The Girls Who Disappeared(4)

I close the door on the rain and go back into the kitchen, dropping my phone on the worktop, then stand at the sink looking out of the window at the forest, trying not to think how depressing as well as beautiful it is. I have a side view of the cabin opposite, set further into the trees, mostly obscured, apart from a right angle with a narrow rectangular window. There is a light on and the amber glow is comforting. I’m relieved that I won’t be alone in the forest after all. It’s not yet 4 p.m.

I pour myself a brew with the fancy boiling-water tap, grateful that the owner has provided milk, bread, butter and teabags, then sit at the table and get my paperwork out of my bag, spreading it in front of me. I’ve printed out old newspaper reports from November 1998 when the three girls went missing, and a photo of Olivia’s smashed-up white Peugeot 205. It’s a miracle anyone got out of it alive.

A dog barks, interrupting my thoughts, and I stand up to get a view from the window. I see a figure coming out of the cabin opposite with a big German Shepherd on a lead. It’s hard to tell if it’s a man or a woman, as they’re wearing a coat with a peaked hood pulled up and tied under the chin but, whoever it is, they’re tall. I move closer to the window, leaning across the sink to get a better look. The person stands for a second in the rain, looking towards my cabin. Then they turn right, taking a path further into the forest, the dog pulling at the lead.

I close the curtains, returning to my paperwork, ignoring the shadows that dance in the corners of the walls, determined not to dwell too much on the fact I’m alone in a place where spooky things seem to happen and people disappear.





2



Olivia


The rain is heavy, thrumming on the back of Olivia’s waxed jacket as she bends over to pick out her pony’s hoof. Her knee and calf ache. They always do in this weather. She knows the weight of Sabrina’s leg will cause her own to buckle if she doesn’t hurry up. The only light comes from the flickering bulb inside the stable, and it casts such a weak glow that she can barely see what she’s doing. Not that she needs to. She can pick a hoof in her sleep.

Since the accident Olivia prefers the company of horses to people. Solid, dependable and comforting. They don’t let you down, or judge you, or get angry with you, or nasty, or manipulative. They don’t answer back or hurl cruel words at you, or trick you into doing something you aren’t comfortable with. You know where you are with them. Since recovering from the accident, Olivia has surrounded herself with them, which was easy to do, considering her mother owns the town’s only riding school and livery stables. She hasn’t driven since that fateful night, but she can still ride horses. It’s her only freedom.

She doesn’t hear her mother crossing the yard until she’s beside her, a frown on her face and a tangle of head-collars thrown over her shoulder. Olivia glances up, lowering Sabrina’s leg.

‘Are you okay, love? You look tired. Maybe call it a night?’

‘I’m nearly done.’

‘Okay. I’m finishing up here and then I’ll put the jacket potatoes on. Are you seeing Wes later?’ Her mother’s greying bob is plastered to her head so she looks like a Lego character, and a raindrop is snaking down her face to hang off the tip of her nose.

‘No, not tonight.’

‘Great. We can catch up with This Is Us.’ It’s just what Olivia needs tonight. To snuggle up with comfort food and her favourite show. Perfect escapism. Her mother heads towards the tack room.

Sabrina neighs and blows out through her large nostrils, her breath clouding in front of her. Olivia buries her head in the animal’s neck. She loves the smell of horses, the warm, wet, steamy scent of them. She leads the pony back into the stable and unclips her collar, quickly runs a brush over Sabrina’s chestnut coat and throws a rug across her back. She wonders if her mother has remembered it’s the anniversary on Wednesday.

Twenty years. She can hardly believe it. Sometimes it feels like yesterday. And at others it feels like a lifetime ago.

The yard looks dark and menacing now everybody’s gone home. She should be used to it, but she’s not. She never will be. The dark freaks her out, that’s the truth of it. It always has. Maybe if she’d been less fearful, more courageous back in 1998, if she’d told the truth, her friends might still be here now.

The beam from her torch shines onto the rain-slicked concrete as she lets herself out of the stable. ‘Goodnight, my precious,’ she whispers, as she fastens the latch on the door while the wind whips at the corner of her jacket. She turns in the direction of the tack room. It’s quiet, in darkness. Her mother must have gone back to the house. Olivia eyes the five-bar gate that separates the riding school from the house in trepidation. The security lights have gone out and only one window is lit up in the distance. The space between here and the house is dark and expansive and she shudders. The rain comes down heavier now, pelting onto the iron rooftops of the stable buildings, dancing a rhythmic tune. She pulls her hat firmly over her fair hair. I do this every night, she reminds herself (although more often than not her mother waits for her), and tonight is no different. It doesn’t matter that it’s the anniversary on Wednesday, or that, for weeks, she’s felt this undercurrent of something she can’t name rippling through the town. She says this over and over to herself as she hurries towards the gate as best she can even though she’s limping on her left leg, the beam of her torch sweeping over the path ahead, illuminating the rain.