Have You Seen Her Page 9

  My stomach gives a painful lurch as I remember Laurel slipping past me, running after Fran that night, and I let out a long exhale, trying and failing to squash the guilt that twists in my gut. In addition to the worry about Laurel, I also have the burden of the secret from my past that weighs heavy on my shoulders and I battle for control for a moment as shame and self-loathing swamps me. I snatch up Fran’s £200 Arne Jacobsen teapot from Harrods and turn on the tap, pouring the boiling water over the tea leaves in the bottom of the pot.

  I should never have taken the job with the Jessops. I never should have let that old boyfriend persuade me that things would be OK – although even he doesn’t know the full story of why I came back from Scotland. Rephrase that – why I slinked home from Scotland without telling anyone, not even my own mother. Would it look suspicious if I were to leave them now? To say thanks but no thanks, the job isn’t for me, I can’t do this anymore? But then what about Laurel? I blink back hot tears. Could I really leave without knowing what has happened to her?

  I look around the stark, almost clinically clean kitchen, with the stupid boiling water tap, and over-priced teapot, and think how if I left, I wouldn’t miss a single thing. The Jo Malone candles that line the shelves above the dining table, because Fran doesn’t like cooking smells to linger; the flooring that Fran delights in telling people cost over five thousand pounds, because the stone is travertine. The elegant Harvey Nichols chandeliers that hang, one at the bottom and one at the top of the stairs, thousands of pounds worth of extravagance, that no one even seems to notice in this house anymore. All these things, all this expense and decadence and what for? It doesn’t make a difference – it doesn’t stop bad things from happening. It didn’t keep Laurel safe.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Kelly appears next to me, and I swipe at my eyes with the back of my hand. ‘It’s hard isn’t it? The not knowing.’

  It’s like she’s a psychic or something. I nod and let her take the ridiculously expensive teapot from me.

  ‘So, who was that lady, the one you were speaking to at the lake earlier?’ Kelly asks, her eyes on the counter in front of her as she wipes away the tea leaves I spilt.

  ‘Ella? I met her at the school. She was one of the volunteers.’ As I say it I realise that’s not strictly true. She might have been at the hall, but I didn’t see her join the search. ‘I think she knows Dominic, from when they were at school.’ I amend.

  ‘Oh, right.’ Kelly’s voice is bright, and she smiles as she hands me a mug. ‘You two looked quite friendly, that’s all. I thought maybe you knew her from before . . . all of this.’

  ‘No, I’d never met her,’ I say, frowning as I think hard to myself. I have seen her though, I’m sure of it. There was something familiar about her when she slid into the seat next to me that day. I shake my head, throwing the thought away – I would remember, that striking blonde hair would be difficult to forget.

  ‘I was just wondering . . . seeing as you’re from not far from here originally. I spoke to your old employers . . .’ Kelly says casually, her eyes watching my face and I think for a moment I might be sick. ‘. . . they said you left to get married, and that you moved back to Surrey, so I thought maybe you knew her from school, or something. You’re not married though, are you?’ She frowns.

  ‘Oh . . . no.’ I give her a weak smile, trying to let my breath out in a controlled stream rather than a huge whoosh of relief. ‘Things didn’t work out. And I don’t know her.’ This time when my eyes fill with hot tears I don’t blink them back.

  ‘Are you sure you’re holding up OK? Everyone is concentrating on Fran and Dominic, and quite rightly too, but you’re the one who takes care of Laurel all day every day.’ Kelly reaches out a hand and squeezes my fingers tightly.

  Am I holding up OK? I don’t really know. On the outside, yes, but on the inside is that constant dark hand of fear that grips my heart in its icy fist.

  ‘It’s difficult. It feels like everything seems to be grinding to a halt – that there are no clues at all to what might have happened to Laurel. I wonder if I’m best getting out of the way?’ Relieved to change the subject, I turn the words into a question as I finally meet Kelly’s eyes.

  ‘I know that feels like the easiest option, but I promise you it won’t help. Fran and Dominic need you – especially now . . .’ she trails off and bites her lip.

  ‘What do you mean, especially now?’ I say.

