The grass is long and damp with dew in the twilight and my trainers are already soggy. I hate getting wet feet and now I’m worrying about ruining my trainers, and it’s only adding to the butterflies in my stomach. I shove my shaking palms into my pockets and try to talk myself down – ‘challenge negative thoughts’ as Gran is always saying. What’s the worst thing that could happen, Willow? You might say something stupid or be a bit awkward. They might not like you. Is that really the end of the world?
I hate Georgia.
Eventually we emerge onto a well-trodden path and ahead I see a group of people sprawled on various blankets and coats. There are cigarettes – cigarettes that don’t smell of cigarettes – bottles of wine, plastic cups, and music blaring from a speaker. It’s a proper little get-together; there must be fifteen people here, and because everyone is so loud and engrossed in various conversations, we manage to sneak up unnoticed. Thank God, is there anything worse than joining a party and have everyone turn to stare at you? I’m saying that like I know … I can imagine there’s nothing worse.
Georgia parks me on the very edge of one blanket and pours me a glass of wine from a stray bottle. After last week’s hangover, even looking at the wine makes me feel sick.
‘Stay here, I’ll be a few minutes,’ she whispers in my ear and weaves herself through the people and patches of grass towards the guys at the end of the uneven circle we’ve formed. I sit quietly in my corner, staying very still and praying that nobody will notice me. So far so good. I take an inconspicuous look round the circle, trying to suss out Georgia’s friends. It doesn’t take me too long to get a sense of them. Basically they are all very loud, and they’re all boys.
The two next to me – one guy with curly hair who has his back to me, another wearing a bucket hat – are half singing along (badly) to the Dido song blaring from one of their phones, half discussing some date one of them had the night before. I can’t catch much of what the curly-haired guy is saying but bucket-hat guy has a deep voice and I can hear every word.
‘Nah, it was a casual thing,’ he says, taking a toke of a cigarette. ‘I’ve got another date tomorrow so I’m not looking for anything too serious with Theo. It’s all fun and games.’ He leans back into the nest of coats and blankets and I shuffle backwards slightly, worried he’ll catch sight of me.
I needn’t have bothered, because the next moment Georgia is suddenly right beside me. And everyone’s eyes are on her. ‘Guys, I’ve got a friend with me, so be nice, OK?’
Oh God, now all eyes are on me. Why, Georgia? We had just made the perfect entrance. Snuck up nice and unnoticed.
‘Wait, Georgia, you have a friend who’s a girl?’ bucket-hat guy replies incredulously.
Georgia rolls her eyes, before catching mine and smiling encouragingly. ‘This is Willow, she’s my cousin, just moved from Brighton with her gran. She’s going to Norwood in September.’
Yay, don’t remind me. Georgia turns to me. ‘Most of these guys were in my year so have just finished, but Liam … ’ she points to a boy with a mass of gelled spikes for hair, ‘and Joe … ’ this is the name of bucket-hat guy, it transpires, ‘they’ll both be there in September.’
I wave pathetically, feeling the blood rush to my face. Come on, Willow, just make eye contact and say hi like a normal person. Is it so bloody hard, just …
‘Oh my God – fucking hell, Willow, hi!’
Looking up, I see the curly-haired guy has now turned around and is grinning at me expectantly. My stomach flips.
It’s the boy from the pub.
Dustin. I’m not sure how I could have missed it, with his curly hair – it’s a little bit shorter than it was last week and pushed out of his eyes, but otherwise he’s exactly the same. As I examine him more closely I can see he’s wearing an almost identical outfit: the same chequered trousers, a dark blue jumper this time but still oversized and bobbly from too many washes.
If I wanted to disappear before, now I really want to. He leans in to give me a sitting-down hug, but I stiffen, pulling back. He also pulls away, confusion in his eyes. ‘It’s me, Dustin – from the pub last week. Remember?’
‘Yeah, yeah I do,’ I say a little too bluntly. I’m conscious of everyone’s eyes on us, listening intently to this awkward exchange. I try to think of something else to say – anything at all – but my mind is blank.
