Sean’s head was down and he was leaning forward, forearms on his thighs, staring at the carpet. Libby was babbling, she knew, but it was hard to know what to say. And Sean was saying nothing.
‘Thanks, Libby,’ Phil said, his voice deep yet fragile. ‘We’re just waiting for news. It’s agony. We feel so helpless. I’ve been out searching, of course, checking in with all her friends – anyone really. It’s not like her. Not like her at all and it’s been four days now.’
‘Tell me again how she seemed on Friday evening, Libby,’ Jan said, her face crumpled with worry lines. Her hands were bony and thin, her collarbones protruding through the T-shirt where her robe had fallen open. ‘You were the last ones to see her. What was her mood like? What did she say? Has she ever mentioned any problems? I know she’s very fond of you.’ She spoke fast, her words tumbling out.
‘Honestly, she seemed fine,’ Libby replied. ‘She arrived on time and we’d lit the fire for her. She got her books out straight away and got on with her studies. She was doing maths, I think, and she seemed in a cheerful mood. We told her when we’d be back and then…’ Libby stopped. They didn’t need to hear about what happened when they arrived home.
‘Sean, look,’ Libby had said that night, rifling through the contents of Sasha’s backpack, most of which had been tipped out on the floor. She held up a packet of tobacco and some cigarette papers. ‘I had no idea,’ she’d said, shaking her head. They’d gathered up some of her stuff then, putting it back – purse, college lanyard, make-up bag – unzipped with the contents spilt out too. There was a ruler, a couple of pens, some tissues and a tattered copy of Take a Break magazine, folded open at the puzzle page. It looked as though someone – Sasha? – had been looking for something in a hurry.
‘Teenagers sometimes sneak a smoke, Lib,’ Sean had said, helping to shove her stuff away. ‘It’s perfectly normal. There’s probably a bag of weed in there too if you look,’ he’d added, dropping the pack on the sofa again.
‘Have the police got any leads yet?’ Sean said to Jan, giving Phil a quick look too. Sasha’s parents were sitting in opposite armchairs.
‘Not really,’ Phil said flatly before Jan could speak. ‘Just the shoe found on Saturday morning. It sounds bad, but she has that many pairs of trainers, neither Jan nor I can say if it’s definitely hers. It’s being tested. We’ve got a… what’s she called, Jan? That officer who comes up to tell us what’s going on?’
‘A liaison officer,’ Jan replied. ‘Family liaison officer. Ironic,’ she added, her jaw tense.
‘They’re still partly working on the assumption that she left of her own free will,’ Phil added, ignoring Jan’s comment. ‘Though they were looking for signs of a struggle too.’
‘Well, surely that’s a good thing?’ Libby said, eyeing Sean. ‘If she left of her own accord?’
‘I suppose they were looking for blood,’ Jan said. ‘And they’ve grilled us a dozen times already, can you believe?’
‘Jan…’ Phil said in a warning tone. ‘Don’t.’
‘Someone told the cops we’ve got troubles; isn’t that right, Phil?’ she went on, ignoring him. ‘As though that makes us suspects.’
‘I think it’s normal to question everyone close to Sasha,’ Sean said before Phil could reply. ‘They’ve done the same to us, so try not to worry.’
Phil shook his head, blowing out a sigh. He pushed up the sleeves of his denim shirt and Libby noticed the lines of dirt on his rough hands. Big hands, she thought, watching as his fingers fidgeted, his head bowed as he leant forward, forearms on his knees. He’d worked outdoors most of his life, farm labouring and now managing the game on the land owned by the big local estate. Sasha had once told Libby that her dad had always dreamt of owning his own farm, but could never afford the prices in the area.
‘Let’s just pray that she had a wobble and ran off to a friend’s place for a few days,’ Phil said, looking up. ‘Dear God, let that be the case…’ He pressed his fist against his heart, dropping his head down again, his large shoulders jumping up and down in time with his sobs. Sean was closest and made a move to comfort him, but then thought better of it. When Jan didn’t do anything, Libby leant over and offered him a hand to hold as well as passing him a tissue.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ he said, his face red and crumpled, squeezing Libby’s fingers. ‘I just can’t deal with this. Can’t deal with the not knowing. It’s the worst kind of agony.’
