Now You See Her

by Heidi Perks

  He squirmed beside me, not taking his eyes off my daughter.

  ‘If she’s said something, please tell me.’

  ‘I’ve said I’ll do this, Harriet, so let’s just focus on what we do now.’

  Right from the moment we agreed to this plan I knew there were many ‘what ifs’. I was well aware everything could fall apart at the slightest crack but by then I was desperate. I picked out parts that needed slotting together and forced them into place. I ran my fingers over the points where something could go horribly wrong and I knew I was taking a leap of faith, but faith was all I had to hold on to.

  ‘I trusted you, Dad,’ I said aloud as I drove on towards Cornwall, hands trembling against the wheel. ‘I trusted you.’

  But then, deep down, didn’t I still?

  Yet, if I did, all I was left with was the unsettling worry that something must have happened to them to stop him from answering my calls.

  Harriet

  Four days after Alice was taken I first called the pay-as-you-go mobile my dad had bought, as we’d agreed. I told Angela and Brian I needed to get some fresh air and stopped at a payphone three streets away to make the call. My hand was shaking as I tapped in the numbers, praying I’d remembered them in the right order.

  As soon as my dad said, ‘Hello,’ four days of tension flooded out of my body.

  ‘Is she OK?’

  ‘Yes, she’s fine. She’s asking after you, but she’s OK.’

  ‘Oh, thank God,’ I breathed. ‘Can I speak to her?’

  ‘She’s in the garden but I don’t think it’s right that you do anyway. She’s more settled today.’

  I tried to imagine Alice through the pictures of the house I’d seen on the internet. It was my dad’s idea to take her to Elderberry Cottage, a holiday home in the tiny village of West Aldell in Cornwall. He and Marilyn had stayed there twice and we were both comfortable that he knew the area. He assured me that previously they had never been bothered, that during both stays they’d barely seen anyone around, at least no one who took any interest in them.

  ‘But she’s OK?’ I asked him again. ‘She’s well?’

  ‘Alice is doing fine. I’ve told her it’s a little holiday. She thinks you’ve not been feeling well, like we said.’

  ‘And how was she at the fete? She wasn’t frightened?’

  ‘No. She was surprised and confused, but I told her what we agreed, that you asked me to look after her, and that Charlotte knew. Then she was just worried about you, but once I assured her it was nothing serious—’ My dad broke off. I felt our deception cutting through my skin and I knew he did too.

  ‘It’s so good to speak to you, Dad,’ I said.

  ‘Right.’ He sounded flat.

  ‘Dad? You sound strange, what is it?’

  ‘It’s nothing, Harriet.’

  ‘Tell me. What’s the problem?’

  I heard his intake of breath. ‘Where do I start? You’re all over the news. Alice is too. Her picture is everywhere. I worry about leaving the cottage in case someone sees her.’

  ‘I know, but it’s not going to be for long,’ I said, sounding more determined than I felt. ‘You have to do this now, we can’t turn back.’

  ‘I know that. But it doesn’t feel right any more. Hell, what am I saying – it never did.’

  ‘You’re scaring me,’ I said, pressing my hand against the glass of the phone box.

  ‘I am scared,’ he said in a whisper. ‘And I have a very bad feeling this isn’t going to work out the way we want it to. Listen, we need to keep these calls short. Just let me get on with it here and we’ll keep our heads down.’

  ‘OK, but I’ll call you again next Wednesday as agreed.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Keep her safe, Dad. Don’t take her anywhere.’

  ‘We have to go out sometimes.’

  ‘Well, nowhere anyone sees you.’

  My dad sighed. ‘We go to the beach but that’s all. Like I told you, it’s deserted most of the time and the cottage has a fishing boat I can borrow so I’m going to take her out on that.’

  ‘OK, but be careful. Alice hasn’t been in a boat before,’ I said, thinking that at least no one was likely to spot them in the middle of the sea. ‘Thank you, Dad. You know I couldn’t do this without you.’

  I hung up the phone, the tension already creeping its way back inside. It was a relief to know Alice was safe but what if my father couldn’t hold out?