  ‘DI Dove is planning on holding a reconstruction.’ Kelly says, glancing quickly towards the door. I guess that DS Wright is in the living room now, telling Fran and Dominic his plans.

  ‘A reconstruction?’ Bile rises in the back of my throat and I swallow hastily. The idea of reliving that night is unbearable. ‘Like Crimewatch?’

  ‘Exactly that.’ Kelly gives me a small smile. ‘Look, I know the idea of it is scary, but it’s worked so many times before. All it takes is one person to remember something that they didn’t realise was significant, and it could lead to a massive breakthrough.’

  ‘Well, I suppose . . . if it can help, then it has to happen. I’m sure Fran and Dominic will want anything and everything done to find Laurel.’

  ‘DS Wright wanted me to ask you something.’ Kelly’s eyes slide away from mine and I get the distinct impression that I’m not going to like whatever she says next. ‘She wants to know if you’ll play yourself? All you’ll have to do is stand there behind the little girl who will play Laurel, and then look for her when you realise she isn’t there. Oh . . . look, Anna, I know it’s hard . . .’

  ‘No. Absolutely not.’ I’m already shaking my head before she even finishes speaking. ‘I’m not doing it, OK?’

  ‘She just thought that it might be helpful – people will remember your face, and that might lead . . .’

  ‘I said, no.’ I shove my chair back. ‘I’m not doing it, Kelly. Let them get someone in who looks a bit like me, it’s Laurel who is the main focus, not me.’

  ‘OK.’ She holds her hands up in a gesture of surrender. ‘If you’re definitely sure that you don’t want to do it, I’ll let her know and she can get one of the PCs to play you. It’s fine. Honestly.’ She gives a little shrug and picks up the tray of tea things to carry through into the living room. I settle back on to the chair, my heart rate returning to normal. There’s no way I can appear on national television, not after all the lengths I’ve gone to, to make sure that no one knows I’m here. Not even if it means it’ll help to find Laurel.

  CHAPTER 10

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Jessika appears beside me as I stand shivering on the edge of the field, waiting for the reconstruction to start. She snakes her arm through mine, giving it a little reassuring squeeze, and I feel guilty for blanking her at the lake that day. My breath comes out in smoky plumes, drifting up and away to join the bitter bonfire smoke that rises up into the clear evening sky, like it did that Saturday evening, a little over a week ago. People bustle about, making sure everyone is placed exactly so, right down to the BBQ area and the PTA stand at the entrance to the field.

  I see Ruth standing by the gate, taking direction from someone with an earpiece, and remembering what she said about being at drama school with Fran, I realise with a tiny twinge of distaste that she must be playing herself in the reconstruction. My stomach flips as the first firework bursts overhead and I see the woman playing me turn to ‘Laurel’ and usher her off towards where ‘Fran’ walks toward the portaloos, the cameras trained on her tiny frame.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say, wrapping my arms across my body. ‘It feels weird, you know? Seeing her. Watching it all happen again.’ The little girl they have chosen to play Laurel is a perfect match, and they’ve even managed to find the exact bobble hat I thrust on to her head that night to keep her warm.

  ‘This will help, though, you know that?’ Jess eyes me closely, her brows knitted together with concern.

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ I say, glancing over to where Fran and Dominic stand stony-faced togeth
er, with Kelly in between them. I wasn’t sure that any of us would be allowed to be there – having not had any experience with this kind of thing before, I didn’t know what to expect – and at first Fran was adamant that she wasn’t coming.

  ‘Why would I want to see it?’ she cried, pacing the living room floor at home, Bom discarded on the sofa as she marched backwards and forwards. ‘Why would I want to relive that?’ Dominic had also not been keen at first, before changing his mind abruptly, with no explanation. And that was how I find myself, shivering despite the layers of clothes I wear, watching one of the worst nights of my life being re-enacted. Jess inches closer to me and links her fingers in mine, giving my hand a tight squeeze as we watch the woman portraying me walk towards the BBQ stand, fake fear etched on to her features.

  ‘Does Claire know you’re here?’ I whisper to her, conscious of the cameras around the field. I am anxious that I will do something, say something that will put the actors off and we’ll have to start this whole painful process over again.

