Книга - Someone You Know
Someone You Know
Olivia Isaac-Henry
Edie was Tess’s twin sister. She was fourteen.She had her whole life ahead of her.And then one day Edie left school, and was never seen again.Tess has never given up hope of finding Edie. But ten years later, her body is found in the reservoir near where they went to secondary school.As the police begin to investigate, the spotlight falls on Tess’s family and those closest to her. Tess is faced with a number of questions – but who should she turn to for the answers when she can’t even trust her own family?Everyone has secrets. What really matters is how far you'll go to protect them…
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Copyright © Olivia Isaac-Henry 2019
Cover design © Alison Groom 2019
Cover illustrations © Shutterstock
Olivia Isaac-Henry asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © February 2019; ISBN: 9780008317751
Version: 2018-12-12
For Sylvia and Kester
Table of Contents
Cover (#u856bbf51-1b82-5785-a20a-9d7898075bde)
Title Page (#u0fb91f75-3f2b-5f00-be4b-d04d20372384)
Copyright (#uacf772de-1efb-58c7-9312-1eae53342159)
Dedication (#u852df303-420d-51d1-8561-bd839f65682f)
Chapter 1 (#u6c1ab595-9726-52f4-a4e8-34be71d5c60b)
Chapter 2 (#u7dfa109b-cd3a-5490-ad73-d49a1257f8d5)
Chapter 3 (#u7d194b8e-4fa0-5e3e-8e3d-92c2cce40dad)
Chapter 4 (#ub3f1fa26-6124-560e-8231-01d5faa7657c)
Chapter 5 (#u6cf3e1cb-899a-5ac0-b466-0009b3b1aa15)
Chapter 6 (#u651a0604-d5a4-587a-a5bd-eafc8f721dd9)
Chapter 7 (#u4ef4fca7-7837-50be-8ffb-1acfd46c2388)
Chapter 8 (#ubb0d241e-921d-5af7-8887-d9342cf7f8b1)
Chapter 9 (#u234c9ebc-7f21-5e1b-990a-5b4a28b945e9)
Chapter 10 (#u55e11105-3a06-5063-bd79-bee0405f7246)
Chapter 11 (#ubdfb44ca-257d-59e3-913e-ab4537fd7a1d)
Chapter 12 (#u7c077eb0-c4a0-55f8-b83a-30d4f4bb457f)
Chapter 13 (#u49cf2a07-9cb5-5444-9770-2b494a1c2d81)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 37 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 38 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 39 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 40 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 41 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 42 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 43 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 44 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 45 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 46 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 47 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 48 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 49 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 50 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 51 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 52 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 53 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 54 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 55 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 56 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 57 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 58 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 59 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 60 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 61 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 62 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 63 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 64 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 65 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 66 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 67 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 68 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 69 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 70 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 71 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 72 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 73 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 74 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 75 (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#u4d601886-8be4-5b79-8fab-57d060366f08)
Tess: June 2018
Walking home, it’s nearly light. The constant drum of water on my skull melts into the bass beats still looping through my head and the slap of my feet on the pavement. The weather’s broken, thunderstorms have driven people from the streets and I have London to myself. Almost. I can hear Edie behind me, the faint splash of her footsteps.
I come in and drink a glass of water. Until it touches my lips, I don’t realise how thirsty I am. I down two more. Only when I finish do I notice the trail of mud and rain through the flat. I can’t be bothered to mop it up.
In the bathroom, I rough-dry my hair and put it into a topknot, then tiptoe to the bedroom, pull on an old T-shirt and creep in next to Max. It’s my turn to take the lounge, but I can’t face a night alone on the lumpy sofa. Asleep, Max forgets we’re no longer together. He rolls over to put an arm across me and I curl up against his chest, absorbing the warmth of his body. Feeling his bulk and soft breath against my skin lets me pretend nothing has changed, until I catch the faint whiff of perfume, Chanel, not mine. Has he found someone else already? I don’t care. I can’t be alone tonight.
I close my eyes, but sleep is far away. At some level I’m aware my body is tired and my limbs ache. But my mind is running fast. Images of bars, dancers, grubby hands grabbing at me in grubby cubicles … Then Edie. Always Edie.
Twenty years have passed quickly, but the individual days are long and the nights even longer. Wherever I’ve been, whomever I’m with, whatever I’ve taken, it’s never enough, I always see her.
*
‘Tess.’
Edie’s voice. I sit up. My mobile’s ringing. It feels like seconds since I shut my eyes. Max’s imprint in the sheets is cold. He must have gone to the gym hours ago. Was he angry with me for sneaking in next to him when I should be on the sofa, or did he wake, his arms around me, and wish for a moment that we were still together? I look to the bedside table in hope. There’s no mug. He used to make me a cup of tea before leaving in the morning.
The mobile’s still ringing. I pick up.
‘Tess, it’s Cassie. You’re late.’
‘Shit.’
I look at the clock, it’s nearly ten.
‘Nadine’s asking for you. You better get in quick; there’s a meeting at half eleven.’
‘I’m on my way.’
I roll off the bed. Pain runs up my ribs and back and I land on my knees. I slip my fingers under my T-shirt. Some of the material is stuck to me. I peel it back. The sharp sting makes me shudder. A thin scratch runs from the bottom of my shoulder blade to under my left breast and my front ribs are bruised, not too bad but a little raised. I think back but can’t remember hurting myself.
The blood leaves a faint iron smell. And I smell. Not of me, but of other people’s clammy bodies.
The shower is as hot as I can take it. Water and steam scald my skin, the pain doesn’t matter. I have to cleanse myself of last night.
Afterwards, I dab at the scratch with TCP. I don’t have to worry about Max noticing now he’s broken up with me. Judging by the lingering scent of Coco Mademoiselle last night, he’s not changing his mind.
Cassie once asked why I was with someone as dull as Max. Maybe because he is dull. He reminded me of Dad, quiet and caring. ‘Be careful of the road,’ became ‘You shouldn’t drink so much, you shouldn’t take that stuff, you don’t sleep enough or eat properly.’ I never did. He was familiar, safe and knew me from back home; he knew Edie, too. So there’s none of the awkward pauses I get when I tell people about her, a shuffle of the feet, oh I’m so sorry, then change the subject. We’re two mixed-race kids from a nowhere Midlands town who’ve lost their mothers. Mine was killed by a drunk lorry driver. Max’s ran off with his school physics teacher, Mr Kent. Max always changes the vowel. There’s nothing to hide or explain. Being with Max was easy. He’s kept me anchored. Without him, I’m worried I’ll float away, adrift in disarray. Last night was just a glimpse of the chaos waiting to swallow me up once he goes and I’m alone again. If there wasn’t three months still to run on the tenancy agreement, which neither of us can afford on our own, he’d have left already. I don’t even know where I’ll go. Back to a room in a shared house, my milk missing from the fridge, other people’s hair stuck to the side of the bath. And what else? Meeting men in bars, lost weekends, lost jobs, Dad having to come and take me home because I’ve stopped getting out of bed. I’m nearly thirty-five. Other women my age have houses, husbands and children. I’m on the verge of being homeless and alone.
But what Max wants, moving back home and having children, terrifies me more than the chaos. How could I ever have a child and stay sane? She’d not be allowed to walk to school alone or go to sleepovers or have boyfriends. I’d never leave her side knowing one day she could disappear like Edie and I’d be left forever wondering. A child raised in a glass cage. And what sort of life is that for a child or for me? Max always thought I’d change my mind about having children. I won’t.
My phone beeps with an incoming text. Cassie: GET A MOVE ON.
Half an hour of dawdling between the bedroom and bathroom to clean my teeth, spray on deodorant, put on a loose-fitting blouse, jeans and strappy sandals, comb my hair, drag mascara across my lashes and I’m ready to leave the flat. Last night’s rain has raised the humidity and the tube’s heat and claustrophobia will be too much today, so I catch the bus. It’s slower but I’m already late and at least I’ll be able to breathe.
A red light halts our two yards of progress along the Caledonian Road. From the top deck I watch a girl pass by on the street below. She’s in school uniform with curly hair that hangs to her waist. It’s not her. I know it’s not her. I’m not going to look. The bus lurches forwards. I turn around. Sensing my stare, the girl glances up. Other than the hair, she’s nothing like Edie and she’s a schoolgirl. I forget Edie’s grown up now. I have to believe she’s grown up.
*
At work, the office intern is hovering by the door. I smile at him.
‘Be a love and get me a coffee will you, Oliver?’
‘Sure,’ he says. ‘And it’s Oscar.’
‘Of course, sorry. Oscar. Americano.’
‘No milk, no sugar. I remember.’
‘You’re a star.’
I head for my desk. It’s not unusual for people in our office to turn up late and dishevelled. In advertising sales most of our pay is commission, so it’s your own loss. And on my good days I bring in a lot of sales. Only there haven’t been so many good days recently and I can’t remember the last time I was at my desk by nine. The laptop flickers to life and I lean back in my chair. I used to be able to switch myself on and off like that computer. Not any more. Now the previous evening lingers until early afternoon.
My coffee arrives. Oscar tries to make small talk. I tell him I’ve too much work to do to sit around chatting. I sip the coffee and stare at my screen for ten minutes then open a spreadsheet. My mobile rings. It’s Dad. He works for his brother, my uncle Ray, so gets away with doing very little. He often rings up during the day to pass the time and chats on about the weather, how it’s affected the garden or the mid-week West Brom match. He asks after me and after Max. We never mention Edie. From our conversations, you’d never know I had a twin.
I’m not in the mood today and send his call to voicemail.
*
Whatever was keeping me buzzing last night has long since left my system and my mind has gone the same way as my body. Caffeine isn’t doing the trick. I need rest, so head for the toilets. As I walk past, Nadine taps her watch.
‘Ten minutes,’ she says.
Not enough time for a nap.
Instead, I splash water on my face.
‘Your mascara’s gonna run.’
A figure emerges from the cubicle behind me. Flawless skin, neat hair, ironed clothes. Cassie. The last time I’d seen her was about 3 a.m., when she was dancing with some vaguely famous DJ. Now, she turns up looking like someone who’s had eight hours’ sleep whilst being drip-fed wheatgrass.
‘How do you manage it, Cass?’ I say. ‘Weren’t you out as late as me?’
‘Out, but not out of it. You need to slow down, Tess Piper.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ I say.
I pat my face dry with a paper towel. Its rough texture scrapes against my skin.
‘Seriously, you look terrible,’ she says.
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘Anytime.’
We laugh, which hurts my ribs.
There’s something about Cass that reminds me of Edie. Despite being cousins, they don’t look alike. It’s more the elegance she gives her clothes. If I wore a tight-fitting top with short feather sleeves, I’d look like a drag queen. Cassie looks like a model, long-necked and glossy. You’d imagine her to be highly strung, but she’s easy-going and fun. Nadine passes on our not so infrequent fuck-ups to her and soon the clients are cooing.
She pulls a can of Red Bull from her bag.
‘Even with a good night’s sleep you’d need one of these to get through Nadine’s strategy meetings.’
‘Thanks.’
I take it and tug on the ring pull. It smells of bubble gum and makes me wrinkle my nose.
‘Drink it,’ she says. ‘You shouldn’t even be here in your state.’
‘I’ve come in worse.’
‘But y’know … with what you told me.’
The drink’s sickly sweetness bubbles on my stomach. What the hell did I tell her?
‘You’ve been with Max for nine years. You’re not going to get over it in one night.’
I don’t remember telling her this. I’ve made a point of not telling anyone, hoping Max will change his mind and we can limp on as we are.
‘Cass, I’m fine.’
My stomach contracts. I think I’m going to throw up.
Cassie finishes washing her hands.
‘Maybe you two can still work things out.’
I give a non-committal, ‘Hmm.’
Cassie gives me a quick smile and squeezes my shoulder.
‘Three minutes,’ she says.
I wait till the click of her heels disappears down the corridor, then dive into the nearest cubicle. All the sugary red fizz shoots straight up my nose as I retch into the bowl. Cass is right, I need to slow down. I shouldn’t have told her about Max.
I return to the sink and rinse my mouth out. It’s less than one minute till the meeting and Nadine always starts on time. In the mirror I look old and the strip light gives my skin a muddy-green tinge, my face looks drawn and puffy at the same time. Maybe in natural light I only look tired.
I sit down at the central desk just as Nadine is organising her papers. The meeting starts with Nadine banging on about professionalism and commitment. I look round the table, as if this applies to everyone but me. My phone rings. Dad again. Nadine glares at me.
‘We turn our phones to silent before meetings,’ she says in the manner of a teacher reprimanding a troublesome pupil.
‘Sorry,’ I mutter and send Dad to voicemail again.
Nadine moves on to monthly targets. I stare out of the window. Last night’s rain is just a memory and a relentless heat, unnatural to the English summer, reclaims the city. Hot air shimmers off the buildings and people huddle in bus shelters, desperately seeking out the tiniest sliver of shade.
Why can’t I remember what I said to Cass? I need to remember. I need to slow down. Something has to change.
I look round the table. Soraya’s my age. She’ll have dropped her kids off for nursery before work and has a nutritionally balanced packed lunch to put in the fridge. Her linen dress looks freshly pressed and her shoes are dust-free. Adrianne’s a couple of years younger than me. She and her boyfriend have bought and renovated a house in Tufnell Park. They regularly eat at Le Gavroche and attend cultural events at The Barbican. Her city shorts and cotton blouse strike just the right balance between fashionable and professional. These are the women I should be emulating, not the chaotic twenty-somethings like Cassie, who can go out all night and wake up in the morning daisy fresh. For them it’s a phase, in two or three years they’ll morph into Soraya and Adrianne. By then I’ll be nearly forty.
I don’t notice the meeting has finished until people stand up and start drifting away. Nadine is still tapping on her laptop.
‘A word before you go, Tess,’ she says, still typing.
