Pine

by Francine Toon

  ‘And that’s about it, really. I took her home. To her parents.’ His voice is even, matter-of-fact. He tries to stay calm, but panic is rising.

  ‘Her parents didna see her last night.’

  Niall lets out a long, shaky breath. ‘Well, that’s about it, as I say.’

  ‘Thank you, Niall. So, to the best of your ability, please tell us in full what happened last night.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. Can you remind me of your names, officers?’

  The bald man exchanges a quick look with his colleague and says, ‘Officer Cameron.’

  ‘Officer Cameron,’ repeats Niall with a nod.

  ‘Officer Morrison,’ says the red-haired man.

  ‘Officer Morrison. Officer Cameron. Thank you. Well. I was at the Spar.’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘And she was there. Ann-Marie.’

  ‘Whereabouts in the Spar did you see her?’

  ‘The drinks aisle.’

  ‘The alcoholic section?’ says Cameron. He glances at his colleague, who is writing.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you knew she was under age?’

  ‘Yeah. I wasn’t expecting to see her. Didn’t notice her at first.’

  The conversation lapses and the red-haired policeman jots something else down on his pad. ‘And what were you buying?’

  ‘She was trying to buy wine, I think.’

  ‘What were you buying?’

  ‘Some food and a few bottles, like.’

  He nods and writes. ‘A few bottles. And, if you don’t mind us asking, Niall, did you buy her any alcohol?’

  ‘No, no, I didn’t. I told her that she was too young, and she shouldn’t be buying that stuff. Kids grow up too early these days.’ He wets his lips. Why does he sound guilty, even when he tells the truth? ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Right,’ says the red-haired policeman. Niall has forgotten his name already.

  He stares at his hands and hears the sound of pencils scratching. He scrapes his chair back a little.

  ‘And so,’ says Morrison or Cameron, ‘you took her back.’

  ‘No, wait. Sorry. I remember more clearly now. She said she was meeting her dad when I offered her a lift. Then I left her in the shop. I don’t know if she had alcohol in her backpack. I saw her on her own. Outside at the bus stop. And gave her a lift in the end.’ Inside his boot, the toes of his left foot curl.

  ‘Right, so you don’t know if she had any alcohol?’

  ‘No, that’s right, I don’t.’

  ‘OK. And what was she wearing, when you saw her?’

  ‘I … I canna mind. Light jacket, I think. Her hair is shorter now. She – was wearing a hat. I—’ He runs a hand over his head. ‘Couldn’t see her hair.’

  ‘Uh-huh. What kind of hat then?’

  When Niall tries to think back there are blank spaces. Ann-Marie is now missing. A blank space. ‘A woolly hat.’

  ‘We are searching the woods to see if we can find her. A bit about you then. What is your relationship with Ann-Marie?’

  ‘Relationship? How do you mean?’ The room feels unsteady.

  ‘Describe your relationship with Ann-Marie.’

  ‘She’s my neighbour’s kid.’ Again, he makes sure to sound reasonable, helpful.

  ‘OK. And did you see her often?’

  ‘No.’ He looks towards the window like some kind of escape route.

  ‘When was the last time you saw her? Before the supermarket.’

  ‘It was just the Spar. I canna mind, y’know. Maybe in the summer.’

  ‘She’s your neighbour’s kid and that was the last time you saw her?’

  ‘She’s at that school in Edinburgh. No. Hang on. I last seen her when she was looking after my kid, Lauren, and Ann-Marie took her back to hers. I was playing a ceilidh that night.’

  ‘When did Ann-Marie babysit your daughter?’ Their eyes are so trained on him that they stop his own gaze from wandering.

  ‘The other night,’ Niall says.

  ‘Specifically.’

  ‘I’ll have to check. Last Tuesday I think it was. Ceilidh up at the castle.’ He scratches the hair on his forearm.

  ‘So, back to last night, she got into your car and then what?’

  ‘I dropped her off home.’

  ‘Did you see her parents?’

  Niall feels an itch of impatience. ‘No.’ The truth is he can’t remember the events in sequence very well. He stopped earlier than he should have. He got angry.

