‘Yeah,’ Matt says. It’s quiet for a moment and I imagine him stroking his smooth head. ‘Maybe we should call her,’ he adds.
I flip the pan onto the drainer and turn to face him. As our eyes connect, my heartbeat quickens. Not at his question, but for the things he doesn’t say.
Where is she?
Why did we let her search for Lucy alone?
Have we swapped one missing daughter for another?
I grab my phone, click on Milla’s contact, and wait for the dialling tone, but it clicks straight into voicemail. Milla never switches her phone off, not even at night, not even after us punishing her for it for years. I strum my fingers impatiently as I wait for the robotic voice to finish the familiar instructions, then I leave a quick message – Milla, where are you? Call me back – and click into Find My iPhone. The icon whirs for too long, then settles on: No location found.
‘Why can’t I get through to her?’ I say, my voice rising, warbling. I tap into WhatsApp and scroll. ‘She didn’t read my last message.’
‘Shit,’ Matt mutters. But he seems more frustrated than panicked. ‘She said her battery was low, didn’t she?’ he reminds me. ‘It looks like her phone’s run out of juice.’
His explanation makes sense and my panic subsides for a moment. But not for long. It’s the middle of the night. Our daughter is out there, alone, in the rain. And unaware that we’ve found her sister. I look at the full mug of hot chocolate, not hot anymore, and feel my face slip.
‘Don’t cry,’ Matt says, reaching out, then pulling me into him.
I rest my head against his broad chest, smell the fresh scent of our shower gel. He must also have had a shower when he went upstairs.
‘You know what Milla’s like,’ he reminds me. ‘She’s probably gone to Felix’s, decided on a whim to take him back. Or she might even have been dragged into The County Arms for a lock-in – you know what that pub’s like on a Friday night. We’ll find her, then we’ll ground her, just like always. Trust me, she’s fine.’
‘I hope so,’ I whisper, the sound muffled against his soft hoodie. Then I draw back and add, ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ with a new sense of resolve. ‘Okay, so I’ll call Felix; you go back out there.’ He turns to go, but when I lay my hand on his arm, he pauses. ‘And if you find her first,’ I say, ‘tell her I am really going to kill her this time.’
BEFORE
Sunday 28th April
Jess
‘Maybe we should hitch a ride,’ Amber murmurs, scuffing the heel of her Air Force Ones against the edge of the pavement. ‘Don’t want to be late for Sean.’
‘Bus will be here in a minute,’ Jess responds. ‘May as well wait.’ Jess doesn’t want to be late for Sean either, but she hates hitching. Not because she thinks it’s dangerous, but because it forces her to talk to a stranger in the confines of their car. Answer their dumb questions. And it would be extra bad today because her nerves are already shot.
She doesn’t usually go with Amber to meet Sean. After what happened a year ago. Amber says that Sean doesn’t care about that anymore, and Jess semi believes her, but it’s been easier to stay away. Amber gets Sean all to herself (not that he’s ever given Jess any attention) and she gets a few hours to practise not being attached to Amber’s side. But this morning Amber asked her to go too, and she’s never been good at saying no to her sister.
‘Where are we meeting him?’ Jess asks, trying to distract Amber from the still-missing bus.
‘Up at the war memorial,’ Amber answers, then looks up the road at the sound of heavy tyres coming over the brow of the hill. ‘About bloody time.’ She reaches inside her cropped Puffa jacket for her pass as the bus swings in next to them. Sometimes Amber dresses in whatever clothes she dumped on the floor the night before (and still manages to look good). Other times she goes to a huge effort – make-up, curling wand, fake eyelashes – and today is one of those days. It usually is when Sean’s involved in her plans.
‘Isn’t that a bit out in the open?’ Jess asks, falling in step behind Amber and then dropping her pass against the reader. The memorial has a garden area with benches and trees, but it’s still adjacent to the main road coming in from Chinnor.
Amber shrugs. ‘It’s just mates catching up. Why does it matter if people see? No one’s going to notice us swapping bags when we leave.’
‘I suppose,’ Jess says, narrowing her eyes in thought as she winds up the stairs after her sister. Sean is verging on psycho about secrecy, so the war memorial must have been Amber’s idea. Did she choose somewhere public for insurance, in case Sean has found out about them skimming a bit extra?
Is that why she wants Jess with her too? Safety in numbers?
Or one of those human shields?
