by Nicci French
It reminded me of something. I flicked back through the last notebook until I got to the page I was looking for. ‘I think I’ll wear my pink skirt.’ And those swirling inscriptions. They weren’t just meaningless scrawls after all.
I phoned Ashleigh.
‘Has she turned up?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Who’s J?’
‘What?’
‘I’m desperate,’ I said. ‘I’ve been looking through some of Charlie’s stuff and I saw the letter J written several times. I don’t know if it means anything.’
There was a silence. It was all about tactics. I could threaten Ashleigh, but that might make her clam up altogether. I could plead, bargain. Or just be straightforward.
‘Ashleigh,’ I said, ‘I’m not going to be cross with anybody about this, not with Charlie, not with you. Maybe all of this is nothing. But I need to know that she’s safe. And maybe it isn’t nothing. What I mean is that if you know anything you really ought to tell me. Just in case.’
Another silence.
‘Ashleigh?’
‘He’s a friend.’
‘Who?’
‘Jay.’
‘What does it stand for?’
‘No,’ said Ashleigh. ‘That’s his name. J–A–Y.’
‘Who is he? A boyfriend?’
Another pause. It felt as if Ashleigh was sitting there with a lawyer at her ear, advising her to say as little as possible, no more than was specifically asked for and nothing that might incriminate her. Didn’t she realize that we were talking about my daughter and her best friend?
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I can’t really… He’s a friend.’
‘Where can I reach him?’
‘I don’t know his number.’
‘What’s his second name? Where does he live?’
Another pause.
‘Birche. His dad’s a farmer. The one over near that big old empty building.’
‘The Malting?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Is there any chance she might be with him?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did she talk about Jay when you spoke to her yesterday?’
‘Not really. You know.’
This was becoming ridiculous. I couldn’t tell whether Ashleigh was being so reluctant and generally uncommunicative because she had something to hide or because she was fifteen years old. I told her I’d be back in touch and rang off. I tried to think if I might know any friends of the Birche family but nobody sprang to mind. As far as I knew there weren’t more than a couple of farms on the island and the farmers were in a different social league from most other people. They didn’t send their children to the local schools. If you were going to meet them, it would probably be at the tennis or golf club or riding with the local mainland hunt. Clearly it would have to be a cold call. I found the number in the phone book and dialled it, feeling like a double-glazing salesman. A man answered.
‘Is that Mr Birche?’ I said.
‘Who’s that?’ the voice said abruptly, as if he was shouting at me across the island with a megaphone.
‘My name is Nina Landry. Is this Mr J. Birche?’
‘What do you want?’
I took that as a yes.
‘You don’t know me, but I think your son may be a friend of my daughter.’
‘Which son?’
‘Jay. I was hoping I could talk to him.’
‘He’s not here.’
I felt a spasm of excitement. Had they gone together? Could it possibly be as easy as that?
‘This will sound strange but I really do need to talk to him. It’s important.’
‘I don’t know when he’ll be back. He went out this morning to some sort of birthday party.’
I felt a disappointment so keen that it was physical, a wave of nausea passing through me. So Jay must have been one of the teenagers in the house. He had been there and she hadn’t. What did that mean? New possibilities appeared in my mind. A row?
‘I’ve got to get hold of your son right now. Immediately.’
‘What’s this about?’ He sounded defensive, suspicious. ‘Has he done anything wrong?’
‘No, no, nothing like that. But it’s an emergency. I’m trying to find my daughter and I thought your son might be able to tell me where she is or know something.’
Even at the other end of the telephone line, I could tell that he was thinking. Was this woman mad? Was she to be trusted? Was he risking anything?
‘He’s probably in town with friends.’
‘You mean on the island?’
‘Yes. He hangs around the café or that dreadful coffee place. But I’ve got his mobile number somewhere here.’
I heard paper rustling and then he came back on the line and read me the number. I thanked him effusively and rang off. But when I dialled it there was just a message. I left my number and asked him to call at once. But I knew I couldn’t sit and wait – he might have left his phone at home or his father given me the wrong number.
