by Jane Shemilt
The windows of the tall house are still dark. I settle Bertie into the car, and pull away. My heart is knocking against my teeth with hope and dread.
BRISTOL 2009
TWENTY-ONE DAYS AFTER
I couldn’t wait to tell Ed about the missing corals. He would realize it was a good sign, and he needed to feel hope. Ed would understand that it meant she had planned to leave, and that she wanted something to connect her to home until she came back. He would be as excited as I was.
Ed’s mobile went straight to voicemail so I phoned the main office. Mrs Chibanda answered. She went to get him and after what seemed like a long wait I heard his slow steps approach.
‘Hi, Mum.’ He sounded tired, older.
‘You okay, darling?’
‘Why?’
‘It’s been over a week. I just wondered how you were.’
Ed’s sigh came lightly down the phone, but he didn’t reply.
‘I know they’d tell me if things weren’t all right –’ I heard myself blundering in the silence.
‘Leave it, Mum,’ he interrupted. ‘Leave me alone.’
I closed my eyes. Since Naomi disappeared, everything was louder. Noises hurt, as though I was getting ill, as though I had lost a layer of skin. I’d forgotten how to talk to Ed. This conversation was already tipping the wrong way. I began to wish I hadn’t phoned him.
‘We think about you all the time.’ I didn’t mean to say that; he wouldn’t like that.
‘Typical.’ He was whispering now.
‘What do you mean?’ I shouldn’t have asked. It’s not why I phoned.
‘I mean you would say that now.’ I had to listen hard to hear him; it was as if he was talking to himself. ‘Never talked to me before.’
He’s grieving for Naomi. Coming off drugs. He’s alone. He doesn’t mean any of this.
‘I talked to you all the time, Ed.’
‘At me.’
I left a little pause and began again. ‘Guess what? Naomi’s coral necklace is missing!’
‘What necklace?’ His voice is distant.
‘The one with little orange sticks?’
‘So?’
‘She must have taken it with her. It meant she knew she was going away.’
‘Christ, Mum. She probably lost it or gave it away.’
Does he want to destroy everything? ‘Gran gave it to her years ago.’
‘All the more reason. You don’t know her, Mum. You don’t have a bloody clue.’
After I had said goodbye and waited for him to hang up first, I walked to and fro in the kitchen. I wanted to get rid of his words. I didn’t want to think about them now or the anger that seethed underneath them.
In the end I phoned Shan. I couldn’t think of anyone else, though we hadn’t been in touch since we sat side by side in the police station.
‘Jen. I was going to call you today.’
I didn’t know how to answer that, but it didn’t matter because she carried on brightly: ‘It’s been so busy.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘God knows why. Christmas, I guess.’
Christmas? How was it Christmas? I looked out of the window but the street was the same. I hadn’t been to the shops for weeks. Presents would be beyond me.
‘How are you?’ She faltered in the silence, sounding more like herself.
‘Coping. Something good’s happened, though. I thought I might come round.’ I wanted to see her smile; when I told her about the corals she would hug me and say that she’d always known it would be all right.
‘Unless you want me to come over there?’
‘No, I need to get out.’ I had a shower and found clean jeans and a new shirt. I even put make-up on carefully. The foundation felt dry and the lipstick looked garish against my pale skin, so I washed it all off again. As I drove, someone on the radio intoned the news, but it was background noise, until after a few moments I caught her name: ‘… missing now for twenty-one days’. The complacent voice continued: ‘The search continues; all airports –’ I turned it off, feeling sick. Michael had told me not to listen to the news.
Shan opened the door and immediately enfolded me.
‘I’m sorry I was so awful at the police station that time. I’ve been a lousy friend.’
She drew me into her sitting room and we sat down together.
‘You look a bit thin, Jen.’ She sounded concerned, then she took my hand and smiled warmly. ‘It’s great to see you.’
