The Last Lost Girl

by Maria Hoey

  “It’s not funny,” said Jacqueline. “Something could happen to him.”

  “Look behind you,” said Magpie.

  Jacqueline spun round.

  Jimmy was standing in the hall, his eyes puffed and pink under the thick glasses.

  Magpie moved forward and past Jacqueline into the hallway. He knelt down before the child, “Having a bad day, little chap?”

  Jimmy nodded solemnly.

  “He hasn’t stopped crying since he got up,” said Jacqueline.

  “I haven’t had my breakfast,” said Jimmy. “I’m hungry and I want toast.”

  Magpie got to his feet and turned back to Jacqueline. “He wants toast,” he said.

  Jacqueline opened her mouth to defend herself but closed it again – what was the point? “Do you want to have something too?” she said to Magpie instead.

  Magpie shook his head. “I only came to tell you I’ve tracked down Luca’s kid sister, or at least I think I have.”

  “How, when? You said nothing last night.”

  “I didn’t know anything last night,” said Magpie, “but after I left here I met a bloke in the pub who knows where she’s living now.”

  He put a hand in his pocket and rummaged about, then pulled out a packet of cigarettes.

  “Well, where is she?” said Jacqueline impatiently.

  “She’s living in a town about fifty miles up the coast. I don’t have her address though.”

  “How big a town – what’s it called?”

  “Northby. Not a very big place – a seaside town a lot like this one.”

  “Then I’ll find her. Is her name still Early?”

  Magpie shook his head. “The bloke I talked to said she was married but he didn’t know who to. Has an idea where she’s working though.”

  “Then I’ll find her,” said Jacqueline. “Just tell me what you know.”

  “I’m hungry,” said Jimmy. “I want my toast.”

  Jacqueline ignored him. “This is great news,” she said to Magpie. “Maybe she’ll know something.”

  Magpie lit up and took a long slow pull on his cigarette before he answered. “She might. I think she and her brother were very close. And I could be wrong, but once I got the impression that Early suspected she might have kept in touch with Luca. But, if she did, she kept it to herself. The thing is, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she goes on keeping it to herself.”

  “Why do you think that? Did you know this girl well or something?”

  “Not very well – I just saw her about a bit years ago, but I know how the Earlys operate. Think about it – you’re a stranger and into the bargain you are who you are. I’m just saying, that’s all.”

  “And what if you were with me? Would that make a difference?”

  “Might, might not.”

  “Then would you come with me? Please?”

  Magpie looked at her before raising his face to the sky and staying like that for a few moments. Then he flung the cigarette-butt down, grinding it underfoot.

  “Come on then,” he said.

  “What, now? I can’t go now. You know I can’t – I have Jimmy. Can we not go later on today?”

  “Like the man said,” said Magpie, “it’s now or never – so make up your mind. Take the kid with you, why don’t you?” He turned to Jimmy. “You like the train, don’t you, Jimmy?”

  Jimmy nodded frantically.

  “I can’t take him with me.”

  “Why not?”

  “You can’t just go off with someone else’s child. What if Marilyn comes back?”

  “Do you really think that little jade cares where he is?”

  A sudden image came to Jacqueline – mother and child curled in the rocking chair, the girl’s lips on the child’s forehead – then the split-personality bedroom upstairs.

  “Actually, I think she does really – she just wants her own life too.”

  “Is that what it is? Right, well, it’s up to you. There’s a train in forty minutes – are you coming or not?”

  Chapter 35

  1976

  Detective Gerry says, “There’s been a possible sighting. A couple were travelling home from a wedding in the early hours of the night Lilly disappeared. They’ve come into the station now to report seeing a young girl fitting her description.”

  Jacqueline’s mother puts her hand to her chest.

  “Where?” says Daddy.

  “The girl was walking along the side of the road, just past the turn-off for Beechlawns. The woman heard a description of Lilly on Garda Patrol and it jogged her memory.”

  “But that’s only a mile down the road,” says Daddy.

  “Why didn’t they stop?” says Jacqueline’s mother. “How could they just drive off and leave a young girl walking alone in the middle of the night?”