I met Renata downstairs. She was sitting among the wreckage of the morning with a dazed expression on her face. Although she was holding the newspaper, she clearly wasn’t reading it and when she saw me she put it down, as though she felt guilty to be relaxing, and looked up at me questioningly.
‘No,’ I said. ‘There’s no word. But it does now seem clear that…’ I swallowed hard. ‘That Charlie has gone missing of her own accord. There are things missing from her room: her washbag and pink makeup bag, for instance, and her favourite nightshirt.’ I swallowed hard and gave a small smile. ‘The one that says, “Please do not sell this woman anything.” So it looks, well, it does look like she’s run away.’
I held up my hand to stop Renata’s questions or ward off her expressions of appalled sympathy.
‘I’m going out to try to find a friend of hers. It’s probably a waste of time.’ I was going to leave it at that but then I stopped. ‘Jackson’s in a bit of a state. I’m sorry, Renata, but could you do something with him to take his mind off things?’
Renata looked panicky. ‘Of course, anything. But what shall I do? I’m not really used to children.’ Tears filled her eyes again.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Mechanical things are usually a good idea. He was messing around with our new camcorder. Perhaps you could ask him to recharge it and get rid of all the rubbish he was filming this morning. That’s so, so wonderful of you.’
This last was said because of the haunted look Renata gave me as she turned to go up the stairs. I pulled the door open and found myself standing face to face with Eamonn, his hand raised to knock. He looked white and peaky; his hair had come untied and hung in clumps.
‘Ms Landry, um, Nina. Mum and Dad are still at the hospital, they’ll be there for ages, they said. I just wanted to know about Charlie. Has she come back yet?’
‘No, she hasn’t, and I can’t stop now, Eamonn.’
‘But –’
‘If you think of anything, Eamonn, or hear anything, let me know, will you? I’m going to dash now.’ A thought struck me. ‘You don’t happen to know Jay Birche, do you?’
His face flamed and an odd little smirk twisted his lips. ‘Him? He’s a turd. Thinks he’s so fine. Little private-school idiot.’
I was taken aback by Eamonn’s outburst. ‘Live and let live, eh? Listen, I might come and talk to you later.’
‘Is he with Charlie, then?’
‘I don’t know. It doesn’t look like it.’
As I drove off, my mobile rang. It was Rory. ‘Any news?’ he asked.
‘Some things are missing from her bedroom.’
‘So she’s staying with someone?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you two have a row, Nina?’
‘No.’
‘You mean not ever?’
‘I mean that she didn’t leave because of a row.’
‘I hear you talked to Tina.’
I was at a loss for a
moment. Then I remembered whom he was talking about. ‘Oh, yes.’
‘I was meaning to tell you about her.’
‘Rory, this isn’t really the time.’
‘It was difficult being on my own.’
‘Rory…’
‘She’s been a rock for me.’
I drew the car in beside the café opposite the library. As soon as I stopped, there was a tap on the window. I lowered it and saw a dark uniform.
‘Excuse me, madam,’ said a familiar voice, ‘are you aware that it’s an offence to use a mobile phone while driving?’
It was the policeman. Mahoney.
‘Got to go,’ I said to Rory, and then pleadingly, ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry. I’m still searching for my daughter. I’ve been on the phone solidly. That was my husband. I’m really sorry.’
‘Have you heard anything?’ Mahoney said.
‘I’m looking for someone now. He might know.’
‘And you’re on a yellow line,’ he said.
‘I’ll be five minutes,’ I said. ‘And please tell me if you hear anything at all.’
I ran towards the café and looked through the window. Two old men at one table, eggs and bacon and a cloud of cigarette smoke. At another a young woman was sitting with a toddler. This was hopeless. He could be anywhere. I walked along the street to Beans, where you can read newspapers and drink about twenty-seven different kinds of coffee. I went inside. In one corner a group of teenage boys was sitting around a table full of oversized coffee cups, ashtrays and cigarette packets. I walked over to them. ‘Is one of you Jay Birche?’
