by Pryke, Helen
‘Hey, Charlie, you going to hang up that sheet or are you thinking about making yourself a toga?’ Jane called from the other side of the washing line.
‘I was just thinking how lovely it is to be outside,’ Charlotte replied, hooking the sheet over the line and pegging it down.
‘Yeah, it is nice, isn’t it?’ Jane looked around. ‘Last time I was in our garden, I made a daisy chain for Chloe and she wore it as a tiara for the rest of the day. It was one of the few times she didn’t get on my nerves.’
Jane smiled at the memory, and Charlotte found herself wishing it could always be like this between them. After their falling out, they trod warily around each other, but she knew the fragile peace could be shattered at any moment.
‘I used to love making daisy chains, but Mikey would never have worn one!’ she said with a wink. They both burst out laughing, the tension between them relaxing for a moment. Mentioning Mike brought back their desperate situation to Charlie, and the smile left her face. ‘Jane, do you think he…?’ She hesitated. She had to tread carefully here, she never knew when Jane would tell tales on her. She’d received more than one beating that way.
‘What?’ Jane put down the damp washing in her hands and gave Charlotte her full attention.
‘Well, he seems a bit distant lately, don’t you think?’ She held her breath, wondering which way this was going to go.
Jane pursed her lips, deep in thought, before finally speaking. ‘So you’ve noticed it too? I thought it was just me imagining things.’
‘Do you think we’re in… trouble?’ Charlotte was hesitant to use the word danger, worried that Jane would laugh in her face. But the other girl was serious when she replied.
‘I think we need to behave better, not make him so angry all the time,’ she said. ‘He’s beating you more than usual, Charlie, and that’s not good. Try to be a bit happier. That’s all he wants, is for us to be happy.’
But I can’t be happy with you and him, I want my family. Charlotte bit down on her lip, keeping the words from spilling out. ‘Okay, I’ll try,’ she said, then paused a moment. ‘Jane?’
‘What?’
‘I-I keep thinking about the baby.’ A tear trickled down her cheek, and she sniffed loudly.
‘Charlie…’
‘No, it’s okay, I’m not going over all that again, it’s in the past. But…’
‘Spit it out.’
‘I didn’t get the chance to name her and I thought… if I could give her a name, it’d be something of hers I could keep. If that makes sense.’
‘Kind of. Personally, I think you should forget about it, it’s better off wherever it is than here.’
Charlotte blinked, surprised at the coldness in the other girl’s voice.
‘What makes you think it was a girl?’ Jane asked.
‘I don’t know, wishful thinking, maybe. I’d have liked a daughter to share things with, like my mum did with me.’
Jane thought for a moment, then grinned at her. ‘Well, in that case, what about Daisy? That’ll remind you of happy times whenever you think of her. What do you think?’
‘I think it’s perfect.’ Charlotte felt like crying, she almost wanted to hug Jane. Almost. She held back her feelings, there was no point in getting carried away.
* * *
Jane took the empty washing basket back to the farmhouse, whistling softly as she walked up the path. The sunshine and fresh air had put them both in a good mood. Charlotte watched her leave, then turned to finish hanging the last sheet. She took her time, reluctant to go back inside.
When she finished, she headed towards some nearby flower beds, thinking it would be a good idea to take some back with her to brighten up the house. She quickly chose the best ones, aware that he was probably watching her every movement from indoors, and gathered them together in a bouquet. She stood up straight, admiring her handiwork, then frowned as she heard something in the distance. Children’s voices! Straining her ears, shrieks of laughter and shouts reached her, carried along on the breeze. She took a step forwards before realising what she was doing, and stopped with a curse. No! She couldn’t risk him seeing her. If there were children somewhere nearby, this could be their way out, if she could get a message to them. She wouldn’t leave Jane behind, they would both get out together.
She picked some foliage from the hedge to add to her bouquet, making a mental note of where the voices were coming from, then turned around and trudged back up the garden.
22
I can see them from the kitchen window, hanging out the washing on the line. They seem happier here, where they can go outside. They laugh at something Charlie said, and for a moment they’re like they once were – happy, relaxed, without a care in the world. Then Charlie’s shoulders hunch up and the scowl’s back again. Does she know how ugly she looks when she does that? Probably not. I flex my fingers, almost feeling the leather of my belt in my hand. Charlie’s back is covered in welts, but she still won’t learn. What more does she want from me? I’ve got our family back, together again after so long apart, but it’s not enough.
I bite down on my tongue, tasting the coppery flavour of the blood seeping out of the wound. I could relax a bit when Mother was around, she kept the girls in line. A backhander here, a slapped arse there when they got cheeky or insolent. I knew how to toe the line, obey her rules – so many rules – and I couldn’t help feeling smug when they didn’t. But Mother was kind as well, offering solace when her tongue had been too sharp or her hand too heavy, showing her children just how much she loved them.
A bittersweet memory rises up to the surface of my mind, one of the many memories I’ve kept buried for years, fearful of what they could do to me. But now, watching the girls outside, I let it in, prepared for whatever it may reveal.
* * *
The day I asked Mother why I didn’t have a father, she leaned her head back and laughed, long and hard.
