Blink

by KL Slater

  Yet despite everything, my heartbeat remains steady, pumping life around what used to be my body but is now a strange land filled only with loss and regret. I am bursting with pure disdain for myself, and especially for her, my recent visitor.

  ‘Is this your daughter?’ The nurse’s voice sounds strange and her forehead wrinkles above me. ‘She’s beautiful and she – she reminds me of someone.’ She twists the photograph this way and that, studying it. I watch as her brow furrows, her jaw sets. I am willing her to join up the dots.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she whispers, her features contorting. Her eyes slide to my face again and narrow slightly, as if she is trying to focus, to understand the impossible. ‘Oh my God.’

  She grips the photograph tightly and runs from the room. Relief washes through me like a cleansing balm.

  At last, someone has realised the truth.

  Someone knows who I am.

  59

  Present Day

  The Nurse

  Nancy sits in the back of the police car and watches as the familiar houses and shops whizz by in a washed-out blur. She sees them every day, but this afternoon they look strange to her. She registers the shapes and colours through the myriad raindrops that stream relentlessly onto the window and it feels like she has never seen them before.

  This is the day that the world has turned upside down and inside out.

  As soon as Nancy had alerted the powers that be, the hospital management contacted the police, and they had asked her to accompany them. All in the space of a couple of hours. It was an unusual step for them to take, DI Manvers had explained, but this was an extraordinary situation and it would help, they felt, Nancy being there.

  The car slows to turn the corner and the memories rush back into Nancy’s mind. She squeezes her eyes closed against them, for all the good it does.

  ‘You OK, love?’ DI Manvers glances at the uniformed officer driving the car and turns in his seat to look at her. ‘We’re almost there. We can pull over if you want to take a minute?’

  ‘No,’ she whispers, her voice catching in her throat. ‘This is not about me.’

  But even as she utters the words, Nancy knows it is very much about her. What she knows is about to make someone’s agony even more unbearable.

  If that were even possible.

  * * *

  The police car travels over the big roundabout, swinging onto Cinderhill Road and finally turning into Muriel Crescent. A delivery man hesitates in getting back into his van, watching the police vehicle approach.

  Nancy closes her eyes and feels the car slow to a stop. DI Manvers opens the door and she opens her eyes and climbs out of the car. The air outside is damp and hangs heavy, almost sticky, around her face. She feels a sudden rush of nausea and steadies herself by holding on to the car door.

  ‘Nancy, are you OK?’ DI Manvers asks again.

  She nods.

  But she is not OK, not really.

  Nancy bends forward, trying to catch her breath. She sees the cracked, damp pavement and suddenly she is back there, back to that awful day when Evie stood sobbing in the street, covered in wasp stings.

  Nancy had given just a few minutes of advice that day. After that, she’d seen the Cotters on the odd occasion when she’d either been on her way out or coming back home from work. It had only happened now and again. She’d wave hello and they’d wave back. It had never been anything more than that.

  Six months after the wasp sting day, Nancy had started her new job at the QMC, and moved from Muriel Crescent to take a rented apartment on the outskirts of the city. She hadn’t known the Cotters well enough to say goodbye and, she readily admitted, she had never given them another thought.

  Until she’d seen those horrific newspaper headlines.

  Police appeal for help to find missing five-year-old girl

  Girl vanishes from classroom after mother is late to collect her

  That had made her sit up and take notice alright. Nancy had thought, at the time, how eager the press had been to criticise Mrs Cotter right from the off.

  Now nobody knows if Evie is even alive anymore.

  Nancy takes a few more breaths in, the cold air sticking to her nostrils. She is painfully aware they are watching her. Waiting for her.

  Of course, Nancy had sent a card at the time and followed it up with a couple of short letters to Toni Cotter, saying she was a good listener and if there was anything she could do and so on . . .

  She’d heard nothing back, hadn’t really expected to.

  DI Manvers waits until Nancy stands up straighter and gets her bearings again. ‘Sure you’re OK with doing this?’