A boy looked up. I immediately recognized him from the surprise party. He was about seventeen. Dark hair, pale, stubbly skin, grey eyes that were almost green, clothes worn in layers, as if he’d just got out of bed and pulled on whatever was at hand. He had about him a slouchy, unkempt beauty that reminded me at once of Charlie.
‘I’m Charlie’s mother.’ He raised his eyebrows but didn’t move from his place. I started to speak, then felt awkward. ‘Can we have a word? In private?’
He half grimaced at his companions, as if to say, ‘Old people, what can you do?’ then got up and followed me outside.
‘I’m Nina,’ I said. ‘We’ve not met but Ashleigh told me you’re a friend of Charlie’s. Is that true?’
‘What’s the problem?’ he said.
‘She’s disappeared,’ I said. ‘I don’t know where she is. I wondered if you knew?’
‘Disappeared?’
‘We were meant to fly to the States this afternoon but she never came home.’
‘I haven’t seen her today,’ he said. ‘I thought she’d be at your party, but you know Charlie. She’s not the most reliable person in the world, is she?’
‘You haven’t any idea where she might have gone?’
‘No.’
‘You don’t go to school on the island?’
At this his expression broke into a half-smile. ‘I’m at the high school.’
The private school on the estuary by Hemsleigh; that made sense. Farmer’s son. I wondered where they’d met. I couldn’t leave it like this. I’d got nothing. ‘I’m worried,’ I said. ‘She’s disappeared. She’s taken some of her things with her. It’s like she prepared it. I need to find her.’
‘I haven’t seen her and I think I’d know if she was going to run off. You shouldn’t worry about her. Parents always worry too –’
I interrupted him: ‘So, are you her boyfriend?’
‘I’m sorry?’
At that moment my phone rang. ‘Hang on,’ I said, and answered it.
It was Renata. ‘You need to come back,’ she said.
‘Charlie?’
‘There’s something you need to see.’
‘Can’t you tell me?’
‘It’s hard to explain. I’m not sure if I’m right. But if I am, you need to see it.’
‘I’ll be there in two minutes,’ I said, and turned to Jay. ‘I’ve got to go. Something’s up. Can I call you on your mobile?’
‘What for?’ he said.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Just in case.’
‘I guess,’ he said.
He dictated the number and I touched the digits into my phone.
‘Good luck,’ he called after me, as I ran back to my car.
There was a parking ticket on the windscreen. I looked at it: 12.26. I scrunched it up and threw it on to the back seat, then turned the key in the ignition and drove home, ignoring the speed camera that flashed at me on The Street.
‘What is it?’ I said, as I burst through the door. ‘Tell me.’
Renata called up the stairs for Jackson. ‘Your mum’s here. Come on down now. Quickly.’
My son bounded down the stairs, two steps at a time, nearly tripping on his laces. The camcorder bounced round his neck and his face was hectic with tiredness and excitement.
‘Renata, this had better be important.’
‘I don’t know what it is,’ said Renata. She had scarlet patches on her cheeks. ‘Go on, Jackson.’
‘Let me find the right place,’ he said, pressing rewind and watching as images jerked incomprehensibly backwards. ‘Yeah, here. Look, Mum.’
I stood behind him and squinted at the small screen. A blur of grey-green colour moved along it. The upstairs carpet.
‘I can plug it into the computer if it’s hard for you to see. That’s what I was just about to –’
‘What am I looking at?’
‘Fast-forward, Jackson,’ said Renata.
‘No, it’s here.’
The camera had reached Charlie’s bedroom door. It swung up to the sign that said, ‘Knock first!’ in big block letters, then bobbed down again as the door was pushed open, presumably by Jackson. It moved in and out of focus round Charlie’s room. To the window, the strewn bed, the half-open wardrobe, the sheep clock. I forced myself to stay calm as I watched the familiar objects slide past, looming in and out of focus, all the things that I’d been sifting through so recently: the towels, the flung clothes, the CDs, the pieces of paper, the ointments and lotions, the…
‘There,’ said Renata.