  He goes through as many details as he can, all the time wondering how he sounds to them. They thank him for his time, without emotion, and when they shut the door, he remembers he did not drive her all the way home. There was the passing place. He remembers watching the ice blue of her anorak disappear in the rear-view mirror. He has failed, again. He goes to the cupboard and pours himself a large vodka, and then another.

  Back when Christine lived in the house, his friends would tell him privately, when they were drunk enough, that she was out of her tree. Her strange, bright clothes and hair that frequently changed colour. Silver rings and a bar in her ear. A nose stud. She may well have been beamed in from the Starship Enterprise. There were men who fancied her too; he knew that. Fascinated by her, or the idea of her, at least. Thought she was up to something kinky in the bedroom and they were almost right.

  After she left he had the word Forever tattooed on the left side of his ribcage. In recent years, the boys have often told him that he needs to move on. He would reply, ‘But who is there? But who is there?’ and they would leave him be. Who was there? Not the GP Catriona, he’s decided, sick with guilt. She doesn’t even come close.

  After Christine disappeared he flew into rages, real rages, and saw how, in all their years together, he had only pretended to be angry. Shaking, he would have to pull over into a lay-by. Or sit down on one of the chairs by the supermarket checkout while the world turned white. One time, when Lauren was at school, he took an axe to a fence post. Another time he took his axe into the woods at dusk and swung it hard against a tree and birds exploded into flight from the branches above. He drove the pickup out to the woods and built a bonfire as big as he could make it. He burnt junk and tyres. He burnt a guy. He played metal. He felt as though he was turning into a werewolf.

  A doctor came to visit and recommended counselling, but he refused. By that time his father was beginning to show signs of illness. Niall would drive forty minutes to visit him and watch daytime TV in silence. He remembers talking to his father once about Christine’s disappearance. They preferred not to mention these things.

  These days, he doesn’t want any more reminders. His work is erasure. He has his own medicine. He is OK. But occasionally still he finds himself on his knees.

  At one o’clock Lauren’s class form a queue by the door to say grace. Lauren has arrived just in time, red-faced and tired. Their teacher starts the prayer in a hushed tone while the children stay silent until the final line.

  ‘Some hae meat and canna eat,

  And some wad eat that want it,

  But we hae meat and we can eat,

  Sae let the Lord be Thankit!’

  When Lauren opens her eyes, she notices the tip of Mrs Gray’s nose is pink and her eye make-up a little smudged. The word about Ann-Marie has spread fast.

  The class walks in a crocodile across the car park to the shiny new high-school canteen. She and Billy usually queue up at the hot counter, but she doesn’t see him today. She sits next to Jenny and her friends who let her eat with them but don’t pay her much attention. Jenny is talking about a boy band on the talent show the night before.

  Lauren sighs and picks at her pizza slice. Her eyes feel red raw. The adrenaline has not quite gone. She feels too alert.

  ‘Did you not like them, Lauren? It was honestly so good. But the judges coulda been nicer, I thought. Especially Simon.’

  ‘No, she’s upset because it’s, you know … that girl,’ one says.

  Lauren shrugs and take
s another bite of her pizza. She doesn’t know if she wants to be like them, and wear their clothes, or if they are idiots. ‘Yeah. Kinda. My neighbour.’

  ‘She went to the high school?’ Jenny asks.

  Lauren shakes her head. ‘No, she goes to school down in Edinburgh, but she’s pals with Diane Armstrong?’

  The girls nod uncertainly and Lauren shifts in her seat. She can see they are dying to talk about it, but not in front of her. She finishes her pizza and gets to her feet, a little unsteady. ‘See you guys later.’

  The light outside is turning dusky as she makes her way along the walkway back to the primary school. Something hits the back of her head. She doesn’t look round or slow her pace but sees a bread roll bounce to the grass verge. She is about to turn into the car park when she hears running footsteps. Someone behind her covers her eyes with their hands. A child, but a strong child. Another twists her arms back.

  ‘Hey!’ Maisie’s bright voice is close to her ear. ‘Do you know what a Chinese burn is?’

  She feels Maisie’s cold hands wrap around her wrist and twist the skin in opposite directions. She struggles for the knife in her pocket, using her whole body to lunge away, but they pull harder and her body bends back.