‘Sorry about being so late, there was— ’
‘Yes, I know,’ she says. ‘The traffic, the trains. I didn’t realise you were the only person in the office who uses public transport.’ She looks up. ‘I don’t want to have to take this to HR, so it’s an informal chat this time.’ She lets her words sink in. My mouth’s still open mid excuse when she continues, ‘But you’re not adding much value to the team right now. The lateness, missing targets, complaints from clients.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m looking for a bit of passion or, better still, some new ideas. It’s why we hired you.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. Things have been a bit difficult lately. I’ll sort myself out.’ I can’t lose my job on top of everything else. ‘And I’ve got some ideas, good ideas, new social media strategies. I’ve been working through them this week. I’m just not ready to present.’
‘Really? Tess, that’s great. We’d love to see you back on form.’
Christ, she’s genuinely excited about this. I’m not even that enthusiastic about my vices any more. I strain my jaw into a smile, which sets off a throbbing in my temples, and I go back to slump behind my desk and pretend to look at spreadsheets until Nadine goes to a meeting in another building. Then I go to the Café Nero over the road for another Americano. I smoke a cigarette outside with the coffee before returning to my desk to browse the Net-a-Porter website for clothes I can’t afford, ones that will turn me into Soraya and Adrianne. My phone rings. It’s Dad again. This time I pick up.
‘Tess.’
His voice sounds different, strained and breathless.
‘Tess,’ Dad repeats.
The phone feels suddenly heavy in my hand.
‘Dad,’ I say.
‘Something’s happened, Tess.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m at home. The police are here.’
The edges of the room begin to blur.
‘What’s happened?’
Cassie puts down the folder she’s holding and looks over to my desk.
‘Tess, I don’t know how to tell you.’
‘Stop it, Dad. You’re frightening me.’
Cassie’s by my side. My throat tightens, I can’t breathe. I know now why he’s been ringing. I know what he’s going to say.
‘Sweetheart,’ he says. ‘It’s her. They’ve found Edie.’
Chapter 2 (#u4d601886-8be4-5b79-8fab-57d060366f08)
Edie: August 1993
Edie gulped in the smoke drifting towards the kitchen door. Tess was helping Dad pile up the coals on the barbecue. Soon, the blackened lumps would stop smoking and Uncle Ray would cook her burger. It had to be Uncle Ray. His were the best, not burnt on the outside and raw in the middle like Dad’s. Then they’d cut the cake, open the presents and it would really feel like their birthday.
She ran out onto the lawn calling to Tess, who turned around just as Mr Vickers came out of his back door. The smoke was billowing across the garden and over the fence. He waved his arms around as if about to suffocate. Dad was too busy fussing with the coals to look up. In the end, Mr Vickers stomped back into his house and slammed the door.
Edie grinned at Tess, who rolled her eyes, old sucking lemons. They laughed and Edie grabbed Tess’s hands and span her round. Sucking lemons, sucking lemons. She leant back and they span faster, round and round. Edie tipped her head to the sky and was momentarily blinded by the high sun. She closed her eyes and absorbed the heat, leaning further back, spinning faster and faster.
‘Too fast, Edie,’ Tess said.
She sounded far away. Blood rushed round Edie’s head. She felt as if her feet could lift off the ground and she would fly.
‘Too fast, Edie.’
She relaxed her grip. Tess’s hands slipped from hers and she shot towards the lawn and landed flat on her back. She opened her eyes to the empty blue sky and started laughing before pulling herself onto her elbows. Tess was splayed in the flower bed. Edie laughed harder. Dad ran over from the barbecue.
‘Tess, love, are you hurt?’
Tess’s face was scrunched up ready to cry.
‘I’m OK,’ she said quietly and rubbed her arm.
Dad pulled her to her feet.
‘Are you sure you’re alright?’
‘Yes, Dad.’
He glanced down at the flattened flowers, the pretty blue ones he’d planted for Mum. They were difficult to grow in the heavy clay soil, but he had found a way. He didn’t say anything about them and brushed Tess down instead.
Edie jumped to her feet. Tess still looked as if she were about to cry. She mustn’t cry, not on their birthday.
‘I’ll get you some lemonade,’ Edie said.
She ran into the kitchen via the side door. The dim light and cold contrasted with the day outside. Edie looked through their lounge to see Auntie Becca bustling her way through the front door, two bowls of salad, a lasagne and a trifle balanced in her arms.
‘I thought I’d bring these, Gina.’
A blur of black and tan tore past. Auntie Becca’s knees jerked forwards and her body fell backwards into the wall, as her Welsh terrier rushed to jump up at Edie. She flapped him away. He sniffed the bottom of the stairs, gave one bark, before running through the kitchen and out into the garden.
Mum dashed towards Auntie Becca.
‘Are you alright?’
Somehow, Auntie Becca had held onto all the dishes. Mum took them from her and put them down on the kitchen counter. Edie examined them. The trifle looked alright, but there was no point in a lasagne when they were having a barbecue and Mum’s salads looked better than the pile of limp leaves in Auntie Becca’s patterned glass bowls.
‘Thank you, Gina,’ Auntie Becca said.
She straightened up and smoothed down her trousers with her palms.
‘These look good.’ Mum indicated towards the food. ‘Lucky they didn’t end up on the floor. That dog’s quite a handful.’
‘Oh, Pepe. He just gets so excited in new houses. Likes to make himself at home everywhere. I took him to my aunt Jeanie’s the other day, he jumped straight on her lap. I’m surprised she let him leave, she was so besotted,’ Auntie Becca said. ‘And happy birthday to you, Edie.’
She pressed Edie into her squishy belly. Hugs from Mum meant having sharp hip bones poking into her ribs. Even so, hugs from Mum were better.
Auntie Becca let her go.
‘And let’s find Tess,’ she said and walked towards the back door.
‘Bring the salads will you, Edie?’
‘Where’s Uncle Ray?’ she asked.
‘Finding a parking space.’
Edie ran from the kitchen, through the lounge and out of the front door.
‘Edie, help Becca first,’ Mum called after her.
The street’s narrow two-up two-downs left little room for cars, but Ray was parked right outside and talking to Valentina Vickers. Edie was running so fast she only just managed to skid to a stop and avoid crashing into them.
Valentina took a step back.
‘Happy birthday,’ Uncle Ray said.
He picked her up and hugged her. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Uncle Ray’s hugs were even better than Mum’s.
‘Happy birthday,’ Valentina said. ‘I made a cake for you and Tess.’
A round yellow tin decorated with white flowers was perched on the roof of Uncle Ray’s car.
‘Wow, thanks, Valentina.’
‘You’re welcome.’
She smiled at Uncle Ray and walked off into her house.
‘Why did Valentina want to speak to you?’ Edie asked.
‘Oh, nothing much,’ he said. ‘Her old man made her come out and say I have to leave him plenty of space when I park.’
It sounded like the sort of things Mr Vickers would say. Edie looked at Uncle Ray.
‘Old sucking lemons,’ they said together and laughed.
He set her back down on the pavement.
‘You’re getting too big for that, you know.’
‘Aww, Uncle Ray,’ Edie said.
‘Well, maybe for a little longer.’
Edie smiled, grabbed his hand and began pulling him towards the house.
‘Come and see the cakes, we’ve got two now. What present did you buy me?’
‘Presents?’ Uncle Ray struck his forehead with his free hand. ‘I knew I’d forgotten something.’
Edie turned and smiled. Uncle Ray would never forget.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Wait and see.’
*
‘Looking good, Gina.’
Uncle Ray kissed Mum on both cheeks when he came into the house.
‘What’s that?’ Mum asked, looking at the tin.
‘Valentina made us a cake,’ Edie said.
‘That was nice of her,’ Mum said. ‘Take it outside with the salads, will you? Becca’s been calling you for ages.’
Edie took the bowls and cake out to the garden. The smoke had disappeared and the barbecue glowed silver and red. The table stood in the sliver of shade by the back wall of the house. Auntie Becca sat beside it and Pepe lay underneath.
‘It’s better away from the heat,’ she said.
Edie put the food down. Auntie Becca was right, it was getting hot. Dad had been fussing about the plants for weeks. Had they enough water, had he overwatered? Their garden wasn’t like the others on the street. She could see them over the low fences. They were either paved or looked like junkyards. No one else had an array of flowers and shrubs and a winding pebble path. Raquel, their neighbour on the other side, had laughed and asked what the point was, but her mum said it was a nice change to have something pretty out there.
Edie looked back to the kitchen door. Where was Uncle Ray? She was starving; he should have started by now. And afterwards she could show him the new dance moves she’d practised.
‘Uncle Ray, where are you?’
He didn’t reply at first.
‘Uncle Ray.’
‘Coming,’ he said eventually.
He came out of the kitchen door, ruffling Edie’s hair as he came past.
‘You’re so impatient,’ he said. ‘There’s no rush.’
But Edie was in a rush. It wasn’t really her birthday until they’d eaten burgers and cut the cake, then she’d be a year older. She’d be allowed to do new things and go new places. She wouldn’t be a child any more, or at least, she’d be less of one. Not so grown up Uncle Ray wouldn’t give her proper hugs.
Auntie Becca had left her seat in the shade.
‘Get the meat on, Ray. You always boast how good you are.’
‘What is it with everyone today? We’ve got all the time in the world,’ he said.
‘Where’s my lemonade?’ Tess asked.
‘I forgot,’ Edie said.
Tess’s face turned sullen.
‘Look, I’ve something to show you,’ Edie said. She pulled Tess over to the table. ‘Valentina made it for us.’
She opened the cake tin. Tess peered into it. Inside was a chocolate sponge with chocolate icing, a ring of violet sugar flowers and in matching lettering, the words ‘HAPPY 10th BIRTHDAY EDIE AND TESS’ had been piped across the top.
‘Wow,’ Tess said. Her face lit up, the fall forgotten.
Edie picked off one of the flowers.
‘Edie, don’t,’ Tess said. ‘It’s for afters and it doesn’t look right now. Look, there’s a gap.’
‘Open up.’
‘Edie, you shouldn’t.’
Edie winked at her. Tess opened her mouth. Edie placed the flower on her tongue. She took another and put it in her own mouth, closed her eyes and tilted her head to the sun, so that all she could see was red. The sugar flower’s sweetness spread across her tongue. She opened her mouth and laughed. This was going to be the best birthday ever.
Chapter 3 (#u4d601886-8be4-5b79-8fab-57d060366f08)
Tess: June 2018
The last time I saw Edie she was slipping through a gap in the hedge at the back of our school. One moment she was there, the next she was gone, like Alice Through the Looking Glass. And like Alice, I thought one day she’d return.
My train is sitting at a red signal, a fire on the line outside Coventry is causing delays and we’re already forty minutes late. People tut and glare at their phones. I’m the only one hoping the signal stays red.
We’ve received calls before to say a body’s been found. Only to be told later that it’s too old, too young, the wrong height. This will be another mistake. So why is my heart thudding against my chest, why is Dad so certain it’s her this time, when he’s been through so many scares before, why do I dread the train ever reaching its destination?
The gap in the hedge led to a route home via the canal. The police searched its towpath repeatedly in the week after Edie’s disappearance. Only her leather school bag was found, flung in the water, its strap caught on the bars of a discarded shopping trolley. In it were her schoolbooks, comb, Discman and a purse holding four pounds twenty-two pence in change. She even left one of her records, a Northern soul track Ray had given her.
The police brought the bag to me.
‘Do you recognise everything, is anything missing?’ a policewoman asked.
‘The photograph,’ I said.
‘What photograph?’
‘Edie keeps a photograph of us. She always carries it with her.’
It was the sole copy of a family portrait, the negatives lost long ago. In it we’re about three or four years old. Edie is sitting on Mum’s lap, looking up into her face. Mum gazes back, smiling. Dad’s turned towards them, proud and protective. I’m on Dad’s knee, swivelled away from the rest of the family, pointing to something out of shot.
There aren’t many snaps of Mum; we didn’t own a camera. Uncle Ray took them. I have the one of Mum at nineteen, just before she married Dad. She looks so like Edie, tall, slender, graceful. Her expression is difficult to read, a half-smile flickers round her lips, her eyes slightly turned from the camera, as if a full gaze would be giving too much of herself away. And there are pictures of birthdays and Christmases. But Edie loved that one of us all together, when we were very young.
‘Are you certain she had it? When was the last time you saw it?’ the policewoman asked.
‘I’m not sure, but she’d never leave it. She must have taken it with her.’
‘She may have removed it from her purse or lost it months ago.’
‘She wouldn’t remove it or lose it,’ I said. ‘She took it with her.’
The policewoman smiled, made a note and started asking me if Edie had been in any trouble recently.
Over the years I repeated to Dad, Uncle Ray and Auntie Becca about the photograph, that Edie would never leave it behind, she took it from her bag, which means she must be alive. None of them listen. Perhaps Edie knew that too, that only I would realise its significance. A message to me alone.
So I never believed she was dead, never gave up hope, but my heart still thuds as the train lurches forwards for the final stretch of the journey. Is it Edie?
Chapter 4 (#u4d601886-8be4-5b79-8fab-57d060366f08)
Edie: August 1993
‘This one’s called “The Snake”.’
Even though Edie had heard it a hundred times before, Uncle Ray always announced the songs. It was part of the ritual. And this time it was her record player, the one Uncle Ray and Auntie Becca had got her for her birthday. Tess had got a portable CD player. But Edie knew she had the best present. All Uncle Ray’s Northern soul tracks were on vinyl and that first crackle before the song came on, then the drum roll, gave Edie goosebumps.
As the trumpets came in, Uncle Ray swung his leg sideways before stepping left then right. He didn’t sing along like Edie, his arms and legs slid into patterns and his eyes focused on the middle distance.
‘Spin,’ Edie shouted.
He kicked one leg high then brought it down with a snap, sending him swirling so fast the stripes on his T-shirt blurred. Then he was back into his diamond pattern steps.
‘Your turn,’ he called to Edie.
