The Last Lost Girl

by Maria Hoey

  “What are you up to, Jacqueline?”

  Jacqueline spins round.

  Her mother is standing in the doorway. “You know you’re not allowed in here. Is that Lilly’s radio you have there?”

  “I was just looking at it,” says Jacqueline.

  Her mother comes closer and holds out her hand. “It’s still warm,” she says and she looks at Jacqueline. “Gayle said she heard this last night – have you had it all the time?”

  Jacqueline shakes her head, then she nods it. “Lilly said I could have it.”

  “Then why didn’t you say so this morning?” says her mother. “And why were you so surprised when I said that Lilly had stayed over? Is there something you’re not telling me, Jacqueline?”

  Her mother sits down on the edge of Lilly’s bed and puts the radio in her lap.

  Jacqueline shakes her head again.

  “So you’re telling me that Lilly went off baby-sitting for the Kellys,” says her mother, “and she left her radio with you? Well, now I know for sure that you’re lying. When has she ever gone to the Kellys’ without taking her radio with her? Now tell me what’s going on, Jacqueline.”

  “Nothing,” says Jacqueline. “Lilly gave me her radio for a loan, she did – she gave it to me before she went to … before she went baby-sitting.”

  Jacqueline’s mother picks up the radio and turns it over in her hands, then she looks at Jacqueline again. “I’m going to give you one more chance,” she says. “Now you told me last night that Martin Kelly came over in the car and asked Lilly to baby-sit. Was that or was that not true, Jacqueline?”

  “Lilly said so,” says Jacqueline, and that, she thinks, is true.

  “That’s not what I asked you, Jacqueline. Did Martin Kelly come over and did you see Lilly go with him in his car?”

  Jacqueline looks down at her feet. “I don’t know.”

  Jacqueline’s mother gets up quickly. There are wrinkles on Lilly’s eiderdown in the place where she sat. She comes closer to Jacqueline, and there is a look in her eyes that Jacqueline has never seen before.

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” she says. “Either you saw them or you didn’t. Did Martin Kelly call over for Lilly or didn’t he?”

  “I don’t know,” says Jacqueline again.

  Her mother comes even closer. “You’re not making sense, Jacqueline. Did you see Martin or not? I won’t ask you again. Don’t make me lose my temper.”

  Jacqueline shakes her head.

  “You didn’t see Martin? But you said that Lilly gave you her radio before she went out?”

  “She did.”

  “But she wasn’t going baby-sitting, was she?”

  “I don’t know,” says Jacqueline.

  “I think you do know,” says her mother. “Alright then, what was she wearing when she gave you the radio?”

  “I can’t remember,” says Jacqueline.

  She was wearing her blue dress, she thinks, and in her head she can see Lilly moving toward her under the apple trees. Closer and closer she comes until Jacqueline can see Lilly’s toenails: they are painted and they glitter in the sunlight like little bright-pink helmets. Lilly is wearing her new cream platform sandals, except Lilly calls them espadrilles, not sandals. They have laces that criss-cross her brown legs, and the heels are chunky and high as two half-pounds of butter. The material of her dress is crinkly. It sways above Jacqueline’s head and, when Lilly bends down, there is the scent of newly washed hair – lemons among the apple trees.

  “Well, try to remember!” Her mother is too close now and her eyes are angry.

  “I can’t remember!” Jacqueline shouts. “I didn’t see! I was reading, the sun was in my eyes. Leave me alone, it’s not fair! I didn’t do anything, I didn’t do anything!”

  Jacqueline’s mother turns and rushes from the room.

  “Frank!” she calls. “Wake up, Frank, I need you!”

  Jacqueline is so surprised that for a while she does not move. Nobody ever wakes Daddy after he’s been on nights. She goes and stands on the landing, listening to the sound of voices from her parents’ room.

  “I know that, Frank,” her mother is saying, “but something is wrong, I know it is. I need you to get up and go and find Lilly and bring her home.”