‘Naomi had this necklace,’ I told her quickly. ‘I was looking in her bedroom yesterday, in her jewellery box –’ Then I paused, hearing noises from the kitchen: a kettle being switched on, someone rummaging in a cupboard for mugs. Shan turned her head and called through the open door.
‘If you’re making coffee, Nik, Jenny would like a cup. So would I. A strong one, please.’
‘Coming up,’ Nikita called back.
Shan turned back to me. ‘She’s struggling,’ she whispered.
‘Struggling?’ I repeated. An image of Naomi struggling in the grip of a man stopped me short. Nikita was in the next room, calmly making coffee. Her life was continuing. Naomi’s had been hijacked. I shouldn’t have felt angry; it wasn’t Shan’s fault.
‘Yes,’ Shan continued quietly. ‘She feels guilty. She should have told us sooner about Naomi fancying this guy.’
I felt sick again. I shouldn’t have come. In the little silence Shan flushed and smiled at me quickly.
‘Sorry. Stupid me. Forget what I’ve said. You were telling me about the necklace in the jewellery box.’
She put her hand on my arm; the warmth went through my sleeve to the skin. She wasn’t to blame if her words sounded wrong; there were no right ones anyway. I smiled back at her.
‘It was made of coral. You know, tiny little strands of orange strung together? I can’t find it anywhere.’
The noises in the kitchen had stopped completely; I could hear Nikita’s light footsteps quickly climbing the stairs that led from their kitchen to the rooms above. In the quietness I could hear the hope in my own voice.
‘It was a present from my mother when Naomi was little. Naomi always kept it in a little musical box. But it’s not there now. I’ve looked everywhere.’
Shan was staring at me; I could see she was puzzled by my smile. As I leant forward to explain, Nikita came in, a little out of breath, two cups of coffee carefully balanced on a tray. She bent over the table to clear a space so that her hair fell forward in a dark shiny sheet.
‘Thanks, Nikita.’ I smiled at her. After all, she was Naomi’s best friend.
‘You’re welcome.’ As she stood up, I saw her face was burning.
She held her hand out to me. In the centre of her palm was a coiled strand of orange stones, fragile and lovely.
‘I heard what you said. They’re not lost,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Naomi gave them to me, but don’t worry, it’s not like they were precious or anything. She told me she had never liked them. She was going to throw them away.’
In a minute I would be able to get up and leave.
‘God, Jen. You’ve gone pale. Have them back. You wouldn’t mind, would you, Nik?’ Shan looked worried.
‘No. Keep them.’ If I spoke slowly my voice wouldn’t tremble. ‘When did she give them to you, Nikita?’
‘Before her last performance. She threw them at me; she was laughing.’
I stared at her. I was trying to remember when I had last heard Naomi laugh.
‘I’ll go now, I think.’ A few moments later I got up and left.
When I got home it was cold and beginning to get dark. The day had gone by somehow and I hadn’t realized.
‘You don’t know her, Mum.’
I lay down and pulled the duvet over my head. From somewhere far away I heard Bertie barking for his supper, and then he stopped. I must have fallen asleep, because I woke to find Ted was asleep beside me. The heat from him came in sweaty waves and I rolled away as far as I could. I lay curled up, holding on to the edge
of the bed, waiting for the hours to pass until morning.
‘You don’t have a bloody clue.’
30
DORSET 2011
FOURTEEN MONTHS LATER
The newest snowdrop buds are sharp as teeth against the mud; others are flowers already, softer-edged, their bent heads green-veined and vulnerable. As I lean close to absorb them, morning sounds filter through the silence: a robin scuffling in the hedge, gulls crying in the distance, the faintest sound of the sea breathing in and out. Thin-skinned peace stretches for a minute and another minute, and then I catch a flicker of movement behind me. Michael. His feet were silent on the wet grass. He looks small in the green space of the garden, unreal in his dark suit and shining shoes. His glance takes in Theo’s shrunken pyjamas, Ted’s gumboots. For a second we stare at each other like strangers.
