by Lauren North
MH: Really? What about?
Gina: I’ve no idea. Probably something and nothing. We tried and tried to bring Anna into our circle, but she didn’t make an effort to be part of the village. I know a lot of people found that annoying. We all volunteer for things and do our bit, all except Anna. I never minded. I’ve got my hands full with two kids, so I can only imagine how hard it must be with three, especially with Rob away. You know I was the one who texted her on Halloween when Harrie went missing? We were all so worried. I wish I’d done more that night. Maybe things would be different now if I had.
CHAPTER 18
Anna
I wake with a jolt. It’s late. Middle-of-the-night kind of late. There is no splinter of light creeping in from the curtains, no whisper of dawn. Only silence.
I’m sure something woke me but sleep is already pulling me back into its clutches. Then I hear it again. A whimper. A cry. A voice through the thin walls. In an instant I’m alert and throwing off the covers. I pull on my dressing gown and fumble to find the armholes. It will be Molly needing the toilet and being too scared to get up in the dark. Did I tell her to use the bathroom before bed? I can’t remember. The list of things I have to remind my children to do seems to grow each day. Flush the toilet, wash your hands, brush your teeth, make your bed, wash your face, wash your face again with soap, brush your hair, pack your school bag. There are countless more. I feel like the words are etched into my brain somewhere, never to be forgotten, a robotic reminder I barely register saying any more.
It’s only when I open my bedroom door and hear the noise again that I realize it’s not Molly. The whimper is coming from Harrie and Elise’s room.
I turn on the landing light. The harshness of it stings my eyes and pushes the last of the drowsiness from my head, but it casts a soft glow over the twins’ bedroom as I open the door and my gaze moves straight to Harrie. She’s sitting up in bed, the covers thrown to the floor. Her face is wet with tears and she’s crying softly, saying words I can’t make out.
I know instantly that it’s a night terror. It’s been years since she had one, but I’ll never forget.
‘Harrie?’ I say into the darkness.
‘Mummy?’ comes a reply, but it’s not Harrie speaking, it’s Elise.
‘It’s OK, Elise. Harrie is having a night terror.’
‘I thought she didn’t get them any more.’
‘So did I. Go get into my bed and sleep in there.’
Elise slips out of the bed and with a pained glance at Harrie leaves the room.
‘Go away, don’t hurt me,’ Harrie says, the words blending into each other as she cries, loud whining gasps.
I step closer to the bed and whisper Harrie’s name, my voice soft and gentle. My hand reaches out to touch her shoulder but Harrie jerks away and cries out. ‘Go away.’
‘Harrie, you’re having a night terror. You’re OK.’
She can’t hear me. It’s as though she’s trapped in a soundproof room, a locked door keeping us apart. I can’t touch her. I can’t wake her. All I can do is wait for it to pass and for Harrie to wake on her own.
I kneel beside Harrie’s bed, tears pricking my eyes as I watch the terror on her face.
Minutes pass. My love for her swells up – an ache in my chest – as I watch her cry and fight. I’m helpless. It’s Wednesday night all over again. I’m stuck. I can’t get to Harrie, but this time she’s right in front of me.
Minutes pass like this before her cries soften. She gasps like she’s been underwater, holding her breath for too long. Her hands fly up, protecting her face from some imaginary danger.
With slow movements I take one of her hands in mine and feel the tremor shaking her body. ‘It’s OK, baby. I’m here. You were having a night terror.’ I switch on the bedside light so Harrie can see the safety of her bedroom. The dog posters on the walls, the footballs on the floor.
Harrie’s eyes focus on my face and then she’s in my arms, her body damp with sweat. She cries in a way I’ve not seen since she was a little girl.
She’s still a little girl, I remind myself. It’s so easy to look at them and see the adults they’re becoming. The attitude they have, the intellect, how much they know about the world. But they’re not adults or teenagers, not even tweens. Harrie is still a child and the fierce need to protect her burns through my body.
