Читать книгу Have You Seen Her: The new psychological thriller from bestseller Lisa Hall - Lisa Hall - Страница 15

CHAPTER 6

There is a crushing sense of disappointment at Dominic’s words, heightened when Fran shoves Dominic from her and rushes from the room.

‘I’ll go after her,’ Kelly says, a grim look on her face, as Dominic sinks into the nearest kitchen chair.

‘I’m so sorry.’ I feel the mistake as if it were an actual physical pain, a shaft of hurt piercing my skin. And not just mine – it seems I got everyone else’s hopes up for no reason. ‘I really thought . . . the hair, it was the hair. She was wearing it the same way Laurel wears it, and it was the same shade . . .’ I trail off, the bitter taste of failure thick on my tongue.

‘It was a genuine mistake,’ DS Wright says, ‘and better that you raised it with us, because it could have been Laurel.’

‘It was their daughter,’ Dominic says wearily in a husky voice, his head resting in his hands. ‘It was their own little girl. She takes after her mother – blonder than you, Anna, she was. Up close she looked nothing like Laurel.’

‘The drag marks were caused by them,’ DS Wright tells us, ‘apparently the girl sneaked out through the cut fence to watch the fireworks. When they found her, she didn’t want to leave. Had a paddy by all accounts, and they ended up dragging her back to the caravans. They only arrived yesterday evening, a little before the bonfire started. Officers had already spoken to them late last night and told them to move on today.’ Her face twists in something like disapproval.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper again, ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘There’s nothing you can say.’ Fran has appeared back in the doorway, faint smudges of mascara beneath her eyes revealing she has shed yet more tears. ‘It was a mistake, Anna. You weren’t to know that it wasn’t her. Us sitting here crying isn’t going to help get Laurel back, is it? DS Wright – is there anything else you can tell us?’

I blink back tears, frantically trying to rid myself of them before they fall. Fran is right, sitting here crying won’t get Laurel home to us. Although slightly forced, Fran seems to be trying to channel her usual brisk self, and I guess that is the only way she can cope with what is happening in this house right now – to try and keep control of events the way she always does. I can imagine her sitting upstairs, beating herself up, punishing herself for her emotional outbursts and hating herself for losing control.

‘Well,’ Wright says, pushing her dark hair away from her face and gratefully accepting the hot tea that Kelly thrusts in her direction – she’s good for refreshments, if nothing else – ‘we have made some headway following the initial door-to-door enquiries.’

‘Really?’ Dominic lifts his head and gazes around the kitchen. ‘Why are we only hearing about it now?’

‘As you can understand, checking out the possible sighting of Laurel became our priority, and I have only just received the most recent updates from the team that are carrying out the enquiries.’

‘So, what is it?’ The words tumble out before I can stop them and Fran stares at me, putting me back in my place without saying a word. Laurel is her daughter, not mine. Wright doesn’t appear to notice though.

‘There has been a report of a child matching Laurel’s description getting into a car along the lane from the bonfire last night, at a time that corresponds to when Laurel went missing.’

‘What?’ Fran whispers, her face a chalky white. She licks at her lips and raises a shaky hand to her mouth to wipe at it.

‘Obviously, we are taking this witness very seriously, and we will be investigating further,’ DS Wright says, glancing between myself, Fran and Dominic, as though wanting to make it absolutely clear that this could also be another dead end.

‘Tell us what happened. Tell us who saw it and exactly what they think they saw.’ Dominic is on his feet, fingers gripping the edge of the table tightly, so tightly that his knuckles are white.

‘A resident of the area looked out of the window at approximately eight fifteen last night, supposedly to watch the fireworks display, and saw a young girl getting into a car not far from the entrance to the display. She describes the car as an “off-roader” which we are taking to mean an SUV. Officers are with the lady now, showing her pictures of different vehicles to see if she can narrow it down for us. At the moment an SUV, possibly dark in colour although she can’t be sure, is all she can tell us.’

‘And what about the driver?’ Dominic says, a sheen of sweat sparkling on his forehead, in the patches where his silver hair has started to recede. ‘Did she see who was driving it? A man? Woman? Did she see anything?’

‘She says it was too dark to see who was driving, and to be honest, she didn’t really think anything of it at the time. All she saw was a small girl, wearing a pink coat, climbing into the back seat of a dark car.’