‘I know,’ Libby said, catching her breath as she saw a marked police car pull up outside the house. A female officer in uniform got out and came up the path. The doorbell rang. ‘Maybe it’s time for us to go?’ Libby said to Sean. ‘Let’s leave Jan and Phil to talk to the officer.’
‘Of course,’ Sean said, standing up as Jan went to answer the door. ‘Take it easy, mate,’ Sean said to Phil, giving him a tentative pat on the shoulder. ‘Let us know if there’s anything we can do.’
Phil nodded without looking up. Libby and Sean turned to leave and, as they were going, they passed the officer in the doorway. Her face was deadly serious.
Twenty-Five
‘Sit, do nothing,’ Marion ordered when Sean had taken Alice upstairs for a bath. Libby didn’t need telling twice and dragged out a chair at the kitchen table, watching as Marion cleared away the plates. While they were out visiting Jan and Phil, she’d made macaroni cheese – knowing it was Alice’s favourite – and served them each a portion when they’d returned. Libby had pushed hers around her plate, not feeling hungry, but had tried to eat something so as not to seem ungrateful. What she really wanted was a large drink. Nothing less would slow the rampant thud of her heart. She didn’t think she’d ever wipe Jan’s desolate expression from her mind. The poor woman looked… dead inside.
‘We really appreciate this, Marion,’ she said. ‘Staying here, you looking after us, taking care of Alice.’
The older woman turned from the sink, her hands still plunged deep in dishwater. She gave a nod, a small smile appearing within the lines around her mouth. Libby knew she was in her element.
‘Don’t even mention it,’ she said, rinsing plate after plate. ‘It’s a terrible time.’
Unusually, Marion had turned up the heating at the farm, wanting them all to feel comfortable. Word from the police was that they were free to return to the cottage now, and could have done yesterday, but Marion had insisted they stay at least until tomorrow, as if having the three of them there had given her renewed purpose, a feeling of usefulness.
‘Terrible business all round,’ she said, drying the cutlery and dropping it into the big dresser drawer. ‘That poor girl. You hear of these things but never expect them to happen on your doorstep.’
‘Exactly,’ Libby said, sipping on the mug of tea Marion had made her. She winced at the sugar but didn’t say anything.
‘Takes me back though, having Sean here, in his old room,’ she said with another, bigger smile. ‘Is it warm enough up there, love? I don’t want you to be cold. I know this old place isn’t exactly the Hilton but—’
‘It’s fine,’ Libby said as she spotted Marion’s eyes glistening.
‘I just can’t help blaming myself about it all,’ she went on, abandoning the washing-up and pulling out a chair next to Libby.
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘No one’s to blame.’
Marion reached out and took her hand. Libby noticed her papery skin, the age spots and brittle nails, clipped as short as possible. She was a grafter, always had been, and Libby sensed that she had a need to constantly rescue people, as though without her input or care, things would fall apart. While she was grateful for her help with Alice, she couldn’t help thinking it was to satisfy her own needs more than theirs. Or rather, she corrected herself as she watched Marion pour herself some tea, Sean’s needs. It seemed Marion had never quite let go – as though there was something inside him she felt she needed to fix.
‘I… I drove past your place that night, you know,’ Marion said, loo
king at Libby over the rim of her mug as she took nervous little sips. ‘On Friday.’
‘Oh?’
‘There was nothing untoward going on that I could see. That’s what I told the police, anyway. Like everyone else, I just want to help, to do something useful.’
‘Well you are helping, Marion,’ Libby replied. ‘By looking after us.’
Truth was, even though they could go home, Libby didn’t want to. What if the forensics team had found signs of a struggle – some of Sasha’s hair caught in a door hinge or traces of her blood on the carpet as she’d been dragged out? She’d seen some of those shows on TV, knew how experts could piece together what had happened just from the tiniest fragments of evidence. She prayed that they wouldn’t find anything at Chestnut Cottage, hoped to God that there was nothing to suggest anything other than Sasha going off in a teenage strop. And she couldn’t get the family liaison officer’s expression out of her mind either, when they’d left Jan and Phil’s. She hadn’t heard a word since and wasn’t sure whether to text to find out.
