The Missing Girl

by Jenny Quintana

  16

  1982

  ‘What have you done?’ Mum’s voice was tight with fury.

  I jerked my head from my book. Gabriella stood in the doorway of the kitchen looking like she’d stepped from the pages of Smash Hits. It was her hair, jet black and backcombed. I opened my mouth to say she looked incredible and then thought better of it. This could be the worst explosion in Mum and Gabriella’s battle and I didn’t want to interfere.

  ‘Get upstairs and wash it out.’

  ‘It’s permanent,’ said Gabriella, tipping her chin in defiance.

  Mum fastened her lips into a line and set down the bowl she’d been drying. She shook her head and turned away. Gabriella left the room.

  It was Sunday, the day after Dad’s birthday. I was off to church as usual with Mum. Gabriella was staying put. Dad had gone out early – I didn’t know where, but I’d heard him say he’d be back before we left.

  Plans altered. Mum made no movement to get ready for church. Instead, she busied herself preparing lunch, seasoning the beef, mixing the batter for Yorkshire pudding. She worked slowly, performing each task as if it took her complete concentration.

  ‘Gabriella’s dyed her hair,’ she said, when Dad came home. Without comment, he went upstairs.

  Later, and for the first time in ages, Gabriella ate with us. She’d smoothed her hair and tied it back. I guessed Dad had persuaded her to do that. Perhaps he thought it would minimise the effect, but there was no hiding the rope of black hair that slid down her back like a panther’s tail. There was no disguising Mum’s anger either which seeped through the walls and the floors and infected all of us.

  Over the next week, the weather changed, becoming misty and cold. Any warmth left in the house was sucked into the chasm that gaped between Mum and Gabriella. And yet I sensed that Mum at least wanted to make up. Her mood was shifting. She was softening and she demonstrated her feelings with tiny gifts on Gabriella’s plate. Extra butter on her toast. The cream from the milk swirled into her porridge.

  On Sunday, the weather changed its mind again. Now the sky was clear blue, offering promises we knew it couldn’t keep. In the garden, the plum and damson trees were full and heavy. And with the difference, Gabriella’s mood improved.

  We were out in the garden, gathering fruit, leaping to pull at branches, giggling when the boughs sprang back, sending sun-ripened missiles across the fence. I ran barefoot, squealing at the sensation of fallen fruit squelching between my toes, while Gabriella bent double with her laughter.

  Mum was grateful for our gifts. She put her arm around Gabriella and whispered in her ear. Gabriella stopped short of responding, but she didn’t pull away.

  A few days later, we came down in the morning to find jam bubbling on the stove, its sticky sweetness infiltrating the cracks and cavities of the house. Mum was at the sink, sleeves rolled up. She hardly noticed as we passed through, grabbing our school bags and slices of toast from the rack.

  Out on the street, the leaves had switched their wardrobe from green to burnished brown. And the wind, indifferent to their beauty, teased them from the branches, sending them swirling to the ground.

  We passed Tom, pushing his cart, sweeping up leaves, lips moving in silent conversation with himself. Gabriella smiled at him as she always did and walked ahead, her body bowed with something sad – her secrets, I supposed. If only I could work out what they were. I wandered behind listening to birdsong, stopping to examine a magpie feather lying on the pavement. As I bent, my glasses slipped, and picking them up, I found one arm loose at the hinge. ‘Madre mia,’ I said. It made Gabriella smile for a second time and when we got to the gates I took advantage of her softened mood and asked her to meet me after school.

  ‘I can’t,’ she said, moving away.

  ‘Why?’ I called out, feeling disappointment gather. I longed so much for things to be the same as before and her smile had made me hopeful.

  She turned and walked backwards as she spoke. ‘People to see.’

  I frowned. Who? What was she planning to do? I stayed quiet. She’d be annoyed if I asked her questions. Instead I clasped my hands and begged her, opening my eyes wide to make her laugh.

  It worked. ‘All right then, small person. Afterwards.’

  Grinning, relief slid through me, easing the lump in my throat. ‘Where? The shop? We haven’t been there for ages.’

  A dark look passed across her face. She was going to refuse. But she smiled again more sadly, and to my surprise agreed.

  ‘What time?’ I called out, but she didn’t hear me. I shaded my eyes and watched until she’d gone.