Wiping away the tears from her face, she reached over and ruffled my hair. I jerked away, annoyed. I’d already had to thump the kid at playschool who’d innocently asked me why my dad never came to pick me up. The teacher had words with Mother when she arrived at home time, saying she’d never seen a five-year-old lash out like that, and Mother had to say a lot of soothing apologies to make the other kid’s parents calm down.
‘Everyone’s got a father, yours just didn’t want to hang around,’ she said, still laughing at me. ‘The night we met, he paid me, we had fun, and then he went on his way, leaving you and me alone together.’
I didn’t understand, and she must have noticed my puzzled look.
‘You don’t need a father, you’ve got me,’ she said, opening her arms wide to pull me into a tight hug. ‘Just tell people your daddy died and went to heaven, they’ll shut up then. And one day, when you’re older, I’ll tell you all about him.’
‘Promise?’ She smelled of the sweet perfume she always wore, and the cheap detergent she used to wash our clothes. I pressed my face against her chest and breathed it in, safe in the knowledge that it would always be just me and her. She hugged me closer, her hands on my body, her breath hot in my ear.
‘Just me and you, Mother’s little boy,’ she murmured against my hair. ‘Forever.’
She lied about that, and when she told me about my father a few years later, I wondered if she was lying then too. I hated my sisters, and I hated my father. But as I grew older, I discovered that my sisters could give me what my mother never would. Unconditional love. Just like Mother, I took and they gave, and it was a wonderful feeling. Intoxicating. Satisfying. Mine. My little girls.
* * *
Pieces of the memory are missing. I can sense that there is more, but whatever it was, it’s hidden too deep for me to find. What did my mother do to me? I want to ask her, grab hold of her and shake her until her bones rattle and she begs me to stop… Did she make me into what I am now?
Another memory sparks in my mind, something I’d forgotten from that lon
g-ago night when I lost my sisters. Of Charlie, pushing me away, fear on her face, together with something else. It takes me a moment to realise what it is. Disgust. She was disgusted by me. Why? Anger surges through me, ruining my image of our perfect family life. I look down at my hands gripping the kitchen counter, knuckles white, and see a drop of blood from my mouth fall on my index finger. Red blood on white, red blood on white sheets, her red blood on our white bedsheets. Fear. Disgust. Fear? She was terrified of me. Of me.
I wipe away a tear from my cheek, unaware I was even crying. The red dot of blood is smeared over the back of my hand now, and I wash my hands furiously in the sink, getting rid of the mark, the tainted mark, the mark of a monster. Am I a monster?
23
Chloe jiggled her feet, impatient for Maggie to start speaking. Mike sat next to her, seemingly calmer, but Maggie could see his little finger twitching. Neither of them looked around her spartan flat, too agitated to take much notice of anything. Andy sat next to her on the sofa, clearly curious as to why she’d asked him to come over.
She took pity on them. ‘My friend’s come through for us.’ She opened her notepad and flicked through to the right page. ‘The number plate’s for a Fiat Punto, registered at the time to a James Sorensen, living in Hilsea. It’s a council house, he rented it for a few months back in 2015.’
‘It was that easy?’ Mike exclaimed. ‘All this bloody time, and the police could have found them right away!’
Maggie put out a hand to calm him down. ‘It’s not that simple,’ she said. ‘I phoned the council, they said he moved out two days after Charlotte was taken – the police didn’t interview Joe until three days later. They wouldn’t have found him or the girls anyway.’
‘But they could have tracked him down, the trail was hot. Maybe he still had the car.’ His chest heaved with barely held back emotion.
‘The car was sold on via a garage, there was nothing at the time to connect it, or him, to the abductions. The police didn’t follow up Joe’s responses during his interview…’ She held up her hand as he opened his mouth to protest. ‘And I agree with you there, they made a mistake. A big mistake that meant they lost a chance to find them.’
‘So, what do we do now?’ Chloe asked, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice.
‘We don’t know for sure if this person has anything to do with it, Chloe. But we do have a name. My friend is searching the database to see if he’s bought any other cars. They’ll let me know if something comes up. In the meantime, I thought I could go and take a look at the house, see if the neighbours remember anything about him; what he looked like, that sort of thing. The more information we have, the better.’
‘Won’t you go to the police?’ Chloe looked terrified now.
‘He’s not there anymore, hun, he’s long gone,’ Maggie said. ‘We’ll go to the police if we get some concrete evidence that he’s the one who actually took the girls. Joe didn’t see Charlotte in the car, just the car driving away, and that’s not enough. This James Sorensen might be innocent. And we have this other teacher to check out, the one Joe mentioned. That’s where you come in, Andy,’ she added, turning to him.
‘You want me to dig up some info on him?’ Andy said, grabbing his phone. ‘Give me some details, then.’
‘Joe said he was a substitute teacher around the time the girls were taken. He seemed Mr Nice Guy, but bullied Joe because of his disability. He sounds a nasty piece of work, I definitely think it’s worth looking into him. Joe couldn’t give us a name, but it shouldn’t be that difficult to track him down through the school records.’