  I’d go through the motions until I’d arranged to call him again. Just to hear him tell me they were both OK was all I needed to get me through. If I’d known then that when I called the following Wednesday he wouldn’t answer, I would have driven to the cottage to get my daughter back straight away.

  I had just passed the halfway mark on my journey to Cornwall when a warning light flashed on the dashboard. The car started to slow and, as much as I pressed my foot on the accelerator, I could feel it losing power until it stuttered to a stop three hundred metres from a petrol station. Grateful for its proximity, I asked the assistant if he knew a number for an emergency call-out and waited in the stark light of the convenience shop for an hour until help arrived.

  The mechanic advised he would have to tow me to a local garage, adding that of course no one would be able to look at my car until the following morning.

  ‘I can’t wait until then,’ I cried.

  The mechanic shrugged as he wiped his hands on an oily cloth and closed the bonnet. ‘I’m afraid you don’t have much choice. No one will be there tonight.’

  ‘What do I do?’ I couldn’t leave my car there and I certainly couldn’t turn back.

  ‘Well, if you want to come with me while I tow the car to the garage I can take you on to my brother’s B&B?’ he suggested. ‘I’ll call him now and make sure they’ve got a room, but I’m sure they will,’ he added softly, eyeing the tears cascading down my cheeks. ‘Thursday night, so he won’t be busy, and he’s very cheap. He’ll take you to get your car in the morning.’

  It was the only realistic option. We left my car on the forecourt of a garage where the mechanic posted a note with his brother’s number on it through the door. Then he drove on a further two miles through narrow country lanes to the shabby B&B, which was nothing more than a house with a handwritten ‘Vacancies’ sign stuck to its latticed bay window.

  As darkness crept in, the idea of being so isolated without a phone made me physically tremble. ‘It’ll be warm inside,’ the mechanic said, mistaking my fear for cold as he pressed the doorbell.

  I could never explain to him that this was so much more than the inconvenience of a faulty car. I had no idea what I’d walked away from and even less what I was walking into, and the thought of being trapped midway between the two was terrifying.

  Charlotte

  On Thursday evening Charlotte stood at her bedroom window and watched Angela step out of her car, gazing up at the house opposite with its ‘For Sale’ board attached to the gatepost. She knew what Angela would be thinking. There were a few coveted roads in Chiddenford and this was one of them. The pretty cul-de-sacs with their beautiful houses sat on plots much more generous than in other parts of the village. Eventually Angela turned away and walked towards Charlotte’s drive.

  Charlotte smiled warmly as she opened the door and tried to gauge the expression on the detective’s face. ‘The kids are still playing out in the garden. I should get them ready for bed but it’s such a nice evening.’ She looked at her watch. It was already seven p.m. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Just water would be lovely, thank you,’ Angela said as she stepped into the hallway. ‘Wow, this is amazing.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Charlotte gave a small smile. Everyone commented on her grand hallway and usually she was proud of it. But it seemed so lacking in importance now.

  ‘So, how can I help you?’ Charlotte asked, leading Angela through to the kitchen where she filled a tumbler with water and handed it to her. ‘Please sit down.’ She ges
tured to a bar stool and Angela perched on it, resting her glass on the island in front of her, continuing to gape at the expanse of Charlotte’s kitchen.

  ‘Have you heard anything from Harriet?’ Angela asked, taking a sip of water and carefully placing the glass down.

  ‘No, not since I went to her house after the fete. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I just wondered if she’s come to see you, or spoken to you,’ Angela said.

  Charlotte shook her head. ‘I haven’t heard from her once.’

  ‘Only she isn’t at the house,’ Angela went on. ‘I arranged to be there at four this afternoon. Harriet’s never not been in, especially when she knows I’m coming.’

  Charlotte pulled out a stool for herself on the other side of the island. There was obviously more bothering Angela than Harriet not being at home. The thought of her visitor the previous night was beginning to set off alarm bells.

  ‘Brian was here last night,’ she said.

  ‘Brian?’ Angela looked surprised.