  “Was she alone?” asks Daddy.

  “She was alone,” says Detective Gerry, “and, as I say, they cannot be certain it was your daughter. They are an elderly couple. The gentleman in particular is uncertain.”

  “Did they describe her?” says Jacqueline’s mother.

  “The description is of a tall, dark-haired young woman in a white dress –”

  “But Lilly’s dress was blue,” says Jacqueline’s mother.

  “I appreciate that fact, Mrs Brennan,” says Detective Gerry, “but in a certain light, a pale-blue dress might possibly look white.”

  “Why didn’t they stop?” says Jacqueline’s mother again, but nobody answers her.

  “The couple made a further statement,” says Detective Gerry. “They report having seen a man on the same stretch of road. He was coming through a gap in the hedge at the crest of the hill.”

  Jacqueline knows the gap – people use it as a shortcut to the fields and the river. Nobody is talking now and she can hear the three clocks ticking.

  “A man or a boy?” says Daddy.

  “The woman says definitely a man, a not very tall man. Unfortunately the description is poor – she only caught a glimpse of him as the car went past.”

  “Did the man do something to Lilly?” says Jacqueline.

  Her mother starts to cry.

  “Shut up, Jacqueline,” says Gayle.

  “She was so close to home,” says Daddy. “Just down the road.”

  It is Lilly’s birthday. She is sixteen and there should be presents and a birthday tea.

  “A birthday tea, not a party, mind,” Jacqueline’s mother always says. “Just a cake and a few candles.”

  But it always feels like a party when after the dinner she says, “Everyone stay where you are!” and begins clearing the plates and putting out the biscuits and buns. Then “No looking now!” she says, and everyone has to close their eyes while she takes the cake out from wherever she has hidden it. Then there is the sound of the match striking and in a little while she begins to sing “Happy Birthday to You” and everyone opens their eyes and joins in while Jacqueline’s mother puts the cake down in front of the birthday person so they can make a wish and blow out the candles.

  But it is not like that now and when Jacqueline’s mother starts putting out the plates of biscuits and buns, it does not feel like a party at all. Nobody closes their eyes and when the cake comes out of the press, Daddy says, “Jesus Christ!” under his breath. There are sixteen candles on the cake but Jacqueline’s mother does not light them. She just sits down at the table again. Everybody waits and nobody speaks.

  Jacqueline stares at the back door, and for a minute she thinks that maybe, just maybe, Lilly will walk in. But Lilly does not come.

  After a while Daddy gets up and says, “Gayle, will you help your mammy clear the table, love?”

  That is when Jacqueline’s mother gets up, picks up the birthday cake and drops it into the bin.

  That is when Gayle starts to cry.

  “Don’t upset yourself, Stella,” says Daddy. “It doesn’t mean anything – it’s just one more day.”

  Jacqueline’s mother spins round
. “It means everything, everything! Nobody in this world wanted to be sixteen as badly as Lilly did. If she could come home, this is when she would have come. Now, today, right now.”

  Daddy gets up and puts his arms around her but Jacqueline’s mother pushes him away. “Jesus Christ, Francis, what if they never find her? We won’t ever have a place to put her, not a grave, not a stone – where will she be, where will she be?”

  “We will find her, love,” says Daddy. “Of course we will.”

  “No, I can’t stand it, Frank!”

  Jacqueline’s mother runs out of the room and Daddy goes after her.

  Jacqueline and Gayle follow them into the sitting room. Jacqueline’s mother is pulling down the photos from the wall, photos of Lilly on her Communion and Confirmation days, a photo of them all taken at Christmas with Lilly wearing a red dress and a green paper hat.

  “Now don’t do that, Stella,” says Daddy.

  “Why not?” Jacqueline’s mother is shouting, “I want them gone, do you hear me? I want them gone! I can’t bear to look at her beautiful face day after day and know I’ll never see her again!”

  Gayle is sobbing. “Stop it, Mam, stop it!”

  “Stop it, Stella – you’re upsetting the girls now,” says Daddy. “Give the photos to me, Stella – I’ll put them away, for now.”