  Daddy will be so angry, Jacqueline thinks, but when he comes out of his room he does not look angry, just sleepy. He passes Jacqueline on the landing without saying anything and she watches him hurrying down the stairs. Her mother goes after him, still holding Lilly’s radio. The front door bangs shut and there is silence in the house.

  Jacqueline goes back into Lilly’s room. She stands at the window and watches the car until it passes through the gateway and she cannot see it any longer. When she goes downstairs, the lunch is laid out ready on the kitchen table. There is salad, but there are corned-beef sandwiches too. Jacqueline does not feel like eating now. She picks up her book from the table where she left it and takes it down to the orchard. She sits under the oldest apple tree and thinks about how much trouble Lilly is in this time. After a while, she opens her book and tries to read. The people in the story are having a picnic and, as she reads the words, Jacqueline can imagine them moving through the fields under the trees. The women are wearing white dresses and carry parasols and all the men have tall hats. Jacqueline thinks that if she really tried, she could hear their voices as they talk among themselves, could almost taste the food they eat – game pies and chicken and fruit – how lovely it all sounds. Jacqueline looks up from the page and stares around her at the trees in the orchard and the scorched grass. But it would not, she thinks, be that way in real life. In real life, someone would be in a bad humour or someone would be complaining about the weather. Someone would be stung by a nettle, or step in cow dung, or there would be too many midges or flies in the jam. That was the trouble with books – things got left out. Things like banging your elbow or your socks falling down because the elastic has gone, or the label in your jumper scratching your neck or something getting in your eye. Things like bits of burnt toast getting into the butter or the expression on someone’s face changing the way you feel about absolutely everything. What it all comes down to, Jacqueline thinks, is that there isn’t any point in trying to be like the people in books – it just doesn’t work. Not only are they not real but the world they live in is not real either. She puts her book down and thinks how thirsty she is, and how hot and uncomfortable. She thinks how nice it would be to go inside and lie down on Lilly’s white bed in Lilly’s cool room. But she stays where she is and she tells herself that everything will be fine when Lilly comes home.

  Chapter 30

  Afterwards

  Considering, Jacqueline thought, the amount she had drunk, she felt surprisingly rested and clear-headed. She got out of bed, stood at the window and looked at the sky: it was an unbroken blue. Beneath it everything glittered in the sunlight: the sea, the nap of dew on the grass. Downstairs, she was surprised to find the door actually locked and she drew back the bolt and went outside. She went around to the back of the house and stood on the terrace. The garden had the almost spellbound quality that early morning sometimes lends. Remnants of mist lingered in the grass and shimmered in the sunlight. “Mist in the hollow, fine weather to follow.” Once again, she heard his voice as clearly as if he had been standing beside her. Then the thought that he would never see another morning like this one made grief lurch at her insides. She walked down the steps and across the grass and stood in front of the sea holly tree. Why did you come here, Dad, and what the hell am I doing here now?

  A sound startled her and she spun round.

  Magpie was standing on the terrace watching her.

  “Jesus, you nearly frightened the life out of me!” said Jacqueline.

  “Sorry.” He swiped at his hair, rummaged in the pocket of his greatcoat. “Smoke?”

  “No. No, thank you.” Jacqueline walked back slowly toward him as he lit up.

  He took a long
slow drag on his cigarette then leaned against the wall of the house, showing no sign of speaking.

  “Did you want something?” said Jacqueline.

  Magpie took another drag, watching her slit-eyed through the smoke. “As I recall, it’s you that’s looking for something.”

  “You’ve remembered something?” Jacqueline came up the steps to the terrace.

  Magpie shrugged, straightened up and looked down at the cigarette in his hand. “Bits and pieces – if you want details you have no chance.”

  “I’m grateful for anything you can give me,” said Jacqueline. She indicated the deck chairs. “Do you want to sit down or …?”

  “Mind if we walk as we talk?” Magpie turned away without waiting for her reply.

  “Not at all.” Jacqueline followed him. “In fact, I was thinking of walking into town and getting some breakfast – will you join me?” She knew she sounded too eager, too grateful, but that was exactly how she felt.

