by Ruth Harrow
I relay my thoughts to Will who immediately quashes them.
'I told you, it's just some troll mucking about. You don't want to find them. And you know we can't go to the police over it either. It would just drag everything up only for the person behind it all to get a telling off. It would spell more trouble for us. This person knows we won't report them, that's why they keep on doing it. Please, Hannah, block April's phone. Get a new number. I don't know why you let them get to you like this. It's not really April on the other end of the phone. You know that, don't you?'
'Sure,' I snap back, angry that he has adopted such a patronising tone.
He is quiet for a few moments, then he says, 'It's so nice to be away from the village, especially after being at the police station. You can't imagine how much I wish you were here with me right now.'
I have the same urge, stronger than anything else I have felt recently. Above everything else – the grief, the guilt, the anger, despair at Will's arrest and worry over Dad's health, the desire to be with my husband and daughter is the most powerful; I feel it with all my being.
I don't belong here.
44
I wake up early and rather than go through the malevolent messages on my phone again, I decide to do something useful and start packing. Mine and Will's things seem to have spread around the house more than I realised, but I focus on the bedroom to start with. I don't want to risk waking Dad too early.
Later in the morning, we eat breakfast and Dad announces he is going to pop out and pick up a local paper at the newsagents.
'The newsagents?' I say, looking up from my toast. 'What's wrong with the supermarket? Maybe we could go down together, get you stocked up with supplies before I leave?'
Dad sighs. 'I'm capable of doing my own shopping, you know. I've been doing it for years by myself. I always go down for a paper on a Thursday. Barbara will worry if I don't turn up. It's never a good sign when a regular breaks a habit. It means something is up. Besides, I need a decent stroll after being cooped up for days. I'll go around the long way, stretch my legs a bit. Shouldn't be longer than an hour.'
Once Dad is gone I feel isolated in the house again. I gather bits and pieces of mine and Will's as I see them here and there and take them upstairs.
After a few trips, I find my skin starts to bead with sweat again. The house still holds the sweltering heat from yesterday. I puff fine strands of hair from my face and as I catch myself in the hallway mirror I see my cheeks look flushed.
I tell myself it won't be long before I have all our things packed away. It makes me too anxious to think of staying another day in this place. At least when I am finished, our imminent departure will feel more real.
Back in the bedroom, I unplug Will's laptop from where he left it charging at the dressing table. As I start to wind up the cable, I think of how Will managed to track Eva so easily with a simple app.
Surely I could do the same with April's phone?
I pack away Will's laptop in the case I pull from under the bed. There would perhaps be something on it that might help me in this task, but it wouldn't do me any good; Will keeps his laptop password protected. I have tried various times over the years to guess the secret phrase, but have never been successful.
It is something of a relief to take a break from rushing about for a few minutes. I step out into the garden and feel the moisture from my skin evaporate a little.
The day outside is barely cooler than yesterday. The mugginess persists, but the absence of the sun behind layers of thick grey cloud makes the climate a little more bearable.
I drop down onto a patio chair and tap different searches into my phone. After a few minutes, I find some promising leads and quickly try to familiarise myself with the process, aware in the back of my mind that I am against the clock.
After some research, I convince myself that I will be able to track down my sister's phone. According to the Apple website all I need to do is login to April's iCloud account and I should be able to see the location of her phone instantly.
My stomach bubbles with a strangled sort of excitement. I don't know why, but I glance all around me outside and back into the house through the conservatory doors to check I am not being watched. The familiar sense that I am trespassing where I shouldn't rises in me. I try and shake it off – I know what I am doing is right.
No matter what Will might say.
A few taps later I am presented with a login box. I sit for a moment and squint at the screen. The light reflecting from the grey cloud glares in my eyes, making them water.
I sent pictures of Eva's last birthday party to my sister via email. Guilt rakes my insides when I remember that April hadn't even seen her niece in person on that particular occasion, having to make do with a brief digital overview of the event instead.
My heart hammers as I tap the information into the login boxes. Armed with April's email address, I am now faced with the challenge of guessing her password.
One by one, I enter my ideas, but none of them work. I try her birthday, her first cat's name; the name of our family house, her licence plate. Where she was born, the name of the village.
After a few minutes, I realise I need to take it easy. Through second-hand experience of Will's work, I know that entering too many passwords will most likely get the account locked. It might even alert the person with April's phone that I am trying to find a way in.
I don't want to give them any warning. I want them to be caught off guard.
I venture into the house and rummage for some paper and a pen. I'll jot down the ideas I have already tried and make a list of new options to try. Something obvious might come to me when I see it all written down.
I pick up the stack of Post-it notes Mum must have used to scribble her message on and stop dead.
Noises from upstairs reach me and I drop the notebook down and move to the bottom of the stairs. As I put a tentative hand on the bannister, I'm sure I hear my wardrobe door close.
Someone is in the house.
'Dad?'
