Jess turns towards the Ridgeway and sets off.
AFTER
Friday 10th May
Rachel
‘I still don’t think Milla should go,’ I say, but in a quiet voice and behind the closed kitchen door, in case she overhears and starts pulling me up on my feminism.
‘Me neither,’ Matt murmurs back. The room’s not warm, but sweat is trickling down his temples. ‘But it is true that she knows the off-road route better than either of us. And I trust her.’
‘I trust her too,’ I counter, hoping I don’t sound defensive. ‘I just don’t like the thought of her being in danger. Christ, her A levels start in a couple of weeks. Most parents would have their kids chained to the desk by now, and we’re letting ours do a ransom drop in the middle of the night. How has this happened?’ My eyes bubble with tears.
Matt sighs. ‘Life throws curveballs, Rachel. And there’s no point asking why, because you won’t get an answer. Do you know how many times I asked that question when that kid accused me of hitting him? I never worked it out, but I did get through it. Truth and fairness reigned in the end. You could say the same about this situation. It’s terrible right now, and tragic for Amber’s friends and family. But they’ve got a suspect in custody. And you never know, without anyone bullying her, Lucy might even start enjoying life again.’
I push my lips together. I still hate thinking that Lucy benefits from Amber dying, even though it’s true that she does. ‘None of that keeps Milla safe tonight,’ I remind him.
‘Well, I have an idea about that. I’m going to follow her.’
‘What?’ My volume rises a bit and Matt puts a finger to his lips.
‘After she leaves, I’ll go in the car. Park up on Chinnor Hill Road and walk down from there. I’ll keep out of sight, of course, but the trees will give me plenty of cover. And I’ll be close enough to help if Jess does do anything. Not that she will,’ he adds. ‘I’m sure she just wants the money. But it’s good to cover all eventualities.’
I open the fridge door and pull out a bottle of beer. I shouldn’t really drink at a time like this, not when I might need to make some quick decisions, but DI Finnemore’s visit has been rapping at my temples for hours now and I need something to relax me. ‘Want one?’
‘No thanks. Are there any Cokes in there?’
We sit down at the kitchen table and listen to the gentle fizzing as our drinks are exposed to the air. ‘Do you really think this will work?’ I ask. ‘That Jess will take her ten grand and that will be the end of it?’
Matt flicks at the ring pull on his can. ‘We’re doing what we can to make sure it is,’ he says grimly. ‘And she’s a 15-year-old girl who’s just lost the only member of her family. She’s not going to be thinking too clearly, is she?’
His incorrect assumption about Jess’s family tree makes me think about Colleen, and Jess’s father, and my earlier thought that perhaps she’ll go to him once she gets the money. God, I hope so. For her sake, and for ours.
The door swings open and I turn to look at Milla. She’s dressed all in black. Leggings, hoodie, socks, even her trainers. Her hair is neatly braided in a French plait and she’s wearing a serious expression. ‘It’s eleven forty,’ she says. ‘I’m leaving in a minute.’
‘You’ll need gloves,’ Matt says.
‘I have a pair in my bag.’
‘And a torch,’ I say, trying not to remember the last time I handled that, the dried rivulets of too-red mud.
‘I’ve got everything I need, Mum,’ Milla says, a look of annoyance darkening her face. ‘Except the cash. That’s what I came for.’ Matt stands up and retrieves the Waitrose bag from the dresser drawer. His hands are shaking as he proffers it towards Milla, and it reminds me that tonight is upsetting for him too. He went out on his road bike when he got back from the bank this lunchtime. And then he spent another hour fitting some new kit to it that had been delivered while he was in Geneva. I could tell he was trying to distract himself.
‘Thanks,’ Milla mumbles. She hesitates for a moment, then sighs. ‘And also thanks for trusting me, both of you. I promise I’ve got this; you really don’t have to worry.’
I want to say something, to remind her of the dangers, or plead with her to reconsider. But I stay mute as she pulls her baseball cap on. I follow her out of the kitchen, and then watch her disappear down the drive. Lucy is lying on the sofa watching TV, or at least pretending to – an episode of Friends from one of the early seasons – and I don’t disturb her. Instead, I return to the kitchen. Matt is getting ready to go out – zipping up an old bomber jacket I’d forgotten he had – and suddenly he’s wearing all black too. Would I have thought about camouflage if I’d been doing the drop? Maybe.
‘What if Milla sees you?’ I ask. ‘It’s not like she doesn’t know what car you drive.’