  “What’s wrong – Dot not looking after you?” He flung the question over his shoulder.

  “No, of course not, I just –”

  “Like your own company? Me too, and I’ve eaten, thanks.” Going down the hill his coat, which was much too big for him, flapped wide in the wind.

  His long legs ate up the road and Jacqueline had almost to break into a trot to keep up with him. “So what can you tell me?” she panted.

  “About your dad? He was looking for some kid when I came across him.”

  “What kid? My sister?”

  “No – one of the Earlys from the fair.”

  “Luca,” said Jacqueline.

  “The very one,” said Magpie.

  “Did he find him?”

  “No, he was long gone. But your dad went sniffing around the show at the North Beach.”

  “What show?”

  “The funfair – the kid’s uncle was Ned Early – he ran that show back then.”

  “And?” said Jacqueline.

  “And Ned Early wouldn’t entertain him, basically told him to sling his hook. But your dad wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Magpie glanced back at Jacqueline. “I suspect you take after him. Anyway, the result was he got himself knocked about a bit.”

  Jacqueline came to a standstill. “Are you saying this Early guy beat him up?”

  “Not Ned himself. A couple of his sidekicks did it.” Magpie looked back again, saw Jacqueline’s face and stopped walking. “It wasn’t as bad as all that – they just roughed him up a bit and turfed him out the fair gates onto the seafront.” He grinned unexpectedly. “Luckily your dad had a fair few drinks on him at the time so he didn’t really feel it – not until the next day, anyway.”

  Jacqueline did not even pretend to see the funny side of it. “How do you know all this?” she asked.

  Magpie began walking again but he slowed his pace so that Jacqueline drew level with him. “Because I happened to be on the promenade at the crucial moment,” he said. “You know, promenading myself? So I picked him up and dissuaded him from going back for a second round.”

  “You helped him.” She turned and looked him in the eye. “Thank you for that.”

  “Don’t mention it,” said Magpie. “I’m heading up this way.”

  They had reached the turn for Cliff Walk.

  “Me too,” said Jacqueline. “So then what happened?”

  “I took him for a pint.” Magpie smiled at her sideways. “That is to say, he joined me on a bender.”

  “Sounds about right,” said Jacqueline. “Did he talk to you about my sister, about Lilly?”

  Magpie looked at her. “He said his kid had gone missing, and one of the last people to see her was this lad from the carnival.”

  “One of the last, yes,” said Jacqueline. “So Dad came over here to see Luca? But why then? That was 1983, seven whole years later. Did he know something – had he found out something?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” said Magpie. “He had some notion …”

  “About Lilly?”

  “Yeah, nothing definite, mind, just something someone had heard from someone else, that kind of thing.”

  “What had they heard?” said Jacqueline.

  “That this kid Luca had been seen recently,” said Magpie. “Someone on holiday had spotted him – in France, I think it was.”

  “And?” said Jacqueline.

  “He was with a girl – and this person, whoever it was who saw them, said the girl looked just like your sister.”

  “They saw Lilly?” Jacqueline felt something loosen in the pit of her stomach.

  “They said they saw a girl who looked like your sister,” said Magpie. “Calm down, don’t jump the gun – like I said, it was just hearsay. Your dad wasn’t certain – even the person who’d told the story to begin with couldn’t be sure. Apparently, Luca and the girl disappeared into the crowd and they only saw her for a split second.”

  “But they thought they saw Lilly with Luca. In France. I can’t believe this.”

  In her head, she was thinking: I’m hearing this and I’m carrying on walking and the sun is still shining and nothing has changed. It was just like all the enormous things in life – when they happened, they never felt the way you thought they would.

  “So did Dad ever talk to Ned Early?”

  “Not that night, he didn’t – I talked him out of it. But he came looking for me the next day, your dad did. Apparently, I’d told him I knew Ned Early, which I did – I used to do a bit of work around the fairground from time to time. Anyway, apparently I’d made your dad a promise that if he slept on it and let things cool down, I’d have a word with Ned for him.”

