‘To the garage. Says he hit a badger yesterday afternoon, and it did some damage to the front of the car.’
‘Oh. That’s right, he did,’ I say weakly.
‘Badgers don’t come out in the daytime, Mum. He followed me last night, didn’t he?’ She doesn’t wait for an answer. ‘You know, I’m glad his car is damaged. He deserves it for not trusting me.’
The muscles in my neck tighten. I want to scream at her, to tell her that she’s wrong, that it was love, not mistrust, that compelled Matt to follow her. But she’ll just brush me off with the conviction of someone who hasn’t had an ounce of it knocked out of her yet. So instead, I silently remind myself that Milla’s self-confidence is a good thing, and head upstairs for a hot shower.
I’m sitting on my bed twenty minutes later, drying my hair, when a message pops up on my phone. It’s from Annie to our mums’ group.
Have you seen the post on Nextdoor?
My heart sinks. That website is more popular than you might imagine in a village where gossip is still spread very effectively face to face. This will be about Jess running away. Bill, or one of his friends from church, must have decided to reach out to a wider audience. With my spare hand, I push the phone across the duvet, out of sight. But when it beeps again a few seconds later, I can’t help reaching for it.
Yes! Can’t believe it.
Do you think she’s been hurt?
God, hopefully not a repeat of last Friday night.
The hairdryer slips through my fingers. Hot air blasts my midriff until I find the off button. Jess has run away, I remind myself silently. Because we gave her the means to do so. Then a message pops up from Charlotte.
Police with Bill and Molly now.
Worst Groundhog Day EVER.
My eyes sting with tears, but I refuse to cry. My friends don’t know what I know. If they did, they’d realise that Jess’s disappearance makes sense. That she’s left – ten grand richer – of her own accord. Devastating for the Wainwrights, yes, but not for her.
But still, I wish I knew this for certain.
I can’t contact DI Finnemore – and it’s not like he’d tell me what’s going on anyway. I could go to the pub, talk to Steve, see if he’s heard anything. But that’s like relying on Dr Google for a medical diagnosis.
There is someone else who the police would keep updated though: Jess’s official guardian. I’ve only met Colleen once, but I liked her a lot. And she trusted me with Amber’s background. I’m sure she’d put my interest in Jess’s disappearance down to a mix of my finding her sister’s body last Saturday morning and professional curiosity.
I head downstairs and straight into the study where my laptop is still plugged in. I pull up my staff database and pause. What’s her surname? I scrunch my eyes in concentration until it comes to me – Colleen Byrne – and then the rest is easy. But as I stare at her list of contact details, I hesitate again, except this time through indecision. An email would be more professional, but a text is bound to elicit faster results. Decision made, I add her number to my contacts and tap out a text. It takes a few aborted attempts before I’m happy with my wording, how I’ve heard the news from Bill, and feel a sense of responsibility. And then I press send before I change my mind. Her response is almost immediate.
Yes, very worrying. I’m on my way to her foster carers now. Police already there. All hoping she ran away but keeping an open mind.
I read her message again. And again. Then I tap out a reply.
Could she have gone to see her dad? Did you say he lives in Derbyshire?
I’m staring so intently at my screen – willing for it to light up with a response – that I almost drop it when it rings. But I collect myself and press to accept the call.
‘I’m in the car now, so easier to talk on my hands-free than text,’ Colleen explains in her soft Irish accent. I mumble something incoherent in response. ‘You’re right about Jess’s dad being in Derbyshire,’ she goes on. ‘I went to see him yesterday. The local police are going over to his flat this morning, but I’m not confident she’s going to show up there.’
‘I remember you saying that she had ideas about moving in with him,’ I start tentatively. ‘Wouldn’t that be the obvious place for her to go?’
‘He’s her hero, it’s true,’ Colleen says. ‘But now I’ve met him, I’m not sure I got that right. His mental health seems very fragile, and Jess is smarter than she lets on. I imagine, deep down, she knows he’s not capable of being a proper dad to her. Between you and me, I’m worried that Jess hasn’t run away at all. She hasn’t taken much of her stuff, if any – Molly and Bill are too upset to know for sure if anything is missing. And if she wanted to start a new life – with her dad or whoever – wouldn’t she at least pack a bag?’
My mind whirs. ‘Maybe she wasn’t thinking straight?’ I try. ‘Grief making her want to cut all ties?’
‘Maybe.’ But Colleen doesn’t sound convinced. I close my eyes, and then squeeze them more tightly shut.
‘But nothing could have happened to her, surely?’ I sound like I’m pleading. I cough, level my voice. ‘And it’s not like Amber’s killer could be involved because I heard on the news that he’s in custody.’
‘If he did it,’ she murmurs.
‘What?’
‘Sorry, ignore me. Listen, Rachel, I have another call coming through, so I better go. Thanks for calling, for caring. I’ll keep you updated.’
I nod, but can’t speak, and a second later, the line goes dead. I stare at the sleeping laptop screen. Whatever Colleen thinks, the mechanic boyfriend murdered Amber, and Jess ran away. It’s the only explanation. Isn’t it?
I drum my fingernails against the desk. Matt saw Jess collect the money from the bin at Kiln Lakes at about quarter past midnight, so she was fine then. She left in the direction of the disused carriages. Milla had to hide from someone there. She looked ashen when she eventually got home and Milla never gets scared. Could Jess have come across the same person when she walked through fifteen minutes later? Did they do something to her? Something violent?
Is the boyfriend innocent after all? I was so desperate for Amber’s killer to not be either of my daughters, that I leapt on the first suspect who was mentioned. But him being innocent doesn’t make Milla or Lucy guilty. It would just mean that it was someone else. And if it was, that person is still out there.
Did Milla come close to being a victim herself?
I move from the study to the kitchen – conflicted in my dual urge to hold my daughter tight, and demand that she tells me who she was hiding from. But I can’t do either because the room is empty, just a note on the table – Gone to library to revise. I swear under my breath and slump down into my usual chair. I try calling, but her phone is switched off. A few minutes later I hear the porch door open, and Matt walks into the kitchen. He looks exhausted.
‘Milla said you took the car to the garage?’ I say gently.
‘Yeah,’ he mutters. ‘The paintwork is scuffed and there’s a ding from where I hit that badger. I called the council by the way,’ he adds, running his hand up and down his opposite arm, the swish of skin on skin. ‘They’re going to send someone to pick it up this morning.’ He shifts his gaze downwards. ‘I still feel terrible about it.’
I reach a hand towards him, but he doesn’t reciprocate, as though the intimacy of our conversation last night never happened. ‘It was an accident,’ I remind him, lowering my hand back down. ‘Badgers are really hard to see at night. Don’t blame yourself.’
‘I know. I just need to put last night, in fact the whole of last week, behind me and move on. God, what’s all this mess on the table?’ He grimaces, then grabs the dishcloth and starts wiping up the tiny brown slivers, what’s left of Milla’s Easter bunny.