She’d been practising. Uncle Ray had made her a cassette of some of the top tunes, as he called them, though a few of her favourites were missing. She couldn’t play it on the stereo in the lounge if Dad was watching TV, which was most of the time. So she practised upstairs, which she preferred anyway, because Tess wouldn’t try and join in. With her clumsy hopping about, she looked like a puppet with half of its strings cut. At Christmas, Uncle Ray had bought them their own cassette player for their bedroom, which Edie loved. But Tess said she felt bad because Dad had wanted to buy it for them and couldn’t afford it. Edie thought if he wanted to buy them stuff that much, he’d get a job.
Auntie Becca came in and leaned on the kitchen door frame.
‘You should be outside on a day like this, Edie. It’s your birthday; everyone else is in the garden. It won’t be summer forever.’
Edie ignored her and kept swinging her hips from side to side before copying Uncle Ray by kicking her leg up by her head, then pulling it down to put her into a spin.
Auntie Becca shook her head.
‘I’m not sure you should be teaching her that, Ray,’ she said. ‘She should at least be wearing trousers.’
Edie didn’t listen. She was watching Uncle Ray’s next move. He lunged to the side with his right leg and dragged his left foot along the floor behind him. Edie followed. They stepped left together. Edie squealed and hissed the ‘s’ of snake in the chorus.
‘Ray,’ Auntie Becca said.
‘Give it a rest, Becs,’ he said. ‘We’re just having a bit of fun.’
Auntie Becca shook her head again and left.
Why didn’t Auntie Becca ever want anyone to have fun? Edie thought. It didn’t matter, she was gone now and Edie was going to dance how she liked.
‘What are you doing?’
Tess was at the kitchen door. Edie and Uncle Ray were too intent on their dancing to reply.
‘What’s this one?’
Edie did another spin. Tess jumped into the room and started skipping from side to side, trying to copy Edie.
Mum came in from the kitchen just as Uncle Ray was changing tracks. He put down the single he was holding and swapped it for another.
‘This is “You Didn’t Say a Word” by Yvonne Baker,’ he announced.
‘My favourite,’ Mum said.
She pushed the sofa as far as it would go against the wall and moved the coffee table into the alcove by the fireplace.
She began to dance, singing along to the track. Edie hadn’t seen Mum dance in this way. She was good, better than Edie, despite all her practice. Not as good as Uncle Ray, but nearly. Tess was now bouncing up and down, oblivious to the beat.
Auntie Becca came back and stood at the door, looking as if the entire family had gone mad. Dad stood behind her and stared at Mum.
‘Come and dance, Dad,’ Tess said.
‘Not just now, Tess,’ he said.
‘But Dad,’ Tess pleaded.
She grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the door.
‘Come on, Dad.’
He danced a few steps, just moving from side to side before looking over at Mum and Uncle Ray with their coordinated jumps and spins. He moved back to the door.
‘I’ll leave it to the experts,’ Dad said and left to go for a smoke out the back.
*
They danced until it was dark and Mr Vickers banged on the wall and told them to shut up. Then they ate cold sausages from the barbecue and more cake. Uncle Ray let Edie sit on his lap and sip his beer, which she pretended to like but it made her screw her face up and she vowed never to touch it again. By the time Uncle Ray and Auntie Becca left it was gone midnight and Tess was half asleep on the sofa.
‘Come on, you two, time for bed,’ Mum said.
‘Not tired,’ Tess said as her head flopped on Mum’s shoulder.
‘I know you’re not,’ Mum said and propped Tess against her arm.
Edie followed them up the stairs. She wasn’t tired either, but she wanted the day to end now, when it was perfect. She was ten years old. Double digits. Nearly grown up.
Chapter 5 (#u4d601886-8be4-5b79-8fab-57d060366f08)
Tess: June 2018
It’s nearly midnight by the time I reach Aspen Close, the street lamps’ pooled light hinting at the neat lawns and clipped hedges in the shadows. From the end of the road I can see Dad leaning against the door frame, his cigarette a tiny glow against his silhouette. Once he sees me he throws it to the ground and runs to meet me. He puts both arms around me and squeezes hard. When his grip relaxes I look at his face. It’s gaunt, the artificial light exaggerating the shadows under his eyes.
‘It’s not her, Dad,’ I say. ‘I’m sure it’s not her.’
He looks around, as if someone’s watching, picks up my case and walks back to the house without answering. Once inside, he turns and slumps onto the stairs and leans his head against the banister.
‘Dad?’
He closes his eyes.
‘The police seem pretty certain,’ he says.
‘But there’s still a chance…’
Dad sighs.
‘No, Tess. There’s no chance.’
‘They’ve made mistakes before. It could be anyone.’
His certainty frightens me.
‘I’ve just got a feeling. A bad feeling.’
He opens his eyes; they’re red with tiredness.
‘I’m sorry, Tess,’ he says.
He takes my suitcase and drags it upstairs.
It’s never been like this before. He’s always been the one to reassure me, when I’ve been frantic, terrified that all my instincts telling me Edie is still alive are wrong. The fight has gone out of him this time, maybe it’s just been going on for too long. Maybe he wants it to be her, so he has a definitive answer to what happened to his daughter. The only answer I want is that she’s been found alive. I won’t believe this girl is Edie.
I go into the lounge and slump on the sofa. The new chocolate brown leather looks out of place against the faded abstract-patterned wallpaper and scuffed laminate floor. When we first came to Aspen Drive the rooms seemed enormous and the newness was intimidating compared to our tiny terrace on the Limewoods Estate, which was, and still is, a byword for unemployment and minor criminality. Now, the house’s décor is more than a decade out of date. In a Victorian house, it would be charming shabby chic. On a nineteen-nineties executive housing estate it’s just shabby.
Edie would like this sofa, it’s minimalist with clean lines. A spasm grips my stomach. What if she’s not around to like anything any more? Whenever I shop, I consult Edie’s aesthetic. Whether she would choose the music, clothes or homewares I’ve selected. When would she play it, how would she wear it, in what way should it be arranged? I try to do that with the sofa but can’t push away images of the cold dark water and the sailing dinghies circling above her, engrossed in their sport on the reservoir’s surface, just a few feet away. But it can’t be her. She ran off with her boyfriend to London or Tuscany or Marrakech.
I take a cigarette to calm myself. Dad thuds down the stairs.
‘I’ll make you some tea,’ he says.
‘Nothing stronger?’
‘I keep some whisky in the sideboard for Ray. Don’t know how much is left. Or there’s cooking sherry in the kitchen.’
I go to the sideboard. Dad’s not much of a drinker. It interrupts his smoking. But tonight he lets me pour him a glass of Laphroaig and sits down in his armchair.
The whisky burns my throat. It’s bitter and smoky, but better than nothing.
‘What did they tell you about…’ I’m not going to say Edie. ‘The girl in the reservoir?’
Dad manages to grip the whisky glass with both hands and hold his cigarette at the same time.
‘She’s a teenager, been down there for years.’
My fingers feel hot. I look down to see the cigarette’s burnt to its butt. I stub it out and reach for another.
‘How can they be sure?’
‘Dunno. Tests.’
We fall silent. Dad switches on the TV, it’s showing a football match. He sits back and stares at the screen, chain-smoking. I’m sure he has no more idea of what’s going on in the game than I do. It’s just his fear of silence and what I might choose to fill it with.
A girl, a teenager, dumped in a reservoir thirty miles away. She’s been down there for years. How many explanations are there?
*
After the match, I pour another large glass of whisky and make an excuse of an early night.
‘Alright, love, sleep well.’
Dad sounds relieved and opens a new packet of cigarettes.
I take a look at Edie’s room before I go to bed. It was never a shrine, though when she first disappeared, I used to go and curl up on the bed, willing her to come back. I’d smell the clothes that held onto her scent and try them on; they were too large and looked dull and sexless on me.
Later, the room became a home to unwanted objects, a broken Hoover, old cardigans, a garden fork, but enough remains for it still to be Edie’s room, the same furniture in the same place, the walls the unpleasant shade of peach we thought fashionable at the time. In the corner sits the record player she was so proud of, along with a stack of LPs. I should clean them; they’re thick with dust. Edie would hate that. Her books are in a similar condition: Angela Carter, Woolf and Solzhenitsyn. She was always so much more sophisticated than me. The only book out of place is our old scrapbook. In large marker pen the title ‘The Case of The Missing Cakemaker’. My childish attempt at creating a mystery, involving a neighbour who left her husband.
I take it down. It’s covered in the same rosebud wallpaper we used for our schoolbooks. Where it came from, I don’t know, we never had that pattern on a wall. The pages fall open, lots of notes and diagrams and a sketch I’d done of the missing woman, Valentina Vickers. It’s a good likeness for a ten-year-old. Of course, Valentina was never really missing. I saw her shopping in House of Fraser a few years later. By the time I’d crossed the store to speak to her, she’d disappeared into a lift. It left me disappointed. I had wanted so much for there to be a mystery and she’d simply moved away. That’s why I’ve never believed Edie was dead. One day she’d just turn up, like Valentina.
Wouldn’t I know if she was dead, feel it, sense it? We’re twins, we shared a womb, we’re part of one another and I can almost see her in front of me, laughing, dancing, arguing. I can’t think of her as dead when every cell in me screams that she’s still alive.
A few pages have been ripped out of the scrapbook, betrayed by fraying scraps of paper along the stitched spine, probably used for a list of records Edie wanted to buy.
My room has survived better, the same single bed against the wall and only a few stray objects having made their way on top of the wardrobe.
I flop onto the bed and close my eyes. The whisky mingles with the dark and Edie’s standing before me. She smiles and turns to walk into the night, wearing a silver top and thick mascara, and I’m left on my own in the bedroom of our old house on the Limewoods Estate. I’m fully-grown but lying in my childhood bed and my feet stick off the end. I can see the red of my eyelids as the light breaks through the curtains. The smells of Mum cooking breakfast float up my nostrils. If I turn my head, Edie will be in her bed next to mine. The rain patters at the window and I’m sinking back into the soft mattress.
‘Tess,’ a voice says.
Two hands grip my wrist and tug. I nearly tip out of the bed.
‘Edie,’ I say out loud.
‘Tess,’ Dad calls.
I can smell bacon cooking downstairs.
I daren’t lie back in case I fall asleep again. Instead, I swing my feet to the floor.
‘Are you up, love?’
Maybe he heard me shout out.
‘Yes. I’ll be down in a bit.’
My hand’s shaking. I distract myself by checking my phone: three missed calls, two from Max, one from Cassie. I text back, promising to call them later.
In the kitchen, Dad’s lost in the thick smoke from the frying pan. We lived on ready meals after Mum died. Only after Edie disappeared did Dad discover the cookery channel and we started having huge stews, curries and roasts. I got fairly porky before my art foundation year, when I replaced them with boys, cigarettes and speed. I think he did it so he could pretend that we were a family, just the two of us, and to show that he loved me, which he’s never been good at saying. And here he is again, with a plateful of eggs, bacon and mushrooms, as if cholesterol can counteract heartache.
‘I thought you could do with a proper breakfast,’ he says.
I eat as much as I can but hand my plate back nearly as full as when Dad gave it to me before switching to coffee and cigarettes.
The house phone rings and Dad dives into the lounge. I can’t hear the conversation. He comes back into the kitchen and sits next to me; he won’t look me in the eye.
‘Tess, that was the police. They’re coming to pick us up.’ He takes my free hand and squeezes it. ‘We have to go to the station.’
Chapter 6 (#u4d601886-8be4-5b79-8fab-57d060366f08)
Edie: September 1993
‘A record player.’ Raquel said the words with a mixture of disbelief and pity. ‘My mum’s got one of those. Plays her old LPs on it. I wish the bloody thing would break.’
‘I wanted a record player,’ Edie said.
‘Next time my dad visits, he’s going to buy me a whole stereo with a CD player, not just one with a cassette. Then I won’t have to listen to Mum’s Matt Monro albums.’
‘Uncle Ray doesn’t play Matt Monro,’ Edie said.
Not like Granny McCann, she could have added. Raquel’s mum was twice the age of the other kids at school, something she was sensitive about. Almost as sensitive as she was about her dad never actually visiting or her reading problems.
‘Tsk,’ Raquel said. ‘You should’ve got a CD player, like Tess.’
Edie decided not to challenge Raquel. If that was her reaction, what would girls like Deanne or Caitlin say? She looked round for them as they entered the schoolyard. They were standing together, a little way from the gate, in a group of about ten. Edie caught their eye; both sides ignored the other. Caitlin was as tall as Edie but twice as broad. Her older sister, Moira, had also been the school bully and Caitlin was trying to live up to the family reputation. She’d started on Tess a few times, but being Edie’s twin and Raquel’s friend, had held her back. Caitlin was especially wary of Raquel, since she’d given her a black eye after one to many Granny McCann jibes. Still, being the start of a new school year, Edie was cautious around Caitlin; though Tess seemed unconcerned as she walked past, swinging her canvas bag.
The bell rang and they filed into school and found their new classrooms. Raquel’s ‘Mc’ for McCann was not close enough to ‘P’ for Piper to be in the same class and she went down a different corridor. Edie knew her new class teacher, Miss Armitage, because she also took them for music. The room was familiar: a piano sat in the corner, the walls lay bare, waiting to be filled by their creations throughout the coming year.
‘Stand at the back and I’ll call you to your places,’ Mrs Armitage said. ‘You’ll notice each table has the name of one of the great composers on it. You will each be assigned a composer and sit at that table. I will be referring to these groups by the name of the composer throughout the year. Please pay attention.’ She rapped the desk with her knuckles to bring the class to order. ‘Beethoven,’ she said. ‘Miele, Jaspinder, Deanne, Tyrel, Ian and Edie. Go to your table, please.’
Edie looked at Tess. She hadn’t noticed the error. They always sat together.
‘Hadyn.’
Tess looked up. Suddenly realising something was wrong, she was trying to catch Miss Armitage’s attention.
‘Tchaikovsky,’ Mrs Armitage said. ‘Tess, Ricky, Noah, Imran, Harrison, Joelle.’