  “Apparently?” said Jacqueline.

  “So your old man told me. He asked around the town, found out where I lived and came round hammering on my door. Talk about total recall.”

  Jacqueline smiled. “That was him alright.”

  Magpie turned and looked at her quickly. “I could be wrong, but I have a feeling he’s not around anymore?”

  “He died,” said Jacqueline, “not so very long ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Magpie. “And do you mind me asking – this conversation we’re having –?”

  “Why didn’t I have it with him?”

  “Something like that,” said Magpie.

  “I didn’t know this place existed until a few days ago. I found something in his things. It seemed likely my dad was here once, and as it turns out I was right. So I came here. I thought I might be able to find out whatever it was that he found out, or even,” she spread her hands, “I don’t know, something he missed. He never told anyone about this France thing. I don’t believe he ever told my mother about it.”

  “Strange.”

  “Yes. So did you talk to Ned Early for him?”

  “I did in the end, to get him off my back.”

  “Did you ask him about Luca and Lilly in France? What did he say?”

  “He knew nothing about that, said it was a load of old rubbish.” Magpie glanced at Jacqueline. “You have to understand that he was very bitter about it all. About what had happened to Luca in Ireland, the cops and all that. They gave the kid a right old hiding. You could hardly blame the old man for feeling the way he did.”

  Jacqueline stopped walking. “No, that didn’t happen,” she said. “The police didn’t beat Luca – his uncle must have got the wrong end of the stick. They wouldn’t have done that to Luca.”

  Magpie stopped too and turned and looked at her. “I think you’ll find that it was Luca who got the wrong end of the stick.” He flicked his cigarette-butt away.

  “You’re saying they beat Luca up? I don’t believe it – why would they?”

  Magpie lit up another cigarette, shielding the flame from the wind with his hand. He took a long pull and said, “Well, according to Early they did. His story is that they tried to get Luca to make a confession and, when he wouldn’t, they locked him in a cell for two days. Frightened the shit out of him and gave hi
m a right old hiding while they were at it. And that’s what Early told your old man too.”

  “You got him to agree to talk to Dad?”

  Magpie grinned. “Who could resist this face?” A girl bounced past them on the cliff path, a high ponytail swinging behind her. Magpie turned his head and watched her. “How do they make them do that?”

  “Do what?” Jacqueline was thinking about the big detective with the red-gold hair and the smiling blue eyes.

  “Girls and ponytails – how do they make them swing that way? Is it accident or design?”

  “I have no idea,” said Jacqueline.

  Magpie was on the move again and she hurried to catch up with him.

  “But why would they do that to Luca? Why would they even try to force him to confess? There was never really any question about Luca being to blame – too many people saw him that night, long after Lilly left the carnival. And she was seen later on, when Luca had an alibi, more than one alibi.”

  “Maybe they were the wrong kinds of alibis,” said Magpie. “Anyway, in the end, Early told your old man that Luca had gone, left the country. According to him, he wasn’t sure where the lad had gone exactly – France, as far as he knew.”

  “France,” said Jacqueline.

  Magpie nodded. “But the kid hadn’t kept in touch. Early seemed very put out about it – it’s not the way they do things. That fairground shower are clannish as a rule – they stick together – but this lad had gone his own way, and Early blamed what had happened to him in Ireland for that. He said it changed his outlook on life.”

  “How did my dad seem to you after he’d talked to Ned Early?” said Jacqueline. “I mean, do you think he still believed that Lilly was out there somewhere, in France maybe?”

  “Hard to say,” said Magpie, “but he definitely believed Ned Early was keeping something back.”

  “He told you that?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “But he never found out what that was?” said Jacqueline.

  “Not as far as I’m aware,” said Magpie. “But I know he left his Irish address with Ned and asked him to keep it and contact him if he found out where Luca was. And he gave Ned an address for your sister too, the one who lived in England …”