Then She Vanishes(89)

In that moment Margot could quite cheerfully have throttled Brenda. ‘Can you just give us a minute, please?’ she says. ‘I need to talk to Heather.’

‘You can talk to her in the morning.’

‘But –’

‘Come on. Out.’

Margot catches her daughter’s eye. She’s waited eighteen years but she doesn’t think she has it in her to wait any longer.

Brenda touches Margot lightly on the shoulder. ‘Off you go, then,’ she says, in the kind of voice you’d use on a wayward child.

‘I’m sorry,’ mouths Heather, her expression one of panic.

Margot shakes her head. ‘It’s okay. I’ll be back first thing.’

But she doesn’t have the chance to finish her sentence because the door is closed firmly behind her.

The nice policeman chuckles. ‘Gosh, she’s not to be messed with, is she?’

Margot doesn’t have the energy to summon a smile. She staggers along the corridor, feeling as though she’s drunk. There’s a funny vibrating sound coming from her handbag: her phone. She drops her bag in haste and rifles through it. It could be Ruthgow with news of Flora. Why hadn’t she kept it in her hand? Stupid. Stupid. She’s on her hands and knees now. By the time she finds the phone right at the bottom of her handbag the person has rung off. She grabs it and sees Jessica Fox’s number under missed calls. Before she has the chance to ring back her phone springs into life again with Jess’s name flashing up.

‘Margot?’ she says, before Margot even has the chance to say hello. ‘It’s Jess. This is going to come as a shock. But I’ve found a woman who I think is Flora. Margot? Margot? Are you there?’





48




Margot


The pleasant-faced police officer, who says he’s called Dale, helps her to her feet and guides her to a chair in the day room.

‘Are you okay, Mrs Powell?’ He leans over her and pats her shoulder, like she’s an old-age pensioner. He holds a white plastic cup of water under her nose. She notices a hairline crack in the rim.

The magnolia walls are closing in on her. She still has her mobile phone in her hand. With the other hand, she takes the cup and sips the water slowly from the side with no crack.

‘You had a funny turn. Shall I go and fetch Nurse Brenda?’

‘No!’ she says too quickly.

He laughs. ‘I don’t blame you. Maybe just sit here for a bit, then. I’ll be just across the way outside your daughter’s room.’

The day room is only small, maybe ten foot by eight, with just a few chairs and a bucket of plastic toys piled high in the corner. There’s a notice-board with leaflets pinned to it and a poster encouraging people to talk to their doctor if they find blood in their wee. Margot takes a few deep breaths, like she was taught in her yoga class, until her heart rate slows. Then she stands up gingerly and dumps the plastic cup on the table.

She walks down the corridor carefully, feeling much steadier on her feet now. She can do this, she thinks, giving herself a little motivational pep-talk. She’s strong.

At last she’s a cat’s whisker away from finding out the truth about Flora. Heather says she’s still alive. Jess says she’s found her. Jess. She needs to ring Jess.

Her fingers tremble as she scrolls down to Jess’s number in her phone. ‘Hello.’ Jess sounds worried and slightly out of breath. ‘Margot. Are you okay?’

‘Where are you? Where’s Flora? I need to see her.’

‘I’m at Southmead Hospital. Flora was brought in less than ten minutes ago.’

Southmead Hospital? Flora’s here. She’s actually here. ‘I’m at the hospital too. I’ll meet you in the atrium, near Costa,’ she says, her pace picking up so that she’s almost running down the corridor.

Jess is already standing outside Costa with a striking man when Margot gets there. He must be the boyfriend. He has his arm slung protectively around Jess’s shoulders. She looks like she’s been rubbing her eyes: her mascara is smudged. Her face is pale and drawn, her hair a mass of blonde fluff, and she’s wrapped up in her llama coat. Margot notices a ladder in her patterned tights.

Her face lights up when she spots Margot. ‘Come on. I’ll show you where she is,’ she says, linking her arm through Margot’s and almost pulling her along.

‘I don’t understand,’ Margot says, allowing herself to be led, her mind still playing catch-up. Jess is acting like she’s just had an adrenalin shot and she doesn’t bother to introduce Margot to her boyfriend, not that Margot cares. All Margot wants is to see her daughter again. Jess is still gabbling as they hurry towards A and E, something about derelict buildings and a person sleeping rough who turned out to be Flora. She can’t quite comprehend it all. It’s as though her brain has stopped functioning properly so that thinking is like wading through glue.

In A and E Jess explains to the receptionist who Margot is and a doctor appears straight away: a tired-looking man with a crumpled face who introduces himself, although Margot instantly forgets his name, and asks her to follow him. She turns back once to see Jess and her boyfriend standing at the desk, looking helpless.

‘Can you ring Gary?’ Margot calls to Jess. ‘Ruthgow, CID,’ she adds, when Jess stares at her blankly.