Safe at Home

by Lauren North

  My mouth opens but no words come out.

  ‘Anna, what is it?’ Kat frowns and touches my arm.

  ‘He didn’t call,’ I say at last.

  ‘Really?’

  I nod. ‘He always calls, but not last night.’

  ‘Oh honey, that can’t have been fun for you and the girls, but I’m sure there’s a good reason. He’s bound to call tonight instead.’

  I nod and wish Kat’s reassurance could sink in past the worry and the unanswered questions.

  The bell rings and I steer Molly into her line, before kissing her cheek and heading to the twins. They’re standing at the back of the line and stop talking as I approach. Something is different. It takes another step before I realize – they’ve swapped coats. Elise is wearing Harrie’s red one, and Harrie is wearing Elise’s black one.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I ask, my voice quiet. I don’t want the rest of the class to hear me.

  ‘Nothing.’ Elise shrugs.

  ‘Why have you swapped coats? You know how the school feel about you trying to trick them.’

  ‘We’re not,’ Harrie hisses. ‘I was cold—’

  ‘And I was hot,’ Elise adds.

  ‘My zip is broken on my coat,’ Harrie admits, her head dropping as though she’s in trouble.

  ‘What?’ I step to Elise and pull at the zip. It moves easily. Too easily. The metal claws split open the moment the zip has pushed them together. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘We didn’t want—’

  ‘To worry you,’ Elise finishes.

  I shake my head, angry at them for not telling me about the zip, angry at myself that I’ve done such a bad job hiding my anxiety, angry at Rob for not calling, for being away when he should be here, for making me into this handwringing woman who counts every penny.

  If they couldn’t tell me about a broken zip, is it any wonder Harrie won’t tell me what happened last week? Is this my fault? It’s been five days now and I’m no closer to knowing what went on that night.

  Harrie might be talking more, but not like she used to. It’s mumbled words, it’s snapped remarks. Then there are the night terrors, the running off, the jumping out of her skin when the doorbell goes.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say, tone as breezy as I can muster. ‘I’m sure it can be fixed and if not, we’ll have to get you a new one.’

  They eye me with suspicion and I keep my smile in place as they follow their class into the school.

  The moment I’m home I take the stairs two at a time and head straight into Harrie and Elise’s room. It isn’t messy in the same way that Molly’s is. They no longer leave their toys piled across the floor, a sea of pink plastic. Instead it’s clothes and empty glasses, a plate with toast crumbs on it and footballs. So many footballs. There is an imperceptible line down the middle of the room, a divide that shows the different personalities of Harrie and Elise. Harrie’s bed covers are the colours of her favourite football team: pale blue and yellow. The wall beside her bed is covered with action shots of football players and pictures of dogs – puppies in baskets and Labradors jumping over fences – posters that she’s torn out of magazines.

  Elise’s side of the room is more cluttered. Her bedside table is covered with knick-knacks, magnets, snow globes, a Rubik’s cube I’ve never seen either of them use. Bits of string, Blu-Tack and paperclips are scattered around the surfaces like confetti. There are two long bookshelves on the wall, double-stacked with books. Malory Towers, The Twins at St Clare’s, Harry Potter, and a long line of Jacqueline Wilson books. The window ledge is their shared space and it is crammed with medals and trophies they’ve won over the years.

  The urge to cry pulses through my body as I scan the room. I have the Parish Council meeting in a few hours and I haven’t even opened the links to the files Kat gave me, not to mention three website enquiries to answer.

  And yet here I am, in Harrie and Elise’s bedroom, hoping to find something, anything, that can tell me why my beautiful daughter is fading away before my eyes, waking in the night terrified that someone is trying to hurt her, saying the name of a man who no one has seen or heard from since the night of the crash.

  I start with the drawers and the jumble of T-shirts and jeans, shorts and underwear. My hands touch upon the silky material of a football shirt. I pull it out. It’s tiny. Harrie’s first football shirt. Rob bought it for her on her second birthday. It’s all she wanted to wear day after day after day and I had to wash it overnight so it was clean. I didn’t know Harrie still has this. The blue material is so tiny now and I hold it in my hands for a long moment remembering Harrie and Elise as toddlers. Pigtails and face paints, dungarees and squealing giggles. It feels like it was a lifetime ago, but also only yesterday. I slide the T-shirt back into place and keep searching.