I wrap my arms around Harrie and hold her tight until her sobs become whimpers. My eyes fall to the bruise on her neck. The blotches have darkened into a deep purple. They look like finger marks. The realization sends an ice-cold horror charging through my body.
‘What were you dreaming about?’ I ask.
She pulls away and settles on to her pillows. ‘I don’t remember.’
‘Harrie? I think you do. I think something happened on Wednesday night that’s making you scared. I want to help you. Where did this bruise on your neck come from? Please talk to me. There is nothing you can say to me that will make me mad or upset, I promise. I just want to help you.’
Another pause. This one longer. Harrie’s breathing changes and I realize she’s fallen asleep.
I turn off the lamp and climb into Elise’s bed with my body facing Harrie. I stare into the darkness for a long time listening to her breathing, waiting for any sign of another night terror while the worry for her gnaws in the pit of my stomach.
CHAPTER 19
The night of the crash, 8.01–8.06 p.m.
Harrie
Harrie crouches on the ground before lifting her head and peering into the window. Light is spilling in from the hallway, illuminating the empty kitchen and an open bottle of wine on the side. Harrie wrestles with the sleeve of her coat and checks her watch. She’s already been ten minutes. Seven more than she thought it would take her to get here. She still has ten minutes to get in and get out without anyone seeing her. Then all she has to do is run home and get into bed before her mum gets back.
The enormity of what she’s doing rises up again. Saliva builds in Harrie’s mouth and she can’t seem to swallow. She has never done anything like this before. Never will again, she’s sure of it. Worry grips hold of her like the little boy being clenched in the giant’s fist in one of Molly’s fairy-tale books.
Run home. Go now, a voice shouts in her head. And she wants to. More than anything, she wants to go home. She thought this would be easy, but it’s not. It’s hard and she’s scared. Maybe there’s another way, something she didn’t think of before. If only Harrie could ask for help, but she can’t.
For a second, Harrie’s feet are stuck fast, fixed in cement. This is the only way, she reminds herself.
Before she can talk herself out of it, Harrie opens the door and in one swift movement she steps inside.
The warmth of the house hits her and she’s immediately too hot in Elise’s coat. Even with the heating on full blast at home, which it never is, the house never gets this warm. Harrie pushes down her hood and takes a step to the table. Her heart is racing, thumping through her body so hard it’s like it’s jolting her, and she can’t concentrate on listening to the unfamiliar noises of the house.
All Harrie has to do is walk down the hall and up the stairs, grab the phone and leave. Except she can hear voices. People. More than there should be – and it’s not the TV.
No, no, no. This wasn’t part of the plan.
Harrie steps towards the door that leads into the hall and holds her breath as she listens to hissed whispers. It sounds like two men arguing. They’re angry. Harrie can see their shadows circling each other. The living room door is wide open. Whatever is going on, she’ll never be able to sneak up the stairs unnoticed.
A long breath leaves Harrie’s body, a sagging disappointment. What can she do? The answer is bitterly obvious. She has to leave. Give up. Go home.
The voices grow louder. ‘Did you think you could get away with this?’ one of them growls. The reply is muffled, pleading.
Harrie backs quickly away from the door, panic ru
shing through her body. She turns to leave, ready to flee, but something catches her eye on the worktop. It’s an iPhone. A black iPhone 8 with a white face, plugged into a charging cable.
She gasps. It’s the phone. The very reason she’s here. She hasn’t failed.
A noise erupts from the hallway behind her and Harrie jumps.
‘I can do what I like,’ a man is saying, the noise so close Harrie swears they’re right behind her, but the kitchen is still empty.
Someone laughs. It’s mocking, like the laugh of Darcy, their football captain, when one of them falls over.
‘No you can’t.’
Harrie dashes across the kitchen and snatches up the phone, sliding it into her pocket, barely slowing as she heads to the back door, but there’s a movement in the corner of her eye and she hears the scuffling of feet and the sound of a thwack, a thud. Something lands against the wall. The noises are moving this way fast. There’s no time for Harrie to reach the back door and escape unseen. It’s all she can do to drop to the floor and slide herself into the corner behind the table as the kitchen explodes with shouting and anger.