  Jacqueline’s mother holds out her hands and Daddy takes the photographs from her.

  When everyone has gone, Jacqueline stays behind and looks around her. There is only one photograph of Lilly left – it is the one on the top of the china cabinet, the one with Jacqueline holding the apple.

  Later on, when her mother has taken two Beecham Powders, and is asleep on the sofa, and Gayle is crying in their bedroom, Jacqueline hears Daddy moving around in the attic.

  After she says her prayers that night and just before she falls asleep, Jacqueline whispers, “Happy birthday, Lilly.”

  Jacqueline wakes to the sound of screaming and for a minute she forgets and thinks: Lilly is in trouble again. Then she remembers and sits up.

  Gayle’s bed is empty and the bedroom door is open. Jacqueline gets up and goes out onto the landing. Lilly’s door is wide open and it takes a little while for Jacqueline to understand what she is looking at. Gayle is lying on Lilly’s bed and their mother is lying on top of her. Gayle’s face is turned toward the door and Jacqueline can see her wide-open mouth and her staring eyes. Her face is bright red and her legs and arms are thrashing about as she struggles to be free.

  Daddy is shouting, “Let go of her, Stella! Let go of her this minute, I said! Jacqueline, help me get her off.”

  The skin of her mother’s back is warm under her nightdress as Jacqueline helps Daddy pull her, wriggling and kicking, off Gayle.

  Jacqueline says, “Mam, you’re hurting Gayle.”

  “I found her in Lilly’s bed!” her mother screams. “What was she doing in Lilly’s bed? I thought it was Lilly, I thought it was Lilly!”

  “Come on, love,” Daddy says. “Gayle didn’t mean any harm.”

  Afterwards, when they are back in bed, Gayle says the same thing over and over again. “She pulled my hair out – Mam pulled my hair out!”

  Jacqueline says, “Why did you go in Lilly’s bed?”

  “I don’t remember,” Gayle is crying, “I don’t remember. I must have walked in my sleep.”

  It is the last time that Gayle walks in her sleep. Jacqueline thinks that maybe it is because, even in her sleep, Gayle knows now that it is not safe to get out of bed.

  Three nuns call to the house from St Teresa’s Convent of Mercy: there is a small fat one, a small thin one and a tall thin one. The small fat one is Sister Agatha. Jacqueline does not like her. She has a mean face, a baggy chin and a mole with a hair growing out of it next to her nose. Jacqueline hears her mother telling Daddy to be civil to them.

  Sister Agatha says the sisters are having Masses offered for Lilly’s safe return. “Such a beautiful girl, such potential.”

  Daddy says he is going out to get some fresh air.

  When they are leaving, Jacqueline hears Sister Agatha telling her mother that the Lord is mighty and not to fall prey to the sin of despair. It is almost, Jacqueline thinks, exactly what Mrs Quinn had said – only this time her mother does not tell Sister Agatha that she does not believe.

  “Stupid old mickey-dodgers,” says Jacqueline as the door closes behind them.

  “Don’t be mean,” says Gayle, coming down the stairs. “They’re kind and they care. Everyone cares. Everyone just wants Lilly to come home.”

  Jacqueline wonders if the church is the only cold place in the world this summer. She puts her pennies in the slot and lights a candle. There are six other candles already lit, but she is the only one here. She wonders what the other people prayed for, or if one person prayed for six things or … she gets up and walks up the aisle to the front pew, every sound she makes echoing in the silent church. She kneels down and stares very hard at the tabernacle, the place where everyone says God is. Jacqueline wonders why God needs a tabernacle when He is already everywhere, and also in heaven. She wonders if God has a comfortable seat in heaven, she wonders why the seats in the church have to be so hard …

