by Carol Wyer
She looked around her large bedroom. It was really a bedroom/studio. On one side was a proper easel, and on it a portrait of Sampson the Third, one of her parents’ priciest horses. He was a magnificent specimen, and Florence had spent several days attempting to capture his majesty and the sparkling intelligence in his eyes. Here she had a perfect view of the stables below. The stables and the horses were what she enjoyed painting most. Her mother and father worked full tilt. The horses were groomed, trained, raced and looked after almost twenty-four seven, and when the pair weren’t actively working with the animals, they were abroad, seeking new horses they could train, or on the racing circuit.
Florence had ridden as a child, but a tumble from a mare had left her determined never to mount a horse again, in spite of entreaties from her folks. She worked in the stables for a while, helping out the stable girls, but she developed a severe allergy to the straw and hay and sneezed incessantly every time she cleaned them out. In the end, taking pity on her daughter, Christine admitted the equestrian life was not for Florence. For the most part she distanced herself from it all, and along with it, her parents. Content to stay inside and paint or draw, Florence had never had any problems or concerns until the previous year when, without warning, her body had developed and she found herself torn between remaining a child and wanting to experiment at being a young woman.
Her mother was downstairs, bustling about in the sitting room with the vacuum cleaner. She was expecting a potential buyer for two of the horses. Her mother wasn’t big on housework, and it was best to stay out of the way during cleaning frenzies. If Florence went downstairs, she’d likely be asked to help. A small voice spoke up, saying the real reason was she didn’t want her mum to see her until it was too late to ask her remove her make-up and change her unsuitable clothes. She tugged at the top. It covered her expanding chest but left her stomach on display. Florence hadn’t been eating much the last couple of weeks and her normally pudgy belly was much flatter.
Her mobile lit up. It was Amélie: On our way. See you in ten minutes.
She hesitated. She didn’t really want to watch the film. She could still call it off and say she felt sick. She thumbed the keypad, then hesitated. She’d still be home in time to talk to Hunter. She’d have to make sure Robyn didn’t come in for a chat with her mum or she’d be stuck with Amélie when she should be online. She’d think of some excuse at the cinema.
Downstairs, Christine was cleaning with gusto. She gave her daughter a smile and turned the machine off. ‘Almost finished. You look…’ she pursed her lips, searching for the right words, ‘very grown up.’
She knew her mother disapproved, but that was tough luck as far as Florence was concerned. It was her body and she’d do whatever she liked. Christine gave her the same look she gave her favourite horses, head to one side. ‘You know, you don’t have to race towards becoming older. It’ll happen naturally and quickly enough. You’ve done your make-up very well but you look even nicer without it.’
Florence snorted and hunched her shoulders, making her tiny sparkly top cover some of her midriff. There it was, the maternal way of disapproving. What did her mother know about make-up or clothes? She always looked like she’d slept in a barn. ‘I’m thirteen,’ she mumbled, knowing she was going to lose the argument before it began.
‘Thirteen going on twenty. I know, sweetheart.’
Florence cringed. Her mum always called her sweetheart when she wanted to manipulate her. This time it wouldn’t work. She was standing her ground and she was not removing any make-up.
Christine moved towards her and examined her. ‘Sweetie, you’re going to the cinema with Amélie, not a nightclub.’ Seeing the dark look on her daughter’s face, she changed tack. ‘You are a beautiful girl. You don’t need to wear all that warpaint.’ She paused, offering a smile, but was met with sullen silence.
Florence crossed her arms and dug her chin into her neck. ‘It’s not warpaint. Just because you don’t like to dress up doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.’ She bit her tongue. She hadn’t meant to say that. It was unfair. All she knew was she wanted to get away from her mother before she suspected there was a boy in her life.
Christine sighed. ‘I think it’s time for a talk.’
‘I know all about sex, so don’t bother.’
The conversation was halted by the blast of Robyn’s car horn. Christine appealed to her daughter one last time. ‘When you get home, let’s chat.’