‘Well … er … it’s good to see you again,’ he mumbles, slowly turning back to Joe. Georgia plonks herself down next to us and I feel her eyes on me, studying me. ‘You guys know each other?’ she asks.
I shrug. Dustin stays silent.
Maybe I should have told Georgia about my drunken outing – given that she knows just about everyone in New Haw it now seems idiotic to assume she wouldn’t find out anyway – but she would have had too many questions. I also, equally stupidly I realise, honestly never thought I’d see Dustin again. Yes, we chatted until two a.m. Yes, he walked me home. Yes, he gave me his number. But he was drunk. I was drunk. It was so obviously a one-time thing. Under normal circumstances it would never have happened. Especially not with me. I can barely ask for a bag at the supermarket, let alone chat to an attractive stranger in a pub.
Georgia’s eyes are darting between us both. I can feel his confusion burning into me before he suddenly stands up and shouts, ‘Anyone need another drink?’
The sun has finally set and the field is in darkness, but we’re still here. I’ve been sipping on warm wine which has helped me loosen up a bit. I have continued to avoid Dustin, chatting to everyone in the group but him. Every now and then I catch him looking at me, and occasionally he has turned round to find me staring at the back of his head. I feel self-conscious, I don’t know how to sit, and keep shuffling about from position to position. I suddenly have no idea what to do with my hands. Should I rest them on the grass, keep them folded in my lap? Why am I so aware of every tiny movement, and why am I not listening to anything anyone is saying?
Later, when Liam gets up to pee, I finally find myself alone. In my own silence for the first time all night, I breathe a sigh of relief. Although I’ve now realised how cold I am and I shiver.
‘Do you want my coat?’
I look up to see Dustin and quickly look away again. Will he leave me alone, please?
‘I’m OK,’ I reply. ‘Thanks though.’
‘But aren’t you cold?’
‘Only a little bit.’
He slips his coat off and drapes it over my shoulders anyway. I shoot him a small thankful smile, which he takes as an invitation to sit down next to me. Great.
‘You do remember me, don’t you?’ he says quietly.
‘Yeah, I do … ’ I mumble, purposely avoiding his eyes.
‘Did I upset you or offend you that night? I thought we had a nice time.’
‘No, you didn’t do anything, it was a lovely night.’
‘Well, I’m a bit confused then, because you don’t seem too happy to see me.’ He gives a weak smile. ‘Everyone is always happy to see me. I’m not used to this, you see.’
There’s a pause. It seems he’s expecting a reaction; his smile falls, and I immediately feel guilty. I’m not trying to make it hard for him on purpose, but how can I tell him he’s wasting his time?
‘I promise it’s not you,’ I try to explain, shuffling a little further away.
‘Hey, that’s what they always say,’ he says, with a smirk.
I frown at him. ‘No. You were nice. It’s just … I am nothing like the girl I was that night. I was quite drunk. Very drunk. And I don’t really drink often.’
‘Don’t worry – you weren’t the only one who had a bit too much that night.’
He’s clearly not getting it. ‘Yeah but, it’s not just that. I’m just … I don’t know … different, usually. Quieter,’ I say. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, the heat rising to my cheeks. Why is this so stressful? ‘I’m not sure I’m as much fun normally.’
‘Well, I find that hard to
believe. But you know … I don’t mind being challenged,’ he says. He says this so seriously and looks so determined that I almost laugh.
‘Would you like to see my tattoos?’ he says, as if this is a perfectly normal change of conversation.
‘OK,’ I reply, grateful for the helpline before I’ve even really registered what he has said.
He raises one eyebrow. ‘You’re in for a treat. Let’s start off with my Capturing Nessie tattoo.’
I try to hide the sceptical look on my face. ‘Capturing Nessie?’
He smiles proudly. ‘My karaoke stage name.’
Who is this guy? I’ve never met someone so self-confident. He’s exactly the same as the other night. He didn’t have liquid courage.
‘You mean I actually saw Capturing Nessie live in the flesh?’
He nods solemnly. ‘Yes. Even better, you actually performed with him – aren’t you lucky?’
