The rest of the afternoon was spent at the Old Stables looking at old photographs, selecting the best ones to show to Patrick later. They’d all been in fits of laughter.
‘Dad got worn out at the beach,’ Claire said, holding up a picture of him, aged thirty-something, standing bare-chested on the same familiar curve of shoreline. His trousers were rolled up to his knees and he was holding a small plastic spade. The photo was black and white, but Claire remembered the spade was pink. ‘He’s gone for a lie-down. We’ll show him these tonight.’
She knelt beside the low table in her living room, spreading out the dozens of pictures she’d borrowed from her mother. They’d been stored in boxes up at the farmhouse and were rarely looked at, let alone arranged into albums. The musty smell coming from them made Claire pensive for a moment, as if their childhood had somehow been preserved. She was bracing herself for photos of Lenni. It never got any easier.
‘Here’s what I managed to dig out from some of my old stuff back in London,’ Nick said, coming back from his car and handing Claire an envelope. She hesitated, their fingers brushing momentarily. ‘There aren’t very many, I’m afraid.’
Maggie and Jason had also brought a few snaps and they shared them out, laughing at how young and naive they all looked, grateful they didn’t have those hairstyles any more. ‘These old shots are great,’ Maggie said, holding a couple. There was one of her and Claire doing handstands. ‘Rain would go crazy to put these on Instagram.’
‘Remember how Dad used to stick the Polaroid prints under his armpit to develop when we were really little?’ Claire said. ‘And count to twenty.’ It had seemed like pure magic as a kid. One minute they were in a rock pool or riding the Shetland pony along the sand, and the next they were locked up forever in a photograph.
‘Do you remember the sandcastle-building competitions we used to have? Pat could never choose a winner and gave us all a prize.’
‘A bag of sweets from the village shop, usually,’ Claire replied, watching as Nick flipped through some pictures. His expression didn’t change.
‘In the winter it was house-of-card building competitions or picture drawing, and sometimes he’d make up those impossible maths games. He was so good at keeping us entertained.’ Poor Dad, Claire thought. All these things still locked in his brain, gradually decaying as if they never happened.
She was about to make more tea when Rain and Marcus arrived back. Her heart sank as she smelt cigarette smoke on one or both of them. She decided not to say anything just yet. Marcus knew how she felt about it and she’d have a word with him later. ‘What have you two been up to?’
‘Just hanging,’ Marcus said. ‘What’s all this?’ He eyed the stacks of pictures.
‘Oh, seriously cool,’ Rain said, taking a bunch of photos from Maggie. ‘These are so ancient.’
‘Careful,’ Jason said with a laugh. ‘It wasn’t that long ago.’
‘Is this you, Claire?’ Rain studied a picture.
‘Yes, I was only about fifteen. God, my hair looked awful,’ she replied.
‘No, it’s sick. And is that the dead girl?’ Rain pointed to the younger child holding on to Claire’s waist as if they were doing the conga.
‘Rain,’ Maggie warned, eyeing her daughter.
‘It’s OK,’ Claire said. ‘Yes, that’s Lenni, my little sister.’
‘Is she definitely dead, then?’ Rain flinched when Maggie snatched the photos from her. ‘Was she murdered?’
‘Rain, that’s enough,’ Maggie said. ‘I’m so sorry, Claire.’
‘Marcus has been telling me all about it.’
Marcus squirmed, turning scarlet. Claire didn’t want her son to feel that way. ‘It’s OK. It’s fine to talk about it. We don’t know what happened to her, Rain. We think that after all this time, she’s most likely dead, yes.’ She swallowed, aware of how dry her mouth was. ‘But we’ll never give up hope.’
‘Is that why you’re all here? To, like, figure out what happened?’
‘Rain—’
‘Really, Maggie, it’s OK.’ Jason glanced at his sister and they gave each other a half nod. The silence that followed was broken only by an ambulance screaming down the drive.
* * *
‘I called your mobile but there was no answer and the landline was engaged,’ Shona said, frowning, as they waited in the hospital corridor. She paced about, fiddling with her hair, wringing her hands. ‘I was frantic. I couldn’t leave Dad like that even for a second, so I thought I’d better just call an ambulance.’ Her hands shook as Claire gave her a cup of tea from the machine. Claire remembered that Callum had been organising the golf tournament, the reason the line was engaged. If he hadn’t been, he would have gone down to help.
‘Mrs Lucas?’ A doctor came out of the side room. ‘You can come in if you like.’ The two women followed her into Patrick’s room, not knowing how they would find him.
‘You scared the life out of us all, Dad,’ Claire said from his bedside. She took his hand. Patrick was sitting up, looking fed up and confused.
‘Is he going to be OK?’ Shona asked the doctor.
‘He’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘He suffered a mild concussion, so considering everything else, we’ll keep him in overnight for observations. He has a small cut on his head but no other injuries.’
‘Well, I could have told you that before my wife called the bloody ambulance.’ Patrick made a move to get out of bed, but Shona gently held him in place with a hand pressed against his shoulder.
While the doctor examined him again, Shona told Claire how she’d found him lying in the yard, dazed, not knowing where he was, how he thought he’d tripped but couldn’t be sure. ‘To be honest, I thought he was still upstairs resting,’ Shona confessed guiltily. ‘He must have gone out without me realising.’ Claire comforted her, reiterating it wasn’t her fault. ‘I should keep a much closer eye on him,’ Shona went on. ‘But the place is so big that it’s hard to know where he is all the time.’
‘What were you doing, Dad, that made you fall?’ Claire asked, turning back to him and stroking his arm. ‘Can you remember?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m fine, so just let me go home.’ Patrick avoided the question, batting her hand away, though his frustrated expression told another story. His eyes narrowed, as if his brain was processing a thought, a memory he couldn’t quite grasp. He sank back into the pillow, dragging his hands down his face, letting out a frustrated sound – something between a sob and a growl. ‘I couldn’t find her.’
It broke Claire’s heart to see him looking so frail in the loose hospital gown. The faded fabric fell away from his shoulder, exposing pale skin that seemed to be only just hanging on to his bones, nothing like the strong and tanned muscles he once had. There was a blood pressure cuff around his arm and a clip with a wire attached to his forefinger. She wondered if the reunion had already been too much for him, stirring up memories he couldn’t deal with.
‘Mr Lucas, we really do have to keep you in overnight for observation. To be on the safe side.’ The doctor held Patrick’s medical notes against her chest. Claire and Shona expected another outburst but, instead, he just closed his eyes.
‘Can I have a quick word?’ Claire said to the doctor. They went into the corridor. ‘Do you think this is to do with his Alzheimer’s?’
‘It’s impossible to tell. Alzheimer’s can play tricks on patients as well as their carers. He most likely got disorientated and tripped. Something as simple as moving furniture around or changing routines can be upsetting. Has anything unusual happened at home in the last day or two?’
Claire looked away, dropping her head. Then she folded her arms, as if it might protect her from the guilt. ‘Maybe.’