duvet. The police are going to ask her more questions, but she’s tired, I’m tired, so we’ve been let off for now. She flicks through her phone and updates her Facebook status to “free”, and I shudder at the panic I felt when I knew she’d gone.
“Did you really not see them?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I really didn’t.”
“Was it scary?”
“Yes, it was terrifying.” She folds her arms over Rabbit, protectively. “But I knew I wasn’t very far away from home. The journey took hardly any time.”
“Oh?”
“And at first I thought it was a sort of joke or something? You know, sixth-formers or Dad or someone. And then they started shouting at me – while I was still in the bag.”
“Really?!”
“They were really cross when they realised I was me, and not you… At first they didn’t believe me, but then I said we looked exactly the same…” She stops, and we look up at Mum and Inspector Khan who are standing in the doorway staring at us.
“What?” I ask. “What is it?”
“We’ve been talking,” says Mum. “Me, the inspector and your dad. This man obviously wants you quite badly.”
“ Why?”
“Well, that’s just one of the things we don’t know,” says the inspector. “It seems you saw something – something you shouldn’t have. Without the camera card we don’t know what, but you’re a witness. And I don’t think we can doubt he’d like to talk to you, not after what happened to your sister. So I think we have to make plans.”
“Plans? Like what?”
Chapter 9
I peel off my shirt and chuck it in the general direction of the dirty-clothes basket. Ishan comes over and hugs my legs, blows bubbles against my knees and lands a kiss on Zahra’s rabbit. My fingers tremble as I undo the zip on my skirt.
Zahra sits on her bed and stares at the posters on our wall. “But why are you going so far?” she asks.
“To keep me safe,” I say, trying to keep the wobble out of my voice.
“But they’re going to leave a policeman here,” she says.
“I know. But they don’t think that’s enough. I suppose the shop’s open all the time and—”
“But being sent to Auntie V’s – I mean – that’s harsh.” Zahra shivers.
The last and only time we met Auntie V, one of her dogs bit me. For some reason she told me off rather than the dog and I cried all the way home. There was a boy there too. I didn’t like him either. He stuck his tongue out at me and poured salt over my ice cream but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to get into trouble with her again. It wasn’t much fun.
Auntie V’s house was cold and gloomy, and in the middle of mud. Miles and miles of mud.
I shake my head. That can’t be true. No one could live in the middle of miles and miles of mud.
“It’ll be fine,” I say in the end, stuffing all my most boring clothes into Dad’s wheely suitcase and then at the last minute adding my new parka, just in case it isn’t all mud.
“It won’t be fine for me, I’ll miss you,” says Zahra, picking my iPod off the floor and dropping it into the zippy bit of the bag. “How will you manage without me?”
“I don’t know,” I say, hugging her tight and sniffing back a tear.
“And you won’t be here for the end of term,” she says. “You won’t be able to go to the party.”
“Yup,” I say, sniffing back another tear. “True.”
She winds the cables around my chargers and hands them to me. “But why Auntie V?” she asks again.
“Because it’s as far away and as safe as she can be,” says Mum, rustling in the doorway. She’s wearing a huge black waterproof and wellies, and looks as if she’s about to go fishing off the Scottish coast, in a gale, with her bare hands. “Ready, Maya?”
“Mama,” says Ishan, sitting on her wellington. “Mama.”
Mum bends down and picks him up, flinging him under her arm. “Keep out the way, trouble,” she says, stamping off along the landing. “Dennis!” she shouts. “Can you keep an eye on the twins – properly.”
There’s a grunt from Granddad in the kitchen.
“Take Rabbit,” says Zahra, holding the rabbit out to me.
“But don’t you need him?” I say, taking him in my hands and bending his ears down over his eyes.
“Yes – but I’ve got Mum and Dad and home, you need him more.”
“If you’re sure,” and I kiss her on the top of the head.