I can feel myself trying not to laugh. ‘Yeah, he was brilliantly terrible from what I remember.’
‘That’s what’s so great about him, you’ll never get a karaoke singer as bad as him.’
He rolls up the leg of his jeans to reveal a huge animated drawing of Nessie the Loch Ness monster on his calf, with the word ‘capturing’ inked across it in spiralling letters. Nessie is surrounded by other random drawings. An 8-ball, some kind of aftershave bottle? A bucket. I gently trace the outline of Nessie with my finger. I always find myself fascinated by tattoos. ‘It’s … different. And having grown up in Brighton, I’ve seen my fair share of odd tattoos.’
‘I know,’ he replies. ‘My mother is very proud of her son. He’s achieving some great things, with his shit tattoos.’
I can’t help but laugh again. ‘I’m sure she is. You’re a funny one, Dustin.’
‘So I’m told, mostly by myself.’ He places his hand on the grass, near enough to be touching mine. I’m not sure why I do it, and I instantly regret it, but I pull my hand back quickly. It’s a knee-jerk reaction. Feeling my cheeks flush with the awkwardness of the situation, my hand goes automatically to my necklace.
‘Sorry,’ I mumble, slowly stroking the silver chain. ‘That made me jump a bit.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, I jump every time I look in the mirror,’ he says, circling his face with his finger. ‘This here isn’t a happy picture to look at.’
And then I’m laughing again. Why do I always seem to be laughing when I’m with him?
Chapter 9
Dustin
My room is exactly the same. They haven’t touched anything. From the posters on the walls, to the Nuts magazine under my bed. I really should have got rid of that when I started dating Willow. Even the thirty gram bag of Amber Leaf tobacco in my bedside table drawer is exactly as I left it. I feel a pang of regret as it dawns on me what this means. They thought I was coming back.
Well … I guess I did come back, in the end.
Mum asked if I was staying and I said yes. I feel like she already knew what my answer would be, because she didn’t say anything. She nodded, trying in vain to keep a smile off her face, and then immediately announced that she was leaving to buy some baby stuff for Zara. I thought I’d brought the essentials, but Mum didn’t think so. I figured it was best to let her get on with it.
I spent the afternoon in my bedroom with Zara while she napped. Going baby shopping with Mum felt like way too much too soon, and I’d rather be anywhere than downstairs with Alicia and Elliot. I am trying to process what has actually happened in the last twenty-four hours – how I have ended up with my baby daughter in my teenage bedroom – but nothing makes sense in my head.
I go back into detective mode. I call Willow. I call again, and again. Her phone is still switched off and I get her voicemail straight away. Immediately all the terrifying possibilities of yesterday come screaming back to me. What if she’s been kidnapped and they’ve taken her phone? What if she did mean to run away but she dropped her phone and it ran out of battery and now she can’t get home? What if she was hit by a car? I bring up WhatsApp on my phone and search for our conversation, buried under the panicked exchanges with Georgia and numerous other mutual friends. Her last seen was yesterday morning. She hasn’t even been online. Frantically I add to my messages of yesterday evening.
Willow, let me know you’re ok.
Call me?
Willow even if you don’t want to talk to me can you just let me know you’re ok?
For fuck’s sake Willow I’m going out of my mind.
One tick only. They’re not delivering. Why is her phone switched off? It’s so unlike her. Willow is a worrier, to put it mildly. Usually she’s glued to her phone, terrified of missing some message of distress from me or from Georgia. She’s been much worse since Gran as well.
I consider for a moment, then I retrieve the card the police officers left me yesterday. A receptionist answers.
‘Hi, um, I was wondering if I could speak to … ’ I realise they didn’t give me their official titles yesterday. ‘Um, Nancy, please?’
‘DS Francis?’ the receptionist replies curtly. ‘One moment please.’
I shuffle about whilst some tinny hold-music plays. Then Nancy’s voice cuts through.
‘Hello, this is DS Francis.’
‘Oh hi, um … ’ Suddenly I realise I don’t know what to say. ‘This is Dustin. I was just wondering if you have any update on my girlfriend? She went missing yesterday. Her name is Willow Allen?’