‘Why are you here?’ I ask him quickly. ‘What have you found?’ I stand quite still, waiting for his answer. The small noises fade around us.
‘Are you all right? You look …’ He stops.
Is he going to say weird? Mad? How could it matter what I look like?
‘I saw the snowdrops from the window so … For God’s sake, Michael. Tell me what’s happened.’
‘Good news. We know almost for certain Yoska took Naomi and we think she went willingly.’
I reach for him blindly, tears filling my eyes.
‘How do you know that?’
‘I’ll explain inside.’ He takes my hand. ‘You’re freezing, your lips are blue.’
He is serious, almost angry. I probably frighten him.
‘Are you sure it was him?’
‘He’s been seen. I’ll tell you more when you’ve warmed up. You need some proper clothes on.’
His tone jars, and his arm round me as we walk to the back door is irritating. I couldn’t have got this far without him, but I must be careful; we’re not there yet. I dress in the cold bedroom, fumbling buttons, ripping the wool of my tights. Michael meets me at the bottom of the stairs, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in each hand.
‘I bought milk and the chocolate. I knew your fridge would be empty.’
He’s irritated too. She can’t manage to look after herself, he is thinking, after all this time. He gestures with his head towards the sitting room.
‘I’ve just lit the fire. Let’s sit in here, it will be warmer.’
He waits while I sit near the hearth, then carefully puts the mug on the table next to me and pulls up a chair. His knees almost touch mine as he bends forward.
‘We’ve got him now.’
‘Got him?’ Is he in a police van, then? Or in a locked cell somewhere?
‘Well, we haven’t actually got him, but as good as, thanks to you. It took a few days to get the results back but we’ve established that it was a perfect match with the DNA from his previous crime.’
‘What was?’ What is he telling me? My heart starts to hammer in my mouth.
He looks at me, and pauses, uncertainty narrowing his eyes; he is wondering how to tell me what he has found out. He says slowly, ‘His semen was on the dress you found.’
I feel very sick. I move to get up, but he puts a hand on my arm.
‘Wait.’ He clears his throat. ‘When they analysed what was on the material, there was blood as well, Naomi’s blood.’
How naive I’ve been. I should have thought of this when I gave him the dress. I hoped it would help but my thoughts stopped there. I’ve become good at blocking them. Blood and semen. Did he rape her, and then hide the dress in the boot? But as that thought begins to swell, another quickly follows. That night she came back in her uniform, having left the dress behind, she had been hungry, tired, smiling. She hadn’t been raped, just as she hadn’t been raped that time in the cottage with James. She must have made love with Yoska in the dress, then carefully rolled it up and hidden it where no one would find it: in a pair of boots that she knew weren’t being used. She couldn’t have acted so carefully, so deliberately after being raped. She must have wanted Yoska. Wanted sex with him.
I stand up at this thought. Michael’s concerned eyes watch me above his mug as I walk around the room. It wouldn’t have been her first time, of course. She was already pregnant. But she had known James for years. They were the same age; children playing at being grown-up, innocent somehow. Sex with Yoska would be different. She would be really breaking the rules. I thought of that secret smile. That was Yoska. She must have been worried about the pregnancy, but he had made her happy.
I look out of the window, but instead of the garden and the sky my mind fills with a vivid picture of Naomi, with her back against the wall in the dark, stuffy trap room under the stage, her soft red dress rucked up high, pants round an ankle, one leg curled round his hip, holding him close. His dark head buried in her neck as his body pushes into hers. Her eyes are closed, the thick make-up on her cheeks smudged with sweat and saliva. I shake my head to drive the image away but the thoughts race on. Afterwards he would tell her she ought to go home so her parents wouldn’t be suspicious. She would hold on to him, slip the dress off, and use it to wipe between her legs. She would put on the school uniform she had brought with her and shove the dress quickly into one of the boots that she must have found in the canvas costume bag. She must then have buried the boots deep inside the bag, meaning perhaps to collect the dress another time, but she forgot.