She holds my hand. “Watch your back, sis,” she says in a mock-American accent.
Smiling, but not trusting myself to speak, I jam Rabbit in my tote bag and drag the wheely suitcase along the corridor, stopping behind Granddad who’s sitting at the table.
Granddad looks up. “Your Auntie V’s, eh? You gonna be all right, Maya? Out there in the countryside?”
I nod. “Yeah. It’ll be OK,” I say. Or at least my mouth says it, even though my heart doesn’t.
“You’re not worried, are you?” he says.
“No,” I lie, my stomach doing a flip. He’s so old, so frail. I can’t tell him that I’m worried about everything. The things I know and the things I don’t.
“I’ll miss you, girl. Won’t be the same without my little mechanic by my side.” He picks up an oily piece of metal that I recognise as a crankshaft. “I was hoping to get this put together before Christmas.”
“The police’ll get it sorted out soon, I’m sure,” I say. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
“That’s my girl,” he says, meaninglessly. “Take care of yourself. Say hello to your auntie. Tell her she’s always welcome here.”
“Right,” says Mum, barrelling past. “Ready? The police said we need to leave as soon as possible – in case – well, just as soon as possible.”
Chapter 10
Mum’s not a good driver. She’s especially bad in traffic and she makes these anxious noises as we fight our way out of London in the van.
I sit in the middle of the front seat gazing out at all the cars jammed across the road. We’re barely moving. We’ve barely moved for an hour.
“Mum,” I say. “Do you think that man would try to find me in Wales?”
Mum goes silent for a long time. She chews her lip and grips the wheel, staring into the traffic. “As your granddad would say – better safe than sorry.”
“But he could come to the shop – he could find you, or the twins – he could have hung on to Zahra to get to me. Do keep her safe, Mum – don’t let her go to friends’ houses on her own.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t, and if he comes to the shop – plenty of hammers to bop him on the head.” She stops and goes quiet for a while. “But seriously, they’re sticking an undercover policeman in the shop. I don’t think we’re in danger.”
“Do you think I’ll be safe halfway up a mountain?”
Mum doesn’t answer that, just reaches over and squeezes my hand.
She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t do a reassuring laugh. Nothing.
Small dots of rain appear on the windscreen and Mum switches on the wipers.
We move a little further out of London. The cars flow past on all sides.
“Do you think we’re being followed?” I ask, looking out into the wing mirror.
“No,” says Mum, unconvincingly.
The van has “Southwark Sanitary Solutions” written all over the side. We wouldn’t be that difficult to find. But apart from a fourteen-year-old Nissan Micra that failed its MOT last week, we don’t have anything else to travel in. I watch a blue estate behind us until it peels off and disappears.
We inch forwards. Blue lights flash in the mirror and a police car threads its way through the traffic, pulling alongside and then bouncing on to the hard shoulder.
“Is that for us?” I ask.
“I wish,” says Mum.
And we go back to silent anxiety.
* * *
I must fall asleep at some point, because the next time I’m aware of our surroundings we’re on an almost completely dark motorway, the engine humming noisily, being overtaken periodically by cars thundering on into the night. The windscreen wipers are still going but the rain’s much heavier now. Splotty.
It might almost be sleet.
“Where are we?”
“Somewhere near the Severn Bridge,” says Mum.
We thunder on down the road.
“What’s Auntie V like?” I ask.
“Oh, she’s OK really,” says Mum. “Very bossy older sister.”
We pass a load of lights.
“Is he called Ollie? Her son.”
“Yes. Ollie. I don’t know him very well. He’s about fourteen – and all I know is he’s a really talented horse rider. Oops – sorry.” Mum weaves on to the white line. I hope she’s not too tired to do this. “I wonder if there’s a service station anywhere soon?”
“We passed one just now, I think,” I say.
“Actually – I’m fine. Check the glovebox, love, see if Dad’s left anything in there?”
Murder In Midwinter Page 3