‘Dustin, hello.’ DS Francis’s voice is kindly, warm. ‘It’s good to hear from you. Did you end up finding someone to stay with you last night?’
‘I’m at my mum’s now.’ God, does she think I’m about sixteen? ‘I just wanted to know if you’ve been able to trace her at all.’
‘We have filed a report, and once that has been processed we can assess what steps would be appropriate. Someone will probably try to make contact with Willow … ’
‘OK, so you’ll tell me if you get in touch with her?’
There’s a pause. I can tell DS Francis is weighing her words carefully.
‘Not necessarily, Dustin. That will depend on what Willow tells us, and whether she wants us to pass on her contact details. We will need her permission to do that.’
I feel rage burning inside me. What do they think, that I’m some kind of threat to Willow? That she’s actually run away because she’s afraid of me?
I thank her and hang up. I can feel I’m starting to panic again, and I know that’s not going to help. OK, think, Dustin, think. The police don’t understand the situation, I guess it must happen a lot that women run away and don’t want to be found. But they don’t know Willow.
So what could have happened to her? Let’s go through the possibilities one at a time.
Worst-case scenario: she’s been kidnapped. It seems unlikely but people do get taken sometimes, right? Willow is young and she’s pretty. What if it’s one of those trafficking things? I clench my teeth, the thought of it, the thought of what she could be going through right now, it makes me sick. Is she even alive? Is she … I can’t think about it. I can’t.
She could have fallen, and knocked her head. Maybe she’s got amnesia and can’t remember who she is or how to get home. What if she’s in a hospital ward somewhere and they have no way of identifying her?
Or, the only other explanation and, though I hate to admit it, the most likely: she left of her own accord. Willow wrote that letter, left her baby, left her boyfriend, without so much as a hint of why she left or where she is …
FUCK.
I angrily throw the phone and the clatter of it against the wall wakes Zara up. She starts crying. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ I whisper guiltily, picking her up and then reaching awkwardly for my phone with Zara clutched in one arm. ‘Mama,’ she mumbles sleepily and makes a grab for my nose. I clench my teeth. She seems to think ‘Mama’ is interchangeable for either parent. Which when I think about it brings a lump to my throat. Because maybe she will only have one parent
from now on. I look at my phone. I can see Georgia has messaged, so I open up WhatsApp to reply and freeze. My series of panicked messages to Willow is still open. And they have two ticks. The message has delivered. Her phone is on. Before I know it, I’m calling her again and this time it rings. My heart freezes, my breath stops. It rings again. Come on, Willow, come on. It rings again. Then it goes to voicemail.
Well, shit.
Chapter 10
Willow
Then – August 2017
I look at my computer, where the screen shows Gee’s face enlarged on video chat. She has her hair wrapped in a towel, and is clearly using the camera as a mirror because she’s peering at it weirdly, eyes very wide, a mascara wand in one hand.
As much as I still miss Brighton, I’m glad Gran chose Surrey of all places. It is pretty great being this close to Gee, my only real friend. And my only cousin – sort of. Both of my parents were only children, which is pretty lonely when you also have no siblings. However, Gran wasn’t an only child; she had a sister, who had a daughter, who then had Gee. So yes, technically she isn’t my first cousin, but she is as close as it gets. Gran and Gee’s gran were very close. They lived next door to each other in Brighton. And since Gee spent every summer with her gran, we would spend two glorious sunny months together each year, riding the Ferris wheel, spending a fortune’s worth of two pence pieces on the slot machines, and making it our mission to try every ice cream flavour Brighton had to offer over the years. Then Gee’s grandma died when she was twelve and we saw less of each other. Until I moved to Surrey, that is.
‘Has the screen broken or are you just not moving?’
‘Sorry,’ I mumble, ‘I was distracted.’ Readjusting my trusty hot water bottle, I try to make more of an effort. ‘So you’re seeing the Tinder guy tonight?’
Gee nods happily. ‘The one in the picture I sent you. He’s cute, right?’
The Missing Pieces of Me: Discover the novel that will break your heart and mend it again Page 4