Part of the Silence

by Debbie Howells

  22

  I can’t help thinking that Abbie Rose seems too preoccupied with what happened to Leah and the Danning family, when she should be more focused on finding Angel. I had the feeling there was something she wasn’t saying. Something she’s discovered that links Leah’s disappearance to Angel’s.

  Or maybe it’s part of a strategy. Jen’s starting to remember: she has disjointed fragments of the past that she’s trying to piece together. Far from convinced I’m helping Jen, I worry that all I’ve done is bring up memories that would be better forgotten. I’m thinking about her savage assessment of Casey, too. There’s no denying that she was the archetypal badass teenager who hated her parents and flunked her exams, but she had her own take on the world, a world she felt she didn’t belong in. No one got her. No one made allowances for how she was, just told her she should snap out of her self-indulgent shit and get over it like everyone else had to.

  She’d gone through an emo phase, with that jet-black hair worn draped across her face. So far removed from Jen’s girly cliques, all shiny, fair hair and pink lip gloss, laughing at anyone who wasn’t just like them. They had no idea about the pain that came in waves in Casey’s head, or how her heart had been sliced open. Jen’s crowd was only skin deep. None of them even thought about what happened on the inside.

  There was always a darkness in Casey, a bleakness in her soul, which no one understood, but no one ever got in there with her and said, “It’s okay, babe. I understand. . . .” Except for fleeting, brief interludes when she let me in, she was alone.

  After our first conversation, she shut me out for several weeks before apologizing.

  “I’m really sorry. It’s just that something happens, and I can’t stop myself. It’s been freaking me out. . . .” Her voice wavered; her black-rimmed eyes were red from crying.

  “Tell me.” I clutched her arm. “I’m your friend.” Then I hesitated, unsure if declaring my friendship out loud was a step too far, but she threw her arms tightly, awkwardly, around me.

  “Okay.” Pulling away, she swallowed. “Only if you swear not to tell anyone.”

  “I swear.” Anyway, who would I tell?

  She sat there, hunched, not moving for a moment. I wondered what could be so terrible that she didn’t want to tell me. Then, as she slowly slid the sleeve up on her left arm, I saw.

  The more she kept herself from other people, the more irritated everyone was with her. An argument we had comes back to me, how she ended up screaming at me, calling me a selfish fucking bitch who didn’t care about anyone. All over a boy whose name I can’t even remember and who made it clear he preferred me to Casey. She was wearing her trademark shapeless, oversize black clothes, which hid the fact that underneath, she’d lost weight. But they didn’t hide her hollow cheeks and her tiny wrists, which bore the scars from when she used to cut herself. There was a madness in her eyes that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her, but then, she was troubled. Most of the time she was on something, too. Drugs and alcohol were the only way to smooth her passage through life.

  Whatever. I walked away from her. The last thing I needed was a psycho yelling shit at me. Anyone who behaved like that wasn’t a friend. I’d had enough of her.

  * * *

  This afternoon, Jen’s restless, clearly wanting to go outside. She stands at the window, watching the rain. Abbie Rose goes off to another room to make some phone calls. She shows no sign of leaving, and I’m beginning to wonder why she even wants me here.

  “It’s foul out there,” I say to Jen. “You wouldn’t believe how much water is on the roads.”

  She’s silent for a moment. Then, without turning around, she says, “I wish it would stop.”

  I know she’s thinking of Angel, wondering if she’s safe somewhere, dry, looked after. Or after Nick denied all knowledge of her, and after she found the child’s bedroom she pictured doesn’t exist, can she be thinking the unthinkable? That Angel doesn’t exist?

  “I know she’s out there.” She says it fiercely, as if reading my mind. “Abbie might not believe me, but I know.” The “I know” is spoken with a quiet ferociousness. Then she turns and looks at me. “When this stops . . .” She means the rain. “Will you help me, Charlotte? Look for her?”

  “Of course I will.” I hesitate for a moment, not wanting to tell her that if the police and the extensive search parties haven’t found Angel, I’m not sure there’s much point. “Everyone’s been looking for Angel,” I tell her gently. “The police have searched the woods and fields for miles around. They were knocking on doors at one point.” Then I stop, not wanting to make it sound as though there is no hope of ever finding her.