The class chattered as they took their seats, no one quite satisfied with where they’d been placed.
‘Quiet now,’ Mrs Armitage said.
Edie stuck her hand up.
‘It’s Edie, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, miss. I think there’s been a mistake, miss. I always sit next to Tess.’
‘Tess?’
‘My twin.’
‘No mistake,’ Miss Armitage said.
‘But we always sit together.’
Miss Armitage pursed her lips.
‘You know, Edie, in many schools, twins are put in separate classes altogether. I’ve put you on tables according to your ability. At your next school, I doubt you’ll be in any of the same classes.’
Deanne sniggered.
‘So I suggest you need to acclimatise to being a whole ten feet apart,’ Miss Armitage concluded.
Deanne’s shoulders were shaking hard. Edie glanced at Tess, who was staring determinedly at the table.
‘Now,’ Miss Armitage said, ‘I’m handing out your new textbooks for English and maths. Your first homework will be to cover them in wallpaper to prevent their getting damaged. It will be your own responsibility to keep the books in good condition until the end of term.’
She stood up and opened a cupboard, her back to the classroom.
Deanne turned to Edie and rubbed her eyes as if crying.
‘Boohoo. I can’t be next to my sister all the time.’
Edie kicked her under the table. Deanne yelped.
‘What’s that?’ Miss Armitage spun around.
‘Nothing, miss.’
Deanne glowered at Edie.
Miss Armitage returned to retrieving armfuls of books from the cupboard.
‘I’ll get you for that,’ Deanne said.
*
Until the morning break, Miss Armitage passed the time by explaining that the whole year was just a preparation for ‘big school’. Edie couldn’t help wondering if calling Bridges Academy, where most of them were heading, ‘big school’ was helpful in making them feel more grown up.
She flicked through her new maths textbook. Whenever she looked over to Tess, she was staring out of the window. It wasn’t surprising she’d fallen behind. She never listened in any class except art.
At last the bell rang. Tess was waiting for her at the door and they ran outside to catch up with Raquel, eager to hear about her new class. Deanne and Caitlin were waiting at the entrance to the playground with a handful of hangers-on. Deanne whispered something in Caitlin’s ear, a smirk on her face.
Caitlin swaggered towards them. Edie caught a whiff of the slightly sweet-stale odour from her clothes. She wrinkled her nose and stepped backwards.
‘If it isn’t the famous twins,’ Caitlin said. ‘I heard you cried when you weren’t put on the same table.’
‘Shut up, Caitlin.’
‘Bet you’re gonna marry the same bloke, all share the bed together.’
Titters rose from the hangers-on. Edie pushed past Caitlin. It was a mistake. Caitlin turned around and moved across, separating her from Tess.
‘I don’t believe you’re twins anyway. Look how small she is.’ Caitlin jerked her head backwards to mean Tess. ‘Reckon she’s adopted.’
‘Yeah,’ Deanne said. ‘From the special unit.’
Edie tried to push back to Tess but Caitlin stood firm. Edie glanced around.
‘Looking for Raquel? Not coming out till lunchtime. Miss Clitheroe’s keeping her back. In trouble already.’
Tess looked frightened. She was shorter than the other girls, who had begun nudging her with their shoulders.
‘She’s not special and she’s not adopted,’ Edie said.
‘Just thick then?’ Caitlin said.
‘Smarter than you.’
‘I could do it if I wanted. Can’t be bothered. Her, she’s just stupid. Staring into space like some retard.’
Edie felt her face getting hot. Tess was no longer visible among the surrounding girls.
‘Actually, I do believe you,’ Caitlin said. ‘She’s not adopted. If there’s more than one it’s bound to happen. Like puppies. There’s always a runt.’
Caitlin threw her head back and opened her mouth to laugh. She was cut short by a small fist, darting out from the group of girls and smashing into her nose. Caitlin looked more surprised than hurt, until another fist drove into her mouth. Blood spurted across her face and down her blouse. She fell to the ground. Tess jumped on her. It was like a terrier attacking a bear. Caitlin’s thick arms flailing around, unable to stop the blows being rained upon her by Tess’s skinny ones. Deanne tried to drag her off and received an elbow to her nose. She fell backwards and started whimpering.
Edie stood, stunned and motionless. Tess had always relied on others to fight her battles. Edie was about to try and stop Tess, when Mr Everett dragged her off. Tess spun round, her bloodied fists balled, her arms straight and tense. For one moment, Edie thought she was going to hit Mr Everett. Her eyes bore into him, then she brought her fists to her face and started crying. Deanne was also crying, while Caitlin lay gasping on the floor.
‘She just attacked me. For no reason,’ Caitlin said.
Tess pointed to Caitlin.
‘She said, she said …’
But Tess couldn’t finish her sentence.
Chapter 7 (#ulink_448a63c6-8169-54cd-a1a5-ccb857766887)
Tess: June 2018
I lean my head against the cold of the car window and watch people, shops and traffic stream past my eyes. Post-rush hour, the roads are clear, and we pass swiftly through the town centre and out towards the police station. It sits on the edge of town, where industrial estates mix with the suburbs. Most families of the missing long for resolution, an answer, any answer. But I don’t know what I’ll do if this body is Edie. Only hope has allowed me to survive this long.
I don’t have to know the truth. I could get out at the next set of lights and walk away, start a new life and never come back, as I imagine Edie did. At this moment she could be harvesting grapes in the Loire or surfing in California. It can’t be her lying on a table, her bones being picked over, photographed and catalogued.
Detective Inspector Vilas sits in the front passenger seat, his hands smoothing the light creases in his grey trouser suit, with his hair swept back from the temples, his appearance speaks more of business executive than serving police officer. He’s polite but distant. The driver, Detective Sergeant Craven, is a little friendlier.
‘I’ve daughters of my own. I can’t imagine how difficult this is for you,’ he said when he picked us up.
We turn off the main road, then down a small lane running between two neat rows of semis, the inhabitants probably unaware of the horrors adjoining their pristine lawns.
Craven pulls up next to a police car and two other unmarked vehicles parked in front of a low concrete building with ramps either side of its main entrance.
DI Vilas leads us inside and talks to the receptionist, who passes him two lanyards, one each for Dad and me. We’re then buzzed through a set of double doors and led down a long, narrow corridor to a windowless room with a desk and chairs and a large mirror on one wall.
‘I’ll just be a moment,’ Vilas says and leaves us.
He returns, carrying a sealed black bag, and takes the chair on the opposite side of the table.
‘Are we going to see…’ I don’t know what to say, Edie, the corpse? I settle for ‘her’.
Vilas looks confused.
‘No. I thought you knew. The body’s been in the water for twenty years. We found a skeleton, no soft tissue.’
Is his coldness an attempt to stop a torrent of emotion from us?
‘Then I don’t understand what we’re doing here,’ I say.
‘Certain items were found, which the lab are hoping you’ll be able to identify.’
Lab. Images of cold examination tables with metal tools designed to scrape, break and probe. This girl is no one to them, whoever she is. With no soft tissue, no face, no eyes, she’s just a bundle of bones and ‘items’. They could be items in a shopping trolley. Under the table, Dad takes hold of my hand.
Vilas removes a clear plastic bag from the larger black one and places it in front of us. Dad looks away. I lean over. Inside is a short-sleeved polyester dress, dirty and degraded. I can see that it used to be bottle green with a thin white stripe and a white Peter Pan collar, now badly stained with brown blotches.
‘I’ve been informed this was the standard summer dress at Joseph Amberley Girls School from 1994 to 2001,’ he says.
‘I had the same dress,’ I say.
Dad’s grip on my hand tightens.
‘Can you see anything that indicates this belonged specifically to Edie?’
Dad still won’t look.
‘I can’t see the size,’ I say.
‘It’s a medium,’ Vilas says.
‘Lots of girls would have been a medium. Lots of girls would have worn that uniform.’
Vilas’s face softens. Perhaps he’s human, after all.
‘This uniform was found wrapped round the remains of the girl found in the reservoir. Her height and age match Edie’s and forensics estimate they’ve been down there for around two decades.’
I push the bag away. Vilas waits a moment before placing another, smaller bag on the table.
‘Could you look at something else for me?’ he asks.
The contents are too small to see clearly. I lean down so that my nose nearly touches the plastic. A silver chain lies flat against the table surface. Attached to it is a pendant, its once silver wings eroded but still identifiable. I raise my left wrist. A tiny matching pendant swings round on the chain of my bracelet.
‘It was a set?’ Vilas says. ‘So this belonged to Edie.’
The room goes very cold and I start to shake. Vilas leans over to examine my bracelet.
‘It’s some sort of bird. What is it, a dove?’
‘A swift,’ I say. ‘It’s a swift.’
Dad makes a strange gasping sound. Mum’s maiden name was Swift. Grandpa Len bought the necklace for her, with a matching bracelet, for her eighteenth birthday. After she died, Edie wore the necklace and I took the bracelet.
‘Is there any chance…’ I trail off.
Vilas takes a deep breath.
‘We’re running dental records and checking DNA, but even before you identified the necklace and dress, we believed this to be Edie.’
I won’t accept what he’s saying. There must be another explanation. I look to Dad. He’s turned away from me, so that I can’t see his face.
He says softly, ‘I knew it was her this time.’ His back rises and falls in silent sobs. I can’t stop shaking.
‘I’m sorry, this must be a terrible shock,’ Vilas says.
The empathy doesn’t reach his eyes. He stands up, places the dress back into the black bag and reaches for the necklace. I put my hand on it.
‘No,’ I say.
Vilas glances at Craven, who leans forwards.
‘Tess,’ Craven says. ‘This is evidence. It will help us find out what happened to Edie. DI Vilas will need to take it with him.’
I let go and fall back on the chair. Vilas picks up the bags. I watch the bulge of Edie’s dress press against the plastic.
‘Was it…’ I hardly dare speak the words. ‘Was it an accident?’
Craven sits back down.
‘All the evidence points away from an accident,’ he says.
I think of the stain on the dress collar, it wasn’t brown originally, it was red, bright red.
‘Edie was wrapped in plastic sheeting and weighted down. There’s little room for ambiguity,’ Vilas says. ‘DS Craven will be assigned as your family liaison officer. Edie’s case is being changed from a missing person to a murder inquiry.’
Chapter 8 (#ulink_03a7b6e3-6026-5d7d-98db-460171f6d825)
Edie: September 1993
Caitlin needed two stitches in her top lip. If she hadn’t had a reputation as a bully, Tess would have been suspended. Instead, she was dragged before the headmistress. Edie came as a witness. Mrs Stanton declared it to be ‘six of one and half a dozen of the other’. Tess, Caitlin and Deanne would be given lunchtime detention for the next week and a letter sent to their parents.
‘Make sure you give it to Dad, not Mum,’ Edie whispered as they came out of the head’s office.
*
‘Nice one, Tess,’ Raquel said as they were leaving school. ‘Wish I’d been there.’
Raquel wasn’t the only one who admired Tess. The whole school was happy to hear about Caitlin being taken down, and tiny Tess doing it made it even funnier.
‘Are you coming to Roswell?’ Raquel asked.
Mum had told them to keep away from Roswell Park. Older kids went there to smoke, drink and worse. Besides, they’d got in enough trouble for one day.
‘Valentina said to go round and tell her what our first day was like,’ Edie said.
‘She’s always having you over. Mum says it’s cos she’s no kids of her own. But she never asks me. What do you do there, anyway? You’ll have more fun at Roswell.’
‘She makes cakes for us,’ Tess said as if this explained everything.
Raquel looked at her sideways.
‘Suit yourself.’
*
Valentina must have been looking out for them, because she opened the door before they knocked. Her hair was in its usual chignon and she wore a suede skirt and long boots.
‘Edie, Tess,’ she said and motioned for them to come in. ‘You have to help me eat this gingerbread. I always make too much. Mr Vickers never eats it.’
Edie knew Valentina really made it for them. It was their favourite. She skipped into the house without stopping. Tess hovered at the front door.
‘Don’t you want any, Tess?’ Valentina asked.
‘Maybe we should go and see Dad first,’ Tess said.
‘He won’t miss us,’ Edie answered.
Every day Dad sat in the same chair, smoking the same brand of cigarettes, watching the same programmes. It didn’t matter whether she and Tess were there or not. Tess trudged inside.
The Vickers’ home always seemed so much brighter and larger than their own. It had a small extension at the back, so that the kitchen could fit a large chest freezer, for Valentina’s casseroles and stewed fruit. It was so clean and tidy you wouldn’t think anyone lived there. Only Valentina brought it to life, as she filled the air with baking and Chanel No. 5.
One day, Edie would have a home like this, clean and calm, until she arrived, and she would be Valentina, brightening the rooms with her presence, filling the air with warm spice and perfume. People would call her Edith, not Edie. She wouldn’t have a husband who sat in his armchair smoking all day or one like Mr Vickers who came home, only to start barking complaints the moment he stepped through the door. If she ever married it would be to a man like Uncle Ray, handsome and fun. She could never remember Uncle Ray raising his voice or not wanting to take her to the park or saying no when she wanted something. Why did men like Uncle Ray marry Auntie Becca and women like Valentina marry Mr Vickers?
‘And how was your day, girls?’ Valentina asked as she put the tray down.
There was a pause. Edie glanced at Tess, best not to mention Caitlin.
‘Edie’s on the top-stream table, I’m not,’ Tess said sulkily.
‘That’s a shame,’ Valentina said.
‘Tess will catch up,’ Edie said.
Valentina smiled and passed Tess a plate.
‘And you’re so good at drawing, Tess,’ Edie said. ‘You can’t be good at everything.’
Tess seemed to cheer up and took some cake.
‘I was always hopeless at maths and things like that, Tess,’ Valentina said. ‘Much better at cookery and art.’
Neither spoke while Valentina fussed, pouring the tea and cutting the cake. Edie ate her gingerbread and Tess broke hers into small pieces without bringing any to her mouth. Valentina tried to hand her a teacup twice before she noticed.