‘How can she be sure it was Laurel?’ Fran asks, her voice barely above a whisper. She clears her throat, making a harsh, raspy sound that seems too loud in the thick silence of the kitchen. ‘I mean, Laurel wouldn’t get into a car, would she?’ She looks to me and I shake my head, reluctantly. ‘She wouldn’t go off with a stranger. I know my daughter, DS Wright, and she wouldn’t willingly get into a stranger’s car, not after everything I’ve taught her.’

‘She might, though,’ I say, unable to keep the words in, knowing that I’m about to effectively tell the police that I know how Laurel would react to this situation better than Fran would. ‘Sorry, Fran, I don’t mean to contradict you, but she might. Laurel is a very friendly, outgoing child.’ I think about the way she stops to greet Mr Snow every afternoon, the way she always has a smile and a wave for everyone, regardless of whether she knows them or not. ‘And she’s only little. If a stranger told her that you had said she was to go with them, there’s every chance that she might have got into a car.’

‘We don’t know for certain that it was Laurel,’ DS Wright says, as Fran turns an icy-cold gaze on me, her eyes narrowed. I don’t know which is worse – the idea that Laurel might have got into a car belonging to somebody she doesn’t know, or that it isn’t her and we are still no closer to finding her. ‘But I have to ask you if you know anybody who might have a dark-coloured SUV?’

‘No. We don’t know anyone who has a dark-coloured SUV. And she wouldn’t have got in it anyway.’ Fran’s nostrils flare as she speaks, deliberating turning her face away to let me know that she is in charge of this, not me, that I shouldn’t have dared to contradict her.

‘Of course. As I said, officers are working with the witness concerned, and as soon as I have anything more to tell you, I will.’ A shrill ring pierces the air, and DS Wright excuses herself to answer the call. I let out a breath that I haven’t even realised I’ve been holding.

‘Do you mind if I . . .’ I wave a hand towards the staircase, and Dominic gives a little shrug. I need to step away for a moment, away from the tension, the words that lay between all of us, unsaid. The blame that I feel lies on my shoulders for mistaking that girl for Laurel and raising everyone’s hopes. I escape to my tiny box room, pausing only briefly on the landing to turn the heating back on. Dominic is behind me and I let out a little gasp of shock.

‘Sorry, you startled me,’ I say, pressing my hand to my chest, feeling my heartbeat thud rapidly beneath my palm.

‘Sorry.’ He looks a little sheepish. ‘I only wanted to say . . . you did the right thing just now. Speaking up to say that you thought Laurel might have got in the car.’

‘Oh. I just . . . I didn’t mean to . . .’

‘Really, Anna, it was the right thing to do. I saw the look Fran gave you when you said it, and I . . . look, you know how she is.’ Our eyes meet in a look of understanding. Yes, I know how she is. ‘This is really tough on her, and she’s probably going to take a lot of it out on you, but I understand that it’s tough on you, too. You can talk to me, if you need to.’

‘Thank you.’ I feel a faint blush start to creep up my neck, relief that perhaps I am not on my own through this starting to flood my veins.

‘And if you think of anything – anything at all that might help find Laurel – in the meantime just come to me.’ Dominic pats the top of my arm and turns to head back down the stairs to Fran.

My room is freezing cold, the weak wintry sunlight streaming in through the window not enough to warm the room at all. I’m not sure if it’s the temperature of the room, or the fact that Laurel is missing that makes me shiver, my arms stippled with goosebumps. My stomach twists, as I think of her again, running after Fran, the way I turned back to the fireworks display before I saw her catch up. Why didn’t I keep my eyes on her, just for a few seconds longer?

Clothes litter the end of my bed, from where I tried on and discarded several different outfits before leaving last night, settling on the blue and white striped top I still wear now. I sniff under the armpits and grimace, before tugging it over my head and dropping it into the laundry pile. I need a shower, and clean clothes. My blonde hair hangs limply around my shoulders, and the tops of my feet are splattered with tiny flecks of mud where my trainers didn’t cover them.

Listening out as I step on to the landing, I hear the murmur of voices below as I go into the bathroom and lock the door. The hot water thunders down over my hair and I let go of the tears that I’ve held at bay since this morning. Salty trails stream down my cheeks, mixing with the hot water from the shower, and I gasp as my nose clogs, the steam catching in the back of my throat.