  Charlotte shuddered at the memory of him waiting for her the other side of her front hedge. ‘He was outside my house when I was going out. He wanted to speak to me in his car. He wouldn’t come into the house, I don’t know why.’

  ‘So what did he want?’ Angela asked, pressing forward on her stool.

  ‘That’s the strange thing. All he kept talking about was Harriet and how much he loved her. He wanted to know if she ever talked to me about their marriage, which she never did. It was an odd conversation.’

  Angela looked as confused as Charlotte felt. ‘Did you get the hint they’d had an argument?’

  ‘I wondered that but he didn’t say as much. He was just a bit –’ Charlotte gestured a hand in the air ‘– weird. I assumed it was the stress of Alice and everything – but, like I said, it was Harriet he was talking about, not Alice.’

  Angela sat back and reached into her handbag beside her, pulling out a notepad.

  ‘Has something else happened?’ Charlotte asked, trying to see what the detective was writing but unable to make anything out.

  Angela looked up at her. ‘Nothing in particular. But the house was a little disrupted when I got there this afternoon.’

  ‘How do you mean, disrupted?’ That didn’t sound good. Harriet’s home was always so neat and organised.

  ‘It was a mess; things had been disturbed,’ Angela said, pen poised in the air. ‘When I looked through the living-room window I could see all of Alice’s toys strewn across the carpet.’

  Charlotte shivered at the thought. ‘What did Brian say?’ she asked. ‘How did he explain it?’ She’d always thought she was the one who liked it so tidy. Harriet never seemed to mind a bit of a mess; you only had to look in her handbag to see that. But still there was no way Harriet would have thrown Alice’s toys around.

  ‘That’s the strange thing,’ Angela said. ‘He’s not there either. There’s no sign of Harriet or Brian and I have no idea where either of them have gone.’

  NOW

  The detective wants to know why I didn’t tell anyone where I was going when I walked out of my house yesterday. Twelve days after my daughter had disappeared, why did I get up and drive off without telling my husband or Angela or my best friend, who is currently sitting in another room being questioned by his colleague?

  I tell him the same story over and over but each time I do he asks me again, only he frames the question slightly differently in the hope he might catch me out. I fear he soon will.

  Eventually DI Lowry suggests a ‘comfort break’. I think I hear him sighing.

  ‘Is there any more news yet?’ I ask as I’m leaving the room. ‘Could you find out for me, please?’ I cannot bring myself to say the words.

  ‘I will, Harriet,’ he says, and for a moment I see a fleeting look in his eyes that resembles compassion. He hesitates by the door as if about to tell me something. I hold my breath, but in the end he says nothing.

  There is news. There is something he isn’t sharing.

  DI Lowry heads one way up the corridor and I turn off in the other direction towards the toilets. It is thirteen days since I have been with Alice. Before the fete, not thirteen hours had passed when I hadn’t been able to look at her face and hold her in my arms. That’s what tears me apart the most: not being able to touch her.

  The air in the corridor becomes so thin it’s hard to breathe. I reach for the wall to steady myself as a sharp pain splits across my forehead. The bright lights flicker and dim, and my vision narrows. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, though they offered me a biscuit an hour ago. I should have forced it down, but I couldn’t, and now I regret it as I feel the ache of my empty stomach.

  The thought of staying here a moment longer is almost unbearable. With one hand on the wall I feel my way along, a few more paces, until I reach the toilet door. Pushing it open I reach for the basin, clasping on to its cool, white enamel with both hands.

  Eventually I pull my head up and focus on my reflection until I become clear. In some ways it seems like only yesterday that I’d slunk out of my course and was staring at myself in the hotel mirror, waiting for news that my plan was under way. In others, it’s a lifetime ago.

  I turn on the cold tap and drench my hands, splashing water over my face until the sharp pain recedes. I have no choice but to pull myself together. No choice but to stick to my story, whatever Lowry isn’t telling me.

  BEFORE

  Harriet

  By eight-thirty the following morning I had been told that the garage owner had called and that my car would hopefully be ready in two hours. Finally, things were turning in my favour. By lunchtime I would be in Cornwall.