  There’s nothing in any of the drawers or the wardrobe, and so I pull off her duvet and the sheet, I lift up the mattress, flick between the pages of books, until an hour has passed and I’ve found nothing except a half-eaten bag of Haribo that I don’t move from its hiding place at the back of a drawer.

  I scan the room again. It looks the same as it did before my futile search at least. Despite my certainty that something is wrong with Harrie, I don’t like the idea that I’m snooping in their private space.

  I’m about to give up when my gaze lands on the storage boxes under the bed that are crammed with toys they no longer play with. Doll outfits and Harrie’s Lego City collection and the teeny-tiny Sylvanian Families sets they used to spend hours, days, setting up and would cry about if my foot knocked against a table and sent miniature plates and cutlery flying to the floor.

  I slide them out and open them one by one. I run my hands through the Lego. The sound of the plastic bricks knocking together is nostalgic and I find myself longing for the days that a box of toys could make them so happy.

  It’s as I’m pulling my hand out of the box, ready to give up, that my fingers touch something beneath the Lego. It’s a carrier bag, flattened and buried. I pull it out, sending bricks scattering across the carpet.

  The bag is squishy. Clothes, I think, and when I open it the smell of dirt and something metallic hits my nostrils, turning my stomach. A noise escapes my throat as I pull out a pair of Harrie’s grey school trousers. I hold them up by the waistband and see two large patches of deep rusty brown covering the knees and smeared across the fabric. It’s blood. The stain is unmistakable and has soaked through on both sides as though she’s knelt in a puddle of it. There is too much of it for a grazed knee, too much for a cut. I think of her pasty white legs on the football pitch yesterday and I know with absolute certainty that this isn’t Harrie’s blood.

  Village Girlies’ Group Chat

  Monday 26 October, 11.28

  Bev Pritchett: That poor man in the car accident last week died in intensive care yesterday. I just saw it in the local paper.

  Gina Walker: OMG!! Was that the accident you got stuck in @AnnaJames?

  Tracy Campbell: Anthony knew him – it was Dean Stockton’s brother. So sad! Just goes to show what reckless driving can do.

  Gina Walker: Oh my god! Wasn’t that the same night that Dean went missing? Has anyone seen or heard from him?

  Sandra Briggs: No. He’s still not shown up.

  Bev Pritchett: Could Dean have been in the car as well?

  Tracy Campbell: Surely not. We’d have heard by now.

  Gina Walker: Before I forget, Martin is out on Friday night so drinks at mine? Bring the kids as well. I’ll order Domino’s for them and put a film on.

  Kat Morris: Thanks Gina. Can’t wait!

  Bev Pritchett: Count me in! I’ll bring my nails if anyone needs topping up.

  Tracy Campbell: Great.

  Kat Morris: @BevPritchett me please! You’re a lifesaver.

  Sandra Briggs: Yay! Jack gave me a bottle of that pink gin we like. I’ll bring it.

  Gina Walker: The one from Makro? I LOVE that stuff x

  CHAPTER
28

  Anna

  I’m late leaving the house and I hurry down the alley in the direction of the new road and the estate. A stuffy Parish Council meeting is the last thing I want to sit through right now. All I can think about is Harrie’s trousers.

  Stupidly, foolishly, I try calling Dean again. I’m desperate to talk to him. The phone rings but then cuts to voicemail again just like all the other times. He’s never made me feel like I was overreacting in the same way Kat and Rob do. I wonder sometimes if they really think telling me not to worry actually helps. Like I can flick a switch. In reality, all their comments do is add a layer of self-loathing to my anxiety.

  And there is no amount of ‘it’ll be fine’ that can wash out the blood.

  My mouth fills with the taste of metal and for a moment I think I’m going to be sick. I gulp in breath after breath of cold air until the feeling passes. I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other and quicken my pace as I reach the entrance to Tracy and Anthony’s driveway.

