One Small Mistake(43)

Releasing my chin, he goes back to unpacking another bag.

‘Want any help?’

He shakes his head.

I drink the beer and with each sip, my humiliation eases. Just a little. But I can’t stop thinking about those pinpricks. Of course he sees me like a sister. It’s no different from how I see him as a brother. Then, when I look up again, I catch Jack staring heatedly at my lips wrapped around the bottle. He flushes and turns away quickly. I smile. Just like that, the pinpricks of disappointment disperse like stardust.

Jack cooks for us. Vegetables and chicken in a creamy sauce. I have never been so grateful to see broccoli. I crunch the tender stem, devouring it with as much enthusiasm as chocolate.

Jack laughs. ‘Enjoying that?’

‘You are god.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

I roll my eyes. ‘There’s a thin line between confidence and arrogance.’

‘And I walk it so well.’

I snort and reach for the elderflower. ‘So, are you going to tell me where you’ve been? You were supposed to be here days ago.’

‘The banker in St Ives rearranged. I had to push the visit back. It would have seemed strange to come to Cornwall alone, days before the meeting.’

‘When’s the meeting?’

‘Already done.’

‘Really?’

He smiles. ‘I can hang out here for a while.’

‘Great.’

Then his face is all serious and it makes the little hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. ‘What is it?’

‘I think we need more time. Your parents are refusing to hold a conference. We should at least wait until then. It will drum up the media attention we need to make this all worth it.’

‘But …’

‘All those other girls are missing for years before they escape.’

‘Years?’ I am appalled. ‘No way. No.’

‘I’m not asking for years. Just another couple of weeks. What’s the point in any of this if we don’t do it right?’

This isn’t the first time Jack’s extended my stay here. I want to go home. But he has a point. ‘Can you convince them to do a conference? Seriously, Jack. I want to go back to Crosshaven soon.’

He nods.

We’re quiet for a moment, and then, even though I’m not sure I want the answer, I ask the question because it’s the only one that really matters. ‘How’re my parents?’

‘Fine.’

I frown. ‘Fine?’

‘Yeah, they’re doing okay.’

I can’t tell whether he’s telling the truth or lying to protect me, and I’m not sure which is better. I mean, I’m glad they’re okay. Obviously. But it doesn’t take the sting out of it; I’m their youngest daughter, I’m missing and they’re ‘doing okay’.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asks.

‘Nothing, I just …’ I trail off because I don’t know how to reply. He won’t understand why I’d want my family to fall apart, even a little.





Chapter Twenty-One


18 Days Missing


Adaline Archer

It’s your birthday today. I was there the day you were born – did you know that? Dad picked me up from Nan’s and drove me to meet you. I ran into the hospital room, so excited because for weeks I’d been told when I met my new little sister, she’d have a present for me. I refused to hold you until I got my promised gift. It was a Sylvanian Family: white rabbits with brown-tipped ears – a mummy, a daddy and two little girls. The first girl I named Ada and the second I named Kimberly in honour of my very favourite Pink Power Ranger. Mum and Dad tried to coerce me to rename her after you, but I stood my ground.

You were only seven hours old when Mum put you – pink and screaming – into my arms. You were so small. I ran a finger down your soft cheek. You stopped crying then and made all these contented, gurgly noises instead. This is my first, truly clear memory. It’s like my life started the day you were born.

On the way home, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Before we’d even got inside, Kimberly was renamed Elodie. I took her to bed every night and fell asleep rubbing her soft ears, which reminded me so much of your soft cheek.

I never told you that, did I? Why didn’t I ever tell you that? It would’ve been weird to pop out with that memory over a roast dinner at Mum and Dad’s, wouldn’t it? No one blurts out heartfelt stories around a mouthful of Maris Pipers. And you always think there’s more time. Another afternoon, another text, another family party, another quiet moment in my kitchen.

Anyway, it’s easier to write it all down now, not knowing if you’ll ever read it, than it was to talk frankly then, knowing you’d hear it. I’m starting to understand why you love to write. There’s something freeing about taking all those swirly thoughts from your head and storing them elsewhere. When you put pen to paper you can say whatever you like, however you like, and there’s no one to judge. I could write all my darkest thoughts down on this sheet and burn it afterwards and no one would know. It’s a freedom I’ve never felt before.

On the way to Mum and Dad’s today, I drove past your house again. Below the police tape were dozens of bouquets of flowers and cards, from strangers or friends and family, I don’t know. It reminded me of those lamp-posts you walk by where someone has clearly crashed their car and died. I had to pull over, take a minute. Dozens of people from the lantern release shared videos of their starry ascent, dozens more shared videos of our dad and undercover police chasing a suspect. You’ve gone viral. It’s good. It means we’re more likely to find you … but find you how? In what state? Looking at these flowers, it’s like you’re dead, Elodie. Are you dead?