  Jen looks exhausted as she sits down on one of the chairs. Painfully thin under the oversize clothes she’s wearing, she starts to shiver.

  “You’re shaking. I’ll find you a blanket.”

  Upstairs, on one of the beds, there’s a blue-checked throw. I bring it down to the kitchen and wrap it around her shoulders. “You must try not to worry.” I’m hoping to reassure her, but I can see how impossible that is.

  “How can I not?” Her jaw is clenched, and she shakes her head bitterly. “If it wasn’t for these bloody pills, I’d be climbing the walls. Do you know how wrong it feels, taking pills to blunt the pain, when I deserve to feel the worst a person can feel?”

  “But you don’t,” I say, trying to calm her. “You really don’t deserve it.”

  “I do.” Her eyes are wide as she stares at me. “Don’t you see, Charlotte? I’m all she has, and I’ve let her down.” She pauses. Then, when she continues, her voice is distant. “When you’re a parent, you’re charged with one thing—you keep your child safe. And I’ve failed.”

  I try to distract her. “Why don’t I run you a bath? It’s probably good you’re resting today. Hopefully, the rain will stop, and tomorrow we’ll be able to start looking.”

  It seems to make sense to her. She gets up.

  “And then I’ll make some supper.”

  Jen looks at me doubtfully. “I’m just going to feed the chickens.”

  “I can do it,” I offer. I’ve no desire to go outside and wade through chicken shit just to feed a bunch of birds, but she looks so small, I can imagine the wind would blow her away.

  “No,” she says sharply. “For Christ’s sake, I need to get out of this house, just for two minutes.” Her voice rises with every word as she snatches back the little control she has right now.

  “Okay.” I hold my hands up, backing off. “Just trying to help, that’s all. Please yourself.” There was no need for her to bite my head off. I remember what Nick said. I’d stay away from her, if I were you. She’s bad news. I’m beginning to see what he was driving at.

  I busy myself hunting in the fridge and the pantry to see what I can cobble together for a meal. I don’t notice Abbie Rose come back in the kitchen.

  “Where’s Evie?”

  “Gone to feed the chickens.” I’m going through the mountain of cans in the pantry, trying to see what else is in here.

  “I’ll go and look for her.” When I turn, Abbie Rose is already pulling on her coat. “I’m not sure we should leave her alone right now. She’s not thinking straight.”

  “Oh.” I frown, not sure what she’s getting at.

  The wind catches the door, slams it behind her, and she disappears into the rain. But only seconds later, she’s running back toward the house.

  “Charlotte?” Abbie Rose stands in the open doorway, rain dripping off her. “Get your coat. She’s gone.”

  Jesus. Bloody rain and bloody Jen. I, too, dash out into the rain. Why the fuck couldn’t she wait for it to stop? Every so often, Abbie Rose shouts her name.

  “Evie . . .”

  Each time, it’s muffled by the rain, the wind through the trees. In no time, my coat is soaked. I wasn’t expecting to be tearing through the woods in this. I’ve no idea where to look. The woods stretch in every direction.

  “You go
on.” Abbie Rose points toward a path that’s covered in fallen leaves. “I’ll go that way. Shout if you find her.” She breaks into a jog, and suddenly her urgency is contagious. It’ll be dark soon. Jen’s frail. A night out here will have her back in the hospital.

  I walk faster, and Abbie Rose’s shouts grow fainter as she calls her name.

  “Evie . . .”

  Again and again. Then, suddenly above the rain, I hear another voice, faint but clear enough.

  “Angel . . .”

  It’s Jen. I listen, trying to gauge which direction it’s coming from, then run toward it after hesitating for a split second, because if I were her, I wouldn’t want anyone to stop me from looking. As she comes into sight, I hear someone behind me. Abbie Rose has heard her, too.

  She pushes past me. “Evie, we’ve been worried sick about you. You’re soaked. Come on. We need to get you home.”

  But Jen wrenches her arm away from Abbie Rose. “No,” she cries. “You don’t understand. I need to find her. . . .”