‘Whatever,’ said Florence, moving towards the door, relieved to escape. As soon as she shut the door, she felt a pang of guilt. Her mum was only trying to be nice to her. She’d say sorry later.
Twenty-Six
Ross found a parking space outside the shop in Gallow Street. The dog spent the journey on the passenger seat, staring out of the window, tongue out, panting lightly. Ross had been convinced it was smiling and chatted to it as if it were human.
‘Yes, you’re home. No pulling me over in the rush to get back to your mum.’ Princess stood, eager to get out. A steady thump, thump, thump of her tail against the car seat.
‘Come on, pooch, let’s go make your owner very happy.’
Princess bounced out of the car and stood beside him while he fumbled with the lock, one hand loosely holding the length of rope around the dog’s neck.
‘You’re most obedient, aren’t you?’ Ross patted the animal. It nosed him affectionately.
‘Ohmigosh!’ The shriek made him jump. Lauren raced towards him, fell to her knees, covered the excited dog’s face with kisses. ‘You found her. You bloody well found her. You’re a friggin’ awesome detective.’
Ross shrugged. ‘I got lucky.’
Lauren stood up. In her heels she was five inches taller than Ross. She beamed at him. ‘Mum’s gonna be made up. Can I take her?’
‘Sure.’ Ross handed the rope to Lauren.
‘Where was she?’
‘Some delivery driver had her. Claimed he found her wandering about lost. I figured it was best to get Princess away from him than argue the toss. It’s not worth involving the police. I think he’d hoped there would be a reward and he’d claim it. This sort of thing happens a fair bit.’
Princess strained at the lead, tail up, eager to get home.
‘I didn’t think you’d find her, you know?’ Princess sniffed at a brown paper bag bearing the logo of a fast food outlet, now discarded on the pavement. ‘Do you look for missing people too?’
‘I have done, why?’
‘I think one of my mates has gone missing.’
‘Think?’
‘I’m not sure. Her name’s Siobhan Connors. She split up from her boyfriend a couple of weeks ago, and we were supposed to meet up for a drink – a girl’s night out – to help her get over it. She didn’t show. I texted her and got a strange message back saying she was sorry but she’d met a new fella on the Internet and had gone away with him. It seemed really weird. Surely she’d have told me about him beforehand?’
‘What about her parents? Have you spoken to them?’
‘I don’t have their numbers. They both live in Ireland but they’re with different partners now. They split up when Siobhan was little and she doesn’t have anything much to do with them. She came over on her own when she was seventeen and met Adam. It became serious and they moved in together. I met her at a nightclub in Derby. We ordered exactly the same drink. Got chatting after that and then got pissed on vodka shots and danced the night away. She crashed out at our place. Adam was proper annoyed. They had one of those hot and cold relationships. You know, lots of fighting and shouting and then lots of making up.’
‘Does Adam have any idea where she is?’
‘I phoned him. Said he didn’t give a shit where she was or who she was with. He’d had enough of her moods. I called her manager, Lucy, at work too. She said Siobhan had taken compassionate leave, whatever that is. She sounded right narked that Siobhan had taken off without letting them know in advance.’
‘H
ave you considered reporting her missing?’
Lauren made a ‘pfft’ noise. ‘I’d look a right idiot, telling the coppers I think she’s missing. She texted me two days ago.’ She lifted her phone and read:
‘“Hi Lauren. Having great time. New bloke is awesome. Won’t be back for a while. X”’
‘Sounds like she’s decided to buzz off for a while. She might even have been seeing this new chap while with Adam.’
Lauren shook her head. ‘Nah. It’s always “Adam this” and “Adam that”. She never mentioned anyone else.’
‘If you’ve received a text from her, why are you concerned?’
Lauren gazed at him with large eyes. ‘It just doesn’t sound like her. None of this sounds like her. I know it sounds silly but I’ve got a feeling something’s happened.’