‘She’s going via the railway dumping ground,’ he reminds me. ‘I’ll park on the top road. We won’t cross each other’s paths.’ He looks at his watch. ‘I guess I should go.’ Instead of going out the normal way, he disappears through the French doors at the back, and I realise he doesn’t want Lucy to spot him leaving. I’m not sure when our family became so deceitful.
With nothing else to do, I wander into the living room. ‘Mind if I join you?’ I ask. Lucy doesn’t look up, but she shifts her feet off the sofa, and I take that as an invitation. ‘How are you doing?’ I ask as I lower myself down.
She sighs. ‘Can we just watch TV, Mum?’
Her tone is more pained than curt, so I turn towards the screen. She’s hardly spoken since the detective left, hasn’t asked me why he came, and I’m too tired to push it. It’s the episode of Friends where Ross and Monica become ultra-competitive at a fun game of baseball, and it makes me think about my own children’s sibling relationship. I’ve always assumed their differences mean they can’t be that close. But I was wrong. Because Milla is out there, alone in the dark, risking her safety to protect her sister. She hasn’t questioned Lucy’s innocence at all – unlike me – or berated her for ignoring her big sister’s advice. She’s showing more empathy towards Lucy than I thought she was capable of.
I look at my watch: 11.58.
‘You could go to bed, you know,’ I say to Lucy. ‘It’s late, and there’s no reason for you to stay up.’
‘You really think I could fall asleep without knowing that Milla’s okay? When she’s doing all this for me? Where’s Dad, anyway?’ she adds tetchily.
I can’t tell her the truth. She’s bound to tell Milla that Matt went out to spy on her. ‘Um, he went to the Co-op,’ I lie. ‘He’s got a headache and we’ve run out of paracetamol.’
She looks at me suspiciously for a moment, then turns back to the TV. Perhaps it’s safest not to talk after all.
I sneak a look at my phone: 00.05. Milla will have done the drop by now. God, I hope she’s on her way home. Milla is hardwired to stand up for herself, so I know her instinct will be to wait for Jess to appear and confront her. But Matt is watching the proceedings, I remind myself. If Milla tries anything like that, he’ll intercept her.
The familiar Friends theme tune spills out of the TV speakers signifying the end of the episode. But after a few adverts, it strikes up again with a new one. I can’t really follow the story – my head is too full of panic – but the sound of canned American laughter manages to worm its way in. I don’t check my watch again, but the adverts come and go, and I know Matt and Milla should be back by now.
The theme music again. Black and white outfits. Ross falling into the fountain. Another episode has started. It’s 00.49.
I push up off the sofa. I can’t just sit here, waiting, hoping that my husband and firstborn are going to reappear. Why the hell did I ever think that being this passive was a good idea?
‘Where are you going?’ Lucy asks, fear creeping into her voice.
‘I think I should go and find them.’
She looks at me. ‘Dad followed her, didn’t he?’ It’s more of a statement than a question and I bite my lip. ‘He should trust her more.’
Before I can work out how to respond, there’s a noise by the porch and we whip our heads around in unison.
‘Milla!’ I exhale. But my relief disintegrates when I see her expression. Her face is deathly pale – at odds with her normally warm complexion – and her eyes are red-ringed like she’s been crying. ‘What happened?’ I ask. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I put the money in the bin,’ she says quietly. ‘Then I came home.’
‘But you were gone for ages.’
‘I had to …’ She pauses, like she doesn’t want to tell me. ‘I had to hide behind one of the train carriages for a bit. To make sure I wasn’t seen. But I’m exhausted now. I’m going to bed.’
‘Hide? From who?’
‘Please, Mum,’ she says, a bit more forcefully. ‘I need to sleep.’ I watch her walk towards the stairs, then plod up them, her head looking too heavy for her shoulders. I want to go after her, demand that she tells me everything. But I know that’s selfish. My interrogation will have to wait until morning.
‘You should go too, Lucy,’ I finally say. ‘Milla’s back now. Safe.’ She doesn’t move straight away, but after ten or so seconds, she pushes off the sofa, clicks the remote to turn the TV off, and wordlessly follows her sister upstairs.
But not everyone is home safely. I press on Matt’s name in my call history, and listen to his phone ring and ring. I send him a WhatsApp message and will the ticks to turn blue. But I refuse to worry about him. Matt is a grown man – a physically intimidating one at that – in a reliable car with central locking.
