Where the Missing Go(57)

I kick on my trainers and head out, swatting away the midges that are dancing under the trees. I’m thinking how to do this: I don’t want her to clam up, she’s been so touchy recently. Not herself. I can only try, I think, as I let myself in. ‘Lily?’

She’s in her usual chair. But she looks frailer than I remember, dark blue shadows under her eyes.

‘Hello, dear.’

I pull up a chair, and ask her how she’s been; what’s been going on in her soaps. But she’s a beat behind my questions; she can’t remember what’s happened in the last episodes. The room’s a mess, too; saucers scattered around; old newspapers, the place too hot. I get up to open a window – it’s so stuffy.

Another bad day: I must chase the surgery. But maybe that means …

Feeling guilty, I kneel down next to her. ‘Lily, I’ve something to ask you. Something important – about Nancy, who you mentioned the other day?’

‘Nancy?’

‘Yes, Nancy.’ I force myself to wait.

She looks blank, then: ‘She was a wild one. She got in trouble.’

‘Yes, you said that last time: she was trouble. But what happened to her? Do you know?’

‘They were going to send her away to school – after she got in trouble.’

Oh, I’m not going to get anywhere.

And then I realise: ‘She got in trouble.’ That old euphemism, from when it wasn’t nice to talk about these things.

‘Do you mean she was pregnant, Lily?’

‘She was a one, Nancy. All that sneaking around, off in the deer park. That’s where the young people used to go in those days, you know—’

‘So did you know her?’ I can’t let her get off track. I think: how long has she been a housekeeper here? I didn’t think her roots here went that far back. ‘Did you know her, Lily? Is that why Sophie’s story reminded you of Nancy, the girl who used to live here?’

But she’s tuning me out, her eyes looking beyond me. I lean in and grasp her hand.

‘And do you know what happened to her boyfriend, Lily? Do you know? His name was Jay.’

She turns her head to me and puts a soft hand over mine. ‘You mustn’t look so worried. What’s wrong?’

‘I was asking you about Nancy, Lily, do you remember?’ I try to keep the tension out of my voice.

‘Nancy … no dear. I don’t think I know that name. Should I?’

‘Yes, you do know it; did you know Nancy? What happened to her?’

But it’s too much, she’s getting upset now: ‘Why? Where is she? Where’s she gone?’ She leans back in her chair. ‘Oh, I’m so tired.’

I squeeze her hand. ‘Don’t you worry about it, Lily. Everything’s going to be OK. You have a nice nap, I’ll come back later, when you’re more yourself.’

I stand up. Can it be possible?

In trouble.

If she meant what I think … pregnant. Nancy’s little sister didn’t breathe a word of this; neither did Vicky, her classmate – gossip like that would fly round a school. But only if people knew. If her little sister wasn’t told, say, or she didn’t confide in her friends, they could hush it up.

So that’s two of them.

Two girls who ran away. Two girls with secrets. Two girls who never came home.





29


SOPHIE


There’s lots of stuff I don’t like to think about, these days. But you know what actually makes me pull a face when I remember? How I used to be.

I was so lonely in here, so starved of people, that I was so happy to see him whenever he turned up. Like some dog that still wags its tail when its master arrives to give it a kicking.

Even when he started to be different. He could be so short with me sometimes, like he never was on the outside. Sometimes he barely talked when he came round, only stopping to drop off the bags of food. He’s just busy, I told myself, I’ve got to understand that.

But when he did stay he wasn’t the same any more. It felt like nothing about me was right.

‘Why’s this place such a mess?’ and ‘Can’t you brush your hair? You’d feel better if you did.’

‘I know, you’re right, and I was meaning to.’ I just felt tired, all the time, falling asleep in the day. What was I going to do, anyway? I knew I shouldn’t say that.

‘I’m really sorry,’ I’d tell him, dissolving into tears all too easily now. ‘I’ll try harder.’ But he didn’t want to look at me, let alone touch me. Sometimes he said I was ungrateful.

I cried about that, too.

I suppose he was getting nervous, the longer I was in here. I was too.

This is my third summer. It’s hard to keep track of the date. We don’t do Christmas, or birthdays. I just got upset, so he stopped. I did ask for a calendar, a paper one, because now I didn’t have a phone, but that never came. I know I’ve been here two winters. The days have been so long. But he doesn’t like me to be bored. Correction: he doesn’t like me to seem bored. Whether I’m about to cry with frustration at another day inside these walls, let’s be honest, he doesn’t care.

I’ve got the TV. It’s just a little one, with a DVD player, and he brought me films. That was a relief. The silence was getting to me. Now I have it on nearly all the time, I just turn it down when I’m going to sleep. For a while I thought I might get a mention on the news, but it must have been too late: he didn’t get it for me until a few weeks in. I don’t know what that means. But it’s nice to hear voices other than my own. I’ve got in the habit of chatting away to Teddy, telling him things about my family and my life at home, like he could understand. I suppose it’s better than talking to myself. And I don’t do it when he’s here, of course.