‘Your mum says you’re going away this weekend,’ Valentina said.
‘We’re going to London with Auntie Becca,’ said Tess. ‘To see Aunt Lola in Kentish Town.’
‘That’ll be fun. Are you going to see all the sights?’
‘No,’ said Tess. ‘We’ve been before. We’ll probably go down Oxford Street.’
Edie was less thrilled than Tess. Aunt Lola gave their cousins money to shop, whereas Tess and Edie could only watch. Still, she liked her cousins, Cassie was too young to be of much interest, but Corrine and Ashley were older and a lot more fun than Tess. She dreamt of being their age or older and living in London by herself. That was until she married and had Valentina’s house.
‘Dad can’t come though, Uncle Ray’s busy with work and someone has to look after Pepe,’ Tess said.
‘Who?’
‘Auntie Becca’s dog. Do you and Mr Vickers ever go away for weekends?’
‘No,’ Valentina said. ‘Not our thing.’
‘Why not?’
‘Mr Vickers doesn’t really like travel. I persuaded him to go to Portugal once, he hated it.’
It was odd how Valentina referred to her husband as Mr Vickers, as if he were a teacher. Edie couldn’t imagine Mum calling Dad ‘Mr Piper’.
Valentina glanced at her watch.
‘You know what,’ she said. ‘I’ll put the rest of the cake in Tupperware and you can take it with you for your journey. You’ll be a few hours on that coach.’
‘We’re taking Uncle Ray’s car. Auntie Becca wants to buy lots of clothes,’ Tess said.
Edie giggled.
‘She’ll only get black tops and trousers like all her others.’
‘I don’t care why. It’ll be nicer in the car.’
Edie thought about it. Uncle Ray’s car had leather seats and a stereo. The coach had dirty toilets and old ladies trying to talk to you.
‘I suppose so,’ she said.
‘Well take the cake anyway,’ Valentina said.
She took the gingerbread back into the kitchen and returned with a plastic box.
‘Bring the Tupperware back when you’ve finished, will you?’
‘We will,’ Edie said.
Tess stood up. Edie had hoped to stay for another slice. She saw Valentina’s eyes flick to her watch again.
‘Mr Vickers had a meeting in Stoke this afternoon and he’s not going back to the office before coming home.’
Edie understood. She got to her feet and thanked Valentina for the cake.
*
The smell of stale tobacco drifted from under their front door. Edie felt the gloom before they even stepped inside. Tess ran over to Dad and kissed him. He patted her on the head, cigarette still in hand; a little ash fell into her hair.
‘Hi, Dad,’ she said.
‘Hi, girls.’
He spoke softly, as always.
‘We’ve got some cake, do you want some?’
‘Not now, Tess,’ he said.
‘I’ll put it in the kitchen.’
Edie followed her. She had just got the plates out for a second slice when the shouting began next door.
‘I can smell it. Baking all day for those bloody urchins and what do I get when I get in? Sardines on effin’ toast.’
They couldn’t hear Valentina’s reply.
‘What’s the time got to do with it? I don’t work every hour God sends to feed the neighbourhood waifs and strays.’
A door slammed.
Tess and Edie looked at each other. Tess looked like she was about to cry. Edie started to giggle.
Chapter 9 (#ulink_43940161-c91d-52e1-89db-6c0347810d7b)
Tess: June 2018
I lie in bed. Dad brings me cups of tea I don’t drink. Cassie and Max make calls I don’t answer. Dad will have told them what’s happened by now and anyway, it’s all over the news. DS Craven comes in and asks if he can have a word. I say no and Dad tells him to leave me alone.
‘You should really eat something,’ Dad says.
I’m sure he’s had nothing himself. He leaves a plate of Welsh rarebit on the side table.
I turn over and stare out of the window; the rain trickling down my reflection in its pane provides the tears I’m unable to cry.
The only reason I moved to London was because I thought I’d find Edie. She’d dreamed of living in the city and it didn’t matter how many millions of people lived there, I knew one day I’d bump into her on Oxford Street or at Waterloo Station.
But she was never there. The whole time she was lying at the bottom of a reservoir, wrapped in plastic and weighted down. She would still be there now if the police hadn’t dragged it after a tip-off about a drugs stash, but there were no drugs, just the body of a young girl, another one. We’ve had many messages from the police over the years. An unidentified young female, you may need to prepare. And then you hate yourself for being relieved at another girl’s death. Anyone’s as long as it isn’t Edie’s. And now it is.
Anger rushes through me. How could this happen? How can Edie be dead? I find the energy to get up and go to her room. There have to be answers somewhere, she must have left me something. Where’s the photograph, where are the missing pages from the scrapbook? I start with the tallboy. I find a couple of old Record Collector magazines and an NME from 1998 with Blur on the cover. I turn every page, to see if anything’s cut out or ringed. Nothing. Her make-up bag’s still here. A Rimmel eyeliner pencil and mascara in black, cherry-red Boots Seventeen lipstick, dried and cracked. I leap on a scrap of paper crunched up in the corner. It’s covered in silver powder from a long since disintegrated eyeshadow. I press it flat against the wall and hold it to the light. I can just about make out a till receipt from Topshop dated April 1998. I screw it up and throw it back then pull the drawer out completely, turn it over and shake its contents on the floor to make sure I’ve not missed anything.
I start pulling out the other drawers, rifling through them, spreading old birthday cards, mismatching earrings and desiccated cough sweets across the carpet. Nothing.
I go to the wardrobe. Her faux suede jacket is still hanging there and her dress with the fitted body and full skirt, that was unfashionable back then but everyone wanted when they saw it on Edie. I go through the coat pockets and a couple of bags: more receipts and a few bus tickets. Flinging the clothes on the floor, I then run my hands in the corners to make sure I haven’t missed anything. It’s empty.
I start pulling books from the shelves. She could have hidden the missing pages from the ‘Cakemaker’ scrapbook in their leaves. I flip through the pages then hold their spines and shake each one out. A couple have magazine clippings slipped inside, mostly about bands, but no loose pages from the scrapbook. I try her school exercise books. A little hope. A phone number and address I don’t recognise. No names, though. I take a photo with my phone anyway.
The last things left are her records. I don’t touch them. Edie wouldn’t have written anything on those or stuffed something inside the sleeves. They were too important to her.
I sit down in the pile of clothes, books and junk in the centre of the room. Is this all that’s left of Edie? This and the necklace I’m not allowed to have because it’s evidence. I pull my knees to my chest, lay my head on them and start to cry. I can’t believe she’s gone. Every last thread of hope has been pulled from me. DS Craven told us the DNA and dental records are a match. This is all there is, a pile of clothes and some junk.
‘Here you are.’
The door opens and Auntie Becca comes in.
‘I was worried when you weren’t in your own room.’
She kneels down next to me and I raise my head; her eyes, too, are puffy from crying. She takes my head in her hands.
‘At least you know now. You won’t have to keep wondering forever.’
‘I don’t want to know. I always thought we’d find her. I always believed that.’
‘Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. When’s Max coming?’
‘He’s not.’
‘I didn’t think he’d leave your side at a time like this.’
I could not tell her, but she’ll just keep asking questions until she knows the truth. Dad hasn’t asked me about Max, which is why I know he’s already spoken to him.
I curl up tighter.
‘Has something happened?’ she asks.
‘He’s met someone else.’
I can’t be bothered with the details. Somebody else is easier to blame than my failure to meet his ultimatum, and what other conclusion can I draw from another woman’s perfume clinging to him?
‘Oh, Tess, and at a time like this.’
‘I don’t care any more,’ I say, and it’s true. What is Max to me? He’s been a support system. Well, now there’s nothing left to support. Whoever slung Edie into that reservoir may as well have thrown me in, too. Becca seems to read my thoughts.
‘Tess, your dad needs you. He’s not strong and you’re all he’s got.’ My own misery has made me oblivious to his. ‘Vince is looking sick. I don’t think he’ll get through this without you. Especially when the press turn up.’
‘Are they here?’ I ask.
‘Not yet, but they’re coming. Maybe you could come and stay at ours for a bit.’
‘They’d only follow.’
‘Parasites,’ she says. ‘Look, Tess, why don’t you have a shower and come downstairs, try and eat something, talk to Ray. He’s taking this hard; you know how close he and Edie were. And most of all, you have to pull through this for your father.’
‘I’ll try,’ I say.
‘And there’s a police officer downstairs, Tess.’ She looks at me nervously. ‘I came straight up and didn’t speak to him. What’s he doing in the house?’
‘He’s the family liaison officer.’
‘I think you should get rid of him.’
‘He’s alright, Becca, he’s trying to help.’
She shakes her head.
‘You weren’t here, Tess, you’ve no idea how bad it got. The way the police treated Vince, the way they questioned him, as if he’d ever hurt Edie. You need to go downstairs and support him. Don’t let that liaison officer trick you into saying anything about Vince or Ray. The police are not our friends, Tess.’
*
I go through the mechanical routine of undressing and showering, and arrive downstairs bare-footed and with wet hair. DS Craven’s in the lounge sitting on the sofa next to Dad, his arms in a triangle on his thighs. Ray’s perched on the side, his chin resting on his hands. When he looks up his eyes are red. He comes over and hugs me and I rest my head on his shoulder.
‘Christ, I’m glad Gina didn’t have to go through this,’ he says.
Mum. Throughout all of this we’ve not mentioned her once. And my short-lived resolve at being strong for Dad crumbles. My legs go limp and I fall into Ray. He supports me and pulls me into the armchair. I want Mum, I want her to take me in her arms and tell me everything’s going to be OK, like she did when I was a little girl.
Ray kneels next to me.
‘You’re so much like her, Tess,’ he says.
Have I become like Mum? I try to picture her face compared to mine. Then I get it mixed up with Edie’s and become confused.
She and Edie were so alike, not just in looks, but they were also both animated and excitable. With no effort, people were drawn to them and wanted to be friends. Often, I’d arrive somewhere with Edie and people would say to her, ‘I didn’t know you had a sister,’ when they’d met both of us before; only Edie was remembered. And she’s never coming back.
Craven’s hovering in the background. Ray sees him looking at Becca.
‘This is my wife, Rebecca,’ he says. There’s barely disguised animosity in his voice. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Craven.’
‘Tony,’ Craven says. ‘I’m the family liaison officer.’
He offers Becca his hand. She gives it a cursory shake and purses her lips in substitution for a smile.
‘When can we have Edie back? We want the funeral to be as soon as possible,’ she says.
Craven’s on edge. Dad’s made it clear he doesn’t want him here and his manner is exaggeratedly calm, as if permanently fending off an overwhelming panic; he’s new to the job, I think.
‘The coroner will release the body once a second post-mortem has been carried out. It’s just a formality, so in about a week.’
‘Do they have an exact cause of death?’ Becca asks.
I ball my fists tight to brace against the answer.
‘The pathologist noted she’d received a blow to the head,’ Craven says. ‘Significant enough to render her unconscious, though she doubted it would have been fatal.’
‘So she drowned.’
‘We can’t be certain.’
‘You’re telling me they don’t know?’ Becca says.
‘The pathologist couldn’t give a definitive cause of death. I’m afraid it’s not uncommon in cases where the victim isn’t found for many years. I know you want answers and we’re going to do everything in our power to get them. We’ll be re-interviewing everyone and put out a fresh appeal for witnesses.’
‘After twenty years?’
‘You’d be amazed what people do remember. We can combine the appeal with a press conference and of course there’ll probably be a reconstruction.’
‘No chance,’ Dad says.
‘We’ve asked journalists to stay away from the house,’ Craven says. ‘But they’re only agreeing to a twenty-four hour period to let the family grieve. After that…’ He gives a slight shrug. ‘It would be easier if you just arranged to speak to them. We can discuss the appeal another time perhaps.’
Dad glares at Craven.
‘We’ll also be looking at any similar cases,’ Craven says.
‘Similar cases? Are you talking about a serial killer?’ Ray says.
My mind scurries away down dark tunnels. I look at Dad.
‘Please no,’ I say.
‘It’s just a possibility,’ Craven says quickly. ‘There’s no evidence of a sexual assault. She was fully clothed. Though, again, we can’t be certain.’
Ray brings his hands to his face.
‘Do you think someone held her, before they…’ I can’t say the words.
‘We believe Edie was killed soon after she went missing. The original investigation surmised this when they found her bag in the canal. And there’s an additional indication of this being the case from the post-mortem.’
Ray takes a sharp breath.
‘What indication?’ he asks.
‘The indentation to the skull contained tiny fragments of rust. It’s consistent with the composition of metal on the bridge crossing the canal. Unfortunately, the ironwork along the bridge wasn’t checked for blood at the time. Edie’s injury indicates she was attacked from behind and her head hit the metal struts.’
Becca flinches. Dad doesn’t move and remains staring at his hand. Ray looks from one to the other then to me.
‘Tess,’ he says. ‘Oh God, Tess. How could this happen?’
I can see it as a film running through my head, Edie bouncing along the path unconcerned, enjoying the June day, the shade by the canal, the dragonflies drifting through shards of light shooting between tree branches. Then it’s all gone. Just cold and endless darkness.
‘What happened to the photograph? Was it with her?’ I ask.
‘Which photograph?’ Craven asks.
Ray glances at Dad. They never believed my theory and it turns out they were right.
‘Edie always carried a photograph with her, of us as a family. It was missing when they found her bag.’
‘I remember now. It was in the notes but…’ Craven looks embarrassed. ‘Detectives at the time weren’t sure of its existence.’
‘They thought I’d made it up?’ I say.
‘No, it’s just you couldn’t say when you’d last seen her with it.’
‘She always took it with her,’ I say.
‘It wasn’t with her, Tess,’ he says. ‘And who else would have wanted it, or have known it was there? The new evidence only confirms the conclusions of the original investigation. That she was killed along the canal. We haven’t advanced much beyond that right now. Hopefully, a fresh appeal will bring new witnesses forward.’