It strikes me as odd that he would be back so soon. When my father walks, he likes to be gone for a good while; as though proving to himself that he is still able to.
Something feels wrong.
Will isn't supposed to be here until later this afternoon.
From the living room, I peer out and can see the spot of driveway where Will and I park our car. It isn't there.
Footsteps upon the floorboards above tell me someone is now in Dad's room.
Heavy, booted footsteps that Dad certainly wouldn't have allowed move briskly around the room. The sound of sliding drawers and the opening of cabinets vibrate through the ceiling before moving into Eva's room.
But I know the heavy tread does not belong to my daughter.
45
Did Dad lock the door behind him when he left? He has a habit of only doing it right before he goes to bed at night to allow his paying guests to come and go as they please.
Instead of hovering in the hallway feeling vulnerable, I retreat into the kitchen and pick up my phone. I feel instantly safer and wonder if I should dial the police ready, entering the last digit if I need to.
Before I get the chance to do anything else, however, the thunder of footsteps is rumbling on the staircase.
I hold my breath and listen hard. It is difficult to hear the tread of the intruder over the sound of my beating heart. I can't tell which way they have gone until there is a rustling in the kitchen doorway and a tall, lanky man appears. His body fills up most of the frame.
For a long moment, we simply look at each other.
Then the stranger gives me the briefest of nods and says, 'Hello there.'
He ignores me where I stand at the sink and starts pulling open drawers in here too.
My mouth falls open. 'Can I help you?' I ask, breathlessly. My nose crinkles as the smell of stale-sweat fills the kitchen, stinging my nostrils.
I stand up straighter and try to return
my breathing to normal, swallowing down my anxious heart. At the same time, I am staggered by this man's unabashed rudeness, whoever he is.
His dark hair is wild-looking and well overdue a cut, his beard too; both are dusted with grey tufts here and there. His black jeans are greying and ripped at the knees and are spattered with mud. His backpack looks like the newest thing he might own, but it is packed so tightly it puts the navy canvas at risk of tearing.
His tone is brisk, but not friendly. He barely gives me a glance over his shoulder, intent on rummaging through my father's house whilst he isn't here. 'Oh, don't mind me,' he says hoarsely. 'I am just looking for my raincoat.'
'Your raincoat?'
'Yep. Got as far as Worcester before I noticed it was missing. Thought I'd better pick it up before this weather changes. It's a lifesaver in autumn showers. Stops my gear getting wet.'
I notice the sole of the man's walking shoes has peeled away and flaps against the kitchen tiles as he moves from cupboard to cupboard.
'How did you get in?' I ask.
He stops rummaging and gives me a strange look before turning back and using his filthy-looking hands to lift piles of freshly-laundered tea-towels. He peers towards the back of the drawer. 'Tony always leaves the door open. Lock-down is at eleven pm.'
'You know my father?'
'Of course I do. The council put me up here for a week at the beginning of July, but Tony let me stay on at his own expense. Nice chap, he is. Heart of gold. Don't know where he would keep lost property though ...'
He puts his hands on his hips and looks around the kitchen.
I let out a breath. 'Look, I don't think it's here. Maybe you left it somewhere else … on your travels.'
'Well, if you don't mind, I'll look in the lounge again.'
'Actually, I do mind. I'm Tony's daughter. My family are staying here at the moment. I don't think it's appropriate to go rummaging around the house whilst there are other guests.'
He squints at me, as though struggling to make me out. His whiskery beard twitches unnecessarily, 'I don't think Tony would mind,' he says. 'We've become good friends, we have.'
'All the same, I think you should leave. I'll tell my father to look out for your coat.'
The stranger stares at me intently for a few long moments in silence. I think he will argue further, but then he wanders through to the hallway, humming loudly and aggressively as he goes.
He opens the front door and says, almost to himself. 'Daughter, eh? Is that the one that hasn't visited since she left home?'
He marches off at speed towards the lane, not waiting for an answer.
I shut the front door firmly once the loudly humming figure disappears behind the hedges. Then I lock the door carefully, checking the mechanism won't budge. There aren't any bolts. Dad will have to ring the bell when he gets back. I don't care.
My hands shake as I lean against the door and take deep breaths, and not just with fear. I'm furious with Dad. I must have strong words with him before I leave.
Can't he see the danger he is putting himself in?
Why would my father let that man stay in his home for free? He isn't running a charity.
The father I know wouldn't ever have done such a thing, preferring a less hands-on approach to philanthropy via his wallet. Unless his personality has changed dramatically since we lived under the same roof. Or someone else put him up to it. Penny, perhaps? Would that have been her idea?
My eyes come to rest on the navy blazer hanging lonely on its hook in the hallway. I feel suddenly protective over it. Had the stranger touched it? I have the urge to slip it from the hook and pack it away in my suitcase with my own clothes, but I resist.
I mentally shake myself and wander back into the kitchen, trying to pick up the thread of what I was doing before I was interrupted.