  She nods and he turns, walking towards the house. Nancy follows, strands of pure dread writhing in her stomach like a nest of vipers.

  The door is the only one on the street that has been obviously repainted; cheap white gloss on top of the original pale blue PVC. The faint shadow of spray-painted words are still evident; daubed accusations that have not been thoroughly masked by the repaint.

  DI Manvers raps on the door and they wait for what seems to Nancy like forever.

  The sound of someone unlocking the door on the other side forces Nancy’s fingernails into the soft flesh of her palms. Her breathing grows even more erratic and her heartbeat thunders against her breastbone.

  The door opens and, with the help of a stick, an old lady stands there. Nancy doesn’t recall her face but she thinks it may well be Evie’s grandma. If she remembers correctly, she had been there, a far sprightlier woman then, on the day of the stinging incident.

  ‘Oh!’ The lady’s hand flies to her throat when she takes in the uniformed officer and DI Manver’s ID. She staggers and leans awkwardly against the doorframe.

  ‘Come on, PC Holt,’ the DI hisses at the younger officer. ‘Quicker on your feet now.’

  PC Holt coughs and steps quickly inside, allowing the old lady to lean heavily on her and move back a step.

  Nancy remains standing outside the front door. DI Manvers is speaking to the elderly lady in low tones, but she cannot decipher anything that is being said because her head is full of white noise.

  After a few moments, the group at the door begin to move inside the house. PC Holt helps the old lady through and DI Manvers silently beckons Nancy inside, closing the door quietly behind her.

  The group shuffles into the sitting room, where the husk of another woman sits, slumped in the corner of the couch.

  Her brown hair is shot through with grey and her lips and skin look parched, as if something has sucked the very lifeblood out of her. For a moment, Nancy doubts she has ever seen her before and then she sees a glimmer of who this person used to be when hope stirs in her face at the sight of DI Manvers.

  The small room is gloomy, the blinds pulled low and curtains pulled to, shutting out as much natural light as possible without plunging the room into full darkness. Piles of neatly folded newspapers line the floor against two of the free walls and Nancy catches sight of Evie’s photograph and dramatic headlines on numerous editions.

  DI Manvers introduces everyone.

  ‘I’m Anita,’ the old lady murmurs. ‘And you know my daughter, of course.’

  ‘We’re here because we think we have some news, Mrs Cotter,’ he says softly. ‘About Evie.’

  ‘Have you found her?’ the woman croaks, sitting up with difficulty. A luminous quality temporarily lights up the dullness of her eyes and she fixes them on Nancy. ‘Is Evie coming home?’

  ‘Do you know where she is?’ Anita asks. ‘Is Evie alive?’

  ‘I’m afraid, as yet, we can’t say if that’s the case.’ DI Manvers looks at his feet.

  ‘Then do you think Evie is . . .’

  ‘At this point, we don’t know.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’

  ‘We’re unable to verify the facts at the present time for reasons we’ll explain later,’ DI Manvers continues. ‘But it has been brought to our attention that there is a stroke vi
ctim, a female patient, in Queen’s Medical Centre—’

  ‘What’s that got to do with Evie?’ the younger woman cries out, jabbing a finger at him. ‘Just spit it out. Please.’

  ‘The person I am referring to has in her possession a photograph of Evie with a digital date stamp from after she went missing. In the picture, Evie looks a little older and her hair has been dyed brown,’ DI Manvers explains.

  ‘I – I don’t understand.’

  ‘Mrs Cotter, we think this woman could be the person who abducted your daughter three years ago.’

  60

  Present Day

  The Nurse

  A strangled gasp escapes from Toni Cotter’s mouth. Her hand claws at her throat as if something invisible is squeezing the very life out of her.

  Nancy rushes over, sits next to her and gently pulls away her hand. Deep welts rise on Toni’s skin, like someone has scribbled all over it with a dark red crayon.

  PC Holt stares.

  ‘Can you get Toni a glass of water?’ Nancy asks her and she scuttles, almost thankfully, out of the room.

