‘Hindsight is a wonderful thing,’ she says instead.
‘Maybe I should take her away.’
‘Huh?’
‘I don’t have any school visits this week; I could work from anywhere,’ Matt explains, speeding up as he warms to the idea. ‘And Lucy deserves a break. We could go wild camping in Wales, or maybe Ireland. A chance for Lucy to clear her head.’
‘Do you not realise how that would look?’ Milla asks, her pitch rising. ‘You and Lucy running away when the detective wants to talk to you?’
‘It’s not running away,’ Matt counters. ‘A father and daughter spending some quality time together. We could say we missed her message.’
‘I don’t know, Dad,’ Milla stutters. She tries to run the idea through her brain – the risks and the possibilities – but it’s sluggish. Like it needs a service due to overuse. ‘Wouldn’t they come find you?’
‘But the alternative feels …’ Her dad’s words peter out, and as his breathing becomes heavier, the whoosh and whirr of it filling Milla’s room, she feels an intense urge to get rid of him.
‘Go and call Mum again,’ she instructs. ‘She was probably in an early meeting. We can work out what to do about that detective later. It will all be fine.’
‘You’re a tough one,’ her dad observes. ‘It’s a good skill to have.’
It’s not a skill, Milla thinks. It’s bloody-mindedness. She doesn’t ignore the fears in her head. She can’t. She wrestles them to the back of her mind and locks them away. And then she suffers the pain of them knocking against her skull as she pretends to the world. ‘I’ll come down in a bit,’ she says abruptly.
Matt scratches his forehead – as though he genuinely doesn’t know how to function – then finally twists away from her and leaves the room.
Milla sighs with relief, then pulls down a textbook and flicks to organic chemistry. She needs to revise, act normal. But the words just swim in front of her eyes. She folds at the waist and lets her head rest on the cool pages.
Of course she doesn’t know for sure that Lucy killed Amber. She hasn’t asked her. But her dad must think so too if he’s suggesting hiding out in some remote wilderness. And Milla can’t get the phone conversation she had with Lucy on Friday night out of her head. How angry she sounded. Like her elastic band of suffering had been stretching for months – pinging every time Amber did something cruel. It stretched to breaking point when they stole her sports bag Friday lunchtime, and then she discovered that Amber had stolen Bronwen’s letter. SNAP. Suddenly Lucy was flying free of it.
But Milla would never have suspected her sister of a violent crime if she hadn’t seen her later that night, when Lucy was missing, and she and her mum and dad were searching. It was 23.25; she’d seen the time on her phone. And it was a sight that made her blood run cold. Lucy crouching outside the RSPCA charity shop, heavy breathing like she’d been running, rummaging through a bin bag of donations. Milla had paused, confused, and watched her sister pull out a T-shirt and jumper. Then as she’d stood up, swaying a little, it had suddenly made sense. Her own top was covered in blood, and the front of her jacket too. And not just a few drops. Big smeary patches. Not knowing what else to do, she’d followed Lucy into the churchyard, and watched from a distance as her sister changed into the new clothes, then dropped her own ones into the bin.
Milla didn’t know then that Amber was dead. She didn’t know who the blood belonged to. But she knew that throwing the bloodstained clothes into the church bin was a very stupid thing to do. That’s why she waited until their mum found Lucy, and a while longer to make sure she wouldn’t bump into her dad, and then retrieved Lucy’s dirty clothes and took them to Kiln Lakes. Once they were stuffed inside scavenged plastic bags, weighed down with heavy rocks, and thrown into its deep centre, she knew they wouldn’t rise to the surface any time soon.
But burying the memory – and what it might mean – is proving a lot harder to do.
AFTER
Monday 13th May
Rachel
The door opens a few inches; the chain stretched to its limit. ‘Yes?’ a woman’s voice says. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Um, hi,’ I start, hovering on the paving slab outside the Trapnells’ house. I know that my credentials are my ticket inside. ‘I work with Colleen in Children’s Services. I was hoping …’
‘Oh God, hold on,’ the woman interrupts. The door slams shut, then opens fully, the newly freed chain swaying against the frame. She looks distraught; doesn’t ask for my ID. Of course the police will have already been here, told her that Jess is missing.
‘Have you found her?’ she asks. ‘Please tell me that you have, and that she’s safe. I couldn’t bear it if, you know, after what happened to Amber.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I start. ‘We don’t have any news yet. But could I possibly come in? Colleen thought it would be a good idea if we had a chat, just talked through any possible places that Jess might have gone to.’
‘I’ve been racking my brains …’
‘Please?’ I press.
