I roll onto my back and open my eyes. The darkness is almost absolute, but I can just make out the shadow of our glass pendant ceiling light above me. Its filament bulbs look like three black eyes, and I stare into them, willing them to bring me some clarity. But there’s nothing, so I turn onto my side, away from Matt, and look at my watch on its stand instead: 04.47 in loud fluorescent green.
Of course I wasn’t going to sleep well after the Sunday I had. Or Sunday afternoon to be exact, because the day started quite well. Milla offered to come to Waitrose with me, which must be a first, and it gave me a chance to ask her about Friday night. While she didn’t exactly shower me with details, after a little encouragement, she did explain what happened.
And it turns out Matt was right. It was Felix that Milla was hiding from. And that led to a conversation about why they split up in the first place. Quietly, without making eye contact, Milla told me that Felix had admitted to cheating on her. She didn’t know who with, and he promised her that it was over. But she wanted out. And once she got over the initial shock, she found that she liked being single again.
Unlike Felix, who just got more desperate to get her back. Milla was starting to entertain the possibility of a reconciliation when she came across him snogging someone behind one of the derelict carriages on Friday night. In the darkness, Milla couldn’t make out who it was, so the girl’s identity remains a mystery. But he’d lied, and she almost fell for it; and that hurt a lot. I explained this all to Matt when I got home from the supermarket, how he’d guessed right. I thought he’d be relieved, but he didn’t react one way or the other.
I tried to make lunch feel normal. Cooked a roast lamb with new potatoes, spring vegetables and home-made mint sauce. Even convinced Matt to open a bottle of Pinot Noir. Milla did her bit – telling us about the revision schedule she’d devised for her study leave – but Lucy was mute, Matt grim-faced, and my own conversation was stilted as I tried not to mention Amber Walsh, Jess Scott, blackmail, bullying, drugs, dead badgers, violent mechanics or blood-smeared bluebells.
And then Charlotte’s message popped up on my phone.
Have you heard the news?
Wainwrights told this morning.
Suspect in custody has been released.
I didn’t go back to her. Perhaps I should have done, to keep up the pretence of being a gossip fiend like everyone else in the village. But I didn’t have the strength for more bad news, so I turned my phone off completely, and stacked the plates in the dishwasher with so much gusto that one of them smashed. When the landline rang a few hours later, I chose to let it ring out, but I couldn’t completely leave my head in the sand because, when I saw the red light flashing, I listened to the voicemail.
It was DC Bzowski. As soon as I heard her voice, the memory of Lucy’s interview sprang into my mind, making my chest tighten. But the message wasn’t for me, or Lucy. The detective was asking for Matt to call her. She didn’t say anything more, but that didn’t stop my mind racing.
My dad will kill you.
Was she calling about the note? Had Jess got it to them somehow before running away? Or maybe she dropped it, and the police have come across it. It was typed rather than handwritten, but with the link to Lucy, maybe it would have been easy for the police to work out which dad the note was referring to.
I couldn’t settle after that, or bring myself to tell Matt about the message, so I picked up my car keys, muttered something about going out for fuel, and escaped the house.
I had nowhere to go, but I took the main road out of the village towards Kingston Blount. I kept my eyes focused on the tarmac as I passed Kiln Lakes, but just beyond them, in the open fields, I saw a flash of something in the corner my eye. A sight that made me retch.
There were at least a dozen police officers. Eyes down, walking slowly across the fields beyond the lake. And there could only have been one reason they were there. The police must think Jess has been harmed otherwise why would they be searching in the undergrowth? And so close to where Milla left the ransom money. Matt said Jess came from those fields but left in the other direction, so they’re looking in the wrong place. But of course Matt can’t explain that to the police.
My dad will kill you.
Just like Lucy can’t admit to seeing Amber on the night she died.
I wish she was dead.