The dot-to-dot of realisation must show on her face because Amber reaches for her hand as they drop onto the seat. ‘You don’t have to come, you know,’ she says. ‘If you’re too scared. I can meet Sean by myself.’ There are always two sides to Amber, Jess thinks. The sister who talks about it being them against the world. And the resentful orphan who gets her biggest kick out of putting Jess down.
‘It’s fine,’ Jess says, sounding as flippant as her shallow lungs will allow. ‘It’s not like he’s still pissed off with me, is it?’
‘Yeah, exactly,’ Amber agrees. Jess searches her face for any signs that she’s lying, but she knows it’s pointless. Amber is too good a liar to leak clues. She leans back against the cushioned seat and stares out of the window. When the bus slows at a mini-roundabout, her pulse starts to quicken, because it means their stop is next.
‘I got Lucy’s phone number by the way,’ she spurts out.
‘Awesome.’ Amber smiles. ‘One night soon, we’ll get her out. You know, maybe I should take a knife, wet her,’ she adds in a low, teasing voice. ‘Sean would think I’m fucking cool if I did that, wouldn’t he?’
An image suddenly appears in Jess’s head. Blood pooling on the carpet. Stillness. Fear and indecision. It’s a bad memory that she’s supposed to have blocked out. She shakes it away. ‘I don’t think,’ she stutters. ‘It’s not a good …’
‘All right, chill out.’ Amber clicks her tongue. ‘I was only messing with you. Come on, this is our stop.’ Amber stands up, and Jess follows suit.
When they arrive at the memorial garden, Sean is already there, taking up a whole bench with his arms spread across the back. He looks like a drug dealer – black Puffa jacket zipped up to his chin, fat joggers, white trainers, and a black cap pulled low over his eyes – but so do most teenage boys around here. And anyway, he looked like that when she and Amber first met him, when his mum was still healthy, and he didn’t sell drugs for a living.
‘Hey, Sean,’ Amber calls out. She’s trying to sound chill, but she’s not fooling anyone.
‘Hey.’ Sean’s voice is deep and lazy, but Amber still beams at him. She drops her bag on the ground – a cheap mini backpack from Decathlon, identical to Sean’s – and sits onto the bench sideways, curling her knees up under her chin. Jess hovers a few metres away, Sean ignoring her like he always has.
‘How’s business?’ Sean asks Amber, pushing his cap up a notch so that his face is on show. Brown eyes, taut jawline, neat scar above his eyebrow. No denying he’s good-looking.
‘Same as usual,’ Amber says. She’s still smiling, but there’s a tremor in her lips now. And a slightly higher pitch to her giggle. ‘The pills all went. Got a few tens of skunk left, but I’ve written it all down. In code,’ she adds quickly. ‘Like you said.’
Sean nods. ‘Sounds like trade’s good to me. Maybe we should increase the price now you’re mixing with all these posh countryside kids. What do you reckon?’
Amber looks away, but Jess forces herself to observe Sean’s face, to try and read his expression. Is he making a point? Does he know what they’ve been doing? Or what Amber decided to do without telling Jess, she silently corrects – although of course they’ll both suffer the consequences if he ever finds out.
But Sean doesn’t know anyone in Thame, she reminds herself silently. So there’s no way he could have found out.
‘Yeah, maybe,’ Amber murmurs.
She’s still looking at the memorial, and Jess decides to follow her gaze. It’s a big stone structure with a cross on the top and a bronze plaque with loads of names engraved into it. She’s not close enough to read them, but she supposes they’re dead soldiers. It makes her think about her own dad, and how there’s no memorial for him because he’s still alive, but also lifeless. She wonders which is worse.
‘But they’re not all that posh really, or rich,’ Amber goes on, her voice getting a bit stronger. ‘And there’s a big party in the village next weekend. A girl’s eighteenth. I’ve already had a couple of orders placed, and I’m going to wait outside the girl’s house to see if I can sell some more. It might be a problem if we change the price now.’
Sean removes his arms from the bench and rests his elbows on his knees. His head drops low between his shoulder blades, hiding his face. ‘A party,’ he murmurs into his jacket collar. ‘In Chinnor?’
‘Yeah,’ Amber says. ‘A massive house off Lower Road. There’s going to be one of those big tents in the garden.’
Finally Sean looks up. ‘Okay, if you want to stick at ten, we’ll stick at ten. I guess I’m going to have to trust you on this.’
‘Of course you can trust me,’ Amber whispers.
‘Really?’ Sean’s voice hardens, and his eyes narrow, drilling into Amber’s.
He still hasn’t acknowledged Jess. She wonders if she should make a run for it. And if she did, whether Amber would follow.
