The Last Lost Girl

by Maria Hoey

  “They have statements,” says Daddy. “People who say I dragged Lilly kicking and screaming from the marquee tent. Apparently, I ripped that sash from her back.”

  Jacqueline’s mother puts her hand to her mouth. “Who said that?”

  “They wouldn’t tell me who said it, but it’s all written down in black and white and signed and sealed like it was the absolute truth. I swear to God, Stella, it wasn’t like that. That sash got snagged on something in the doorway of the tent, when Lilly went running off ahead of me.”

  “Sweet Jesus – but that was a week ago. Why are people bringing that up, what are they thinking?”

  “You know right well what they’re thinking,” says Daddy, “and they’re not the only ones thinking it. Sexton crossed the road to avoid me today.”

  “Edmund’s father? Why would he? You’re imagining things, Frank.”

  “I’m imagining nothing,” says Daddy.

  They are talking about Lilly on the evening news.

  “Gardaí are appealing for the public’s assistance to help trace the whereabouts of 15-year-old Lilly Brennan who has not been seen since she left her home on Friday 23 July this year. Lilly is 5’7” and weighs 8 stone 10 pounds. She has dark-brown eyes and long, very dark-brown hair. When last seen, Lilly was wearing a blue cheesecloth dress and cream-coloured canvas platform shoes.”

  Jacqueline thinks how happy Lilly would be if she were here now to see all the fuss being made over her. People come to the house: Auntie Carol, Mrs Quinn, Sexy Sexton’s mother, all the flower women, people Jacqueline does not even know. They bring sandwiches, cakes, even whole dinners. Jacqueline’s mother looks at the plates and casseroles as though she does not understand what she is supposed to do with them. Gayle takes them. She smiles and says, “Thank you, that’s very kind of you” and she writes down the cooking instructions for the stews and casseroles: “Warm at 450ºc for 20 minutes.” – “Moderate oven for about half an hour.”

  There are so many women and so many casseroles, Gayle worries about whether or not they will manage to give the right dish back to the right woman. Jacqueline thinks that there has never been so much food in the house, but nobody feels like eating it. She wanders around the kitchen, lifting the lids and frowning at soups and stews.

  The flower women lower their voices when she comes near, but she hears them talking. “I believe they’re asking anyone who was on the road on Saturday night to come forward. And they’re questioning that boy from the carnival. I hear that he and she were …”

  “So I believe – he’s a gypsy, isn’t he?”

  Not everyone is thinking about Lilly. Olive O’Rourke is talking about her daughter’s wedding. “It’s the 4th of October – we’re praying for good weather.”

  Jacqueline goes into the sitting room. Her mother is sitting on the sofa between Florence McNally and Mrs Sexton.

  Mrs Quinn is sitting in Daddy’s chair, drinking tea. “Don’t worry, Mrs Brennan,” she says. “God knows exactly where Lilly is and, wherever that is, He’s there with her.”

  Jacqueline’s mother puts her cup down on the coffee table and stands up. She is not wearing any lipstick and the skin under her eyes is almost navy blue. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Quinn,” she says, “but I just don’t believe that.” She walks out of the room.

  Mrs Quinn shakes her head. She stares at Sexy Sexton’s mother. “That’s a very nice costume you’re wearing, Mrs Sexton. Did you buy that in Switzers now?”

  “Actually, no,” Mrs Sexton keeps her voice low, “I picked it up in Rome.” She looks at the sitting-room door. “Perhaps someone should go after her …”

  “I’ll go,” says Florence Mc Nally, and she gets up and hurries from the room.

  Jacqueline follows her and stands in the hall watching Florence’s bum wriggling in her tight skirt as she hurries up the stairs.

  Olive O’Rourke comes out of the kitchen and smiles at Jacqueline. “I’m praying for your sister to come home safely,” she says.

  Perhaps, Jacqueline thinks, that is the problem: there are too many prayers, and sometimes the really important ones get lost among the silly ones, the ones for sunshine or dresses or Dublin to win the All Ireland.

  Upstairs, she can hear them talking in her mother’s bedroom. “People are saying that Frank …”

  “No-one believes a word of it,” says Florence McNally.