  Anita sits down heavily in a chair, staring at the floor.

  ‘Who is this person?’ Toni Cotter whispers. ‘Has she told you where Evie is?’

  Nancy watches as DI Manvers takes a breath, steeling himself to explain the worst. That they know now who took Evie but the woman is as good as dead.

  ‘This woman is paralysed following a stroke,’ he says gently. ‘She can’t speak or move. She is currently on a respirator as she cannot breathe unassisted.’

  Both Toni and her mother stare at him. Uncomprehending.

  ‘We don’t know if she’ll survive.’ He glances at Nancy.

  ‘But she has Evie’s picture; she must know where she is,’ Toni says, her voice raspy. ‘I want to see it, I want to see my daughter’s face.’

  ‘We have the photograph, Mrs Cotter,’ says DI Manvers. ‘We also have a photograph of the stroke patient in question. When you feel able, we’d like you to look at both pieces of evidence.’

  ‘I’m ready now.’ Toni Cotter sits up straighter, looks at Nancy and nods. ‘I’m ready right now.’

  PC Holt appears with a glass of water.

  ‘We’re ready,’ Anita confirms quietly.

  ‘Let’s take it nice and slowly,’ DI Manvers says, glancing at both women in turn. ‘Please, drink your water, Mrs Cotter, we’re in no rush. I appreciate this is a very traumatic time for you both.’

  ‘I’ve lived in hell, 24/7, for the last three years,’ Toni says. ‘Believe me, I’m more than ready.’

  Anita watches her daughter and then turns to DI Manvers. ‘We both are.’

  ‘Very well,’ he says, looking round the room. ‘Would it be possible to let a little more natural light in?’

  Toni Cotter shrinks back into her seat, like she’s worried she might turn to dust when the curtains are opened.

  ‘It’s just that your initial reaction is quite important,’ he explains. ‘You need to be able to see the photographs as clearly as possible first time.’

  ‘She hasn’t been out for months, you see.’ With difficulty, Anita gets to her feet. ‘We have the curtains shut all the time because she’s paranoid someone will see her and it’ll all start again.’

  ‘Sorry, all what?’ Nancy asks.

  ‘The abuse screamed at her in the street, the broken windows, the filthy messages daubed on the door.’

  Nancy glances across at Toni. She seems to have shrunk even smaller, disappearing bit by bit into the corner of the sofa.

  ‘Everybody blamed her, you see.’ Anita hobbles across the room on her stick. ‘Said she’d neglected Evie, hadn’t been there to pick her up. A drug addict, the newspapers said, when the most she’d ever taken was a couple of sedatives to try and cope.’

  She stops and regards her daughter, her heavily lined face creasing further with concern. ‘My girl was already destroyed, but those bastards, the press, they all but finished the job.’

  Anita tugs at the curtains and PC Holt helps her draw the blinds up halfway.

  ‘That’s better,’ the old woman murmurs, peering through the dusty glass as if she’d forgotten there was a world out there.

  DI Manvers moves across the room; Toni pulls herself up a little straighter and shuffles nearer to Nancy. The DI extracts two photographs from his inside jacket pocket and hands Toni the first one.

  Nancy sees it is the photograph of Evie she found in the patient’s handbag.

  ‘Can you please tell us,’ DI Manvers says gently. ‘If this is your daughter, Evie?’

  Toni stares at it for a few seconds. Everything – her expression, her body, her eyes – seems completely frozen. Everyone in the room holds their breath. A car passes on the road outside; a man walks by chatting animatedly on his phone. The sun ducks behind the clouds and the room darkens slightly.

  And then it begins.

  Toni’s hands begin to shake and a low, primal growl starts from deep inside her, climbing up through her body and exiting her mouth as a tortured howl that makes Nancy want to sob and run from its source.

  Instead, she reaches over to Toni to hold her, but the younger woman shrugs her off.

  ‘Where is she?’ Toni howls, swaying back and forth in her seat. ‘Where is my baby?’

