The Other People(57)

And she was there.

One minute the road was clear; the next, the girl stood in the middle of it.

Blonde hair, almost white, pale skin. No more than fourteen. Dressed in a simple yellow sundress and sandals. She turned. Her blue eyes widened, her mouth made a small “Oh” of surprise, as if shocked by the suddenness and finality of their meeting.

He saw all of this, even though the moment could only have lasted fractions of a second. And then she was gone, flying through the air and up, over the windshield, like a massive gust of wind had lifted her and carried her away. The impact threw him forward, the seatbelt yanked him back, slicing deeply into his chest and shoulder, head slamming against the headrest.

He heard the squeal of the brakes, even though he didn’t remember hitting them, felt the steering wheel fight against his grip as the car bucked, skidded and eventually shuddered to a halt.

I’ve hit her. I’ve killed her. I’ve hit her. I’ve killed her. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.

He was vaguely aware of screaming and yelling, the car doors opening, Kev and Jase staggering out. He felt someone—Mitch—grab his arm. He remained crouched, frozen over the wheel, heart trying to escape his bruised chest, breath coming in strange, small gasps. Mitch turned and sprinted away, across the road, disappearing into the side streets.

Gabe raised his eyes to the rearview mirror. The girl lay in the road, several feet behind the car. Motionless, her body oddly contorted.

He could hear shouting. People emerging from the cafés and bars, drawn by the squeal of brakes, the commotion. A portly man, who he recognized as the owner of the sundae shop, had pulled out a chunky mobile phone and was shouting about an ambulance.

For the moment, no one was looking at him. All horrified eyes were on the girl.

C’mon. Run.

He glanced toward the pier. He could do it. He could still get away. He peeled his hands from the wheel and half fell, half staggered out of the car. He took a step forward…and then turned and limped over to the girl.

She lay at odd angles in the road. Her eyes were half open, but her face was a mask of blood and a dark shadow had spread beneath her white-blonde hair. In one hand she held a shell, remarkably unbroken.

He sank to his knees beside her. He could smell rubber, salt and something darker and crueller. He reached for the girl’s hand. The fingernails were broken and torn, the knuckles flayed free of skin.

Her eyes rolled toward his.

“An ambulance is on its way,” he said, not really knowing whether it was or not. “It will all be okay.”

Even though he could already see it wouldn’t. The unnatural angles of her limbs. The blood bubbling at the corners of her mouth. Tears burned at the back of his eyes.

“I’m so sorry.”

Her lips moved. Gabe bent his face closer. Her breath was hot and metallic.

“Lisssten.”

She exhaled the word with a fine spray of blood. And, even though it was impossible because she must be in terrible pain and possibly dying, it looked like she was trying to smile.

“I can hear the sea.”





“It was an accident.”

“You were drunk.”

“I was seventeen. I made a mistake. I paid the price.”

“A suspended sentence, a fine.” Harry snorted.

“It was an accident. She stepped out right in front of me. Besides, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Maybe it wasn’t enough.”

Gabe shook his head. “It was over twenty years ago. Why? After all this time?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you know?”

“Only what the woman told me.”

“What woman?”

“The woman who has Izzy.”

He couldn’t stop himself. Despite the sharp tug of the stitches in his side, Gabe launched out of his chair and hauled Harry up by his lapels, slamming him against the lock-up’s cinderblock wall. “What’s her name? Where is she? Where’s my daughter?”

Harry was almost Gabe’s height and Gabe was no Adonis, but he could feel the frailty of the man as he lifted him. The wasted muscle beneath the smart clothes. The faint sour smell of fear beneath the expensive aftershave. He felt a tiny spark of guilt. But only a tiny one.

“I don’t know her name. I don’t know where Izzy is.”

“Liar.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Is Izzy in danger?”

“No. It’s not like that.

“Then what is it like? Tell me!”

Harry’s face paled. He started to wheeze. Gabe released his grip. Harry sank back down on the bed. With a sigh like a death rattle, he said: “After your call that night…Evelyn was hysterical. I persuaded her to take some tablets, to help her sleep. I didn’t sleep much myself. I woke early and went downstairs. There was a brown envelope on the doormat. No postmark, but something bulky inside. I opened it and found a mobile handset and a note: ‘Your granddaughter is alive. Take this phone and go to the park. Wait on the bench by the playground. Do not contact the police.’?”

“And you just did what the note said?”

“I thought I had just lost my daughter and my granddaughter. Now someone was offering me hope, however insane it sounded.” He looked up at Gabe through red-rimmed eyes. “What else could I do?”