  I wolfed down a plate of greasy eggs and undercooked bacon made by the brother of the kindly call-out man, paying him twenty pounds for the hard bed and well-meant breakfast, and accepted his offer of a lift to the garage where I waited for my car that was ready as promised. By ten-thirty I was back on the road.

  On the A30 I continued heading west. With the sun trying to break through the clouds I turned the radio up a notch and allowed my thoughts to oscillate between what lay ahead and what was behind me.

  Best case, I would find Alice safe and, if I did, I would turn around and go straight back to Dorset. During the night I’d decided I would tell Brian and Angela that I’d needed to get away from the house. That I needed one night on my own away from the prying eyes and invasive questions, where nobody knew me or my story. I’d tell them I drove without thinking about where I was heading and would give them the name of the B&B owner who could vouch for me. I didn’t know if they would believe me but it was all I had.

  With the rest of the journey passing without mishap, I soon approached the tiny village of West Aldell, where the familiar, unnerving surge of dread resurfaced. I had no idea what I was walking into: whether my daughter would be there; if anything had happened to them.

  I turned off the main road and drove down the winding lane that eventually led to a short row of clapboard-fronted shops and cafes. Passing the White Horse pub, I slowed down so I wouldn’t miss the right turn that meant I’d otherwise end up at the beach.

  This lane was even narrower and lined with hedges on either side. It climbed a steep hill, twisting to the left. There were two unloved houses on the right before I finally spotted a sign for Elderberry Cottage. The wooden name was stuck to a post and jammed at an angle into the hedgerow at its front. I assumed that if I carried on, I’d wind up at a dead end at the top of the cliff as my dad had told me.

  It was twelve-thirty p.m. when I finally pulled up alongside the hedge opposite the cottage, wincing at the scratch of its branches against the side of the car. There was little space to park without jutting into the centre of the lane.

  So this was it. Sadly, it looked exactly like it had on the website. My dad was right about West Aldell; it did look idyllic but I still had no idea what he and Marilyn had seen in Elderberry Cottage and certainly not what had possessed them to co
me back a second time.

  I didn’t bother checking the deserted lane for oncoming cars as I crossed over. A gate hung limply on one hinge leading on to a cobbled path, overgrown grass peeking through its cracks. On the front door a bell dangled dubiously on a wire. I took a deep breath and knocked.

  ‘Please be in, Dad,’ I muttered. ‘Please God, let Alice be here.’

  I knocked again, louder this time. Still nothing. To my right a net curtain partially hid the living room behind it, but I could make out the red velvet armchair and faded brown two-seater sofa I’d seen on the website. The cottage looked like it had been caught in a time trap. I imagined a thin veil of dust coating the china figurines that were lined up on the mantelpiece like a row of soldiers.

  I banged on the door again until my hand felt bruised. My heart echoed back with each thump I made on the peeling green wood. How had I allowed her out of my sight? Yes, she was with her grandfather, but she’d only known him six months. I barely knew him at all.

  ‘Where are you, Dad?’ I cried at the closed door, pressing my forehead against it in despair. ‘Where’s Alice?’

  When I pulled away I noticed the side gate was ajar. It led to the back of the house, weaving through tubs of plants that stood sorrowfully on a slab of concrete. Through the glass panel of a shabby blue door I could see the kitchen, with mugs left on the table, a few bowls stacked in the sink.

  Trying the handle of the back door, it turned easily, swinging open, and I tentatively stepped inside. ‘Dad?’ I called out. ‘Alice?’ The only response was the loud ticking of a grandfather clock.

  My legs felt like liquid as I drifted through the house, one step at a time, climbing the staircase, its floorboards creaking beneath me. I called their names again as I reached the top. Now the clock’s ticking was much fainter.

  They weren’t here; I was certain of that. But had they been? Were they here this morning?

  I glanced into a bedroom with a double bed neatly made, a purple eiderdown quilt tucked over the top. Next to it was a small box room, half the size of Alice’s at home. A single bed had a green blanket laid carefully over its end. Had Alice slept here?