The nightshirt, held in a blurred freeze-frame. It lay on the floor. I could even half make out what was written across it, and supply the rest: ‘Please do not sell this woman anything.’ I’d bought it for her last summer. She’d worn it the night before last. The camcorder moved on.
‘Go back,’ I said, in little more than a gasp.
‘Hang on, look,’ said Renata, pressed against me behind Jackson.
The camera swung over something pink and Jackson pressed pause. Out of focus, and only half in view, but indisputably Charlie’s makeup bag.
‘We looked for the washbag as well, and the purse, but there’s nothing else. We’ve gone through all of it,’ said Jackson.
‘Several times,’ said Renata. ‘It doesn’t mean they weren’t there, just that Jackson didn’t film them. Lucky he didn’t delete it all, wasn’t it? And I could easily not have noticed. It was the nightshirt that did it.’
‘Go back a bit,’ I said. ‘Yes, stop there.’
The sheep clock told me it was 11.17, and the small screen on the camcorder had the time in the bottom corner, as well: 11.17. It must have been just when the first guests were about to show up. I pressed my fists into my eyeballs and tried to think, but what I was thinking made no sense.
The things that had gone missing and that showed me Charlie had run away were there when I came back from Rick and Karen’s. So she’d taken them afterwards. Was that it? She’d sneaked into the house when I was there, already worrying about her, phoning her mobile, pestering her friends. But when? How had I not seen her, or someone not seen her? Unless, I thought wildly, she’d climbed into her room through the window, in which case she would have had help. Jay, I thought. I’d seen him going up the stairs. Or Ashleigh. Or someone I didn’t know about yet because, after all, I hadn’t known about Jay. Images and ideas poured through my
skull, and I tried to separate them out and consider them rationally.
Charlie had returned to fetch her clothes after 11.17. That changed the timings. She hadn’t come straight back after her paper round, while I was still out and the house was empty, to pick up the things she needed. She had come back a couple of hours later, when the party she’d organized was starting or under way, when we were soon to go to the airport. And what had she been doing in the gap between her paper round and then?
‘Nina?’
‘Yes?’ I was startled. I had forgotten that Renata and Jackson were there, waiting for me to speak.
‘It’s very odd, isn’t it?’
‘Jackson, did you move anything in Charlie’s room when you went in there?’
‘No.’
‘Think carefully.’
‘It’s not my fault.’
‘Of course not.’
‘I didn’t touch anything. I just went in for a minute and then went out again, honestly.’
I ran up the stairs, two at a time, and into Charlie’s room.
I had to see for myself. It looked the same as in Jackson’s film, except that in the film the nightshirt and makeup bag were there and now they were gone. Restlessly, I walked round the room, touching the shelves and the bed, as if to convince myself they were real. I pulled open the top drawer of the chest next to Charlie’s bed. Everything I saw felt like a jab of memory. A few foreign coins she had kept, a broken wristwatch she had never thrown away, a daisy chain of coloured paperclips, a complicated penknife that contained tweezers, several blades, a toothpick. There was the container of antibiotics for her impetigo. I picked it up and the pills inside rattled. There was a wooden elephant with a baby elephant, a ceramic plate – the first thing she had ever brought back from secondary school. I picked up the pink plastic bottle of her makeup remover. I sniffed it and the familiar astringent odour stung my nostrils.
Downstairs I dialled the number for the police station; asked to speak to Mahoney. I was told he wasn’t there, but was expected back in a few minutes and they’d make sure he got my message to call me. I put the phone down and stared at it. I didn’t want to sit and wait for ten minutes, doing nothing while scary images slid through my mind.
‘Can I make you some tea?’ asked Renata. ‘Or something to eat? You’ve got to eat. It won’t do Charlie any good if you’re starving yourself.’