‘It’s a pleasure to have you here, love,’ Marion replied, unusually affectionately. ‘Life’s far too short, you know, and I feel blessed to have little Alice running about, enjoying the space. It only feels like yesterday since Fred put up that swing for Sean. He had to repair it for Alice to use. It was rotten through.’ Marion gave a little laugh, wiping a finger under her eye. ‘Sean loved going on it. He once said he was going to swing so high that he’d be able to kick the clouds and make it rain.’
Libby smiled. ‘That sounds like my Sean,’ she said. ‘Soft on the inside, though he doesn’t like to show it.’ She laughed, forgetting everything for just a couple of moments.
Marion didn’t often speak about the past, when Sean was growing up, what he was like as a kid. Or, if she did, it was an equally truncated version of snippets Libby had heard from Sean. Like the time Marion told her he’d punched a boy on the nose on his first day at high school – the only time he’d ever retaliated. Libby had never found out why, and when she pressed Sean for details he just said that his mother was exaggerating, that he’d accidentally bumped into one of the so-called tough kids in the corridor and got called names for a couple of days.
‘Oh, well you say that,’ Marion added with a chuckle. ‘He never used to hide it. He was so kind to everyone too. When he was on the swing, he said he was trying to make the clouds rain on the bad people because he couldn’t stand to punch them back, like his dad had told him to do. But then…’ She trailed off.
‘Really?’ Libby said. ‘That’s so funny.’
Marion nodded. ‘You wouldn’t think it looking at the size of him now, but he was a sensitive lad. Always felt things differently to other people. Saw things differently too.’
‘I see it in him. I do understand. And he adores animals so much. Probably more than he enjoys human company sometimes. Though he’s a pushover with Alice. And of course, he’d do anything for you,’ she added, wondering where, exactly, she fell in the list of important things in Sean’s life. She’d never once have questioned that she was up there, top of the list with Alice – and she tried to convince herself that she wasn’t questioning it now. But she couldn’t help thinking that the hard time she’d given him about the note had knocked her off pole position.
‘Mothers and their sons,’ Marion said, eyeing Libby.
Libby smiled back. ‘Perhaps I’ll know what that’s like one day. We don’t want Alice to be an only child.’
It was the look on Marion’s face that made her toes dig into the soles of her trainers, her nails clench hard against her palms. Sean had once said that his mother had wanted a houseful of children, but that it wasn’t to be. It was just him.
‘It’s hard bringing up just the one child,’ Marion went on, pretending the comment hadn’t got to her. ‘As a mum, I felt… I felt almost inadequate. That he didn’t have that sibling rivalry to shape him, to spar against, to have as a role model or be a role model to.’ Marion sighed then, taking a tissue from under the cuff of her sweater and blowing her nose. ‘It was Fred who said that, actually. That if there’d been two of them… a brother to model himself on, then…’ She trailed off, shaking her head, a deep frown forming. ‘What I’m trying to say, love, is that I think I overcompensated. Somehow felt like a failure for not being able to have another baby. That what happened was all my fault.’ Marion shook her head and turned away, as though she’d said too much.
‘Oh, Marion,’ Libby said, taking her hand again. ‘You’re nowhere near a failure. If it makes you feel any better, I’m fumbling in the dark most of the time when it comes to parenting Alice.’ She nudged her mother-in-law then, giving her a wry smile. Marion showing anything apart from a pair of broad shoulders whatever life threw at her – let alone getting emotional about it – well, it was… unusual.
‘I remember feeling like the worst mother ever when he—’ Marion stopped, getting up and going into the pantry. She returned with a small bottle. ‘For emergencies,’ she said, grabbing a couple of glasses and pouring some out. ‘I’m not supposed to have any with the medication I’m on, but surely one won’t hurt?’
Libby took it gratefully, sipping the whisky slowly while Marion knocked hers back. She sat toying with the empty glass.
‘It’s funny. I can still sense it even now when Sean…’ She poured out another measure for herself. ‘… when he’s… hurting.’