CHAPTER 20
Saturday, seven days until Halloween
Anna
‘Am not.’
‘You are.’
‘Am NOT.’
‘You so are.’
‘Girls, please.’ My hands tighten around the steering wheel and I glance in the mirror to the back seats where Elise and Molly are arguing. ‘We’ll be home in one minute.’
‘But Mummy,’ Molly says, her voice serious, as though the next words that will leave her mouth will be the most important she ever says. ‘Elise is saying I’m a scaredy-cat because I wouldn’t trick-or-treat at Olivia’s house last year because of the ghosts hanging in the trees, but I’m seven now—’
‘Still scared,’ Elise jumps in. I don’t need to look in the mirror to know Elise is smirking.
‘Enough,’ I snap and the car falls silent.
It’s been like this since we left for the Saturday medley of clubs and I wonder if they can sense the dark cloud hanging over Harrie like I can. I flick a glance to Harrie, sat beside me. She catches my gaze and dips her head, shrinking another layer into herself.
The desire to ask if she’s OK bubbles inside me but I keep it in. Begging Harrie to talk to me hasn’t helped. I need to give her space today and hope, pray she comes to me.
We pull into the village and drive slowly through the outskirts with their undulating landscape of fields, farmland and woodland, all lit by a bright beam of sunshine. Barton St Martin is the kind of beauty spot that people flock to in the summer to escape the towns. They all head for the river Barton, which cuts across the entire county and all the way out to sea. In the summer the riverbanks are steep, the current lazy, and it’s filled with kayaks and paddleboards.
But as the summer fades into autumn, the current awakens – a gushing beast.
A few years before we moved to the village the river broke over the banks suddenly one morning, spilling on to the neighbouring fields and sweeping a dog walker into its depths. The dog was found alive five miles downstream, but the woman drowned. I’ve never forgotten that story, never taken the children near the river after summer.
I park outside the house and kill the engine. June is at her window, the net curtains pulled to one side as though she’s waiting for someone. She waves when she sees me and I lift my hand in reply before she disappears.
We trudge inside, arms full of football boots and coats, gymnastics bags and water bottles. My handbag is heavy on my shoulder where I’ve stuffed it full of drink cartons and books – entertainment as each of the girls took their turn waiting for the others to finish. We dump it all down by the door and for once I don’t complain.
I let the girls watch TV while I make lunch. I’m halfway through buttering the bread for sandwiches, hollow from hunger and drained, when the doorbell rings and I find Sandra’s husband, Jack Briggs, standing on my doorstep, dressed in his black police uniform.
The rhyme runs through my head before I can stop it.
PC Jack, not so tall,
And his wife, Sandra, the fairest of them all.
There is something compact about Jack. He’s around the same height as me – five foot eight, maybe a little more – and has a wiry physique, a ‘don’t mess with me’ presence about his stance.
‘Is this about Rob?’ The words are a whisper. A torrent of fear hits me then – wild like the river – and I want to take it all back, all the anger, the bitterness I feel towards Rob so often now. Images flash through my mind. An explosion on the oil rig. Rob’s body burned beyond recognition.
For the two seconds it takes Jack to reply I’m sure my heart doesn’t beat.
‘No.’ He shakes his head and there’s pity in his eyes when he looks at me, but I don’t care because I can breathe again. ‘I’m sorry for startling you, Anna. I was called to the station this morning, hence the uniform, but this is Neighbourhood Watch-related. It’s about last week’s vandalism. May I come in for a few minutes, please?’
‘Oh, of course, yes.’ I nudge Harrie’s football boots to one side and hang up Molly’s coat that has fallen from the hook.
‘I’m glad you’re here actually,’ I say, leading him into the kitchen. ‘I’ve been meaning to call. I wanted to mention something to the Neighbourhood Watch that I saw the other day.’