The blood … ‘How much blood?’ I sit down again, look at him, then away.
‘Not much. Not more than usual.’
My hands close tightly round the mug. I make myself ask, ‘Usual for a couple who’ve made love or usual for rape?’
‘After consensual sex there is often blood, small amounts, but it can be detected microscopically.’
Is that why he said she went willingly? Michael has followed the same logic that I have; he has worked out that they made love and so afterwards she would want to be with him.
‘The cervix is more vascular in pregnancy.’ I’m talking mostly to myself. ‘She would bleed even more easily.’ The very next day she had slept with James, trying to lose the pregnancy, but that hadn’t worked.
Infections can make women bleed more easily too. Maybe there had been someone else as well; she could have picked up an infection before she got pregnant.
You must have been changing for a long time. Quietly becoming someone else quite different. How could I have known, when you hid so carefully behind the child we thought you were? How could I have kept you safe?
‘It won’t be long now before we get him.’ Michael’s eyes, looking out of the window, are focused on the distance; they glitter as they reflect the white January sky. ‘We’ve traced the family to a gypsy camp in Mid Wales.’ He lowers his voice instinctively, as though someone might be listening who would warn them off. ‘There’s an illegal site in a field on a derelict farm.’
As he tells me this, I remember the Welsh hills over the River Severn; they had seemed close enough to touch from the copse where the van had been found. There had been boats lying on the bank. Once they had burnt the van, it would have taken only a couple of hours to cross the river if the tide had been right. He would have known how to handle a boat. He had capable hands. I could see them steering a boat, pulling it above the tide line on the other side. I could imagine them reaching out for Naomi, carefully helping her out, keeping her safe.
‘We are going into the camp at night,’ Michael continues.
‘When? How do you know they are there?’
He looks down; he’s not going to tell me when they are planning to go. Does he think that I would go ahead, run into the camp calling her name? Would I?
‘We’ve been watching the site,’ he says after a little pause. ‘He’s been seen, as I said.’ He looks at me briefly. ‘I don’t want to raise your hopes, Jenny, but there was an adolescent girl with fair hair who briefly left a caravan yesterday and got into another. She was seen from a distance; nothing else identified her as Naomi. I shouldn’t
even be telling you this …’
I find myself standing, unable to breathe or move. These are the words I have waited fourteen months to hear. It might not be her, it isn’t necessarily Naomi, but my heart is beating so loudly it is almost drowning out the words he is saying.
‘There could be trouble.’ His lips tighten. ‘We’ll take dogs. Firearms.’
I look at his determined face and I begin to feel frightened.
‘He might be hiding but we’ll search every caravan, each trailer, horsebox, every pile of rubbish.’ It’s as though he is talking to himself.
They are together. Right now.
‘We might have to arrest everyone.’
‘Everyone?’
In the dark children would start to cry, figures in night-clothes would emerge confused, blinking in the harsh light of powerful torches. Under the barking of police dogs, pulling at their tight leashes, might come, piercingly, the thin wail of a baby. These thoughts are spinning like the black and white reels of old films of the Gestapo rounding up their victims at night.
As he pulls his eyes back to mine, the pupils constrict rapidly. It makes him look angry.
‘Yes.’ His voice sounds very hard. ‘The whole lot.’
The sun coming through the windows picks out the grey in his hair. The frown lines between his eyebrows are sharp as though the skin has been scored with a knife. I hadn’t noticed that before. The morning light is unforgiving.
Naomi is there, she and the baby will be part of his family now. Travellers believe in family. She was pregnant; her relationship with Yoska would have offered her the chance to keep her child, with people who made time for children. They were there for the little girl in Ted’s out-patient clinic; they stayed in the ward when other children would have been left on their own. Other children, whose mothers worked as much as their fathers did, as much as I used to. Children of parents who were so busy no one talked about the things that really mattered, or noticed that their children were changing.