Part of the Silence

by Debbie Howells

  “Don’t worry. I was beginning to think you’d got lost. A quick word . . .”

  “What? Has something else happened?”

  “I understand it was you who found the girl’s body . . . in the field.”

  The police grapevine is as good as the surfers’. I nod.

  “I wanted to ask you not to mention it to Evie. If we think it necessary, of course we’ll tell her. But right now, when she’s already on a knife-edge, I think it would be better to leave it a day or two. Does that make sense?”

  “Whatever you say.” I raise my eyebrows. More bloody subterfuge and deception at every turn, despite the fact that there’s a child missing. “But if I were her, I’d want to know.”

  “I’m sure—” She breaks off. “But under the circumstances, I’d prefer it if you’d let me handle this.”

  “Sure,” I say offhandedly. Maybe dishonesty is the best policy. And I don’t want to be the one to add another load of shit to Jen’s already backbreaking burden.

  “Thank you. Come through. Jen—Evie’s—in the kitchen.”

  I follow her along a wood-paneled passageway, through the door at the end, to where a small, hunched figure is sitting at the table with her back to us.

  “Evie?” Abbie moves forward, then gently touches her arm. “Charlotte’s here. Remember I told you she was coming?”

  Having seen her in the hospital, I don’t know why I’m shocked, but somehow here her appearance is incongruous, the coziness of her surroundings only accentuating how frail she looks.

  “Hi.” I have a sudden feeling I shouldn’t be here. If I were her, I’d want to be alone. “How are you?”

  “Okay.” She barely moves, just whispers it.

  “Evie?” I have to stop myself from calling her Jen. “Do you remember when your aunt lived here and we all camped in the woods one summer?”

  Jen looks blankly at me, but then I see something flicker in her eyes.

  “One of your friends—Sophie—invited me along. I remembered her only as I was driving here. I used to help her with her French homework.” It was the only reason she’d invited me. When she dropped French, she dropped me not long after. “If I’m honest, we weren’t exactly close friends. But I was always so pleased to be included.”

  Then Jen turns her head toward me. I can’t fathom the look in her eyes; it’s almost as though she knows something I don’t. “I do remember. Charley and Casey. You were friends.”

  “You’re right.” I attempt a smile, even though I’m uneasy. My friendship with Casey had been volatile. Maybe in some ways, we were too alike, both of us ungrounded, insecure, vulnerable. “We were, for a while. But it didn’t last. Funny, isn’t it, looking back? How short-lived teenage friendships can be.”

  She nods vaguely as I remind myself that old friendships are the last thing on her mind. All she can think about is her daughter.

  “Coming back here has been quite a shock,” Abbie Rose says quietly. “The house isn’t as Evie remembers it.”

  Jen turns to look at her, then at me. “It’s all wrong,” she says, her eyes suddenly darting around, filled with anxiety. “It’s Angel’s room . . .”

  I frown. “What do you mean exactly—”

  “Angel’s things aren’t there,” Abbie Rose interrupts. “Evie remembers her bed being pink, with her toys and books . . .”

  “Someone’s taken them,” Jen says tearfully. Then she stares at Abbie Rose. “You don’t believe me. I can tell from your voice.” She says it accusingly, then adds in a different, more desperate voice, “Charlotte, please, come and see. . . .”

  Then she’s on her feet. Her weakness is obvious as she makes her way to the door, then into the hallway and up the stairs. I walk behind her, worried she’s going to miss her footing. When I glance back, Abbie Rose is standing at the bottom, watching us.

  “In here.” She stumbles forward, toward the door at the top of the stairs, then pushes it open, switches on the light. From the doorway, I watch her. She shakes her head, tears coursing down her cheeks, taking in the plain furniture and old-fashioned bedcovers, the dusty rug on worn floorboards.

  “Her bed is pink.” Her arms are clutched around herself, as if she’s holding herself together. “There should be a picture.” She points to a bare section of wall. “Oh God, where are her things?” Suddenly, she’s shaking. Then, without warning, she slumps to the floor.