‘Call her.’
‘I have called. I’m not stupid. It always goes to answerphone, and that’s odd too. It’s like she’s avoiding me.’
‘You’re probably concerned about nothing, but I’ll look into it.’
‘Would you? I’m actually beginning to worry about the silly bitch. Fancy going off like that with someone you hardly know off the Internet. It seems mental. I can’t believe she wouldn’t have told me.’
Lauren put her phone away. She pulled gently at the rope. Princess trotted beside her, towards number forty.
‘This is the best thing that’s happened all week. Can’t wait to see Mum’s face.’
Twenty-Seven
Robyn glanced at the teenager in the back seat, thumbing her mobile phone, and then at Amélie, who merely shrugged. The girls made an odd couple: Florence was chubby, shy, with patches of freckles on her pale skin, and bushy, ginger-blonde hair that never looked tamed; and Amélie was dark-haired, willowy, confident and intelligent, with a beauty that was beginning to bloom.
Robyn was happy to have Florence join them. In her opinion, the girl was lacking in self-confidence. Today, the Florence that clambered into the back seat of the VW Golf was a different one to normal. Robyn waved at Christine, who stood by the door watching the car drive away and gave a tight smile. Florence, however, after saying hello, immediately pawed at her mobile phone and didn’t notice her mother.
Amélie, sitting beside Robyn, didn’t seem to find the fact her friend was heavily made-up, inappropriately dressed for a cold January afternoon and wearing bright pink lipstick that did nothing for her complexion, peculiar. Florence stabbed at her phone and cursed under her breath.
‘You okay?’ Amélie turned to face her.
‘Nail’s broken off.’ Florence held up the pink falsie.
‘Put it in your purse or pocket. You can stick it back on later. You can’t wear them to school tomorrow anyway. One of the teachers will only make you take them off.’
Florence scowled. ‘I know that. I just wanted to try them out tonight,’ she replied.
Amélie shrugged.
Robyn caught the look on Florence’s face and waved a hand devoid of any varnish. Her nails were short and in need of attention. ‘Do you think I should get mine done?’
‘I’ve got a nail file with me, if you’d like me to tidy them up.’ Florence pulled an emery board from her purse.
‘Brilliant. A meal, a film and a manicure.’ Robyn grinned at Florence, who returned the smile. The tension had disappeared.
* * *
The film couldn’t end soon enough for Florence. She’d said she needed the toilet and escaped twice, checking on her phone to see if Hunter was active on Fox or Dog. She found she was checking other girls’ pages more frequently, hoping he wasn’t looking them up too. Today, she found another five dog emojis under her photo, and a girl called Sex Muffin had posted:
Kitten, I think you’ve Photoshopped your photo. Fess up!
Florence flushed crimson. She checked Sex Muffin out, and to her dismay recognised her from school. She was one of the final-year students. There was a chance the girl actually knew her. When she returned to her own profile, another girl had joined the conversation:
Sex Muffin, you cud be right. ROFL at way she’s pouting. Kitten, you’re not a bloody supermodel. LOL
Florence’s lip trembled. Why were they being so horrible to her? She answered:
Don’t be so bitchy.
Her hands shook as she typed. She was conscious that she wasn’t skinny like most of the girls in her class, or beautiful, but it was horrible to read the comments. She definitely didn’t want Hunter to spot them. He might go off her. There was a sudden rapping on the toilet door. She sat up with a jolt. Robyn was outside.
‘Florence, are you feeling all right?’
Florence flushed the chain, stuffed the phone into her back pocket and came out, a sheepish look on her face. ‘Sorry, Robyn. I think I’ve got a bit of a stomach bug.’
Robyn nodded but her eyes narrowed. Florence squirmed. It was impossible to lie to the woman. ‘I’m feeling okay now.’ She washed her hands and followed Robyn back into the cinema, her mind on Fox or Dog and worries that Hunter would not chat to her later.