  Their house is a barn conversion that borders the end of Kat’s garden. It’s accessible by a long private driveway on the estate, half-hidden with overhanging trees. I eye the canopy above my head, branches bent perfectly into each other in a long arch, and wonder what this driveway will look like in five days’ time. The Campbells are the type of family that goes all out for Halloween, decorating the drive with cobwebs and spooky props lit by green fairy lights. Last year, Anthony dressed up as a scarecrow and pretended to be a prop until the very moment a group were walking by when he’d jump out and make them scream. Harrie and Elise loved it but Molly cried.

  I gather myself as I reach Tracy and Anthony’s huge wooden front door. A deep breath in, hands raking through my hair. This might be the last place I want to be right now, but I promised Kat I’d do this and I need the money.

  ‘Anna, great you’re here.’ Tracy leans in to kiss my cheek and I catch the coconut scent of her body lotion. ‘We were worrying you wouldn’t make it.’

  I apologize as she leads me down a light hallway, but when I glance at the huge station clock on the wall I realize I’m a minute early.

  Tracy is wearing tight jeans and a cream cable-knit jumper. Her braids are loose and there’s soft eyeliner etched around her eyes. Sometimes when I look at Tracy, I see a glimpse of the woman she was before I knew her, before her children but after giving up ballet, when she worked for an investment bank in London. It’s something in the set of her face, a hard strength I find difficult to read. But then she smiles and she is the Tracy I know again. Mum to Freya and Olivia, member of the Parish Council and the PTA, and married to Anthony Campbell for seventeen years.

  Anthony is like Rob – a charmer, always ready with a smile and a wink for whoever is near. He works at Stockton’s alongside Dean and I wonder as Tracy leads me into the kitchen if he knows anything more about Dean’s whereabouts. Surely Tracy would have said on the message group if he did.

  Tracy and Anthony’s kitchen is a large perfect square with an entire wall of bi-fold doors that open into a long lawn, scattered with the orange leaves of a huge oak tree that sits at the end of the garden.

  The warmth from the heated floors pushes through the wool of my socks and the smell of pastries and coffee fills the kitchen. There’s a huge coffee machine in one corner. A silver monster with enough dials and nozzles to rival any coffee shop machinery. On the counter is a plate piled high with croissants and pains au chocolat.

  ‘Here she is,’ Tracy announces and the group around the kitchen table fall silent. My gaze lands on Kat. Her hands are wrapped around a tall glass coffee cup. She smiles at me and mouths a hello. Beside her is Bev Pritchett.

  Broad Bev and Mike the Knight,

  Two kids already on their bikes.

  As the rhyme drifts through my head, my eyes fall to Bev’s tank top and bare shoulders. They’re muscular and round and I remember her telling me once that she used to be a swimmer. I came up with the rhyme long before Mike Pritchett offered to help Elise, but it still fits. He’s a knight of sorts for all he does as head teacher.

  Gina’s husband Martin is next around the table. He offers a huge smile and a wave, and I’m quite sure that if he wasn’t squashed in between Kat and Bev he’d have stood up and enveloped me in a squishy hug. ‘Good to see you, Anna.’

  Anthony greets me with a kiss on both cheeks. ‘We’re so pleased you could join us, Anna. Kat has been raving about your organizational skills.’

  ‘Thanks.’ My smile is weak, nervous. ‘Although if you saw the state of my washing basket this week you might not think I’m that organized.’

  Everyone laughs and I try to relax. This is a local group of volunteers, not a board meeting for a multinational company, for Christ’s sakes.

  ‘Are you all right to sit between me and Tracy?’ Anthony asks, resting a hand on the small of my back and guiding me to a chair. ‘That way we can keep an eye on what you’re writing down and explain things when needed.’

  ‘Oh don’t worry,’ Tracy says with a reassuring squeeze of my arm. ‘It’s all very simple. You’ll pick it up in a flash. Most of our meetings are about deciding whether we’re going to pay for another dog waste bin.’

  Another trickle of laughter moves around the table and Tracy fixes me a coffee. When she’s sat down beside me, Anthony claps his hands and the meeting starts.