I love Laurel. It’s something I find hard to admit, even to myself. I’ve been in a situation before where I let myself become attached – and look how that ended, I chide myself. I swore that this time, it would merely be a temporary stopgap until I could find something else, a different job where I could simply turn up from nine to five and then go home and not think about it again till the morning. But I got lured in by Laurel and her familiar baby smell, right at the beginning. It is second nature to me to comfort her as she runs to me, not Fran, when she falls and hurts herself. She fell a few weeks ago, as she ran in from the garden, the paving slabs wet and slippery underfoot. Fran and I had been stood in the kitchen, both of us hearing the thud as she went down and then her thin piercing shriek. We’d rushed outside together, Fran pushing past me to get to her first, her arms outstretched ready to pick her up, but Laurel had shrieked louder and shaken her head, reaching her arms out to me, for me to scoop her up and carry her inside. Fran had shrugged it off, but I’d seen the look of fury on her face when I had lifted Laurel up, her head fitting naturally into the hollow of my shoulder as if she were my own.

Spending all that time caring for her, making sure she is happy, looked after, it was inevitable that I would get attached in the end. And now, it’s happening again, just as it did before. I take my eye off the ball for a few seconds and everything comes tumbling down.

*

Fran is lurking outside the bathroom when I slide the lock back and pull the door open, making me jump, and I almost drop the bundle of dirty laundry I am carrying. I can only hope that the thunder of the water drowned out the sound of my sobbing, although the redness around my eyes will still give it away.

‘I’m going to try and get some rest,’ she tells me, her face closed. I don’t blame her. I don’t think she slept at all last night and her face is pinched with exhaustion. Plus, she is clearly still annoyed with me for what I said – it’s probably best for both of us to be in separate rooms for a while. ‘Get Dominic to wake me up if . . . anything happens.’ She glances down towards the bundle in my arms. ‘What is that?’

‘Just the laundry.’ I have collected up my own dirty clothes, as well as the bundle in the bottom of the laundry basket. It’s not my job to do the laundry; Fran has a cleaner every day that takes care of it, but I feel as though I am lost at sea without Laurel to occupy me.

‘No, that.’ She points at something sticking out of the bottom of the bundle, that I can’t see from the position I am holding it in. ‘Give it to me.’ She tugs, and the clothes fall out of my arms, all over the hall carpet. Fran is clutching a scrap of lilac cotton to her face, that I recognise as the nightdress I took off Laurel yesterday morning before I put her in the bath.

‘No one said you could take this!’ Fran cries, tears shining in the corners of her eyes. ‘No one said you could do the laundry! Just leave it! Put it all back!’ She holds the nightdress tight against herself, rocking slightly as she cries.

‘Fran? What’s going on?’ Dominic thunders up the stairs, concern pulling his eyebrows in to a deep crease in his forehead. ‘Anna?’

‘I was just . . .’ I stutter, too frightened to say anything more. There is something primal, something horrifying, about the way Fran wails, the noise chilling the blood in my veins.

‘She was going to wash Laurel’s clothes!’ Fran cries, before burying her face in the soft washed cotton again, her shoulders hitching.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think . . .’ Of course, Fran wouldn’t want me to wash Laurel’s clothes, how could I be so stupid? ‘I only wanted to help.’

‘Leave it, Anna. Fran, come on. I’ll take you upstairs.’ His tone curt, Dominic puts an arm around his wife, guiding her gently towards the stairs that lead to the attic room. Fran turns to stare at me over one shoulder, and I look down, not wanting to meet her gaze, ashamed that I could be so thoughtless.

I grab my laptop and slide down onto the floor, my back against the radiator as I wait for it to boot up. The incident with Fran has left me feeling drained and shaken, and I wish I could sleep, but I know I won’t. My mind is too busy turning over the events of the past few hours, the vision of Laurel climbing into the back of a car etched on my brain. As I wait for the laptop, my mobile buzzes. It’s Jess. Again. She’s messaged several times since I left her, and I can’t ignore her any longer.

‘Jess?’

‘Anna. Just wanted to check you’re OK? This morning was pretty emotional.’ Understatement of the year.

‘I’m OK. Well . . . you know.’

‘I’m guessing it wasn’t Laurel then?’