  “But they do, I know they do. The police went to Frank’s work. They asked his boss and the men he works with a load of questions – what time Frank got into work that night, when he left, that sort of thing, and now people are talking.”

  Florence McNally says, “They’re asking the same questions of a lot of people – they have to. It’s their job, Stella. But only very stupid people or very narrow-minded people believe that Frank could …”

  “That’s nearly everyone then, isn’t it?” says Jacqueline’s mother.

  Jacqueline goes back downstairs.

  Detective Gerry wants to talk to Jacqueline. He tells her that she is not in trouble and all she has to do is tell the truth. “Do you understand, Jacqueline?”

  Detective Gerry smiles and Jacqueline says she understands.

  “Good,” says Detective Gerry. “Now tell me about the last time you saw Lilly.”

  “I was in the orchard, reading my book,” says Jacqueline, “and Lilly came. She said I was to tell Mam that she was going baby-sitting.”

  “What was Lilly wearing, Jacqueline?”

  “Her new shoes and her blue dress,” says Jacqueline.

  “Did Lilly usually get dressed up to go baby-sitting?”

  “I don’t know – I don’t think so.”

  “Did you see or hear anyone come to the house to collect Lilly?”

  “No, I didn’t see anyone. I was in the orchard reading.”

  “And you didn’t hear a car?”

  Jacqueline shakes her head.

  “And did Lilly mention that she was meeting anybody, or that she was planning on going to the dance in the marquee?”

  “No.”

  “How did Lilly seem to you, Jacqueline? Was she happy or sad or worried?”

  Jacqueline thinks, I wasn’t looking at her face. She says, “I don’t know, I was reading.”

  “Alright, just one or two more questions now, Jacqueline. Have you ever noticed anyone hanging around the house – a boy or a man perhaps?”

  “Only the boy in the garden with the guitar,” says Jacqueline, “but that was Luca.”

  Detective Gerry looks up from his notebook. “Luca was in the garden here, with a guitar? When was this?”

  “I don’t know,” says Jacqueline. “Before the festival started. He was singing to Lilly in the middle of the night. Daddy chased him away.”

  Detective Gerry says he will ask Daddy about that. “Was there anyone else?”

  “The boy in the field,” says Jacqueline.

  “Who was the boy in the field?”

  “I’m not sure. I only saw his hair – it was black. I think that was Luca too. Lilly came through the gap in the hedge out there and afterwards I went to the gap and looked and I saw him running away towards the river.”

  “Is there anything else, Jacqueline, anything at all?”

  “No.”

  “You understand how important it is to tell us everything, no matter how small it might seem?”

  “I understand,” says Jacqueline.

  The man on the television is talking about Lilly again. “Today Gardaí combed the countryside and woodland near the home of missing teenager, Lilly Brennan.”

  Jacqueline imagines men in uniforms and hats moving through the fields, pulling behind them a giant comb attached to a rope – the big wide teeth rake through the grass and the ditches.

  “Local people turned out today to assist in the search. Garda divers also searched the river near the missing girl’s home. Meanwhile questionnaires have been issued to establish what cars have been seen in the area where Lilly Brennan was
last seen, as police fear she may have been abducted – plucked from the side of the road as she walked home alone.”

  Jacqueline thinks it makes Lilly sound just like a flower.

  Chapter 34

  Afterwards

  There was a soft but persistent knocking. Jacqueline knew it was her mother come to say she was sorry about the corned-beef sandwiches but when she opened her eyes Dot Candy was standing in the doorway of her room.

  “Sorry to wake you so early, but I’m in a fix.”

  Jacqueline sat up in bed, mentally adjusting herself to the trauma of being not eleven and gratified but forty-eight and bemused. “Is something wrong? What time is it?”

  “It’s nearly six-thirty and I have to catch a train in fifteen minutes. Marilyn hasn’t come home.”

  Jacqueline shook her head. “Are you worried about her? Can’t you ring her?”

  “I tried that – her phone’s off. It would only be for an hour or two.”

  “What would?”

  “The boy, Jimmy, I can’t take him with me to the hospital. I need someone to look after him.”

