Danny holds his hands up in surrender. ‘She didn’t want to run with me, Mrs Turner. I don’t know what her problem was. When I saw her yesterday we were planning to pace each another, and then at the last minute she told me to back off. She seemed really upset, but I have no idea why.’
‘Mrs Turner!’ Jimmy Davenport gets up from his chair and walks across to join us. He rests a placatory hand on my arm. ‘Take it easy. I’ll bet my bottom dollar that she’s sprained her ankle somewhere and she’s either hobbling back to base or she’s staying put until someone finds her. Either way, we’ll have her down here in no time. Why don’t you go and wait in the sports hall, out of the cold and the rain?’
A small crowd are beginning to gather, following a crumb trail of whispers with their twitching ears and red runny noses. ‘Where’s Zac?’ I ask no one in particular, searching among the faces closest to me, trying to remember the last time he was by my side. I push through people, heading back to where we were standing. ‘Zac!’
Chris Jessop appears. ‘Anya, this way.’ She tugs on my arm, almost dragging me along, leading me around the side of the sports hall, to a quiet bench where Zac sits folded in on himself, his shoulders heaving as he sobs.
Chris pats my arm and leaves without a word. As I approach Zac I recall Helene’s words on the phone. ‘This man Sophia’s been seeing, he’s so much older than her. I can’t bear to think of them together. How can all this have happened right under my nose, Anya, without me having a clue? What kind of a mother am I?’
I think how neatly Helene had paraphrased my own internal commentary. I sit next to my son. ‘What’s wrong, Zac? What do you know?’
‘It’s all my fault, Mum,’ he says, reflections of his younger years re-emerging in his crumpled face.
‘How do you figure that?’ I ask, rubbing his back like I’ve done so many times when he’s been sick or plagued by nightmares.
He won’t look at me. ‘It’s Georgia. I’ve handled everything so badly. She’s never going to speak to me again.’
My body goes cold. ‘Tell me.’
He stares miserably at the ground and sighs, then begins to bite his thumbnail, something I haven’t seen him do in years. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘The night Georgia and Sophia were in the accident, I found a photograph.’
I brace myself. I don’t want to know. But I have to know.
‘A photo of . . .?’
Zac pauses, catching my eye, his expression pained.
‘There’s no time, Zac,’ I say as steadily as I can. ‘Georgia is missing. Tell me.’
‘It was a photo of Mr Freeman. He was . . . in bed.’
I want to be sick. ‘And?’
‘It’s not disgusting – he was just asleep. But I think Georgia must have taken the photo.’ He gulps. ‘It was hidden in her room. I saw it by accident. But – Mum, I copied it onto my phone. Not to show anyone, just – I felt I needed evidence, until I decided what to do. But it got into the wrong hands, and now it’s on Facebook.’
I’m desperately trying to fit all these pieces together, to form a picture of what might have happened. ‘Does Georgia know?’
‘Danny showed it to her when they were about to start running.’
‘And what did she do?’
‘Nothing. But she looked devastated.’ Zac turns away from me. ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’
My mind is reeling. These past few days I have felt paralysed by fear, but not any longer. ‘You can be sorry later,’ I tell him. ‘For now, you need to help find your sister. Let’s go.’
I jump up, my mind in overdrive trying to figure out my next move. Then it comes to me. Callum is heading for the woods, and he doesn’t know the danger. I need to warn him about Leo.
36
CALLUM
As Callum stumbles up the hill he wishes he wasn’t wearing wellingtons. They’re fine for standing around in a muddy field but the worst footwear for a scramble – he’s slipping all over the place.
‘Callum!’ Over his shoulder he sees Mike McCallister scrambling up the slope after him.
‘Not now, Mike.’
‘The organisers are saying they’re a runner short,’ Mike gasps as he tries to keep up. It seems the man can’t take a hint. ‘Is it your daughter who’s missing?’
Callum clenches his jaw, keeps moving forward. ‘Yes – she’s usually one of the first across the line. She must have had an accident.’ He pictures Georgia prone and vulnerable somewhere on the mud-slicked course. He had heard a few of the runners mention fog. It would have been easy to get disorientated – one slip and she might have taken a hefty fall, especially on the ridge, with all that loose shale and the tenacious rain. He tries and fails to brush away the worst images of the few broken bodies he has encountered, eyes eaten to the sockets by crows. He staggers forward, grabbing at the ground, trying hard not to heave up his breakfast.
His nausea has given McCallister the chance to catch up with him. ‘Come on, mate, it’s not a good idea to go rushing off alone when you’re in this state. Let me help.’
‘There’s no time.’ Callum waves him away and pushes on, finally reaching the top of the slope.