  Jacqueline gives her a head a shake and tries to stop her mind wandering – it is always the same, even at Mass. Jacqueline does not really like Mass – it is very boring. She wonders if God gets bored with it, she wonders if God gets fed up listening to the same things over and over again, the same way she does. She realises that she is doing it again and she wishes she was holy. Once, she thought she wanted to be a nun. It was after she saw The Sound of Music for the first time. It lasted for a whole week and every day she put a white sheet around her head and a black towel on top of that and she sang “Climb Every Mountain” to herself in the mirror. But when she really thought about it, she realised that she didn’t want to be a nun, she wanted to be Maria Von Trapp and have adventures and trick the Nazis, only she didn’t think she would like being a governess to seven children and she didn’t want to get married, even to the Captain. Really, she just wanted to be like Julie Andrews, and run singing up the highest mountains …

  Jacqueline shakes her head again and brings her mind back to the reason she has come. She puts her palms together and says her short prayer, “Please, God, make Lilly come home.”

  Chapter 36

  Afterwards

  “I’m coming,” said Jacqueline.

  Magpie stuck out his hand to Jimmy. “Come on then and we’ll get you some toast. We’ll have to be quick though if you don’t want to miss the train. Jacqueline can go and get your clothes.”

  Jacqueline watched as Jimmy took Magpie’s hand. As they walked away down the passageway to the kitchen, Magpie looked over his shoulder and winked at her, and she heard Jimmy saying, “Marmalade, I want marmalade on my toast.”

  Jacqueline fumed as she hurried up the stairs – the trouble she had taken with that child – all her efforts at comforting and reassuring him, but that man had only to smile and stick out his hand and the wretched child trotted off with him like a trusting pup.

  In Marilyn’s room, she grabbed a blue-and-white striped T-shirt from the top of one pile and pair of long green combat shorts from another. She pulled a dark-blue sweatshirt from a hanger. Shoes, he would need shoes – she picked up a pair of brown sandals and hurried from the room. In her own room, she changed her top and put on some blusher, lipstick and mascara, then grabbed her bag and hurried downstairs. Halfway down the stairs, she remembered underwear for Jimmy and ran back up again. They were waiting for her on the terrace.

  Jimmy was eating toast and marmalade and chatting away to Magpie as though he had never known sorrow in his short life.

  He pointed at the clothes in Jacqueline’s arms. “They don’t go together.”

  “You’re probably right,” said Jacqueline, “but this is as good as it gets. And if you want to come with us, you’ll put them on. Or we can go without you?
”

  Quick as a flash, Jimmy put his toast down and came to her. He pulled down his pyjama bottoms and his underpants came with them. In another split second he had wriggled his pyjama top over his head and stood before her naked. Jacqueline blinked: she had never seen such skin and bone, such pallor in a living child. But when, she asked herself, had she last seen a naked child at such close quarters?

  “Get on with it,” said Magpie. “Don’t just stare at the child. We’re going to miss that train.” And he began to walk away.

  Panicked, Jimmy with one leg in his underpants and one leg out, flapped his hands and hopped frantically. “Don’t go without us!” The tears were back in his voice.

  “He won’t,” said Jacqueline. “Will you, Magpie?”

  Magpie shook his head. “No,” he said, unsmiling, “but get a move on.” He strode across the terrace and disappeared around the side of the house.

  Jacqueline grabbed Jimmy’s T-shirt. “Put your arms up.”

  Jimmy’s arms shot into the air and Jacqueline slipped the top over his head. His head poked through the neck-hole and his flattened hair sprang up again as though it were made of elastic.

  By the time she got to the footwear Jacqueline was in a lather of sweat. Who knew there was so much fuss and fiddling to dressing one small child?

  “Those are my inside sandals,” said Jimmy

  “Well, today they can be your outside sandals,” said Jacqueline.

  She helped him on with a sandal and, as Jimmy lifted one scrawny foot, he suddenly put his two hands on the back of her head and leaned on her. And now there’ll be marmalade in my hair, she thought, but the touch of him, like a light warm cushion resting on her head, somehow had the effect of gentling her mood.

  “Good boy,” she said, and she smiled up at him.

  “You don’t smile properly,” said Jimmy, his voice loud and accusatory.

  And you, thought Jacqueline, are an odd-looking little ogre. This was why she avoided children: their lies were transparent, their truths devastating. “I’ll just have to work on that then, won’t I?” she said. “Now let’s go in so I can lock up.”