  “You mean me?” It was too early and Jacqueline was too surprised to pretend. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  “I know it’s an imposition,” said Dot, “and I wouldn’t dream of asking if I wasn’t completely stuck. But it wouldn’t be for long – Marilyn is probably on her way back right now.”

  “If she was on her way back, wouldn’t she have answered her phone?” said Jacqueline.

  Dot shrugged her shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. “I don’t know what else to do. Jean is depending on me and I can’t let her down. She doesn’t –”

  “Fine. I’d better get up then, hadn’t I?” Jacqueline didn’t want to hear any more about Jean. She flung the duvet off and swung her legs to the floor.

  “Thank you,” said Dot, “you’ve saved my life. I’ll let you get dressed.” She shut the door, then opened it again immediately. “Oh, and I know it’s an infernal cheek, but is there any way you would feed the cats?”

  As she came down the stairs, Dot was in the hall pacing. Behind her the door stood open.

  “Jimmy is still asleep,” she said. “With any luck he’ll stay that way for a while.”

  “You’d better go,” said Jacqueline curtly. “You’ll miss your train.”

  “Yes, I’d better hurry. So I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Dot gazed at Jacqueline, a rueful expression on her face. “You have no idea how grateful I am.”

  “Don’t mention it,” said Jacqueline.

  Dot turned away and left, leaving the door wide open behind her. Jacqueline went to the kitchen and switched on the radio, just in time to catch the end of the weather forecast: “Fog patches will clear early, giving way to widespread haze, so look forward to long sunny spells …”

  She opened the door to the terrace. It did look fair. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, perhaps he wouldn’t wake up, perhaps Marilyn really would come home very soon.

  She filled the kettle and was just sitting down with a mug of tea when the boy marched into the kitchen. He was wearing his purple dinosaur pyjamas and his glasses, and his squirrel was dangling from one hand. He looked, Jacqueline thought, a bit too perky for so early in the morning.

  “Where’s Dotty?” he said.

  “Dotty had to go out.” Jacqueline gave him a smile so unnaturally big it almost made her jaw ache.

  “Where’s Marilyn?”

  “Marilyn isn’t … Marilyn is still out, but she won’t be long. Would you like me to make you some breakfast?”

  Jimmy turned and ran.

  Jacqueline put her cup down and got up slowly.

  “Damn you, Marilyn, and damn you, Dot Candy,” she said.

  She went after the child and found him in the lounge, kneeling up on the sill of the big bay window.

  “Come on, Jimmy,” she said, “come and have some breakfast and before you know it, Marilyn will –”

  “I want Marilyn!” he cried and began thumping the glass with the flat of both hands.

  “Don’t do that, Jimmy,” said Jacqueline. “You could hurt yourself.”

  She crossed the room and reached out to touch him but he pulled away from her and bounded from the sill to the floor. Then he ran across the room and flung himself into the rocking chair where he curled himself up like a little purple peanut and began to howl.

  “Oh, give me strength!” said Jacqueline.

  For ten minutes she stayed with him. Crouched over him and finally kneeling next to him, she tried every tactic she could think of, but Jimmy would not be comforted, coaxed nor cajoled from the chair. In the end, she left him there, still howling. She told herself that the best thing she could do was to make him some breakfast. Eventually hunger would get the better of him and he would have to stop crying in order to eat. Better yet, Marilyn would come home and solve the problem.

  The howling stopped abruptly as she reached the kitchen. She went and stood in the open doorway and breathed in the quiet of the morning. Then she turned back into the kitchen and wondered about what to make for him. There was a bowl of fruit on the kitchen table with a couple of bananas – she had a notion that children ate a lot of bananas. But maybe eggs would be better, eggs in a cup with toast soldiers, and if he didn’t eat it she would – she was hungry now.

  Something brushed against her leg and she almost leapt out of her skin. “Oh, for God’s sake!” she yelled and Oscar hissed then shot across the room and out through the open doorway where he sat eyeing her from a safe distance and lashing his tail. “Yeah, I know, you want feeding too – well, join the queue.”