  ‘I got the night off,’ Jess says, ‘she thinks I’ve gone for a drink with Mike.’ Jess’s on/off boyfriend.

  ‘What does she think about everything?’ I have to ask.

  People have been very careful not to say anything to any of us, nothing that gives away what they really think or feel as they stand on the doorstep handing over Pyrex dishes of pre-cooked food and empty platitudes. I am intrigued to know what Claire’s views are, given that she is a ‘friend’ of Fran’s but we haven’t heard from her at all, except to see her at the search hub in the school hall. The only person who has called at the house regularly is Ruth, and I have been accepting her offerings on the doorstep in an attempt to protect Fran from having to see people she doesn’t know. It’s as though people are too frightened to get too close, in case something about Laurel’s disappearance rubs off on them. And I can’t shake off the image of that woman behind me in the hall, whispering to her friend about how Fran still managed to put on make-up.

  ‘Well, she’s devastated for Fran, obviously,’ Jess says, cautiously. ‘I mean, we all are. She’s keeping a tight hold on Daisy at the moment too. The whole thing has shaken the entire community up. The very idea that something this awful could happen here, of all places, has got people frightened.’

  ‘Are people blaming me?’ Finally, I pluck up the courage to ask the question, that nervous, sick feeling bubbling up again in my stomach. I was ostracised in Killin, in Scotland, following what happened, fingers pointing at me wherever I went. I couldn’t bear it if it happened again, here, not after all I’ve done to try and put the past behind me.

  ‘You?’ Jess lets out a tiny huff. ‘No. Don’t be silly. This wasn’t your fault.’ She squeezes my fingers lightly again, but she doesn’t meet my eyes.

  The reconstruction airs later in the week, and we all huddle in the living room to watch it. The air is thick with tension as the opening credits roll, and as Dove appears on the screen with the presenter, saliva spurts into my mouth. I jump to my feet, rushing to the downstairs loo, convinced I am about to be sick, but nothing comes up. My stomach just heaves and rolls, as I spit into the toilet. Rocking back on to my heels, I wipe my mouth with a shaking hand, before rising to my feet. I splash cold water over my face, rinse my mouth out and wipe away the mascara that has bled beneath my eyes, before heading back into the living room.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Kelly whispers to me as I slide onto the sofa next to her.

  ‘Yes.’ I nod, wiping at my mouth again. ‘I’m nervous, I don’t know why. Reliving the whole thing . . .’ I whisper, shaking my head. ‘I’m sorry.’

  She gives me a reassuring smile, and I glance across the room at the Jessops. They occupy two separate armchairs, Fran curled into one, while Dominic sits, straight-backed and grim-faced, in the other, both of them with eyes trained on the television screen. Dove finishes speaking and the scene changes to the field and the bonfire. My heart starts to thunder in my chest.

  We see Laurel, skipping into the field ahead of ‘me’, the pair of us meeting up with Fran. Tears spring to my eyes as we watch Laurel bounce away across the mud, running after Fran who keeps walking, not even realising that Laurel is chasing along after her. The camera cuts back to ‘me’, a woman who looks a little like me – close enough to jog people’s memories, but not close enough to remind people from the past, I hope – as she turns back to watch the fireworks overhead, thinking that everything is OK.

  We cut back to the studio, where Dove still sits, manspreading across the couch, leaning on his knees as the presenter starts to question him.

  ‘Someone knows where Laurel is,’ he states firmly, ‘someone saw what happened to that little girl that night, and it is incredibly important that if you saw something, or if you even think that you might have seen something, you need to come forward.’

  Fran gives a strangled sob, and before anyone can stop her she rushes from the room. Dominic gets to his feet and switches off the television.

  ‘I’ll go and make sure she’s OK.’ Kelly gets up, and then I hear her feet as she turns down the hallway, the clunk of the back door as it closes behind her. Dominic turns to me.

  ‘Do you think that did any good?’ he asks, his face pale and waxy, his forehead sweaty. I avert my eyes.

  ‘I think it’s better than doing nothing,’ I say, knotting my hands together.

  ‘But do you think it’ll jog anyone’s memory?’ he persists. ‘Do you think seeing a kid who looks slightly like Laurel will lead anyone to actually remembering something important? Something that could get her back?’