  Anita sits on the arm of the sofa, crying and stroking Toni’s hair.

  ‘They’ll find her, love. Isn’t that right, DI Manvers?’ She looks up, her eyes filled with mourning, longing for him to say the words. ‘Tell us you’ll find Evie.’

  DI Manvers opens his mouth and then presses his lips together. His face has turned a shade paler. He walks over to Toni and crouches down on his haunches in front of her.

  ‘Toni, can you tell me if this is Evie? Is this your daughter?’

  Toni closes her eyes and nods, her whole body rocking in time with her head.

  DI Manvers reaches for her hand. ‘Toni, I can’t, I won’t, make any rash promises to you today. But I give you my absolute word that I’ll do everything, everything, in my power to find Evie. Do you believe that?’

  Toni opens her wet, red eyes and stares into his face, leaning slightly forward and squinting, as though she is trying desperately to see the future.

  ‘I believe you,’ she whispers. ‘I really do.’

  He stands up and looks at the remaining photograph in his hand. Nancy sees him take a long breath in, as if he is bracing himself for Toni’s reaction.

  ‘And this is a photograph taken of the female patient,’ DI Manvers says. ‘The doctor removed the respirator for only a few seconds while we took the photograph, so it’s a little rushed.’

  ‘Why are you helping her to breathe when she might have abducted Evie?’ Anita asks in a cold voice.

  ‘We only suspect this at the moment,’ DI Manvers says, and turns again to Toni. ‘Mrs Cotter, do you recognise this person?’

  Toni takes the photograph from him with shaking hands. Her eyes widen as they settle on the face in the picture. Her face instantly drains of colour. She stands up quickly, staring at the door. The photograph flutters to the floor and Toni follows it, her body crumpling like a discarded puppet.

  Nancy kneels at her side, gently laying her hand on Toni’s cheek. ‘She’s fainted. She’ll come round in a minute.’

  Soon, Toni opens her eyes and looks straight at Nancy.

  ‘It was her,’ she whispers, spluttering as the cracked and broken words emerge from her dry, parched throat. ‘All along, it was her. What has she done with my daughter?’

  Part II

  Present Day

  61

  Present Day

  Queen’s Medical Centre

  I wait and I wait and the clock keeps ticking and I wait and listen and wait . . .

  Still, when the door opens it is a surprise.

  I hear lots of feet shuffling into the room. I can smell them. Warm, sweaty bodies, desperate minds wanting to know just who I am and why I did what I did.<
br />
  I hear sniffing and snuffling and a man’s voice whispers, makes comforting noises, and two sets of feet shuffle forward, nearer to my bed. And they’re whispering to each other – too low for me to hear the words – and then the whispering and shuffling stops and then, all at once, Toni Cotter’s face is above mine.

  I might not have recognised her, had I not been expecting visitors. But it’s her alright. She looks terrible, a shadow of her former self. A ghost.

  I did that. I sucked the life right from her, the day I took Evie away.

  We stare into each other’s eyes. She doesn’t know if I can see her or not.

  But I know she sees me.

  ‘I trusted you,’ she whispers, a tear falling from her eye and splattering on my cheek. Now a man’s voice. ‘You recognise this person, Mrs Cotter?’

  She says nothing for a moment or two, and more tears explode onto my face.

  ‘Her name is Jo Deacon,’ Toni whispers. ‘I worked with her. I thought she was my friend.’

  She squeezes her eyes shut and tears cascade down onto my face – and I blink.

  I blink again and then I freeze.

  She doesn’t see me.

  Nobody sees me blink.

  62

  Present Day

  Toni

  The thing about nightmares is this.

  While you are asleep, while you can barely function within the terror, there is nothing you can do but ride the awfulness. Once you wake up, the nightmare is still there. But you can begin to fight it. There’s the slightest possibility that you can start to do something about it.

  Two days ago, I learned about Jo Deacon’s involvement in Evie’s disappearance, and the existence of a photograph of an older Evie, and I feel as if I have awoken from my nightmare.