  “It’s getting dark. Charlotte . . .” Abbie Rose turns toward me. “For heaven’s sake, help me.”

  I hurry to join them. “She’s right, Evie. We can’t do any more tonight. Let’s leave it till tomorrow. Like I said, I’ll go with you.”

  Something seems to get through to her; very reluctantly, she turns for home.

  “Have a bath,” I say, trying to persuade her when we get back to the house. “It’ll warm you up.”

  But after taking her coat off, she just stands there, shaking violently. “I can’t, Charlotte. I can’t walk. Help me.”

  The day has sapped her strength. She’s too weak to make it upstairs. With Abbie Rose and me on either side of her, she makes it through to the sitting room. It takes immense effort to reach the sofa, where we leave her while I go upstairs for some dry clothes. But by the time I come back down, her eyes have closed.

  * * *

  “What were you thinking?” Abbie Rose is quietly furious.

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I found you, you were standing in the woods, watching her. Were you seriously considering leaving her there?” Her tone is accusing.

  I stare at her. “You know what? I was actually thinking that if I were in her shoes, the last thing I’d want is a pair of interfering busybodies trying to stop me from looking for my daughter.”

  There’s an icy silence. “I’m sorry. I overreacted.” Abbie Rose sounds weary. “I’m worried about leaving her. To be honest, the state she’s in, I’m not sure how much more she can take.”

  “I’ll watch her.”

  Abbie Rose sighs. “It’s quite a responsibility to leave you with. If she’s no better tomorrow, she may be better off in the hospital. There’ll be a police officer outside the house tonight. I’m not sure who yet. But they’ll knock on the door and let you know when they’re here.”

  She’s worrying unnecessarily.

  “We’ll be fine.”

  23

  Without disturbing her, I cover Jen with the blanket. When PC Miller arrives for the night shift, she’s still sleeping on the sofa.

  “She hasn’t eaten,” I tell him. Whatever I said to Abbie Rose, she’s right about it being a responsibility. I’m concerned that being outside in the rain, searching for her daughter, along with enduring the stress she’s under and going without food and drink, will result in Jen setting herself back.

  “Probably best to let her sleep,” Miller says. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”

  * * *

  She’s still on the sofa the next morning, when I go downstairs. It’s nearly eight, and it doesn’t look as though Jen’s moved all night. When I check my phone, there’s a message from Abbie Rose, saying that she’ll be here by ten and that a doctor will be calling, but probably not until later on.

  “Charlotte?” Jen’s voice comes from behind me. Drowsy, she sounds surprised to see me.

  I half open the curtains to let some light in. “How are you?”

  She blinks, taking in the blanket covering her. “I must have fallen asleep. . . .”

  “You were exhausted. It was walking in the woods.” I watch as the events of yesterday come back to her.

  “What time is it?” She starts to get up. I can see from her face the effort it takes.

  “It’s only just past eight.”

  She’s still unsteady on her feet. I can imagine what she’s thinking—that she needs to be outside, searching for her daughter.

  “Has it stopped raining?”

  The blanket slips to the floor. I pick it up. “Just about. Don’t you think you need to take it easy today? You could barely walk last night. You don’t want to end up back in the hospital.”

  “I’m . . . fine.” She tries to walk, then sits down again, looks at me helplessly. “I have to go out.”

  “Evie . . .” I speak firmly. “You need to wait for Abbie to get here. She said a doctor’s calling in at some point, just to check you over.”

  “I don’t want to see the doctor.” That she’s angry is probably healthy, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s verging on extreme exhaustion. “Can I have a cup of tea?” She’s being so brave, but as I look at her, there are tears in her eyes.

  “Talk to Abbie when she gets here. Would you like me to help you to the bathroom?” When she doesn’t protest, I move closer and take her arm.

  After she’s washed, she joins me in the kitchen, her weakness clearly showing in each step she takes. She sits.

  “Here.” I place a mug of tea on the table in front of her, then sit down opposite. “I’ve made you a bacon sandwich. I hope that’s all right.”

  She nods, but her hand is shaking as she picks up her mug, and liquid slops on the table. She puts it down. “I don’t need to see a doctor,” she says obstinately.