  ‘Want a shower?’ she hears Maisie say, while another girl crows. The edge of a thermos appears in the corner of her eye. Something warm and viscous gloops over her face and into her nostrils. Little chunks settle in the hollows of her eyes and ears.

  ‘We found that rabbit by your house. Your dad cut its head off.’

  ‘Is it true you eat them?’

  ‘He better watch out. The police’ll be on to him this time. Everyone’s saying it.’

  ‘Rabbit killer,’ Maisie says.

  ‘You know those girls tell stories about your mum,’ the other girl chips in. ‘They’re trying not to let you hear.’

  Lauren coughs up carrot chunks and tries to twist away blind, her face stinging.

  ‘We all know he did it, Lauren. Everybody knows.’ They have stopped pinning her arms back and are standing close behind her, explaining matter-of-factly. ‘You know it, don’t you? Tell your dad we know.’

  Lauren jams her hand in her right coat pocket for her knife, but it’s empty, the same as the left. She feels the nub of a shoe close to her heel and stomps on it, hard, feeling the ridges of toes crunch flat. She turns around and wipes soup off her face with one hand while the other shoots out and rips out a small hank of Maisie’s hair. She begins to run fast down the open walkway, away from the howling. Her footsteps reverberate and her breath comes out in gulps. Her fists are hot with sticky soup and hair.

  ‘I’m gonna curse you. I’m gonna curse you,’ she repeats breathlessly until she reaches the cloakroom entrance.

  ‘Hie, Lauren!’ Billy walks out of the double doors with another boy, David. They are wrapped up in football scarves and hats. He runs to her. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Maisie.’ Rage is pulsing through her. Her own hair, thick with green gunk, could crawl off her head like an animal.

  ‘Honestly, enough’s enough.’ He looks over at his friend.

  ‘We’ll find them. I don’t hit girls, but you know. We’re gonna bloody find them,’ David says.

  Lauren’s anger flickers at his tone, this other boy, repeating something he has heard, something he ought to say. She smiles a fake smile, driving down anger and embarrassment and freezing it. She can feel the clump of Maisie’s hair growing sticky in her hand. ‘My dad’s gonna go mental,’ she says. She can see excitement flare in David’s eyes.

  Billy looks at her a second and says, ‘Here.’ He pulls off his Aberdeen beanie and thrusts it at her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just till you get to the toilets, so they don’t see. Go on.’

  She beams at him, scrunching the soup out of her hair. ‘Thanks. I’ll wash it for you.’

  ‘Go,’ Billy says.

  On her way to the cloakrooms, in the hot hat, Lauren checks her pockets again, but her knife is gone. She tries to remember the last time she used it.

  By the time Niall leaves the house at lunchtime, the sky is darkening and the air has a sharp bite. He stops at the Spar and walks past the cereal to the top of the booze aisle in a daze, staring at the labels.

  ‘Niall.’ Jill, the woman who served him last night, comes out of the back room behind him, pushing aside heavy strips of clear plastic that hang in the doorway. He hadn’t realized she knows his name. He nods.

  ‘Y’allright?’ she says as one startled syllable.

  ‘Yes, thank you. You?’

  ‘Have you heard about wee Ann-Marie?’ She jerks her chin to the door, the outside.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘I was telling Aileen, who’s at the till the now, mind when you were in here? Mind … she was in here too.’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘And you left together.’ She is serious now, giving space to the words.

  ‘Sorry?’ Was she the one who reported him to the police? He remembers how he left the shop and got into his car. He was alone. His heart is beating fast. He left the shop alone.

  ‘Mind yesterday evening. Yous left together.’

  ‘We didna … Jill. Yes, I bumped into her in the shop.’ He needs to sound calm and show none of the fury he feels. Treat it as a joke. ‘We didn’t leave together.’ He tries to laugh.

  ‘Ah. Did you not?’ She turns and walks into the next aisle, where he hears her voice. ‘Are you wanting any vodka?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ah. OK then.’

  ‘Fuckssake,’ Niall says and leaves the shop.

