The Survivors(15)

‘They haven’t said. I heard her housemate found her.’

‘Olivia?’ Kieran could see the roped-off gate leading to Fisherman’s Cottage.

The woman nodded but said no more, her eyes on the horizon. Kieran’s own gaze crept back to Bronte.

She was lying on her side, lengthways along the beach with her back to the sea. Her arms were limp and her face was pressed against the sand. The careful highlights in her hair were dull and matted. Her baby-doll eyes were closed.

Kieran had a sudden flash of her, so different from this. Running through the spray after Audrey’s hat, looking out at the sea and laughing in frustration.

A single young cop Kieran didn’t recognise stood near the water with his boots damp and sandy, guarding the territory between Bronte and the onlookers who had gathered a respectful distance away. His palm was held out as though to ward off anyone attempting to get closer. No-one had moved.

‘Shouldn’t they get her out?’ someone muttered as the tail end of a heavy wave raced up the sand and threatened to lap at the edge of the girl’s orange uniform.

The young cop had no idea what he should be doing, even Kieran could see that. The guy had almost certainly spent the summer dealing with lost wallets and underage drinking. The officer kept glancing desperately towards Fisherman’s Cottage and looked relieved as the back door suddenly swung open and a voice shouted out.

‘Oi! Bloody go around!’

A second police officer had stepped out onto the porch and was thrusting a finger in the direction of a couple of dog walkers who had broken away from the crowd and were attempting a short cut along the cordoned-off path.

Kieran definitely recognised this cop. He used to be the young nervous one himself. Twelve years ago, the man had been Constable Chris Renn, fresh-faced and overeager to please in his first posting. Now, approaching forty and the town’s sergeant, Renn looked neither fresh nor eager.

Renn’s hair had been thinning prematurely even back then, and his now completely bald head shone with a light sheen of sunscreen. He had always been fit, and Kieran recognised his build as that of a fellow gym-goer, albeit one who probably had to work harder these days than he’d used to.

Renn watched until the cowed couple skulked off, their dog straining at the leash. He shook his head once, mouthing something that looked like unbelievable, then disappeared back inside. The door slammed shut and at the water’s edge, the young cop’s face fell.

Kieran turned back to Fisherman’s Cottage. A small window overlooked a sandy garden and rickety, weather-worn fence. The back bedroom, probably, if the layout of this place was anything like his parents’. Bronte’s room, then. Her window looked onto the beach, Olivia had said the night before.

She thought she heard something out the back of the house a couple of nights.

Olivia had said that too.

Kieran looked at the window and imagined Bronte staring out at the dark. Listening. He glanced at the young cop, then back at the house. They’d hear all that from Olivia, he supposed, and he jumped as his phone beeped in his pocket. He pulled it out to read the message. Mia. He felt a fresh giddy rush of relief.

I’m near the Surf and Turf. Where are you? Almost immediately, a second message. Something’s happened at the beach.

He tapped a reply. I know, I’m here. On my way now. Talk when I get there.

The response was quick. What’s going on? Something bad?

Kieran looked back at Bronte. Her feet were bare and she had painted her toenails pink. A strip of seaweed was plastered to her cheek. The edge flapped in a gust of wind and settled slick and brown against her lips. She didn’t move.

Yes.

Something very bad. Kieran turned and stepped away from the crowd, his legs feeling unreliable. As he crossed the sand, he thought he sensed movement in the house and gave a start. Where the bedroom window had been blank, he could now see a figure, obscured by the reflection of the glass.

Kieran took another step and the angle of the light changed, and he could see that it was only Sergeant Renn. The officer was hunched forward, his phone trapped between his shoulder and chin. He was nodding stiffly and appeared to be scribbling something in a notebook. He listened a bit longer, then ended the call and straightened up.

Renn was very still, staring out through the glass, across the sand and down to the water. Then, as Kieran watched, he lifted a hand and dragged it slowly over his face. Forget the young cop, Kieran thought. It had been a long time since Chris Renn had had to deal with anything even close to this.

Perhaps thinking the same thing, Sergeant Renn stood watching a minute longer. Then he turned abruptly and the window to Bronte’s room was empty again, the glass reflecting only the sky, the sea and the crest of white water breaking behind a lone dark shape in the sand.





Chapter 7


Kieran found Mia waiting outside the Surf and Turf, with Audrey strapped in the baby sling across her chest. The restaurant doors were locked and the lights were off, but the path outside was getting busy. Small groups clustered, split and re-formed as the morning’s passers-by were drawn in by the solemn faces and hushed whispers. Kieran edged through the throng and pulled Mia and Audrey into a hug hard enough to make his daughter screech.

‘Sorry, little one,’ he said. ‘I’m just very glad to see you.’

Kieran’s hand paused as he stroked her head. She was wearing the yellow floral hat Bronte had fished out of the lost property box. From the way Mia was fiddling with the cotton rim, Kieran could tell she had heard the news.