  After school, I walked alone to the House of Flores. It was still warm for October, warm enough to take off my coat and tie it round my waist. I hated my coat. It was blue wool, a hand-me-down from Gabriella. She had a parka. I couldn’t wait until she’d had enough of that and it was mine.

  When I arrived, Rita was standing at the counter with a new short haircut and it struck me how much younger than Mum she looked. Her face was smooth, while Mum’s was marked with lines. ‘Worry lines,’ Mum had said, laughing. ‘This one’s called Anna. This one’s called Gabriella. They get deeper as you two get older.’

  Rita gave a big smile and a cheery hello. ‘Kidneys,’ she said, picking up a neat white packet and waving it at me. ‘You’ll take it to your mother, won’t you?’ I scowled back. Dad didn’t notice. He hardly raised his head. He was polishing a silver knife. It had a handle shaped like a cobra. Rita left, and he was quiet, grunting when I asked him questions about the knife.

  I waited for Gabriella, trying on a velvet hat with a feather, adding a shawl, black silk with tassels, and flouncing in front of a mirror. But it was no fun without Gabriella and now dusk was falling into darkness and the street lights were coming on. I paced the floor, fiddled with ornaments, wound up a clock, held it to my ear and listened to the tick. Where was Gabriella? What if she’d decided to leave after all, to run away from home?

  Eventually, I left, mumbling excuses to Dad. I glanced through the window at the butcher’s as I passed, and there was Rita in her overall now, serving behind the counter. She waved and I ignored her, keeping my head down, hurrying, my hands thrust inside the pockets of my coat. And all the time I was thinking about the suitcase, imagining Gabriella leaving the house.

  Bursting through the front door, I found silence. No banging in the kitchen. No cheery Is that you, girls? Nothing but the beat of the pendulum clock in the living room. I dumped my school bag, waited for my heart rate to readjust and told myself not to be stupid. Mum and Gabriella had gone out. Maybe there’d been a problem at school, or they’d gone shopping at the last minute. I swallowed hard. My ideas were feeble and I knew it, but even so, there was no point worrying. It was better that both of them weren’t here, rather than just Gabriella missing. I checked in the kitchen to be sure. The pot of jam was cold on the stove. There was no sign of tea. The side was strewn with dirty crockery. There was washing-up in the sink. What had Mum been doing all day?

  She was in the living room staring at the blank telly. There was a scent in the air. Tobacco. But not Dad’s. It was sweeter than that. A pipe. And the ashtray on the coffee table had been used. Maybe Donald and Uncle Thomas had visited. But they weren’t here now and I couldn’t imagine they’d have come and gone so quickly and without waiting for Dad. Besides, Mum looked too sad to have spoken to either of them.

  ‘What’s happened?’ I said, kneeling beside her. ‘Where’s Gabriella?’

  She looked at me as if she didn’t know me until her face cleared and she smiled weakly. ‘Nothing, dear. I’ve been feeling poorly. That’s all. Aren’t I silly?’

  I took her hand, my eyes filling with tears. Had she been sitting here alone? I glanced again at the ashtray. No. Someone had been here. Who? A neighbour giving bad news? The doctor telling her she was ill? I pulled my thoughts backwards, telling myself not to be stupid. Mum had another headache. That was all. ‘Shall I get y
ou an aspirin?’ I said, squeezing her fingers. ‘Or a glass of water?’

  She shook her head, and, rousing herself, patted my shoulder, saying, ‘It’s fine. I’ll make tea in a moment.’

  ‘Shall I help you?’

  ‘No. Run upstairs and change. I’ll be fine.’

  Gabriella’s door was ajar and I pushed it open. The curtains were closed and the room was dark and stuffy. The bed was unmade, pyjamas in a tangle on the floor. I knelt down, my heart beating fast, and put my hands beneath the bed. Groping in the darkness, I grasped nothing; reaching further, my fingers brushed against the hard side of the suitcase.

  Thank God for that. I sat back on my heels, grinning with the relief of it. Gabriella hadn’t run away. Of course she hadn’t. You’re my sister, she’d said to me. Nothing changes that. Sisters stick together. Whatever problems Gabriella had, she’d never leave me. She’d probably phoned Mum to say she would be late, and stayed on at school to do extra work, or to help one of the teachers, or else she’d gone to a friend’s house. I went back down the stairs. Mum would know where she was. And in the meantime, I was hungry and wanted tea.