  ‘Thank you all for giving up your lunch hours to be here,’ he says. ‘We’ll keep the meeting to one hour as usual. Let’s start with apologies. Barry Glebe and Mary Swanson send theirs as usual.’

  ‘They only come to the AGM,’ Tracy whispers in my ear. ‘They’ve been on the council for donkey’s years. Barry is ninety-three and Mary isn’t far behind him.’

  ‘And Rob James is obviously not joining us this time,’ Anthony continues. ‘We’re not expecting Dean Stockton either. Jack Briggs sends his apologies. He’s on a shift today. First up on the agenda is the dog mess bin.’

  Kat shakes her head and groans and the group laugh. I guess Tracy’s earlier comment wasn’t a joke.

  For forty-five minutes I take notes about a request for a conservatory, plans for the next year’s summer fete, new toilet facilities needed in the village hall. It’s boring. Mind-numbing. I can’t believe Rob voluntarily sits through meetings like this when he’s back. At least I’m being paid.

  ‘OK. Final point before we can all get on with our days,’ Anthony says. ‘Jack Briggs has sent a report from the Neighbourhood Watch which I’ll read out. Jack is a member of the Parish Council as well as being head of the Neighbourhood Watch,’ he adds for my benefit. ‘The Neighbourhood Watch committee is just one of several groups, like the school governors and the emergency response volunteers, who we work closely with. Think of it like a big family. We’re the mums and dads, and they’re the uncles and aunts.’

  He unlocks his phone and begins to read. ‘“There have been no further incidents of vandalism after the school fence was kicked down. While we believe this was a prank that got out of hand, we are still keen to find the culprits. The Neighbourhood Watch have been speaking to residents and requesting any CCTV footage people may have from the day. A few names have cropped up, but further investigation is needed before the matter is taken further.”’

  When the meeting is officially closed, it’s Martin who leans his large hands on the table and asks if there’s any word on Dean.

  ‘Not a dicky bird,’ Anthony sighs, his lips pursing. ‘I’m going to kill him when he gets back.’

  ‘If Sue doesn’t kill him first,’ Kat quips.

  ‘So sad about his brother, though,’ Bev says.

  There’s murmuring of agreement and for the first time since I scanned the messages on my way here, I realize how devastated Dean will be when he learns of Luke’s death. They were so close. Dean didn’t talk about his business much, or working with Anthony, or the other men in the village. He didn’t talk about Sue much either, but he did talk about Luke, telling me stor
ies about their childhood and the tricks they played on their parents.

  My throat aches with emotion and I’m glad when Kat and Bev stay for a subcommittee meeting on the playground resurfacing and Martin drives off, and I’m free to walk home alone with my thoughts.

  Images of the crash flash in my head. The speeding car. The sudden change in direction before it launched into the air. Luke was the driver.

  My head spins. It feels like another puzzle piece. The bloody trousers. Harrie’s fear, Dean missing and now Luke dead, killed the same night. I think of the Neighbourhood Watch and their efforts to track down the vandal. Jack Briggs is going door to door talking to kids, asking for CCTV footage. It’s ridiculous, but they’ve got one thing right – Barton St Martin is a small village. Someone must have seen something that day.

  The same is true for the night of the crash. Someone must know something. I just have to find out who.

  CHAPTER 29

  Anna

  It’s gone eight p.m. before I get a chance to speak to Harrie about the trousers. The evening has disappeared in a wash of clubs. I sat beside Harrie for an hour in the gymnastics cafeteria, waiting for Molly and Elise, but I didn’t say anything. How could I when I had no idea how she’d react? I couldn’t risk her running off.

  Every time I looked at her across the table, I saw the trousers and the blood in my mind, and my heart raced with questions and worry. So even though it’s late and I need to wrangle a tired Molly into the shower and listen to her read, I go in search of Harrie.

  Both twins are in their bedroom. Elise is in bed reading already. Harrie is scrambling to get into her PJs, and when I look at her, I see her eyes flash with something – anger?

  ‘You should have knocked.’ Harrie’s words are sharp and I feel my own frustration rise.

  ‘You’re right,’ I say, pushing the feeling down. ‘I’m sorry. Can we chat in my bedroom for a minute?’