Her One Mistake(67)

I turned off the main road and drove down the winding lane that eventually led to a short street of clapboard-fronted shops and cafés. Passing the White Horse pub, I slowed so I wouldn’t miss the right turn that would otherwise lead me to the beach.

This lane was even narrower and lined with hedges as it climbed a steep hill, twisting to the left. There were two unloved houses on the right before I finally spotted a sign for Elderberry Cottage. The wooden name was stuck to a post and jammed at an angle into the bushes out front. I assumed that if I carried on, I’d wind up at a dead end at the top of the cliff, as my dad had told me.

It was 12:30 p.m. when I finally pulled up alongside the hedge opposite the cottage, wincing at the scratch of its branches against the side of the car. There was little space to park without jutting into the center of the lane.

So this was it. Sadly, it looked exactly like it had on the website.

I didn’t bother checking the deserted road for oncoming cars as I crossed and passed through a gate hanging miserably on one hinge and leading to a cobbled path with overgrown grass peeking through its cracks. On the front door a bell dangled dubiously on a wire. I took a deep breath and knocked.

“Please be in, Dad,” I muttered. “Please God, let Alice be here.”

I knocked again, louder this time. Still nothing. To my right a net curtain partially hid the living room behind it, but I could make out the red velvet armchair and faded brown two-seater sofa I’d seen on the website. The cottage looked like it had been caught in a time trap. I imagined a thin layer of dust coating the china figurines that were lined up on the mantel like a row of soldiers.

I banged on the door again until my hand felt bruised. My heart echoed back with each thump I made on the peeling green wood. How had I allowed her out of my sight? Yes, she was with her grandfather, but she’d only known him six months. I barely knew him.

“Where are you, Dad?” I cried at the closed door, pressing my forehead against it in despair. “Where’s Alice?”

When I pulled away I noticed the side gate was ajar. It led to the back of the house, weaving through tubs of withered plants that stood on a slab of concrete. Through the glass panel of the shabby blue back door, I could see the kitchen, with mugs left on the table, a few bowls stacked in the sink.

After I tried the handle, the door swung open and I tentatively stepped inside. “Dad?” I called out. “Alice?” The only response was the loud ticking of a grandfather clock.

My legs felt like liquid as I drifted through the house, one step at a time, climbing the staircase, its floorboards creaking beneath me. I called out their names again as I reached the top. Now the clock’s ticking was much fainter.

They weren’t here, I was certain of that. But had they been? Were they here this morning?

I glanced into a bedroom with a double bed neatly made, a purple quilt tucked over the top. Next to it was a small box room, half the size of Alice’s at home. A single bed had a green blanket laid carefully over its end. Had Alice slept here?

My hand shook as I reached out to touch the sheet, frightened there’d be no evidence that she’d been here. One tug ripped the sheets back. “Oh God.” I held a hand over my mouth as the other touched the corner of the fabric that peeked out from under the pillow. Pulling slowly, I found a neatly folded nightie dotted with pretty pink owls and a frilled hem. I pressed it against my face, breathing it in. There may have been the faintest scent of Alice, but I couldn’t be sure I wasn’t imagining it.

Exhilarated by that small find, I went over to the chest and pulled out its drawers one by one. Balled socks, a new pack of girls’ pants, a couple of T-shirts. Then in the last one Alice’s pink chiffon skirt with the embroidered birds and, neatly placed next to it, her little blue shoes with their pinpricked stars.

I let out a cry as I sank to the floor, a wave of nausea rushing over me. This was a good thing, I told myself. It meant she’d been here. My dad had at least brought her here as promised. And he had bought her a pretty nightie and new clothes. I had to take comfort in that, I thought, grabbing a handful of shells from the pile on the dresser. And now I was convinced I knew where to find them.

Racing down the stairs, I went back through the kitchen and out the back door, leaving it unlocked like I’d found it in case they didn’t have a key. I ran down the lane until it came to an abrupt stop at the top of the cliff. Only then did I pause and inhale deep lungfuls of air.

Over the edge of the cliff was a sheer drop. Below me waves rolled in, their white foam washing up on the sand before being dragged out again. The tide was out, revealing a small slip of beach, and while it wasn’t windy it looked like there was a strong current.

I stepped back before I lost my balance and started down the steep, grassy path that wound down the cliff to my left. Intermittent stone steps had been laid in places where the ground was rough and I had to carefully find my footing. It was the type of walk Alice would’ve loved.

At the bottom the path joined the main lane that ran through the village. Opposite was a small deserted parking lot and to the right a wide path led onto the beach, which looked wider than it had from the top, and I wondered how much of it would disappear once the tide came in.

The beach was almost empty, as my father had said, apart from a little boy playing with a fishing net at the farthest edge of the cove, watched by a couple engrossed in animated conversation.