‘Look, I know I’m not one of your schoolmates, but you can talk to me, you know?’
Florence considered her words. She couldn’t tell Robyn about Hunter. It would get straight back to her mother.
‘No, it’s nothing, really. I’ve got stomach cramps, that’s all.’ Florence wished she’d let it drop.
‘If you ever need to chat just ring me.’
Florence nodded. ‘Thanks. I will.’ She was thankful when Robyn finally moved off back to the film. Just for good measure, she clutched her stomach as she slipped back into her seat.
* * *
Robyn’s mind wasn’t on the film. She’d been thinking about the missing girls until Florence had got up and squeezed past her, smiling apologetically. The first time, she’d paid little heed, but it was clear from Florence’s restlessness that she was also thinking about something else. She’d waited outside the toilet door the second time Florence had disappeared, suspicious of Florence’s excuse. She was certain Florence had been on her phone in the cubicle. Whatever she was doing had been so important that she’d made up a poor excuse to leave a film she’d wanted to see, to hide out in the toilets. The secrecy bothered Robyn. She ought to mention it to Christine, and then she recalled the troubled look on the woman’s face as she drove off earlier.
She’d tried speaking to her again when both of them had waited while Amélie went to the toilet after the film. She’d tried chatting about subjects she knew interested Florence, and then about school and asking how things were going, but she got nowhere. Florence wasn’t giving any clues as to what was wrong. Robyn felt thwarted and annoyed with herself for not being able to gain the girl’s confidence. Perhaps Christine already suspected something was up.
Florence stuck to the stomach bug story and sat in the back of the car holding her belly to make it seem more credible, occasionally screwing up her face as if in pain when Robyn caught her eye in the rear-view mirror. Once they reached her house, she thanked them.
‘Make sure you take something for that stomach ache,’ said Robyn, hoping Florence would pick up on her tone and understand that she’d not put up a convincing performance. Florence mumbled something about an early night and bolted from the car before they could follow her into the house.
The trip to the cinema left Robyn puzzling over Florence. When she asked Amélie about it she said she thought there might be a boy involved, although Florence had not mentioned one. That made sense to Robyn. Undoubtedly, a relationship was causing the girl to behave quite differently. Soon Amélie would change too and maybe her relationship with Robyn would shift. Robyn recalled becoming secretive as she went through puberty. She no doubt caused her own mother some grief from time to time. It was tough coming to terms with no longer being a child and entering a world where you wanted to be considered a grown-up but were not quite ready for it.
‘So, what did you think of Bob?’ Robyn asked once they’d droppe
d the subject of Florence.
‘Amazing. You know how much I like cats. Grandma’s cat, Pipette, is so beautiful. I keep asking Mum if we can get a cat. I’d really love to own one but Richard is allergic to the fur. He sneezes like mad when we go to Grandma’s. He said he didn’t mind if we got one, but Mum isn’t so sure. I’ll have to keep asking, won’t I?’ The corners of her mouth lifted in a wide smile so like her father’s.
‘Dad would have loved a cat too. I remember him reading a story to me about a cat called Mog, who helped some kittens and then went to heaven.’ She let out a small sigh. ‘Do you think there’s a heaven, Robyn?’
Robyn was surprised when she mentioned Davies. She hadn’t spoken about him in a long while. She was taken aback by the question. It had come out of the blue.
‘I think there’s more to life than we understand,’ she replied. ‘We aren’t capable of comprehending what the universe is truly about.’
Amélie gave the answer some thought, then faced Robyn. ‘Thanks.’
‘What for?’
‘For not treating me like a little kid. I’m not sure where Dad is or what heaven is supposed to be, but I’d like to think he’s somewhere in the universe, watching and smiling at us.’
Robyn lifted her hand from the steering wheel and took Amélie’s in her own. She wished Davies could see what a wonderful daughter he had, and her heart ached for the girl beside her who was, like her, still struggling with her loss.