*
When Becca and Ray leave, I return to the bathroom and stare into the mirror. Do I look like Mum? I lean in close. My hair’s started to dry, half is stuck to my face and half is sticking out. My eyes are red, but there is a resemblance. Not the pretty heart-shaped face and high cheekbones of the Swift girls, which she shared with Edie, just a light sketch of her features on my long, oval Piper face. Is that what Ray meant? Or was he just seeing what he wanted to see? Because it should have been the tall, beautiful twin standing here, not me, the small, plain one.
Passing Edie’s room on the way back to mine, I realise I’ve left the clothes, books and general junk in piles on the floor. Dad mustn’t find it like this. I start replacing the clothes on their hangers in the wardrobe and returning the books to the shelves. I pick up ‘The Case of the Missing Cakemaker’ scrapbook again. The cover’s torn where I threw other books on top of it; I try to tuck the hanging strip back inside the pages. As I do so, I see a piece of paper’s come loose. It must have been stuck under the cover. I pull it out. It’s a cutting from a newspaper dated from March 1994:
Sentencing in Gina Piper Death
Judge Lavinia Darlington sentenced Nathan Bexley to a two-year jail sentence, suspended for twelve months following his conviction for death by dangerous driving earlier in the week. Bexley was found to have blood alcohol levels two and a half times above the legal limit and was travelling at excessive speed when his HGV hit the thirty-year-old mother of two, whilst she was crossing the eastbound carriageway of the Hagley Road on 15 December last year.
Judge Darlington added that Mr Bexley’s lack of remorse and attempts to shift the blame on to Mrs Piper had caused her family additional distress. However, in mitigation, she did note that Mrs Piper’s actions could be considered reckless and this was taken into account when handing down a suspended sentence.
The article doesn’t tell me anything I don’t know. And I’m not sure why Edie took the trouble to hide it, until I see her bold, swirling handwriting in faded blue biro on the white border, a single word: Suicide.
Chapter 10 (#ulink_f2f5d3b2-7319-538c-b957-ecfa4d163d6c)
Edie: September 1993
Caitlin and Deanne kept their distance after the first day. And when the letter was sent, Edie and Tess managed to keep it away from Mum.
‘It wasn’t Tess’s fault,’ Edie told Dad. ‘Caitlin Powell’s a big, fat bully.’
He wasn’t quite the pushover they’d expected.
‘But fighting, it’s not like you, Tess, is it?’
‘I won’t do it again, Dad. Promise. You won’t tell Mum, will you?’
‘I think she needs to know, Tess. Have a chat with you.’
‘Please, Dad.’ Tess’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘She’ll go nuts.’
He sighed.
‘Alright then. But if it happens again …’
Edie wrote out the return letter for Dad to copy.
*
She’d been so anxious about the letter and making sure she and Tess didn’t run into Caitlin and Deanne outside school that she didn’t notice straight away that Valentina was gone. It wasn’t like they went round every day, just most days, and sometimes Valentina would go shopping or visit her sister. But she was always home in time to make Mr Vickers’ dinner. Now, Edie saw him park his car, slam the door with more force than usual and stride up the path. Valentina was nowhere to be seen. After a week, Edie and Tess started to miss her. Without Valentina, the only things to look forward to at home time were a smoke-filled house, Dad’s boring sports and gardening programmes, and nothing but toast to eat until Mum got back. Sometimes Edie would go and listen to her records. ‘The Snake’ was still her favourite. But it was ruined by Tess complaining and wanting to listen to pop music on her CD player. Coming home was rubbish if they didn’t go and see Valentina first. They couldn’t ask Mum where she was. For some reason she didn’t like them spending so much time at the Vickers’.
‘You could ask Mr Vickers,’ Tess said.
‘Why me?’ Edie said. ‘Why don’t you ask him?’
‘You’re much better.’
‘All you have to say is, “Where’s Valentina?” It’s not a big deal, Tess.’
‘You do it then.’
Edie huffed.
‘OK, I will.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Tonight,’ Edie said.
*
A knot formed in her stomach. She had always made fun of Martin Vickers and did impressions of his rants about ‘those bloody kids’, ‘eating me out of house and home’, ‘should be taken into care if their parents can’t look after them’. Tess would laugh then check over her shoulder, as if Mr Vickers were hovering there. Edie would never admit she was actually scared of him. She’d never seen a man so angry. Raquel told them that when her dad lived with them, he sometimes hit her. Edie wasn’t sure whether to believe it or not. Their dad never so much as raised his voice. Even when one of their ball games destroyed his beloved plants, he’d just sigh and say, ‘Please be careful, girls.’ They never were. Uncle Ray laughed all the time and let them have anything they wanted. When Auntie Becca said, ‘You spoil them,’ he’d say, ‘Of course I spoil them, who wouldn’t spoil them. Look at them.’ Mr Vickers was different. He didn’t think she and Tess were ‘just so cute’ and he was angry all the time, even when he had a posh car and beautiful wife who made cakes. She didn’t understand him and that made her scared. What if he was like Raquel’s dad?
Mum came home at half past five. She asked them how their day had been, unpacked some shopping and started to chop vegetables. Just before six, Edie and Tess slipped out of the house. On cue, Mr Vickers’ car drew up. He got out and walked towards them, his face set in a scowl. Edie’s stomach tightened. She opened her mouth as he walked past but no words came out. Tess nudged her. The words still wouldn’t come. As he was about to enter the gate, Mr Vickers spun round. Edie took a step back.
‘What the hell are you two gawping at?’
‘We …’ Edie began.
‘Get lost. There’s nothing for you to scrounge today.’
He marched up the path and entered the house, slamming the door behind him.
Edie and Tess looked at each other and went back inside without speaking. Dad didn’t look up from the TV.
‘In here, you two,’ Mum called from the kitchen.
She was standing by the sink, her arms crossed.
‘Sit down.’
Edie and Tess shuffled onto the chairs under the kitchen table.
‘Was that Mr Vickers you were speaking to?’
‘No,’ Edie said. ‘Well, sort of.’
‘I’ve something to tell you,’ Mum said. ‘This is going to be difficult for you to understand, but Valentina’s gone away.’
‘We know,’ Tess said.
‘Is she at her sister’s?’ Edie asked.
‘I don’t know. The thing is, she’s not coming back.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s hard to explain.’ Mum looked down at the table. ‘Sometimes couples stop being friends.’
‘Like Raquel’s dad running off with that slag from the travel agent’s?’
‘Don’t use words like that, Edie.’
‘It’s what Raquel calls her.’
‘And Mrs McCann,’ Tess added.
‘Raquel and her mum can say what they like. I don’t want you two speaking like that and using words when you don’t understand the meaning.’
‘I do know what it means, Raquel told me.’
‘That’s enough, Edie. Don’t use those words and don’t go bothering Mr Vickers. He’s got enough to worry about without being pestered by a couple of silly ten-year-old girls, poor man.’
‘Poor, he’s not … he’s … he’s …’ Tess spread her arms.
Edie took up the sentence. ‘He’s a horrible, cross, mean and bad-tempered—’
‘I said enough.’
‘No wonder she ran away.’
‘Edie, I’m telling you once and for all to leave that man alone. You don’t understand. You’re just a little girl. One day you’ll realise …’
But Mum never told her what she’d realise. She’d turned away. When she turned back her eyes were wet. Edie hadn’t seen her mum cry since Grandpa Len died. She didn’t know what to do. Tess ran over and wrapped her arms round Mum’s waist.
‘I’m sorry,’ Tess said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Mum buried her face in Tess’s hair. She remained there a moment stroking it before standing straight again. ‘Now, go and sit down with your dad. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.’
Dad’s eyes pointed unfocused towards the TV screen as he drew on his cigarette. He didn’t notice when they slumped on the sofa, nor when Tess nudged Edie, pointed to the ceiling and they sneaked upstairs.
‘Why’s Mum so upset?’ Tess said when they reached their bedroom.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Valentina’s not come to see her. What does that mean?’
‘I don’t know,’ Edie said.
‘I think Valentina’s dead.’
Edie considered this.
‘They’d tell us and if they didn’t, Mrs McCann would.’
‘What if they don’t know for sure?’
‘How could they not know?’
‘I think…’ Tess lowered her voice to barely a whisper. ‘I think he killed her. Mr Vickers murdered Valentina and said she’s gone to her sister’s.’
Edie pulled a face.
‘I don’t think …’
‘He’s always shouting at her.’
It was a big step from shouting at someone to killing them. But maybe Tess knew more than she did. Edie remembered her attack on Caitlin. If Tess had been bigger, if Mr Everett hadn’t stopped her … On the other hand, Tess obsessively watched detective shows on TV. Miss Marple, Inspector Morse, Sherlock Holmes. Not to mention all the true crime programmes. Her imagination was running away with her.
‘I’m not sure,’ Edie said.
‘If everyone thinks she’s at her sister’s and no one’s looking for her she could be dead. On the news I saw about a man who said his wife had run off with another man and twenty years later they found her body in a lake.’
‘But what if Valentina is at her sister’s?’
‘Then why hasn’t she come back to see us?’
‘She doesn’t want to bump into him.’
‘He’s not back until six. She could come every day.’
It was true, Valentina was supposed to be fond of them and when Edie thought about it, she was a little hurt that Valentina had not come back. She still couldn’t see Mr Vickers as a murderer. Not that she was entirely sure what one looked like. On the news they had cold, hollow-eyed expressions and didn’t smile. A bit like a passport photo. If you don’t smile, if you just stare, you look like a murderer. It was true Mr Vickers never smiled.
‘That’s why Mum’s so upset. Valentina hasn’t come to see her. I don’t think she’s even rung her,’ Tess said.
‘Even if he has killed her, how could we do anything?’
‘Follow him.’
‘If he’s thrown her in a lake he won’t be going back and anyway, there aren’t any lakes round here.’
‘There’s the reservoir at Lickey and it might not be a lake, it might be a canal or something,’ Tess said.
‘The canal’s too full of shopping trolleys.’
‘Or she could be in the freezer. I saw another programme where—’
‘Tess, she’s just gone away. You watch too much TV.’
Tess looked hurt.
Edie dismissed Tess’s ramblings. She loved her TV shows too much and was so desperate for a mystery in real life she invented strange motives and secrets to the most ordinary people. When their former teacher, Mrs Edge, had left midterm, Tess linked it to a large jewellery theft she’d seen on the news. Raquel’s dad’s infrequent visits were due to his work in espionage, despite Raquel telling them he was a boiler engineer at British Gas. But unease trickled into Edie’s mind when she thought about Mum’s reaction to Valentina leaving. Something was wrong, still, she dismissed what Tess had said until the following evening. Mum was out and Dad was in the garden when Tess ran up to Edie.
‘Quick or you’ll miss them,’ she said.
‘Miss who?’ Edie said as Tess dragged her to the front window.
Tess pressed her face to the pane so that her breath left a mark on the glass.
‘I told you,’ she said.
A police car was outside, double-parked next to Mr Vickers’ Rover. Edie was just in time to see two uniformed police officers go into next door. She caught the words ‘Mrs Vickers’.
‘See,’ Tess said.
She ran to the wall and put her ear against it.
‘I can’t hear what they’re saying,’ she said.
There was no need to have her ear to the wall for what happened next.
‘I bloody will not,’ Mr Vickers shouted.
Tess jumped back.
The crash from next door was so loud it made the room shake.
Another voice.
‘You need to calm down right now, mate.’
Some more scraping, another crash. Then the front door was open.
‘They’re coming back out,’ Edie said and Tess was back at the window.
They weren’t the only ones, the two houses opposite had the whole family gaping from indoors and Mrs McCann had come outside to watch. Raquel must have gone to Roswell Park, because there was no way she’d miss out on this.
A policeman led a handcuffed Mr Vickers from the door, his eyes fixed to the ground. The second policeman came out rubbing his jaw.
‘He must have hit him,’ Tess said.
Edie hadn’t seen Tess so excited since their school trip to Tutbury Castle, the most haunted castle in England. Ghosts were a close second to criminals in Tess’s list of interests.
‘He must be scared to hit a policeman, knows they’re on to him. Why do you think he didn’t run away before now? He must have known they’d come.’
The second policeman opened the car whilst the first shoved Mr Vickers into the back.
‘Do you think they’ve found the body?’
More neighbours were spilling into the street, unashamed of their gawping. The police car drove off.
‘You didn’t believe me, Edie, but this proves it. He’s a murderer. He killed Valentina.’
*
When Mum came home, Mrs McCann rushed out of her house and accosted her before she could even get to the door, no doubt filling her in on what happened at the Vickers’.
‘Did you hear what happened?’ Tess asked as Mum came into the lounge.
‘It would be difficult not to. Eileen’s a lovely woman but …’
‘But what?’ Tess asked.
‘Never mind. Just make sure you two don’t go around constantly gossiping and making up any bits you don’t know.’
Tess pulled an innocent face as if such things had never occurred to her. Mum walked through to the kitchen and left the door open. Tess wriggled on the sofa, desperate to talk to Edie about Mr Vickers. She pointed to the ceiling and Edie followed her upstairs.
‘What do you think happened?’ Tess asked.
Tess seemed more elated than horrified at the thought of Valentina’s death and Edie wondered how much she really believed it; though Mr Vickers’ arrest did support Tess’s theory.
‘Let’s watch the news,’ Edie said.
‘Yes, he’s bound to be on it,’ Tess said.
They watched the early evening and late news, national and local, without any mention of Mr Vickers and were sent to bed, disappointed. And they were further disappointed when a car pulled up outside and Mr Vickers arrived home.
‘How could they let him go?’ Tess asked, her face pressed to the window. ‘Do you think they can’t find the body?’
‘Maybe it’s nothing to do with Valentina.’
‘What else could it be? If we could find the body we’d help the police solve it.’
‘You’ve never solved a crime, Tess. Guessing the end of Poirot doesn’t count.’
Tess scowled.
‘You can stay here listening to your records if you like. I’ll solve it on my own.’
