Her One Mistake(66)

Angela looked as confused as Charlotte felt. “Did you get the hint they’d had an argument?”

“I wondered that, but he didn’t say as much. He was just a bit—” Charlotte gestured a hand in the air. “Weird. I assumed it was the stress of Alice and everything—but like I said, it was Harriet he was talking about, not Alice.”

Angela sat back and reached into her handbag, pulling out a notepad.

“Has something else happened?” Charlotte asked, trying to see what the detective was writing but unable to make anything out.

Angela looked up. “Nothing in particular. But the house was a little disrupted when I got there this afternoon.”

“How do you mean ‘disrupted’?” The word made her cold. Harriet’s home was always so neat and organized.

“It was a mess. Things had been disturbed,” Angela said, pen poised in the air. “When I looked through the living room window, I could see all of Alice’s toys strewn across the carpet.”

“But what did Brian say?” Charlotte asked. “How did he explain it?” She’d always thought he was the one who liked it so tidy. Harriet never seemed to mind a bit of a mess, you only had to look in her handbag to see that. But still, there was no way Harriet would have thrown Alice’s toys around.

“That’s the strange thing,” Angela said. “He wasn’t there either. There’s no sign of Harriet or Brian and I have no idea where either of them have gone.”





NOW


The detective wants to know why I didn’t tell anyone where I was going when I walked out of my house yesterday. He wants to know why, twelve days after my daughter had disappeared, I got up and drove off without telling my husband or Angela or my best friend, who is currently sitting in another room being questioned by his colleague.

I tell him the same story over and over, but each time he asks me again, only he frames the question slightly differently, hoping he might catch me in a lie. I fear he soon will.

Eventually Detective Lowry sighs and suggests a “comfort break.”

“Is there any news yet?” I ask again as I’m leaving the room. “Could you find out for me, please?” I cannot bring myself to say the words.

He nods, and for a moment I see a fleeting look in his eyes that resembles compassion. He hesitates by the door as if about to tell me something. I hold my breath, but in the end he says nothing.

There is news. There is something he isn’t sharing.

Detective Lowry heads one way up the hallway and I turn in the other direction toward the bathroom. It’s been thirteen days since I’ve been with Alice. Before the fair, not thirteen hours had passed when I hadn’t been able to look at her face and hold her in my arms. That’s what tears me apart the most: not being able to touch her.

The air in the hallway becomes so thin it’s hard to breathe. I reach for the wall to steady myself as a sharp pain splits across my forehead. The bright lights flicker and dim, and my vision narrows. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, though they offered me a biscuit an hour ago. I should have forced it down but I couldn’t, and now I regret it as I feel the pain of my empty stomach.

The thought of staying here a moment longer is almost unbearable. With one hand on the wall I feel my way along, a few more paces, until I reach the bathroom door. Pushing it open, I almost fall inside and clasp on to the basin’s cool white enamel with both hands.

Eventually I pull my head up and focus on my reflection until I become clear. In some ways it seems like only yesterday I slunk out of my class and was staring at myself in the hotel mirror, waiting for news that my plan was under way. In others, it feels like a lifetime has passed.

I turn the cold handle and drench my hands, splashing water over my face until the sharp pain recedes. I have no choice but to pull myself together. No choice but to stick to my story, despite what Lowry isn’t telling me.





BEFORE


HARRIET


I woke at seven thirty to find a note had been pushed under the door of my room to say the garage owner had called and my car would be ready in two hours. Finally, things were turning in my favor. By lunchtime I would be in Cornwall.

I wolfed down a breakfast of greasy eggs and undercooked bacon made by the owner of the B&B, and accepted his offer of a ride to the garage, where I waited longer than I’d been told. My car wasn’t ready for another hour, but I was finally back on the road by ten thirty.

With the sun trying to break through the clouds as I headed west, I turned the radio up and allowed my thoughts to oscillate between what lay ahead and what was behind me.

Best case I would find Alice safe and if I did, I would turn around and go straight back to Dorset. Last night I’d decided I would tell Brian and Angela that I’d needed to get away from the house. That I’d needed one night on my own away from the prying eyes and invasive questions, where nobody knew me or my story. I’d tell them I drove without thinking about where I was heading and would give them the name of the B&B owner who could vouch for me. I didn’t know if they’d believe me, but it was all I had.

With the rest of the journey passing without mishap, I soon approached the tiny village of West Aldell, where the familiar, unnerving surge of dread resurfaced. I had no idea what I was walking into: whether my daughter would be there; if anything had happened to her.