  20

  Between us, Abbie Rose and I help Jen along to what appears to be her bedroom. She seems incoherent, but then I realize she’s on something to numb the pain and ease the transition of coming back here.

  Abbie Rose glances at me. “I’ve told Evie we’re looking for an explanation. But in the meantime she needs to concentrate on resting and getting stronger.”

  “Can I do anything to help?” I offer.

  “Actually, I was going out to buy Evie some food. If you don’t mind staying awhile . . . ? I’ll be an hour or so. That’s all.”

  “Okay.” I shrug. It’s probably better for Jen to have me for company than Abbie Rose, and she’s in no fit state to be left alone.

  “What about tonight?” I ask suddenly. I can’t imagine Jen being alone in this house, tormenting herself with the worst kind of possibilities.

  “I know.” Abbie Rose is clearly thinking the same thing. “I hadn’t planned to, but I think I might sleep here tonight.”

  “Wouldn’t she be better off back in the hospital?”

  “No . . . ,” Jen murmurs, then tries to sit up. “I’m not going there.”

  Abbie Rose looks worried. “She seemed so much better this morning, but being here has really set her back.”

  “If you’re stuck, I could stay a couple of nights.” The moment I’ve said it, I want to take it back. Jesus, I’m the last person to be looking after someone in Jen’s state. My own life is enough of a mess.

  Abbie Rose looks taken aback. “Really?” She glances at Jen. “I’ll cover tonight, but can I let you know tomorrow?”

  * * *

  God, I’m thinking, watching from the upstairs window as Abbie Rose walks down the path and disappears through the gate. Why did I offer? I’ll have to invent some excuse as to why I can’t. Just being in this house makes me uneasy.

  “Would you like a drink?” I ask Jen at last. “Tea? Coffee?”

  She shakes her head, then tries to sit up again. “I need to look for Angel.” She sits there a moment. “Can you help me?”

  Slowly, I help her down the stairs. Through the kitchen, she disappears into a small mudroom and comes out wearing Wellingtons and a jacket that swamps her.

  Abbie Rose won’t be happy about this, but she’s not here and I am. And this is Jen’s decision, no one else’s. After we step outside, she stands there, looking around, taking everything in.

  “Do you remember it?” I ask.

  She hesitates. “Some things. The chickens. That tree.” She points to an apple tree, its leaves shades of yellow, its crop of apples fallen on the grass beneath. She carries on walking, then stops in front of me, staring ahead, as if she’s thinking of something. “Do you have a yard, Charlotte?”

  “Yes. It overlooks the sea,” I tell her. “You can hear the waves.”

  “You hear the wind here. And the birds.” She doesn’t turn around. “Angel feeds the birds.” Her voice wobbles. Then I watch as she squares her shoulders and keeps walking.

  Silent, I follow her. Already the sun is sinking behind the trees, and in their shadows, the air is cool. Jen’s right about the birds. Their chatter surrounds us, but otherwise it’s quiet. As we walk, I’m constantly looking for anything that might indicate a child’s presence here.

  But there’s nothing.

  As we walk through a gap in a beech hedge, a large vegetable plot comes into view.

  “Look at it.” Jen sounds dismayed.

  I follow her gaze. She’s right. It looks neglected, with too much going to seed that should have been pulled up. And there are weeds t
hat need ripping out. But then she’s walking on again. It’s not important right now.

  At the far end of the yard, there’s the chicken run. Most of the chickens come rushing over. Do they recognize her? Through the wire, they regard us curiously as Jen instinctively goes to the shed next to the run and comes back with a scoopful of food, her eyes constantly glancing around, no doubt, as mine are, always searching for something of Angel’s.

  “Angel used to feed them.” She lets herself into the run and empties the corn onto the ground, then just stands there, holding the empty scoop as though she’s going to drop it.

  Then she’s distracted by one of the chickens, which is hunched and unmoving and is away from the others. Even when she crouches down and picks it up, it doesn’t react. It looks smaller than the others, its feathers fluffed out, its eyes half closed, dull with impending death.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  She doesn’t answer as I close the run behind her, then follow her as she carries the bird away to a screened-off corner out of sight of the others, acting automatically, doing what it looks like she’s done many times before.