Despite Edie’s sneer about Poirot, she’d always wanted to be a detective, though she fancied herself more like an American private investigator with a gun and a fast car. She knew it was silly and childish, but they had little else to do. Since turning eleven, Raquel considered herself a grown up and was spending most of her time at Roswell Park, hanging out with older kids. She even had a boyfriend, who was thirteen. ‘I know what he wants but he’s not getting it.’ Mum was working the whole time. Uncle Ray was ‘snowed under’ with the business and hadn’t been to see them for ages. And Dad was just Dad, as likely to leave the sofa as he was to fly. Being an investigator might be fun.
‘OK, but we’ll have to keep it from Mum,’ Edie said.
‘We’ll go undercover,’ Tess said. ‘Starting tomorrow.’
Chapter 11 (#ulink_e2430b5c-757d-54cc-87b1-083503af0d19)
Tess: June 2018
Phone calls, knocks at the door and calls through the letterbox. Flash bulbs firing, a TV camera crew outside. The day’s grace we’ve been granted by the press is up. Now, we’re under siege. Would we like to get our story out there, let the public know the real Edie, quash rumours that the family were involved, she ran off with an older man, was mixed up in drugs. The first time round I was spared this by being packed off to stay with Aunt Lola in London, while Dad had to cope with the intrusions and insinuations.
DS Craven, I can’t think of him as Tony, tries to deal with them. Dad looks grey, ill and so thin he could disappear into his armchair, where he sits smoking, tapping, missing the ashtray and finally crushing the butt before reaching for another cigarette. We can’t open the windows to lift the fug for fear of being filmed. Not by the journalists but the thrill seekers, real crime enthusiasts, men obsessed with teenage girls and their deaths. Craven says it’s normal.
‘How the hell is that normal?’ Dad says.
The whisky’s finished and I’ve started on the cooking sherry. I don’t know what normal is any more, either. It’s still light but I’ve no idea what time it is. Edie’s scrawled note on the newspaper clipping, ‘suicide’, plays on my mind. I can’t see how it’s linked to her murder and yet I can’t shake the feeling that it is. I don’t want to cause Dad any more pain right now by asking him. If Edie didn’t speak to me about it, did she tell her friends, did she tell Michaela? Would she really speak to them before me?
I must have fallen asleep, because I wake up with the sherry still in my hand, calling for Edie.
Voices are coming from the kitchen. I go in to find Max standing next to Dad, who looks apologetic, a cigarette smouldering in his hand. Max is blinking rapidly. He hates smoke.
‘You wouldn’t answer your phone,’ Max says before I can speak.
Dad looks at us.
‘I’ll go to the lounge,’ he says.
‘No need, Vince,’ Max says. ‘We can go into the garden.’
He leaves by the side door. I turn to Dad.
‘You shouldn’t have let him in. You know he finished with me.’
‘I couldn’t just leave him sitting on the step, could I?’ Dad says.
‘Why not?’ I say.
‘There’s a photographer still out there.’
I sigh, take a cigarette and follow Max. When I reach him, he stares at the cigarette and looks as if he’s going to object, then decides against it.
‘Why haven’t you been answering my calls? I had to find out from Vince that it was Edie, that’s she’s dead.’ He stops. Pain flashes across his face. ‘That she was murdered. One phone call, one, that’s all it would have taken.’
‘Do you know what it’s been like here? Police, press, I don’t even know what day of the week it is. You’ve absolutely no idea.’
‘Because you’ve not been speaking to me,’ he yells. ‘I’ve had to keep ringing Cassie.’
I check the kitchen door and hope Dad can’t hear.
‘I can’t deal with this right now, Max.’
He takes a deep breath.
‘Look, I didn’t come to argue,’ he says. ‘I came here because I’m worried about you. You shouldn’t go through this on your own.’
‘I’ve got Dad.’
‘How is he?’
I shrug. In truth, I am on my own.
‘He looks ill. Have the police interviewed him again?’
‘Not yet.’
‘What about you?’ Max asks.
‘Not properly. I have to go in sometime, go over my original statement.’
Max shifts his weight to his other foot.
‘I’ve got to speak to them tomorrow.’
‘You?’
‘They’re talking to everyone from Joseph Amberley who knew Edie, the boys’ and the girls’ schools. I’m only going to tell them what I told them before, that I knew her from the odd party. It’s just, you know…’ He shifts his weight again. ‘Going out with you, they might make a big deal about it.’
‘Why would they?’
‘I don’t know. But make sure they don’t twist it, to make our relationship seem odd. And tell them I had no reason to harm Edie. And me seeing you, it was just a chance meeting. I mean, it’s the truth.’
It’s the truth, the sort of expression people use when they’re lying, along with honestly and swear on my mother’s life, which wouldn’t count for much with Max, given that he hates his mother. I’ve never thought of our relationship as odd, imbalanced and dysfunctional, but not odd. I like that Max remembers Edie and understands when I say, ‘Edie would like this’, ‘Edie would hate that’. It’s always been something positive and held us together. Why would it be odd and why did Max just tell a lie, which I’m sure he did?
I think of another woman’s scent, lingering in his hair the night before I left.
‘Who’s the girl you’re seeing?’ I ask.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I smelt her on you, that last night I spent in London.’
‘She’s no one. And you’d just dumped me…’
‘You dumped me,’ I say. ‘You told me it was over.’
‘That’s not true. I still want to be with you.’
‘If I move back here and have seventeen babies.’
‘Two would be fine.’
His face sets into its habitual sulk.
‘Now isn’t the time, Max,’ I say.
‘It’s never the time with you, is it, Tess?’
‘Not when I’ve just found out my sister’s been murdered, no.’
‘Why do you push everyone away? I came here to be with you. I’m upset about Edie because of the pain it’s causing you and you turn it into something else. I don’t know what I can do right for you, Tess, I never have. You think you don’t need anyone, then you end up in a mess and expect me or your dad to sort you out. Well, neither of us are going to be here forever,’ he says and stamps back into the house.
*
‘Do you mind me asking who that was?’ Craven asks when I come back inside. Max has disappeared and Dad must have gone upstairs. ‘We’re supposed to keep tabs on who comes to the house. Just procedure, you understand.’
‘That was Max,’ I say.
‘Max Arnold?’ Craven looks confused. ‘Do you mind me asking what he was doing here?’
‘He came to see me.’
‘Any particular reason?’
The police contacted me through Dad and can’t have noticed that I have the same London address as Max. I think about explaining that we’re not in a relationship, only we sort of are but we’re not together, even though we still live in the same flat, then decide that’s all too complicated. And I’m saved from answering by Dad crashing back into the room, waving a notebook in front of him. Craven takes a moment to recognise it as his.
‘I have to ask for that back,’ he says sternly.
‘Are you interrogating Tess now?’
‘Just asking a few questions. And I do have to insist you hand over my notebook. That’s part of an ongoing investigation.’
‘I’ve told you to leave her alone.’
‘I’m not a child, Dad.’
‘Don’t say anything to him, Tess,’ Dad says.
Craven looks bemused.
‘Don’t you want to know, Mr Piper? If it were one of my daughters who had been murdered—’
‘It’s not one of your daughters though, is it? Tess is my daughter too and I’m not having you lot harassing her. We’ve already had journalists poking around. Don’t you think we’ve been through enough? You say you’re here to help but look what I found …’ Dad holds the notebook at arm’s length and starts to read. ‘V. Piper – detached – two question marks. T. Piper reliable witness – three question marks. Aunt and uncle hostile – exclamation mark.’ He glares at Craven as he throws the book to the floor. ‘Here to help? You’re here to set us up.’
‘I can assure you that’s not the case, Mr Piper. However painful, there has to be an investigation,’ Craven says. ‘And we need to ask questions of everyone involved from that time, including the family, if we’re to get to the truth.’
‘You lot aren’t interested in the truth. I remember from before. How had I coped since my wife died? Wasn’t it awful to be a man on my own? Didn’t I miss having a woman around the place? Did I love my daughter? Did it make me jealous, knowing she’d started getting interested in boys? I knew what they were asking. Making me ashamed to admit I loved my own daughter, twisting it into something dirty and disgusting.’
I had no idea what Dad went through back then. I was shielded and kept safe. I had been a victim, but Dad had been a suspect.
Craven picks the notebook up and starts to speak in a slow, even-toned voice, no doubt some training manual calming technique.
‘As a father myself, I can’t imagine how awful it must have been for you,’ he says.
‘No, you can’t,’ Dad says. ‘No one can ever know.’
‘And we won’t be repeating those mistakes, Mr Piper.’
Dad steps towards Craven.
‘Get out,’ he says. ‘I’ve had enough.’
‘Mr Piper, please.’
‘Out.’
Craven looks to me.
‘Perhaps you could come back another time,’ I whisper.
Dad hears.
‘No, you can’t come another time. You’re just a snoop.’
Craven has already moved to the hall. I follow him and shut the lounge door.
‘I can see your father’s upset, it’s understandable. But we’re not looking to implicate the family. DI Vilas hasn’t ruled out a stranger killing. I think the support we can provide…’
There’s a roar and a crash from the lounge.
‘Yes, but not right now.’
I virtually push Craven through the door and slam it shut, thankful the press have left for the night.
I run through the hall and back to the lounge. The coffee table lies four feet from Dad, the remains of my sherry dripping down the wall opposite, the glass smashed to pieces on the floor.
‘I can’t do this again, Tess. I can’t.’
Dad falls back onto the sofa and puts his head in his hands. I kneel down beside him.
‘We’ll get through this, Dad,’ I say.
‘No Tess, you don’t understand,’ he says. ‘This is never going to end. It’ll never be over.’
Chapter 12 (#ulink_40624ca1-692c-5931-8914-c9b5d67241f5)
Edie: September 1993
‘I followed him for twenty minutes and he didn’t see me,’ Tess said.
It was late morning. Tess was in disguise, wearing a woolly hat and an old green anorak that Dad used for gardening. The sleeves swallowed up her arms and the hem hung well below her knees.
‘Where did he go?’ Edie asked.
‘Only to the newsagents and the chippie. He turned around a couple of times but he never spotted me.’
Tess was taking her detective duties seriously. The investigation log was an A4-sized notebook, which she’d covered in the same cream with rosebuds wallpaper they’d used for their school textbooks. It was filled with diagrams and notes. She’d drawn a floor plan of the Vickers’ house, a mirror image of their own, with the addition of the small utility room at the back and a sketch of Mrs Vickers with her hair in a chignon.
Edie had to admit the likeness was impressive. Less impressive were Tess’s conclusions. Valentina was definitely dead. It was just a case of finding her body. Possible hiding places: under the floorboards, in the freezer, buried on waste ground, submerged in the canal. On the front of the book, in thick black marker pen, was written: THE CASE OF THE MISSING CAKEMAKER.
‘That’s a really stupid title,’ Edie said.
‘Dr Watson always used titles like that for Holmes’ cases.’
‘That’s made up, Tess. Police cases are called things like operation something or other.’
‘Well, you can call it Operation Cakemaker, if you like, but it’s my book. This afternoon I’m going to go through his bin.’
‘What for?’
‘Clues. He might’ve put Valentina’s clothes in there.’
‘She left three weeks ago.’
‘I know,’ Tess said. ‘I wish I’d thought of it sooner.’
Edie wasn’t sure about spending the afternoon riffling through rotting vegetables. Mum rescued her.
‘Becca’s just rung. She’s invited us over.’
‘But we’ve got plans,’ Tess protested.
‘What plans?’ Mum asked.
‘Nothing,’ Edie said.
‘Good, get your coats. Your dad and Ray’ll come along later.’
*
Auntie Becca called it an Indian summer and insisted they sat outside.
‘It may be the last good weather we get this year.’
Edie thought India was supposed to be hot, she was freezing, the low, bright sun was blinding her and the egg mayonnaise sandwich she was eating had fallen apart, its filling leaking down her arm. Mum was in the deckchair opposite, a cup of tea balanced on her lap. She wore black jeans, a camel-coloured jumper and large sunglasses. She’d been quiet since they arrived and sat rubbing her temples. Auntie Becca, oblivious to the cold, was wearing her usual black trousers and black top. Tess had nabbed Auntie Becca’s discarded sunglasses to copy Mum. Edie wished she had some. She moved one hand over her eyes as a shield. Pepe took his chance to jump up and take a bite out of the remains of her sandwich.
‘No, Pepe, bad dog,’ Auntie Becca said.
She didn’t sound like she meant it.
Pepe ignored her and leapt at Edie again. She moved her arm away, then decided she didn’t want the dog-licked sandwich and threw it to him.
‘Don’t give him that. He’s a delicate digestion. It’ll make him sick,’ Auntie Becca said.
‘Too late,’ Edie said.
The dog swallowed it in one gulp and set off running around the garden. Usually Edie liked animals, but she wasn’t sure about this one, all it did was run in circles, bark and eat. It never seemed to lie down or want stroking. A funny looking thing too, a Welsh terrier, with a tan body and black back. She was surprised Uncle Ray had let Auntie Becca have Pepe, she knew he didn’t like dogs. And it was odd that Auntie Becca, who was so fussy and house-proud, wanted one, a dog meant mess. Then there were all those vases and figurines to knock over.
Pepe hurtled towards the flower bed, growled at a rose bush then ran to the garden gate, put both front paws on top of it and started barking.
‘I don’t think we’ll be staying here long, Gina,’ Auntie Becca said.
‘No?’
Auntie Becca and Uncle Ray were always moving and Mum sounded bored. She was no fun today. Edie hoped Uncle Ray would turn up soon. He’d promised her a tape with new tracks and maybe a single on vinyl from the record fair he’d been to the weekend before.
‘The garden’s too small for Pepe and as for that lot …’
Edie knew what was coming: the neighbours, feckless parents and feral kids.
‘They let those children run wild. And the parents are no better. We thought this was a nice area.’
‘They looked nice enough when I saw them,’ Mum said.
Edie had also been surprised on seeing that the neighbours wore clean clothes and combed their hair. The word feral made her think of cats, she’d expected them to have mange.