  “It won’t do any harm. But like I said, talk to Abbie about it.” It’s not my place to argue with her. “You’ve only just come out of the hospital. If the doctor tells you it’s fine to go off for hours across the countryside, Abbie Rose can’t stop you, can she?”

  * * *

  Abbie Rose arrives earlier than expected, and I leave her alone with Evie, but from the room next door, I hear them talking about the latest forensics findings PC Miller has brought. They don’t seem to amount to much: there was little in the way of fingerprints or personal possessions in the house, and none of them appeared to belong to a child.

  When I hear one of them moving around the kitchen, I go back in. “I told Evie I’d walk in the woods with her today.” I look uncertainly at Abbie Rose just as the doorbell rings. “Do you want me to get that?”

  “It could be the doctor.” Abbie Rose glances at Jen, who looks pissed off. “Thank you, Charlotte.”

  Abbie Rose is right. Dr. Ghyllen has clear eyes and shoulder-length, graying hair.

  “Hi. I’m Charlotte, a friend. Come on in. Evie’s in the kitchen.”

  After closing the door, I lead her through.

  “Hello. I’m Dr. Ghyllen. You’re having a difficult time.” Her voice is full of compassion. “It’s not surprising that DC Rose was worried about you.”

  “There’s really no need.” But Jen’s voice lacks conviction.

  I leave them to it and go upstairs to the room I slept in, listen to snippets of conversation as they filter up through the floor. After ten minutes have passed, imagining Jen metaphorically cornered, I go downstairs, knock on the kitchen door, and enter.

  “Sorry to barge in.” I’m right. As they all look at me, Jen’s face looks strained. “I just wanted to say that I’m happy to spend time here with Evie, if it means she can stay at home. I can’t move in. . . .” I flounder. “But surely it’s better for her to be here than back in the hospital.”

  Abbie Rose looks disapproving. “The doctor was just saying that maybe a few more days being looked after and resting is what Evie needs.”

  I shrug. “There’s no reason why she can’t have that here. Is the
re?” I gaze directly at the doctor. “As long as she does rest?”

  “I can’t force Evie to do anything,” the doctor says. “But you will rest, won’t you?” Addressing Jen.

  Gratitude flickers across Jen’s face as the doctor looks at me, then at Abbie. “Believe me. I do understand,” she says finally. “And I’ll agree, but only if you really look after yourself. Leave the searching to the police. I understand they have a huge operation going on. If you think of somewhere they should look, you can tell DC Rose. Isn’t that right?”

  After catching Jen’s eye, I nod.

  “Okay,” she says quietly.

  “Your body needs to rest,” Dr. Ghyllen goes on. “And the sooner you recover, the sooner you can get back out there. You can’t help your daughter if you don’t look after yourself. I’m going to prescribe you some pills. The same as you had before, but a slightly higher dose. I think they’ll help get you through the next few days.” She writes out a prescription, then hands it to Abbie Rose.

  Abbie Rose hesitates. “I don’t suppose you could leave it with the pharmacist in Truro? I could get one of our officers to pick it up later, on their way here.”

  “Of course.” Dr. Ghyllen stands up. “Evie, I’ll see you in a few days.”

  After she’s left, Jen curls up on the sofa again, the blanket pulled over her.

  “Evie?” I’m unsure if she’s asleep, but her eyelids flicker involuntarily when I say her name. “I’m going home for a while. Abbie’s here.” I pause. “Can I get you anything before I leave? Or get anything while I’m out?”

  “No. Thank you.” She whispers it, blinking at me; then her eyes close.

  Leaving her to rest, I go out to the kitchen, where Abbie Rose is sitting at the kitchen table, going through what looks like more forensics reports, but then the sound of sobbing makes me hurry back. On the sofa, Jen’s in agony, crying as though her heart’s breaking.

  After sitting down next to her, I put my arm round her. “Oh, Evie . . . I know how hard this is for you.”

  But I don’t. I can only guess. Unless you’ve lost a child, you can’t know how it feels. All I can do is offer comfort, let her cry until she stops.