‘No. It wasn’t. I made a mistake, a massive one.’ I close my eyes, thinking of that blonde head bobbing in the window of the caravan. I’d been so sure.

‘Have you been on Facebook today?’ Jess asks, a note of trepidation creeping into her voice.

‘Not yet. Why?’ I pull the laptop back towards me and log into my Facebook page. ‘Oh.’ The first thing that comes up in my timeline is a page entitled ‘FIND LAUREL JESSOP’. I click on the page and Laurel’s face fills my screen. My heart does a little double skip in my chest as I start to read the opening post.

‘Jess, who did this? Was it you?’

‘No, it was Cheryl Smythe. She’s been rather busy since yesterday evening, don’t you think?’ I can picture Jess rolling her eyes as she speaks.

‘Do you think this will help?’ I am scrolling down the page, scanning my eyes over the posts. They are all incredibly supportive, some offering ideas as to what may have happened to Laurel, others suggesting places to search. There is a post from eight o’clock this morning, from Cheryl, informing people that the school hall will be the main point of contact for all search volunteers – which explains why it had been so busy this morning.

‘It can’t do any harm, can it?’ Jess says. ‘I mean, look at how social media has worked before. Lots of people have been found thanks to thousands of others all sharing the same image. I just thought that I should let you know in case Fran hasn’t seen it yet.’

I don’t know how Fran will react to the page.

‘Thanks, Jess.’ I hang up, and push myself to my feet, my stomach rumbling. It’s almost mid-afternoon and I haven’t eaten since one of Pete the Meat’s dodgy barbecue burgers last night, and despite feeling as though I could never feel hungry again, my stomach is telling me otherwise. Deciding to make a few rounds of sandwiches – as far as I know neither Fran nor Dominic have eaten today either – I head into the kitchen, only to find Dominic, Fran and Kelly all sitting at the kitchen table. There is no sign of DS Wright and I assume she’s gone back to the investigation.

‘Sorry, am I interrupting?’ I say, glancing from one person to the next and wondering if I should head back up to my room, even though I desperately what to hear what is being said.

‘Not at all.’ Kelly gives me a brief smile. ‘Now, as DS Wright was saying earlier, we are still pursuing the information we have been given regarding the SUV, and news of Laurel’s disappearance has reached the national press. We’re not too sure who contacted them, but it was to be expected in a situation like this.’ A knife twists in my chest at hearing Laurel referred to as a situation and my eyes flick towards Fran, who sits blank-faced, her hands clasped together on the table in front of her. ‘We believe that our next course of action should be to hold a press conference to answer questions, to keep the press on our side.’

‘Ah, no,’ Dominic says, raising one hand. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t want . . . I don’t think a press conference is a good idea.’

‘What?’ Fran says, her eyes wide. ‘Why not, Dom? Don’t you want to find Laurel?’

‘Of course I do,’ Dominic snaps, ‘but you know what happens with a press conference?’ He turns to Kelly, who sits there calmly, waiting. ‘You know, don’t you? They’ll all be scrutinising us! They’ll be saying that we had something to do with it!’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous. No one would think that. We have to do it, Dom, if it means that we can get Laurel back.’ Fran taps her fingers on the table top, long nails scratching at the wooden surface, a noise that sets my teeth on edge.

‘Look at all the other times it’s happened!’ Dominic shouts. ‘All the other criminals who stood there on television, telling the world to please, just give their little princess back, and then all the time it was them!’ His voice breaks, and he slumps back down into the chair. ‘I don’t want that, Fran. I don’t want people thinking we’re guilty of something we’re not.’

‘Dominic,’ Kelly lays her hand gently on his, ‘I promise you, people don’t think like that. This is the best chance we have of keeping the press on side, and we’ll only reveal the things that we need to right now.’

The doorbell gives its piercing ring, making all of us jump. I pull away from where I lean against the kitchen counter. ‘I’ll get it.’ There is a dark silhouette in the glass as I approach the door, and when I pull it open I am stunned to hear a cacophony of voices, flashbulbs going off in my face, and more than one iPhone shoved under my nose as questions are shouted at me, relentlessly one after the other.

‘When was the last time you saw Laurel?’

‘Who are you to the family?’

‘Can we speak with Fran and Dominic?’

The press has arrived.