  ‘I . . . don’t know,’ I stutter, unnerved by the intensity of his cold, blue eyes as he stares at me. Does he think I had something to do with this? A chill runs down my spine at the thought. I can’t go through it all again – I can’t be held responsible for something I didn’t do. ‘Possibly. I don’t know, Dominic, because I don’t know what happened to Laurel.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake.’ He snatches up a glass that sits on the mantelpiece, rolling it in one palm before he flings it onto the marble hearth, shards shattering across the floor. I flinch, fear making my pulse race in my chest.

  ‘Dominic . . .’ I hold up my hands, trying to stop my fingers from shaking, ‘please, calm down.’ Kelly appears in the doorway and I give her a frantic look. I won’t know what to do if he loses it completely and starts smashing the room up. Kelly takes him by the arm and gently guides him to the armchair, as he scrubs his hands over his face, apologising for losing his temper, muttering under his breath. While Kelly murmurs to him, I sneak out to the garden where I can see Fran’s outline illuminated through the glass of the back door by the outside light. Hissing as the chilly night air hits my bare arms, I step out on to the patio and Fran turns.

  ‘Anna. I thought it was going to be that bloody spy, Kelly. I’ve told her I don’t want to speak to her,’ she says, a lit cigarette in one hand. She catches my gaze and wafts it towards me. ‘Do you want one?’

  I take one from the pack, the smoke tickling the back of my throat and making me want to cough as soon as I inhale. I haven’t smoked since Scotland. Since that night. The taste of the ashy nicotine on my tongue makes my head swim and my stomach roll. I don’t puff again, but hold the cigarette loosely between my fingers.

  ‘She’s only here to help,’ I say, defending Kelly. ‘She’s in there with Dominic now. He . . . he lost his temper a little bit.’

  ‘I heard him shout,’ Fran says, before drawing in another deep drag of her cigarette, filling her lungs with smoke. She exhales and lets out a long, steady stream of white before she speaks again. Her eyes water, but I’m unsure if she is crying, or if it’s the smoke. ‘No one ever believes me when I tell them what a temper he has.’

  ‘He’s under a lot of pressure,’ I say, quietly, secretly a little dizzy at my bravery. I would never have dared say anything to Fran before. ‘You both are.’

  ‘Oh, you too?’ She huffs out a tin
y spiteful laugh, crushing her cigarette under one foot. ‘Got you under his special little surgeon’s spell, has he?’

  ‘No,’ I say, copying her and squashing my cigarette butt beneath my shoe. ‘It’s not like that. I’m here for both of you.’ I stumble over the words. ‘You’re both going through a terrible, terrible time.’

  ‘Yes,’ Fran says softly, her eyes filling with tears. ‘We are, aren’t we? What are we going to do, Anna?’ She blinks, and a tear rolls down each cheek.

  ‘The reconstruction will help,’ I say, trying to inject some positivity into the air. I ignore the comment she made about Dominic – she’s hurting too, after all. She just wants to offload some pain onto others. ‘Something will come of it.’

  ‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ she says, staring past me into the black, inky darkness of the garden behind me, before she turns her gaze back to me. ‘What if we don’t like what it throws up? And what if . . . what if it’s someone we know?’

  Fran’s words haunt me for the rest of the evening and well into the next day. Kelly is in the kitchen when I come down in the morning, and there is a lighter feel to the air for the first time in days.

  ‘Did something happen?’ I ask, reaching past her for a banana from the fruit bowl. Fran and Dominic both perch at the breakfast bar, a plate bearing toast crumbs in front of Dominic, while a full bowl of granola and yoghurt sits in front of Fran.

  ‘Last night, the reconstruction threw up some more information, stuff that might help,’ Kelly says, with a smile.

  ‘Really?’ I look at Fran, who gives a thin smile. She looks a little better this morning, and I hope that she managed at least a couple of hours of sleep. ‘What kind of information?’

  Dominic, on the other hand, looks terrible this morning, his face lined and haggard. I’m guessing he didn’t sleep, and there is the faint whiff of brandy on his breath. I’m not entirely sure that it’s from last night, either. ‘Someone else called into the television show and said they also saw Laurel getting into a car.’