Her head jerks up as she realises that she’s being rude, leaving me on the doorstep. ‘Yes of course, I’m sorry; I’m not thinking straight.’ She takes a step back and I walk inside. It’s a small hallway with stairs to one side and a mirror on the other, which I avoid looking into. No sign of any children though. They must have decided to take a break from fostering.
‘Come through,’ she murmurs. ‘Justin had to go into work early this morning, so it’s just me.’
She doesn’t offer me a drink, and I’m grateful. My hands are shaking too much to lift a glass or mug. I perch on the edge of the sofa that she gestures towards. ‘I’m not sure how much Colleen has told you,’ I start. ‘But we’re hopeful that Jess left of her own accord, rather than the alternative.’ I’m spinning this narrative to focus Lou on possible destinations, but it also reminds me that it could be true. Matt could still be innocent in all of this.
But Lou’s face falls rather than brightens. ‘I’m not sure that’s good news,’ she says, her voice cracking.
I tilt my head. ‘How do you mean?’
‘When Colleen told me Jess was missing, right before the police turned up, my first thought was that she’d done something terrible to herself. She and Amber were so close, and Jess relied on her sister for everything. Jess was vulnerable too, especially when she was under stress. I suppose you know about the anorexia?’
I nod dumbly as my mind tries to tally the eating disorder with the Jess I saw in the Co-op. Lean yes, but tall and intimidating.
‘I knew how much Jess would have been struggling after Amber’s murder, especially with their mum dying in a similar way,’ Lou continues. ‘But Colleen was adamant that Jess wasn’t suicidal, that if anything, she’d gone the other way. Angry rather than broken. Like she’d taken on some of Amber’s fight.’
That’s how Colleen described it to me too. And there’s the message Jess sent to Lucy. The video. The demand for money. ‘From what I’ve seen of Jess since Amber’s death, I agree with Colleen,’ I say truthfully. ‘I really don’t think Jess was in the headspace to harm herself.’
Lou’s shoulders visibly drop with relief, and she even manages a small smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘But we still need to find her,’ I remind Lou gently. ‘Can you think of anyone around here that she might have gone to for help? A good friend from when she was younger maybe? Someone she had regular playdates with?’
‘No, nothing like that. Jess was shy. She didn’t seem to want – or need – many friends. She just wanted to be with Amber. That’s why I’ve been so worried since Amber’s death. I’ve tried to call Jess. Loads of times. But she never picks up.’
I think about the girl I saw that lunchtime. The range of painful emotions visible on her face. Perhaps it’s not surprising that she has avoided the woman who cared for her for five years. ‘And was Amber the same?’ I ask. ‘Was it always just the two of them?’
‘Amber was much more outgoing than Jess; you’d never call that girl shy.’ She gives me a sad smile then looks away. ‘But actually, she didn’t really have any close friends either. Both girls were defined by their start in life, sadly. Wary of others who might want to label them as victims – or worse. But while Jess reacted by staying in the shadows, Amber came out fighting – like she was constantly daring people to feel sorry for her. But she’d either fail and hate them for it, or make enemies through her own bad behaviour. So in a different way, she relied on Jess too.’
‘What about other family?’ I ask, desperate for some breadcrumbs to follow, even though I know the police will have already covered this ground. ‘Jess’s dad has been contacted, but was she in touch with anyone else? Grandparents? Aunts? Cousins?’
‘No, no one,’ Lou says, shrugging her shoulders. ‘Jacqui – that’s the girls’ mum – had two brothers. But the whole family disowned her when she was still a teenager, and then when she died, they wanted nothing to do with her daughters – that’s why the girls ended up in care in the first place. I’m not sure whether there are relatives on her dad’s side, but Jess was barely in touch with him, and she never mentioned anyone else to me.’
‘And there’s really nowhere else you can think of?’ I lean forward, plead with my eyes.
‘Well, there is Sean Russo,’ Lou murmurs.
‘But isn’t he the reason the girls left Oxford?’
‘I never supported that decision,’ she mutters. ‘After the initial shock of his threatening behaviour wore off, it felt like a sledgehammer to crack a nut. Yes, he was angry with Jess, and a risk in the short term, but I’m sure it would have faded over time. He’d started hanging around with a new crowd, not nice people granted, but older. With bigger fish to fry than hassling teenage girls.’
‘And you think they’d become friends again?’ I ask, trying to work out why she mentioned his name. ‘Sean and Jess?’
Lou shakes her head. ‘Oh no, that’s not what I meant at all. He was only ever Amber’s friend even when they lived here. Not that she introduced him to me,’ she adds. ‘But I was curious to know who they hung out with in the park, so I’d wander past sometimes, by accident on purpose, you know.’ She gives me a sheepish half-smile.
I smile back, an approval of her sleuthing, then look at her expectantly, hoping she’ll share more detail. It works.