  21

  As they eat their mince and tatties that night Lauren feels so exhausted she could drop head first on to her plate. This afternoon was a struggle. She almost fell asleep at her desk. The thought of Ann-Marie has kept her awake. She says to Niall, ‘Maybe I could make some posters? Do they have a photo of Ann-Marie or I could draw a picture?’

  ‘No.’ Niall shakes his head. ‘Don’t worry. No, no. They’re doing posters.’ He doesn’t know this for certain yet, but he is sure someone will soon. ‘I think, love, just between you and me, it’s best we don’t get too involved.’

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Look. You know what they’re like round here, they’re all at it, gabbing away about us—’

  ‘Dad! She could be … she could be …’ She looks down at her plate, willing the tears to shrink back into her eyes, wanting to knock it to the floor.

  ‘The police know what they’re doing, love, OK? I’m just thinking about us as a family, what’s best for us. What’s best for you. C’mon, toots, eh? C’mon. You look like you’re about to pass out and it’s only half past six.’

  Lauren’s head swims as she looks at the peas embedded in the hill of mince. She remembers Maisie’s words and the way that woman sat on their sofa close to where she is sitting now, and the way she has vanished. Like a ghost. She remembers Vairi said Christine would come back to protect her. She remembers the circle of stones she made for Ann-Marie on the beach when she was little. Lauren tries to imagine the woman as Christine, even though she looks both too young and too haggard, and it’s hard. She steals a long look at her father, watching his jaw work the meat. Then she gets up to go to bed. She feels sick with exhaustion.

  ‘That’s it. You did well to go to school today. You need to keep warm. I’ll put some more coal in the boiler.’

  As she gets up, her legs feel wobbly. ‘Have people told her boyfriend?’ she asks at the foot of the stairs.

  ‘She’s got a boyfriend?’ Niall calls back from the table.

  ‘Yeah. I can’t remember his name, but I saw this photo of them, on a beach.’ Could he hurt a person?

  Niall comes to help her up to bed. ‘Where does he stay?’

  ‘He’s called Rory, I think, and he’s maybe at Ann-Marie’s school. I’m not sure. She didn’t want anyone to know.’

  ‘Don’t worry about all that now,’ he says, handi
ng her her pyjamas. ‘I’ll take care of it.’

  Once he’s sure Lauren has fallen asleep, Niall, having second thoughts, drives back to the shop and buys a bottle of Glenfiddich, two packets of crisps and a new Disney magazine for his daughter. It’s just gone eight. He is a methodical shopper. Sometimes he catches himself tracing a thumb over the drink label. Luckily Jill and Aileen are no longer on their shift.

  Back at home, he checks on Lauren and puts the magazine by her bedside, pouring himself a dram downstairs. He can’t face talking to Angela so he phones Kirsty. She tells him that Cherie at the petrol station has told her the police have interviewed two girls in the village. They mentioned this boyfriend but don’t know much about him.

  ‘They’re working fast, aren’t they?’ he says.

  Lauren sleeps for a while, then wakes up needing the bathroom, in a strange state of exhaustion and anxiety. She turns on the light, realizing only a couple of hours have passed. For a moment, the magazine on her bedside table makes her smile, then the sense of helplessness slides back. The day runs through her head, relentlessly, as the murmur of her father on the living-room phone drifts up from downstairs. She remembers Maisie, shoving her, then the strands of hair she grabbed as she fled.

  She locks herself in the bathroom with the spaewife’s book and lights a candle for Ann-Marie, carving her wish for her return into the wax before she burns it.

  She shivers when she thinks of Ann-Marie out there, somewhere, and wishes over and over again that someone or something will keep her safe.

  Next, her anger still raw, she washes the clump of Maisie’s hair under the tap, and, wringing it dry, drops it into one of the Ziploc bags her father uses for guitar strings and screws. Lauren leaves the hair carefully by the soap dish and writes sleepily on a piece of paper: I hereby freeze Maisie and her friends to bind them from causing me harm. She folds the paper, puts it next to the hair and fills the pouch with water.

  Her heart starts to beat fast as she creeps down to the living room and sees her father passed out on the sofa, his mouth open, snoring. She thinks about making a spell for her father, but decides against it. This evening has been enough.