  She found a tray and carried Jimmy’s meal to him in the lounge. The rocking chair was empty. She set the tray down on the sideboard and went into the hall, calling his name. A frightening thought struck her: what if he’d run off to try to find his mother? She hurried out the front door, down to the end of the drive and peered down the hill. If he’s run off, she thought, if he’s knocked down and killed they’ll blame me. The unfairness of it all made her want to weep.

  Back inside the house she searched the entire ground floor then she went upstairs. Marilyn’s room, she knew, was on the first floor but she had no idea which it was. The first door she tried turned out to be some sort of linen cupboard, the perfect hiding place, she would have thought, but it did not contain a crying child. Two further doors opened on bedrooms, obviously unoccupied but pristine and spotlessly clean as though in readiness for expected guests. How many rooms were there in this house anyway?

  “Bingo!” she said finally as a door opened on a room with a just-burgled look – she had no doubt that this one was Marilyn’s. But no child was visible.

  The huge room opened on an ancient-looking bathroom, complete with an enormous and ancient-looking bath which stood side by side with a modern shower unit. She went inside and had a quick look around. No Jimmy.

  She emerged and stood, surveying the bedroom. Everywhere was chaos. The large double bed was unmade and strewn with clothing – at its centre sat an upended handbag, the contents tumbled in a heap with a single high-heeled sandal sitting on top. Jacqueline got down on her knees to look underneath the bed. The match of the shoe was there, along with a hairbrush and some scrunched-up paper tissues, but Jimmy was not. Getting to her feet, she gazed about her. Everywhere she looked, there were items of clothing – tops and jeans, skirts and dresses and bras and knickers. They hung from the open drawers of a tallboy, they drooped from chairbacks and littered the floor. In the enormous mahogany wardrobe, its doors flung open, the hangers hung empty, while beneath them on the floor of the wardrobe lay another tangle of clothes and belts and fallen scarves, jumbled together with bags and shoes and boots.

  One thing was certain: there was no child hiding in there. Then Jacqueline noticed the bed under the window. It was a child’s wooden bed and it had been painted fire-engine red. Its bedclothes were rumpled. Jacqueline stepped gingerly, avoiding shoes and discard
ed towels, and crossed the Rubicon into Jimmy’s bedroom. That was how it felt – these were two separate living spaces – Marilyn’s and the child’s. His was a room within a room. The wardrobe had been painted red to match the bed and to one side a row of red shelves held Jimmy’s clothes: carefully folded Tshirts, shorts and jumpers as pristine as if they were on display for sale in a clothes shop. On the far side of the wardrobe another row of shelves held a selection of toys, all neatly displayed according to type: cars, stuffed animals, plastic models. Everything neat and orderly. Jacqueline shook her head at the conundrum that was Marilyn, then she pulled open the doors of the small wardrobe. His clothes had been divided into sections: shirts, trousers, jackets, winter coats, everything neatly hung.

  Beneath it all was Jimmy himself, hunched down, his face buried in his knees.

  Thank God for that, thought Jacqueline.

  “I made egg and toast soldiers for you,” she said.

  “I want Mummy!” the child wailed and he sprang up and darted past her.

  “Stop the world, I wanna get off,” said Jacqueline.

  She hurried out onto the landing, hearing him already scampering across the hall below. She raced down the stairs and stood in the hall, looking frantically around her. Had he gone outside?

  Perhaps he’d gone back to the rocking chair?

  She plunged into the lounge. No Jimmy.

  Then a sound from behind her sent her haring back into the hall. “Please be Marilyn, please be Marilyn!” she chanted under her breath like a mantra.

  Magpie was leaning against the porch wall, head on his chest, his arms folded.

  “You!” she said, too disappointed to hide her feelings. “Dot’s not here and it’s a bad time.”

  Magpie raised his head lazily. “Good morning to you too. And it was you I was looking for … but I won’t keep you so.” He straightened up and turned away.

  “I’m sorry – I thought you were Marilyn – she didn’t come home last night and I’m supposed to be looking after her son. He ran off and I only just found him – but now I seem to have lost him again. I don’t suppose you saw him outside?”

  “Yeah, he was on his way into town for a pint,” said Magpie.