I reach for the notebook and pen and try to remember which passwords I have already tried, but now I am unsure.
I groan in frustration. The information is gone. But even if it wasn't, I know the idea is futile – April's password could be anything in the world. I have no idea what was important in her life as an adult; I wasn't part of it.
I was always at the end of a phone, behind an email, never truly there for her. I was busy playing happy families with Will and Eva. I wasn't there for my sister to reach out to in her final weeks.
I return to packing, picking up things gingerly and checking nothing is missing. The intruder has left an imprint on each of our rooms. Even though he was only here for a short time the room feels tainted. Our privacy has been shattered.
I open all the windows to try and air the rooms.
I cringe as I realise I had left a pile of dirty laundry on the bed earlier. I pick up a handful of dirty knickers and stuff them inside a carrier bag and into my suitcase.
I am just finished in time for the frantic ringing of the doorbell.
It is Dad.
I was so consumed in packing our things away that I forgot all about locking the door earlier.
My father is annoyed that he got locked out, but I match his anger when I tell him what happened whilst he was out. He doesn't see my point of view and we end up in a row.
To top it all off, he has come back with a bag of shopping and I hear the clink of wine bottles as he takes it through to the kitchen, his cheeks red from our disagreement.
I bite my lip and know that I should talk him into taking better care of himself. But I know my efforts here are just as futile as they were with Reg. Stubborn people won't be helped even if it is in their best interests to listen. The more I try, the more they seem to resist.
I sigh and put the kettle on as Dad loads his acquisitions into the refrigerator behind me; the bottles clink loudly as he slides them into the shelf. Perhaps some tea will promote some peace between us. Will and Eva are due to arrive in a little while to pick me up. I don't want to leave bad feeling behind with my father when I go.
I puff air onto my hot face and shake a handful of blouse. I'm still sweating from bustling about, gathering our possessions up from around the house.
The kettle boils in the heavy silence. When my phone buzzes, I am glad of the distraction.
I pull it towards me and the small thumbnail image it presents is the focus of my attention. I tap on it. As the image fills the screen, my stomach drops horribly and my heart misses a beat.
I feel suddenly as though I'm falling.
My phone slips through my hot fingers, but I can still see the picture as though it is burned upon my mind.
It is our car.
Our family vehicle is upside down on a country lane. A mangled mess. A tangle of scratched cerulean metal bent and badly distorted out of shape and surrounded by smashed glass and debris.
My vision fades as though it is an image on an old television set that has just been switched off. The picture grows rapidly smaller and slides further away.
I am falling into blackness.
April
Voices sound in the hallway. My heart settles back down again. For a second I thought he was here already. The chattering is nothing more than my noisy neighbours down the hall. It is New Years Eve. Thankfully, it sounds as though they are taking the party somewhere else for a change.
I look at the clock. He should be here soon.
He probably had plans with my little sister, but I can't help it. Tonight, I need him.
I can't stand it any more. Someone knows. They won't leave me alone. They insist that I return an object I can't possibly have: Paige Wakefield's necklace, of all things.
My phone buzzes with another message.
I know you have it. Hand it over and this all goes away.
I quickly text back an adamant reply. Why can't they take no for an answer?
Of course I don't have it. Leave me alone.
I wanted desperately to block the number. I was just about to do it in a rush of fear last week. I was going to ignore it all. Forget. It's what I have been trying to do for m
ost of my life. But then they mentioned Hannah.
Has she managed to forget? I see her photos on Facebook. I see the ones she sends to Mum and Dad. Occasionally I get an email with an attached image or two as well. She looks happy. I try not to look at him. Her daughter is gorgeous, though. I find comfort in the fact that she seems to take more after our family. I try to tell Hannah this in a reply or convey it during one of our brief stifled visits but it is so difficult.
Will always seems to dodge my visits to his house, however brief they are. Always, it seems, he has somewhere else to be. I'm glad.
Since I told him it was over back towards the end of that summer I have never once thought I would like to see him again.
My only regret is that my little sister did not listen when I warned her about him.
She will realise one day. I just hope it won't be too late.
The doorbell rings and I feel a sense of relief wash over me straight away.
I despise myself when I glance over my reflection in the mirror. As if I care what he thinks of me after all these years.
I've only invited him here because I have to talk to someone. And, given our history, he seemed like the only choice.
He should understand better than anyone. Although he doesn't fully know what I have lost ...
He will soon enough.
I plan to leave him in no doubt after tonight what he has cost me.
46
'Hannah?!'
I don't know why, but the tiles of the kitchen floor seem close. They are pleasingly cold against my hot skin. My heart beats oddly in my chest. My pulse is slow, threatening to stop.
I am aware of strong arms around me. The way the warm hands squeeze my shoulders is comforting. I want nothing other than to lie down until my head stops spinning, but I have the feeling I was in the middle of doing something.
There was an important thing I had to do. But what?