My phone moves past 05.00 and I decide that’s close enough to morning to get up. I push back the duvet, shuffle out of bed, and creep from the room. As I wait for the kettle to boil, I stare into the garden – dawn sneaking its way over the fir trees – and try to make sense of what’s happened over the last ten days. How my family has become so entwined in another family’s trauma.
Except it’s not ten days, I realise as I pour steaming water into my mug and watch the teabag balloon then settle. It began last autumn when Amber and Jess initiated their bullying campaign. Lucy did nothing to provoke them, not at the start or later. But for over six months they wouldn’t leave her alone. If anything, their bullying escalated over the period. All I could think about was stopping it, so I never put any energy into understanding why they did it in the first place.
I lean against the kitchen counter, sip my tea, and realise what I need to do.
It’s half past six when I arrive at my office. I washed in the kitchen sink at home, and chose clothes from the laundry pile to avoid going back upstairs, so I look a mess. But luckily the place is deserted. The cleaners have been – they work overnight – and there’s a strong smell of furniture polish in the air. I drop into my chair, plug my laptop into the cable curled around my stand, and open up the client database. During the car journey here, I promised myself that I wouldn’t pause. That I mustn’t give myself an opportunity to change my mind. But as I stare at the search function, my fingers hover over the keyboard.
We only have one database in Children’s Services, and of course I have access to it – I’m one of the team’s most senior employees. At any point during this whole messy time, I could have logged in, brought up Amber’s and Jess’s file, and found out everything about them. But I have been doing this job for twenty-five years, and reading the details of cases you’re not involved in just isn’t done. It goes against the principles that have etched their way into my skin over the last two and a half decades.
But this is exactly what I came to do this morning, so I need to stop pretending that I’m grappling with my conscience and get on with it.
I type Amber Walsh and click into her file. It’s all there. Her mother being killed by her abusive partner when Amber was 6 years old. The series of short-term foster carers who looked after her while something more permanent was set in place. The move to Littlemore, a neighbourhood south of Oxford’s city centre, with her sister Jessica a year later. And then to Chinnor in July 2023 due to “safety concerns” which all fits with what Colleen told me.
But then I notice the secondary school that Amber attended for a year before she moved, and I feel blood drain from my face. I lean back for a moment, close my eyes. I think about the dead badger and wonder whether the council removed it like they promised Matt.
Whether it exists at all.
Then, very slowly, as though there’s tonne of pressure against my chest, I lean forward again. I crawl my fingers across the keyboard until Jess’s file appears and, with a final push of inner strength, I press open and watch the information expand on my screen.
TWO YEARS, TWO MONTHS BEFORE
Thursday 24th February 2022
Jess
In the year and a half that she’s been at Oxford Comprehensive, this is the first time Jess has been in the head teacher’s office. Despite her being a foster kid, and related to Amber, the most badly behaved student in Year Seven.
But that’s not why she’s petrified.
She knows it shows on her face. Even with all her freckles for camouflage, she can’t hide her fear.
‘You look worried, Jessica,’ Mr Pearson says in a voice that’s supposed to soothe but does the opposite. ‘Listen, don’t be. It’s brave of you to come forward, and we’re grateful. The welfare of our students always comes first, and that means you and Sean.’ He gives her an encouraging nod. As head teachers go, Mr Pearson could be worse. He’s not young, but he’s not old either. And he doesn’t have anything gross like hairy ears or bad breath. Just a grey suit, grey eyes and, she supposes, a half-decent smile.
‘Okay,’ Jess mumbles, pulling at the hem of her skirt. ‘But can I go now that I’ve told you? I have geography next period.’
‘I’m afraid I need to keep you for just a bit longer.’
‘What for?’ Jess’s right leg starts jiggling all by itself. She pushes down on her thigh, but instead of her leg settling, her arms join in. She’s wobbling all over the place now.
‘Mrs Davis has informed your tutor,’ he explains, misinterpreting her concern (like she’s ever cared about geography). ‘So you won’t get into any trouble for missing your lesson.’