‘Oh?’ Jack leans closer and I can smell the citrus scent of his aftershave.
‘I’m sure it was nothing, but on Thursday after school the girls walked ahead of me and by the time I got home there was a silver car pulled up beside them, just outside, and the driver was talking to them.’
‘What was he saying?’
‘I don’t know.’ I shake my head. ‘By the time I got there, he’d driven away and the girls say he was just asking for directions, but—’
‘Something didn’t feel right about it?’ Jack nods.
‘Exactly.’
‘Leave it with me. I’ll mention it to the Neighbourhood Watch and also check in at the station and see if there have been any similar reports.’
‘Thank you.’ I smile. Of all the husbands – the dad crowd – I like Jack the best. He’s not overly friendly, a try-too-hard type like Tracy’s husband, Anthony, or a joker like Martin, Gina’s husband. Jack is watchful. He seems to know just the right thing to say or do. Once, a few years ago, a big snowstorm hit overnight. Jack went out early and cleared the doorsteps and paths of dozens of residents, mine and June’s included. And last summer at the fete when Rob had too many beers watching the band, Jack helped us all home, carrying a sleeping Molly like she weighed as little as a kitten.
My stomach growls, an empty rattle that sends a weariness through my body, but I push back the chopping board and the half-made sandwiches and offer Jack a tea or coffee.
‘I’m all right for the moment, thanks,’ Jack replies. ‘I won’t keep you long. I’m just taking a few minutes to talk to the families in the village about the vandalism we had at the school last week. We decided in a Neighbourhood Watch meeting this week that perhaps some personal chats might nip this in the bud before it goes any further. Vandalism is the type of crime that tends to escalate.’
‘Oh, I see. Do you want to sit at the table, and I’ll call the girls in?’
‘How about we talk in the living room.’
I nod before leading Jack through to the living room where the girls are spread across the sofa. I turn off the TV and see all three girls stare wide-eyed and anxious at Jack’s police uniform. ‘This is Jack Briggs, he’s the head of the Neighbourhood Watch and he just wants a quick chat with you all. There’s nothing to worry about. You can trust him, he’s a police officer.’
‘We know. He came to the school and did an assembly last week,’ Elise says.
‘He’s Tyler and Imogen’s daddy,’ Molly adds. ‘Imogen’s in Reception now. I’m her anti-bullying buddy.’
Only Harrie is s
ilent, her eyes fixed on the old laminate floor. Seeing her side by side with Elise, the change in her is startling. Harrie’s hair is limp and straggly, her cheekbones are more prominent, her body shrunken and looking suddenly smaller than her sister’s. The same questions, the same desperation to know what happened to her, swirl through my mind.
‘That’s right.’ Jack flashes Molly a wide reassuring smile. ‘And as I mentioned in assembly, I’m the head of the Neighbourhood Watch for the village and we’re concerned about the vandalism at the school last Saturday.’ Jack speaks slowly and clearly, his eyes moving to each of my children in turn.
‘Someone threw toilet roll over the trees,’ Molly says, looking up at me. ‘It’s true,’ she adds as though I’m about to question her statement.
‘I know.’
‘Much more worrying,’ Jack continues, ‘is the wooden fence that was kicked down, allowing the vandals into the school playing field.’
‘But you don’t know who it was?’ I ask, thinking back to last Saturday, feeling relieved to know the girls were at Kat’s house all afternoon, and the guilt of considering for a second that it might have been them.
‘Not yet, but I’m sure we’ll know soon enough. I don’t suppose I could have that cup of tea now, could I, Anna?’
‘Of course.’ I step back to the kitchen and listen to the rise and fall of Jack’s voice from the living room. He has a commanding tone, a sit-up-and-listen voice. I click the kettle on to boil and wonder what more he has to say to the girls. It feels like overkill to be visiting every family with school-age kids in the village, especially after already talking to them in assembly, but then the damage to the school fence is the first bit of vandalism, the first crime of any kind we’ve seen in the village in the years we’ve lived here, so maybe overkill is the best course of action.