Andy nodded. ‘Leave it to me. Do you think it could be the same guy, using a false name?’
‘Who knows,’ Maggie replied. ‘But we need to check everything out.’
‘I’ll start right away. Thanks for the coffee, Maggie. See you later, guys.’
They heard the front door slam shut behind him, leaving them sat in silence.
‘When are we going to the house?’ Chloe asked after a while.
Maggie frowned. ‘I didn’t say anything about you two coming. I’ve already gone behind your parents’ backs once. And aren’t you meant to be at college?’
‘It doesn’t matter if we miss some lessons,’ Mike said. ‘And you were the one who begged us for our help. I don’t think our parents would appreciate hearing that.’
Maggie groaned. ‘I knew that would come back to bite me on the butt.’ She put her head in her hands, thinking. She knew they had her, and they knew it too. ‘Okay. You win. We’ll go this afternoon, straight after lunch.’
‘Thanks, Mags. Mum keeps asking me how your article’s going and when it’ll be printed. I just say you’re busy doing research for it. She’s buying it for the moment.’ Mike shrugged. ‘I hate keeping her in the dark, but you’re right. She’s so convinced your article is going to help you find them, it’d break her heart all over again if you don’t.’
‘Thanks, Mike, now I feel so much better,’ Maggie said. ‘Tell her I’m collecting enough information for me to write the article soon, which should jog people’s memories and bring the girls back into the news, if only briefly.’ She picked up the empty coffee cups and stood. ‘Shall we meet back here at, say, one o’clock?’
‘Can’t we go now?’ Chloe asked, biting her lip.
‘I know you’re impatient, but I need to prepare a few things before we go,’ Maggie replied. As they said their goodbyes, she didn’t tell them that she felt exhausted after yet another restless night and needed a nap before they could go anywhere.
* * *
The house at the end of the cul-de-sac had an air of neglect and abandonment. Waist-high weeds had taken over the front garden, and ivy grew up the walls, casting long tendrils up to the bedroom windows. The paint on the front door, once a dark shade of blue, was peeling and discoloured. Maggie checked the address she’d jotted down, shielding her notepad from the heavy drops of rain that had started falling.
‘This is it,’ she said, then flinched as the drops started falling faster. ‘Christ, we’re going to get soaked.’
‘God, it’s horrible,’ Chloe muttered.
‘It doesn’t look like anyone lives here, but let’s go and ring the doorbell anyway, just to make sure.’ Maggie stepped forward and pushed the rusty iron gate. It resisted for a moment, then gave way with a shuddering creak. She shoved it hard, the metal scraping over the crazy paving, a harsh shriek shattering the air.
‘Christ, Maggie, you don’t need to ring the bell now. They’ll have heard us in Scotland!’ Mike exclaimed.
‘Stop your moaning and come on. At least we can shelter under the porch.’ She strode down the path, brushing aside weeds as she went, and reached the front door, the teenagers jogging behind her. They stood, panting, under the rotting wood, rivulets of water already pouring down from the edges.
‘Go on, then,’ Mike said as she hesitated.
Maggie put her finger on the white button and pushed. A soft chiming came from somewhere inside.
She stepped back and folded her arms. ‘Now we wait.’ She noticed Chloe move closer to Mike and slip her hand into his.
‘You won’t find anyone in,’ came a voice from behind them.
They spun around. A middle-aged woman stood watching them from the pavement, her greying hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, her pasty face in stark contrast to her brightly coloured clothes. Raindrops spattered loudly on the transparent umbrella decorated with sugar-pink hearts she was holding, and Maggie had to hold back a laugh when she saw she was wearing matching pink wellies.
‘Do you know who lives here?’
The woman took a long drag on her cigarette, before knocking off the ash. ‘Hasn’t been anyone living here for a few years,’ she said eventually.
‘Do you remember the last tenant?’ Maggie asked.
‘Oh, grumpy sod he was,’ the woman replied with a snort. ‘Wouldn’t give you the time of day. “Morning”, I’d say, and he�
�d just grunt back at me. Now, old Debbie, the one there before him, she was all right. We was always in and out of each other’s houses, till she got that cough. Pneumonia, it was. Did her in almost right away. One day we was laughing and joking, next she was dead. Awful, it was.’ She shook her head, the greasy ponytail swinging heavily to and fro.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Maggie said, after a moment’s awkward silence. She gestured at the garden. ‘The last tenant doesn’t seem to have kept up the property very well.’
‘Nah, he didn’t do anything. Went off to work, then came home and shut himself up indoors. Never saw him in the garden. But he wasn’t here long, just a few months, then he upped and left one day. Hasn’t been anyone living there since. You thinking of renting the place, then?’
‘Oh. Yes, I thought I’d have a quick look around, then get in touch with the council and see if it’s available.’
The woman chuckled. ‘It’ll be available, you’ll see. Who’d want a dump like that in a place like this? It’s a bloody eyesore for those of us that are left here.’ She suddenly realised what she’d said and changed tack. ‘But if you was to do it up, I’m sure none of us would complain. And the rent’d probably be dead cheap. Want to take a look inside, before you make your mind up?’