  Mum was standing at the bottom of the stairs looking up at me, her blank expression gone. ‘What do you mean, where’s Gabriella?’ she said.

  My smile faded. The front door opened and Mum spun round. Not Gabriella. It was Dad, his face pale and tired-looking. ‘Charlie Ellis,’ he said. ‘In the pub shouting around. Lost his job. Death of a salesman all right.’ He brandished the packet of kidneys. ‘You forgot this, Anna. Kidneys from Rita.’

  Mum looked beyond him. ‘Is she with you?’ she said.

  He closed the door. ‘Who? Rita?’

  She grabbed his arm. ‘Gabriella. Where’s Gabriella?’

  A crease of worry crossed his face. ‘Isn’t she here?’

  ‘No,’ said Mum, her voice rising. ‘Anna came home alone.’

  They both looked at me. ‘She was supposed to meet me at the shop,’ I said, my heart starting to pound.

  ‘When?’ said Mum.

  ‘After school.’

  ‘Why didn’t you walk together?’

  I hesitated. ‘She was going somewhere first.’

  ‘Where? Where was she going?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ My voice was small.

  ‘You must know, Anna. Think. Answer me.’

  ‘Leave it, Esther,’ said Dad. ‘It’s still early. She’ll turn up.’

  ‘But she might have—’

  ‘No. She wouldn’t. Stop it, Esther. There’s no point. She’ll be back. It’s not late. Think about Anna.’ They looked at me again.

  Moments passed. ‘I had a visitor,’ said Mum and now her voice was muffled as if she spoke beneath a weight of thoughts.

  Silence save for the pendulum clock and the rush of blood in my ears. I was right. Someone had been here. Who? Dad didn’t ask and I guessed he knew. Beckoning me, he pushed my mother to the living room. ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘I’ll make Anna a sandwich.’

  I followed him to the kitchen. He put the kidneys on the table. Blood seeped through the packet like red ink on blotting paper. Jasper was sniffing the air, circling as Dad sifted through the mess of the morning, trying to find me something to eat. No bread. He made an omelette but cooked it for too long; it was rubbery and my teeth clicked on a piece of shell. I stopped eating and asked if I could be excused. He didn’t reply so I left the room.

  Mum was talking on the telephone in the hall, twisting the cord round her hand. ‘That’s right, Phyllis,’ she was saying. ‘I wondered if Bernadette knew if she’d been kept late at school.’ Pause. ‘I see. All right, then. Thank you. I’ll try Nicola’s mother. If you hear anything, will you ring me? Yes. I think she must have met someone. That’s right. Thank you. Thank you. I’ll let you know.’

  I sat on the bottom step as Mum dialled another number, my body cold as I listened to the urgency in her voice. There was only one question in my head now. Where was Gabriella?

  The hammering on the door woke me up. I struggled out of my dream and looked at the clock. Ten p.m. I was cold. I’d fallen asleep on top of the covers. I was wearing my school uniform. Why hadn’t Mum come for me, told me to get ready for bed? I’d never been left like this before, and then I remembered. Gabriella hadn’t come home. Maybe she was here now and they were too busy arguing to come and find me. Fumbling for my broken glasses, I pushed them on. The curtains were open. The sky was bright and clear, the moon almost full, only a slither missing.

  I crept out onto the landing. Gabriella’s door was open, as I’d left it, which meant she couldn’t have come back, unless she was still downstairs. There were voices, though: my father, another man, and the sound of a radio, a person speaking and the man responding. I leaned over the banister. A policeman was in the hall, gripping his helmet under one arm. It was the local bobby. I’d seen him on the green chatting to the boys in the playground, or on the streets, doing his beat. He didn’t belong in our house.

  The policeman looked up and I stared back, my eyes sticky with sleep. Dad came to fetch me, walking slowly, his face grey, looking more worried than I’d ever seen him before. ‘Gabriella still hasn’t come home,’ he said quietly, taking my hand and leading me downstairs.

  ‘Where is she?’ I asked, but Dad didn’t answer.

  ‘This is PC Atkins,’ he said.

  The policeman gave me a friendly smile. ‘Hello, Anna. Sorry to disturb you. I need to ask a few questions. Is that all right?’

  I nodded and pinched the back of my hand, trying to work out if this was real or just a dream.