‘Really?’ Libby said, taking another sip. The drink seared the back of her throat, making her cough. ‘Mother’s intuition?’ she said, noticing Marion’s faraway look, as though she’d gone back in time.
‘It was ever since that day,’ she went on. ‘I should have been there, somehow stopped the accident. But I wasn’t. And ever after, I swear I’ve done everything I could to make things right, but sometimes…’ She trailed off again, glancing towards the boot room as if she’d heard something. ‘Sometimes everything isn’t enough,’ she added in a whisper.
Libby swung round when she saw Marion’s expression change, her mouth gape open. Her eyes had grown wide and glassy. She felt a rush of cold air on her back.
‘Oh, hello, Fred,’ Libby said as her father-in-law stood there in his work jacket, sizing up the situation. ‘You must be exhausted.’ Libby stood up, grabbing an oven glove and going to the cooking range. ‘We saved you some food.’ She raised a hand to halt Marion. ‘No, I’ve got it. You’ve done enough.’ She took the remaining macaroni cheese from the oven and served some up. ‘We were just discussing old times,’ she told Fred as he shrugged off his jacket and sat down. ‘About when Sean was little and… and…’ She stopped when she got no response, grateful to see Sean now standing in the doorway with Alice’s dirty jeans in his hand.
‘Fat lot of use mother’s intuition has been for that poor lass who’s gone missing,’ Fred finally said, glaring at his son, showing he’d been listening to Libby and Marion’s conversation for longer than they’d realised. He paused before squirting on a load of ketchup and shovelling the food into his mouth.
‘I’ll go and put these in the wash, then,’ Sean said quietly, clearing his throat, the two men staring at each other as he walked off.
Twenty-Six
‘I’m freezing,’ Libby said, draping herself around Sean. The blankets and eiderdown gave off a musty smell as she turned onto her side, wrapped up in her pyjamas and a cardigan. Sean was wearing only a T-shirt and boxers, which she was grateful for as she could soak up his body heat.
‘Softie,’ Sean said, sliding his arm around her shoulders. He pulled her close. ‘You’re not used to the hard life.’
‘Funny,’ Libby replied. ‘That’s what your mum said about you earlier. That you’re a big softie.’
‘No wonder my ears were burning.’
Libby snuggled closer, breathing in the scent of his day – the familiar smell of his body wash caught up with the tang of something else. She thought she recognised it.
Fear.
‘What was Mum saying?’
Libby thought she felt him tense a little, the curve of his shoulder twitching beneath her.
‘Just that really. That when you were a kid you were the sensitive type.’ Libby waited for Sean to add something, but he didn’t. ‘It was weird, but I think your mum felt, well, as though she let you down in some way. Though I don’t know what she meant exactly.’
‘That’s Mum for you.’ Sean let out a little cough, turned to check the time on his phone. ‘It’s late. Let’s get some sleep.’
Libby pressed against him more, if that was possible, while he wrapped his free arm across her front, kissing her head. The room was dark, with only the moonlight bleeding in through a chink in the curtains, illuminating the Anaglypta wallpaper, daubed in a nondescript shade of blue, cobwebs in the corners. She closed her eyes, knowing she was far from sleep. All she could see behind her eyelids were the ghostlike figures of the police forensics team picking over their house, her fingers peeling the note off her frozen windscreen and various images of poor Sasha, wherever she was.
‘Marion mentioned about your accident,’ Libby whispered, conscious they may be overheard. ‘How old were you?’ She was desperate to know more.
Sean groaned. ‘It’s late, Lib.’
‘But I want to know about it,’ she continued. ‘Can’t you tell me quickly what happened?’
Libby knew the rhythm of Sean’s breathing – that moment between wakefulness and sleep. How his quiet, measured breaths soon turned into relaxed and unselfconscious rasps and, sometimes, a gentle snore. She was always comforted by him letting go. Once, when she’d gently complained about his louder snoring, he’d told her that it wasn’t snoring, rather it was him protecting her, scaring off anyone who might hurt her in the night. ‘It’s a growl, Lib, to keep you safe, to keep the bad guys away.’ She couldn’t help smiling, couldn’t help loving him more.
Date Night (ARC) Page 16