  After dispatching the sick chicken, she says nothing, just walks with its body to the hedge and drops it over the other side.

  I’m not squeamish, but I’m put off by the unexpectedness, the almost callousness with which she carries out the act.

  “It was dying,” she says matter-of-factly, but when you live in the country, you’re more aware of how death’s an everyday part of life. The hornets that destroy bees’ nests. The dead birds a cat leaves by the back door, the mice and voles it torments, until they’re weak enough for an easy kill. The foxes that mass-slaughter for the sake of it. They leave behind carnage—heads, whole bodies, which is so wasteful, so pointless.

  Nature’s not intentionally cruel. It’s about survival and instinct, not revenge or winning wars or hostage taking. Not calculating, inflicting pain for the sake of it, for fun, even. That’s the human domain, which doesn’t make sense, because so is love.

  It doesn’t make sense, either, why someone would take a small child.

  21

  October 12 . . .

  Overnight the first storm hits. I’m woken by rain battering the windows and the howl of the wind. The following morning, through the sheeting rain, I can make out the froth of breaking waves, thrown high by the storm-induced swell.

  It’s too wild for surfers. I imagine Rick holed up in a cottage somewhere with some of his friends, waiting for the storm to subside just enough for them to paddle out beyond the shore break. Who knows? Maybe it will bring him home.

  Unwillingly, I pack an overnight bag, hoping it won’t be needed, then throw it in my car, set off for Jen’s. As I drive, I feel the power of the wind, pick my way round fallen branches brought down by last night’s storm.

  The roads are covered in leaves. Until now, it’s been a benign autumn, but the combination of the sudden drop in temperature and storm-force winds has brought a season’s worth of leaves down overnight.

  The rough road to Jen’s house is awash with mud, and the trees sway in the wind as I pull up behind Abbie Rose’s BMW, also covered in leaves. After grabbing my bag and pulling my coat up round my neck, I run for the back door, find it locked, and hammer on it to be let in.

  Abbie Rose opens it. “Sorry, Charlotte. I wasn’t expecting you so early. Come in.”

  “Thanks. I brought some things. I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to stay.” I say it offhandedly, hoping she’s going to tell me it won’t be necessary. I feel my heart sink when she doesn’t.

  “Help yourself to tea or coffee.” She points in the direction of the pantry. “The doctor was supposed to be calling on Evie, just for a checkup, but with the weather as it is, she’s put it off until tomorrow.”

  “Cool.” Then I’m silent as I look in the pantry at the mountain of canned food and long-life milk. I forget for a moment that she’s a detective constable. “God. You’d think she was expecting a siege.” Then I add, “Sorry. It’s just weird, don’t you think?”

  “I think it tells us how worried Evie was about being seen. She had to buy enough food when she did go out so that she could stockpile it.” Abbie Rose pauses.

  “How is she today?”

  “More rested. Since you’re staying, you should know she’s on a low dose of Xanax to take the edge off her anxiety. She’s remembered to take it today, but it might be worth reminding her, if you’re not sure.”

  “Okay.”

  Abbie Rose stops what she’s doing. “I’m glad you’ll be here to keep an eye on her. I think you’re good for her.”

  “Really?” Her comment surprises me.

  “You’re the same age, but also, you have the past in common. I think she appreciates that. After what she’s been through, she needs a friend.”

  “If you say so.” I’ve no idea why Abbie Rose trusts me, but in Jen’s uncertain world, I suppose I’m the only friend she has.

  * * *

  Jen sleeps most of the morning, through the continuous heavy rain, through the conversation Abbie Rose clearly has in mind to start with me.

  “Can you fill me in a bit more on the Danning family? I still don’t really understand why they felt the need to ask Evie to babysit when Casey was the same age.”