  In the living room, I sat on the sofa next to Mum. She took my hand and her skin felt cold. Like ice. PC Atkins sat squarely on the hard-backed chair with his helmet still under his arm. He leaned forward, bulky in his thick blue uniform, and spoke gently, while Dad stood silent behind him and kept his eyes fixed on my face.

  As the policeman spoke, I answered in monosyllables. And as he persisted, and as my sleepiness disappeared, my monosyllables expanded into phrases, sentences, paragraphs.

  He wanted to know exactly what had happened that morning, so I said about the jam, the feather and the leaves. I told him that my glasses had broken, and proved it by showing how I’d bandaged the arm with Sellotape. He took the glasses and inspected the damage, nodded gravely and gave them back.

  PC Atkins was older than my dad. He had a long face with big sad eyes and saggy, folding skin. And a huge chin. I’d tell Gabriella. It would make her laugh. But then I remembered I couldn’t tell her. She wasn’t here. I stifled a sob and shrank into the seat.

  I answered more questions. We’d seen Tom. PC Atkins nodded sagely. He knew Tom. He asked if we’d spoken and I told him that we hadn’t. Tom had disappeared in the other direction with his cart. Gabriella and I had arrived at school and we’d gone through the school gates together, and no, she hadn’t seemed sad or depressed. We’d arranged to meet at the House of Flores, and yes, we planned to go there separately. No, I hadn’t seen any strangers. And no, I hadn’t seen her argue with any of her friends. And I didn’t know where she was going after school.

  PC Atkins cleared his throat and shifted his helmet to his other arm. I stared at him, wondering what he was going to say next, but he only fixed me with expectant eyes and Mum and Dad were looking at me in the same way.

  ‘Thank you, Anna,’ said PC Atkins, sitting back in his chair. ‘You’ve been very helpful. Best try to get some sleep now, eh?’

  Dad took me by the elbow and led me back upstairs. Kissing me on the forehead, he whispered he’d be in to see me later, and he left the room, pulling the door silently behind him.

  A few minutes passed and there were footsteps on the stairs and murmuring outside my room. Tiptoeing to the door, I pressed my ear to the gap. It sounded like the three of them had gone into Gabriella’s room. Drawers and cupboards opened and closed and I imagined PC Atkins going through my sister’s clothes, flicking through magazines, looking under th
e bed and delving into the suitcase.

  After a while they came out and I listened to them talking on the landing. PC Atkins said he was going back to the station. He said his sergeant had alerted the night shift already. A teenage girl was missing. The words froze in the air. Dad asked if they’d search the village. ‘Twenty-four hours,’ said PC Atkins.

  I changed into pyjamas and sat on the bed thinking, going over and over the walk to school with Gabriella. Had she been sad? She was distant, but she’d been that way for ages. I switched off the light and lay in the darkness, staring at my digital clock; time moving forward, each second yet another moment without Gabriella. I pulled the blankets up beneath my chin and swung my mind back to the walk to school.

  Had something happened? Frowning hard to help me concentrate, I traced every step I could remember, and everything I’d seen. No. Nothing unusual, except for my glasses. I touched the bandaged arm. It was comforting. I could close my eyes and see the scene again, my specs falling, my sister’s laughter as she walked backwards into school.

  I lay there for ages thinking, as the rain splattered softly against the glass, growing louder as time went on. And I waited for Dad, but he forgot to come.

  The next morning, I woke knowing something awful had happened. I lay there thinking until in a sickening rush I remembered. Gabriella hadn’t come home. Getting out of bed, I hurried onto the landing. The house was silent. Gabriella’s room was empty. Mum and Dad’s bed wasn’t slept in.

  Feeling scared, I stole downstairs looking for my parents. I found Dad slumped in an armchair and Mum lying on the sofa, both of them wearing the clothes they’d worn the night before. Darkness crept over me. If my parents had been up all night, the situation must be serious. Why weren’t they looking for Gabriella? What were they waiting for?

  I paced the hall, pausing at the mirror. Where are you? I mouthed at my reflection. Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t coming home? Anxiety took over from Despair. My gaze fell on Gabriella’s parka hanging on the stand. It had been warm the day before and she’d left it behind. She’d need it now. It was cold outside. I slipped on the coat and wrapped it around me, pulling up the hood. I was a chrysalis, bandaged in my sister’s coat; nothing could touch me. If my parents weren’t going to do anything, I’d do it myself. I’d search every place we’d ever been to until I found Gabriella. And then I’d bring her home.