‘They may look nice,’ Auntie Becca said.
‘Isn’t he a bank manager?’ Mum said.
‘That means nothing. That boy, I can’t remember his name, kicked a ball right over the fence into my washing. It splattered everything with mud. I had to do it all again. Not one word of apology from his mother, let alone him.’
‘Kids are always making a mess, Becca, and maybe his mother doesn’t know.’
‘How could she not know?’
‘You can’t keep an eye on them all the time.’
‘She should do. That’s how these children turn out so rough, even if their father is a bank manager.’
The way Auntie Becca went on you’d think it had happened for the twentieth time that morning, not once, two weeks ago. And Pepe was worse than any kid, he was still at the gate barking loudly. Uncle Ray had told Edie that Pepe had got out and torn up next door’s roses. When they complained, Auntie Becca said he was just a dog and didn’t mean any harm. Uncle Ray had had to go around and pay for the damage later. It was their secret to laugh about, Edie wasn’t to tell anyone.
‘Yes,’ Auntie Becca said with a nod. ‘Time to start looking elsewhere. Are you alright, Gina? You don’t look well.’
Mum’s head was slumped over her cup.
‘I’m just a little hot.’
‘But it’s freezing,’ Edie said.
‘I’ll go and splash some water on my face.’
She stood up, which drew Pepe back from the gate so he could jump up at her instead. Edie batted him away. He growled back at her.
‘Stay where you are, Edie,’ Mum said. ‘I’ll be fine.’
Pepe continued to circle Mum until Auntie Becca called to him.
‘Gina’s not quite herself, is she?’ Auntie Becca said when Mum was inside.
‘It’s since Mrs Vickers left,’ Tess said.
Edie tried to catch Tess’s eye, to shut her up, but Tess wasn’t looking at her, deliberately, Edie thought.
‘Val Vickers,’ said Auntie Becca. ‘She can’t be much of a loss, if she’s anything like her sister.’
‘She’s always nice to us,’ Edie said.
‘You know Valentina’s sister?’ Tess said at the same time.
Her eyes lit up.
‘I knew her. At school, Lillian Harlith. My God that girl gave herself some airs and graces. You’d think her father was a lord not a trader on the Rag Market. I’m sure some dodgy dealings were going on there. They always had fancy cars, cruises, fur coats. You don’t make that much money selling a few yards of cloth, do you?’
‘And Valentina was at school with you, too?’ Edie asked.
‘No. She’s a few years younger. I couldn’t believe it when she moved in next door to you. I’m sure that’s not what her father had in mind. I’ve no idea what happened there. Rumour had it that her husband was a gambler; it would explain where all the money went. Because I know when their father sold up he gave them a pretty penny. Lillian bought that huge place over by the rose gardens. I don’t know what Valentina did with her money. Whatever it was it didn’t last. A Harlith girl on the Limewoods Estate. I’d never have believed it.’
‘We live on Limewoods,’ Edie said.
‘I know,’ said Auntie Becca. ‘But it’s not forever, is it?’
‘I don’t want to move.’
Auntie Becca screwed up her face.
‘At least our neighbours aren’t feral,’ Edie said.
Auntie Becca turned to her. She looked angry and was about to say something, when Tess asked, ‘Does Lillian still live by the rose gardens?’
Auntie Becca was still looking at Edie when she replied, ‘I don’t think so. I was driving past there not so long back and another family came out of the house.’
‘So you don’t know where she is?’
‘Where who is?’
Mum had returned without them noticing.
‘Nothing,’ Tess said.
‘Oh, they were asking me about your neighbour, that awful Harlith woman or Vickers or whatever she is these days.’
Mum’s forehead contracted.
‘I told you not to interfere, girls.’
Neither Edie nor Tess looked up.
‘So she’s upped sticks, has she, Val Vickers?’ Auntie Becca said.
Mum didn’t reply.
‘I heard she wanted children,’ Auntie Becca said. ‘Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he can’t afford it.’
‘I really don’t know, Becca. It’s all I can do to keep these two from sticking their noses in.’
She picked up her coat.
‘It’s time we were off.’
‘Not before Ray and Vince get back,’ Auntie Becca said. ‘Ray wants to see you and he’s giving you a lift.’
‘I’ve got a headache,’ Mum said. ‘We’ll get the bus.’
‘But the girls can stay.’
‘No, they can’t.’
Tess was already on her feet and Edie took one look at Mum before getting up. Usually she would have argued, but she remembered Mum’s tears from the week before.
‘Ray will be disappointed,’ Auntie Becca said.
‘I’m sure he’ll get over it,’ Mum said.
Auntie Becca frowned. Mum grabbed the girls’ arms and pulled them towards the door. Pepe, who had barked loudly when they arrived, now didn’t want them to leave. He crouched in front of them, arched his back and growled.
Mum looked at Auntie Becca.
‘He’s harmless, Gina. Just ignore him.’
Edie hung slightly behind Mum. Pepe wasn’t a large dog but his teeth looked big and sharp. Mum walked forwards. Pepe shuffled in front of her, blocking her path and still growling. Eventually, Auntie Becca got up.
‘Pepe, Peps,’ she called.
The dog ignored her. She walked over, grabbed its collar and pulled him back. Edie inched past him with Mum and Tess.
‘Bye, Becca,’ Mum said.
The dog was still pulling on the collar and growling as they left.
*
Edie didn’t dare complain about the cold wind and standing at the bus stop for twenty minutes. It took an hour and two changes to get home. Mum didn’t say a word during the whole trip.
‘Go to your room,’ Mum said when they got through the front door.
‘We only wanted to know if Valentina is at her sister’s,’ Tess said.
‘I’m disappointed in both of you.’
Edie shot Tess a warning look.
‘We didn’t stick our noses in,’ Tess said. ‘Auntie Becca started talking about her. Did you know she used to have loads of money and Mr Vickers gambled it away?’
‘That’s pure gossip.’
Mum’s face was getting angrier. Why wouldn’t Tess shut up?
‘But what if she’s not at her sister’s? He could have done something to her.’
‘Enough, Tess.’
‘He might have killed her. Her body could be in the freezer or under the floorboards. John Christie used to—’
‘That’s enough!’ Mum rarely shouted and Tess looked up as if from a trance.
‘If I find you’ve been snooping around…’ Mum said.
‘We haven’t,’ Edie said.
‘I’m ashamed of you. After I told you to leave that man alone. He’s going through enough.’
‘Mum. He’s… he’s…’
Mum was glaring at Tess, daring her to say the words. Tess closed her mouth.
‘Mr Vickers is a very unhappy man,’ Mum said. ‘And he can do without two silly little girls tormenting him. And if I find out there’s been any more snooping you’ll be grounded till Christmas.’
This time Tess stayed silent.
‘Now go to your room. I don’t want to see either of you right now.’
Edie and Tess slunk off.
‘You shouldn’t have said all that,’ Edie said when they were upstairs.
‘She has to know,’ Tess said.
‘I think Mum does know.’
‘Knows what?’
‘What happened to Valentina.’
‘Then why won’t she tell us?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘You’re not making any sense, Edie. If she knew where she was she’d tell us and she wouldn’t be so upset.’
It made no sense to Edie, either. But she was sure she was right, that Mum did know something. And despite her promise, she was desperate to find out why.
Edie read her book, the sixth in a series. She’d got bored after the third but wanted to find out the ending. Tess was lying on her bed fidgeting and looking across at her. Edie carried on with her book.
‘Edie?’ Tess said after a long bout of rustling.
‘I’m reading.’
‘But, Edie.’
‘Shut up, Tess.’
‘I’ll find her on my own.’
Edie put her book down.
‘How?’
‘I’ll go to the library. Harlith’s not a common name. There can’t be that many.’
‘She might not even live nearby any more. Auntie Becca said she’d sold her house and if she’s married she won’t be Harlith, anyway.’
‘I didn’t think of that,’ Tess said.
‘I know.’
‘I can still try. If I find which house she used to live in we can get her name from an old phone book.’
‘You won’t be able to do that without asking Auntie Becca, and Mum will find out.’
Usually, Edie was the one to break the rules and she would have gone along with Tess. But Mum’s reaction had upset Edie. It wasn’t like her to be sad or serious.
‘Tess, I think you should forget about Valentina. She hasn’t come back to see us because she’s not that bothered.’
‘She can’t come and see us if she’s dead.’
‘She’s not dead, Tess. Mr Vickers did not kill his wife. She left him. I know you love detective books, but they’re just stories. If she’d actually disappeared, the police would know. You’re being a baby.’
‘Don’t call me a baby.’
‘Don’t act like one.’
Tess didn’t reply. She switched off her bedside light and pulled the duvet over her head. Her breathing was uneven and Edie wondered if she was crying. She carried on reading for a few minutes before turning off her light, then lay back on her pillow and stared up at the ceiling.
They were too old to be sharing a bedroom but there was no choice in this tiny house. It seemed unfair that Uncle Ray and Auntie Becca had five bedrooms to themselves, whilst they were squashed into a two-up two-down terrace. Edie turned on her side and sighed. It won’t be forever, Auntie Becca had said, but what was going to change?
Her eyes were drooping towards sleep when she heard Tess say, ‘I am going to find her.’
Edie was too tired to argue but if anyone was going to find Valentina, it would be her.
Chapter 13 (#ulink_89178879-27d1-5f0c-ae65-8c528d66fdcb)
Tess: June 2018
I tell Dad to go to bed and get some rest. He refuses, switches the TV on and stays in the lounge. As the press have gone for the day, I sneak out to buy some vodka from the corner shop, ignoring the curious stare of the woman behind the counter. I’m back in my bedroom and pouring myself a glass, when Vilas rings.
‘DI Vilas here, is your father with you?’
‘He’s resting.’
‘Good. I understand your father became upset with DS Craven. It’s to be expected as he’s under so much strain.’ The irritation in his voice contradicts his sympathetic words. ‘Of course, you’re not obliged to have a family liaison officer. But it is advisable. If Mr Piper is finding DS Craven too intrusive, we could find someone more experienced.’
So I was right about Craven, he is new to family liaison.
‘Dad doesn’t want anyone around,’ I say. ‘Is it true you made accusations against him when Edie went missing?’
Vilas clears his throat.
‘That was a long time ago, before I even joined the force, and he was never accused. We do have to ask difficult questions of individuals closest to the victim, if only to eliminate them as suspects. We’d be negligent if we didn’t follow every line of inquiry.’
‘Dad’s not a line of inquiry. He’s Edie’s father and he’s really not coping with this. DS Craven hanging around is making things worse. You know he’s had problems in the past. Before Edie disappeared, even before Mum died.’
‘We’ve got that on our records. A breakdown. That was a long time ago. He’s on antidepressants, isn’t he? Aren’t they working?’
‘What, after he’s just found out his daughter’s been murdered? Strangely enough, they’re not doing much.’
This man’s skills are better suited to working in an abattoir than dealing with bereaved families. Vilas is either ignoring or oblivious to my sarcasm.
‘If you’re determined not to have a new FLO…’ he says.
‘We are.’
‘…I’ll assign a point of contact for you within the investigation team. Do you think you could cope with Craven doing that? It saves bringing anyone else up to speed.’
‘As long as he doesn’t come to the house,’ I say. ‘Dad’s made that clear.’
Better Craven than having to run through everything again with a new officer.
‘I’ll sort that out. And I’ll be seeing you tomorrow at eleven thirty.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘We’re going over your witness statement from 1998. I’m sure DS Craven’s mentioned it to you.’
He probably did.
‘Eleven thirty then,’ I say.
*
The low sun pours through the window. I sit cross-legged on the bed, a glass of vodka in one hand, a cigarette in the other. I’m playing a game. I press my eyelids shut then flick them open. For a moment the sun blinds me, then when I close my eyes again they’re filled with purple blobs that float across the darkness. If I try and focus on the blobs, they vanish. The trick is to look without looking.
My mobile rings. I ignore it, happy in my land of purple and warmth. I try the purple blob trick again. The sun’s disappeared behind the rooftops and it doesn’t work. The phone rings once more. It’s Max. I let it go to voicemail and I’m about to switch it off, when I think about the newspaper clipping. Why did Edie think Mum’s death was suicide? I haven’t dared to ask about it. Dad’s a hair’s breadth from a breakdown. He disappeared once when we were children. Mum said he’d gone to visit a distant cousin. Raquel laughed when I told her. Didn’t I know? He was at the funny farm. Edie hadn’t believed her and neither had I, but we never met Dad’s distant cousin. I’ll have to ask Ray and Becca about Edie’s note, though Ray’s looking nearly as fragile as Dad.
If Edie spoke to anyone about Mum it would have been Michaela and she might know about the boyfriend, too. Much as I loathe her, I need to get in touch. I try the phone number I found in the exercise book and am told it doesn’t exist. I look up the address online: the bungalow was bulldozed ten years ago to build a block of flats.
I decide to download the Facebook app instead. A long time ago I had a profile. It was fun finding out what my friends were doing and to catch up with them. Then too much started catching up. Photos you’re tagged in from nights you don’t remember. Too many questions from Max. I deleted myself from social media. I may as well not exist. My new profile name is Laura Andrews. Not too obviously made up but dull enough to skim over if you don’t recognise it. I upload a photo of two Labrador puppies as my profile and write that I live in the area and am married with no children.
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- Жанр: Прочее
- Язык: Книги на английском языке
- Объём: 330 стр. 2 иллюстрации
- ISBN: 9780008317751
- Дата выхода книги: 13 сентября 2019
- Версия: 📚 Электронная книга
Edie was Tess’s twin sister. She was fourteen.She had her whole life ahead of her.And then one day Edie left school, and was never seen again.Tess has never given up hope of finding Edie. But ten years later, her body is found in the reservoir near where they went to secondary school.As the police begin to investigate, the spotlight falls on Tess’s family and those closest to her. Tess is faced with a number of questions – but who should she turn to for the answers when she can’t even trust her own family?Everyone has secrets. What really matters is how far you'll go to protect them…
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