  “Like I said, I didn’t really know them at the time. It was obvious she and her parents didn’t get on. By the time we were friends, it was probably a year or so after Leah had disappeared. . . .” I pause, remembering our escapades, our combined recklessness, which came from both of us running from our parents, the rules, the system. We were less intent on the past, more concerned with what the future held. “I suppose if something happens to your sister, that’s when you most need a friend. People weren’t kind to her. They didn’t understand her.”

  Abbie Rose frowns. “Why was that?”

  “I’m not sure.” I try to think how to explain it to her. “Everyone had decided she was strange, even before Leah’s disappearance. She used to dye her hair jet black, and she wore it so it hung across her face. Her skin was pale, like alabaster. She was beautiful, unconventionally so, but she’d convinced herself she was ugly. It was as though she deliberately set out to sabotage her looks. I don’t know why. Everything seemed to cave in on her. I think she felt the world was against her. She used to cut herself. . . .” Poor tortured Casey, her pain carved into her skin. “It definitely got worse after Leah disappeared. She seemed to self-destruct. She missed a load of school. I think she was in therapy for a while. It was after that, when she came back that we started hanging out together.”

  Then I pause, not sure why I’m holding back. “Like I said, we weren’t friends for long. There was this guy we both liked. There’s always a guy, isn’t there, Detective Constable? Anyway, he liked me more than Casey. She couldn’t take it. She completely lost it. Never spoke to me again.”

  All the time I’ve been talking, I haven’t noticed that Jen has come into the kitchen. Her voice startles me.

  “You took her boyfriend.” She says it accusingly. I find myself frowning, because it wasn’t like that. We were teenagers, for Christ’s sake. A time of selfishness and impermanence. It wasn’t like I stole her husband.

  “She hated that you were Leah’s babysitter, Jen. I’m sorry. Evie . . .” I glance at Abbie Rose. “She told me how she used to watch you from her bedroom window. You can imagine how she felt. It wasn’t personal, though. It was her parents’ fault. She’d have felt the same about anyone. She just resented the fact that her mother didn’t trust her to look after her own sister. Then, after what happened to Leah, she was racked with guilt.”

  “Casey wasn’t reliable.” The hostility in Jen’s voice makes my skin prickle. “She let people down.”

  Suddenly, it’s like we’re back at school, as always, Jen the superior one. I find myself smarting on Casey’s behalf. “I felt quite sorry for her. She never had a chance to prove herself. That was the troubl
e. She always said that her mother was obsessed with Leah. It was Leah this, Leah that. No one paid any attention to Casey.”

  “She was crazy. Everyone knew that.” Jen’s staring at me, a look of hostility in her eyes.

  “You know, I actually don’t think she was. Not really,” I say carefully, wanting Jen to see it from Casey’s point of view. “Just very sad and lonely and unloved. As well as emotionally neglected by her selfish, fucked-up parents.” I pause for a moment. “She had moments she used to go off by herself, but it was hardly surprising. She was a loner. After we left school, she seemed to disappear. Then I moved away.” I shrug.

  All the time I’m speaking, I notice Abbie Rose listening intently. I wonder just how many crimes she’s trying to solve here, because there are several.

  “Did you know she drowned? The police were never sure if she intended to take her own life,” Abbie tells us. “She didn’t have a driving license, but she borrowed a car and drove herself to Porthleven. She went surfing after a violent storm. This was, oh, about a year ago.”

  Abbie Rose has been doing her homework. When I think back to our teenage years, it seems like one more typical Casey gesture. One finger up at a world she didn’t feel a part of, before she took the matter into her own hands and left it for good—without a thought for anyone else. But she’d always told me people didn’t think about her, so why should she have cared?

  “Rick’s told me about Porthleven. It can be dangerous. Particularly after a storm.”

  Abbie Rose nods, then goes on. “Her board turned up a few days later, smashed to pieces on the rocks. Her body was never found, but given the waves at the time, it was hardly surprising. She’d left a letter in the car. Not exactly a suicide note, but enough to make it clear that she’d given up—”

  She breaks off, reaching a hand out toward Jen, who’s sitting at the table, tears streaming down her face, her body racked with silent sobs, maybe guilt, too. But when a child goes missing, they’re not the only victim. There are many.