Her parents’ room smelt faintly of her mother’s floral perfume, of fresh laundry and of love. Her parents had slept together in this room for as long as she could remember. It was a thick, intense kind of love that filled the house and stuck to all the Lucas kids as they’d grown up. Sometimes, Claire thought, we were loved too much.
‘Get into your pyjamas, Dad,’ she said, laying them out for him. Her father’s watery eyes stared up at her as he sat on the bed. He hated being taken care of, she knew that, but for now he seemed accepting, almost a little relieved. ‘Why not say a little prayer for Rain,’ Claire suggested, recalling him once saying the same thing to her as she cried herself to sleep a week after Lenni had gone. She fetched a glass of water from the bathroom and, when she returned, her father was in bed, his eyes closed and his thin, dry lips muttering words she could barely make out.
Chapter Forty-Two
Company
There’s someone here. There’s someone here! I drop to the floor beside my bed and watch, shaking with anticipation. The little girl is talking, laughing, singing a song. She is in my room. There’s someone here, I tell you!
My teeth clamp together and I claw at the foam mattress, putting the pieces in my mouth, waiting for her to see me. I’m way too scared to say hello, just like when I was at school. I haven’t seen anyone else in such a long time, I don’t know what to say. The only people I see are in the films, and they never talk back.
I want to yell ‘Go away’ in case she’s bad, but I clamp my hand over my mouth, so I keep quiet. Has she come looking for me? Maybe she’s here to rescue me, to take me home, to make everything normal again. But then I feel sad. What if she’s been captured and put in here too?
The television chatters in the background, the flickering lighting up my little room. A man’s voice drones on about nuclear war, about how we will all die if the bomb goes off.
There’s a little girl in here. There really, really is!
Why don’t you believe me?
My breathing is noisy as I wait and watch – even noisier than the telly or her singing – and I’m scared she’ll hear me. My nose is clogged and crusty, as if I’ve been breathing soil, as if I’ve been buried alive. And all the while the little girl is chanting. Teasing.
I want her to leave me alone now. Get out!
No, please don’t go…
Eventually, I fall asleep on the floor and, when I wake, she’s gone.
Chapter Forty-Three
Nick was the closest to the phone, so he grabbed it, handing it straight to Maggie. ‘Hello?’ she said, followed by single-syllable responses. She hung up, deflated, turning to the others. ‘No news. They have people out making enquiries and will begin a full-scale search in the morning.’ Maggie couldn’t stand the thought of her daughter out alone in the dark Cornish countryside, possibly lost, possibly hurt. To make matters worse, an onshore wind was getting up, making an overnight storm likely.
‘Searching the coast at night would be madness,’ Nick said. ‘But it’s so frustrating not to be doing anything.’ He paced about, mirroring how they all felt: utterly helpless.
‘Agreed,’ Jason said. ‘But we’re best off trying to get a couple of hours’ sleep, then searching again at first light.’ They’d all gone back up to The Old Stables, not wanting to disturb Patrick and Shona while they discussed what to do. Angus and Jenny were still at the farmhouse.
‘I’m so sorry about this, Claire,’ Maggie said, cupping her hands around a mug of sweet tea. Her voice was flat and tired. ‘You’re all so kind.’ She managed a little smile before it fell away. ‘And I’m so angry with Rain, yet sick with worry.’ She put the mug on the table, dropping her head into her hands.
Claire exchanged glances with Jason then Nick, wondering if they thought it was as serious as she did. ‘You should try to get some sleep too,’ she said, touching Maggie’s back. ‘It’s only a few hours until dawn.’ She looked at her watch, knowing that sleep would be impossible, but any kind of rest was better than nothing.
Jason went upstairs to join Greta, who had already succumbed to exhaustion, and Maggie and Nick reluctantly went back up to the farmhouse. Claire watched from her back door as the pair walked arm in arm, eventually disappearing from the cones of light thrown out from two lanterns standing sentry at her gateway. She stood there a few minutes longer, contemplating the blackness beyond, wondering which part of the night had swallowed up Rain. She gripped the door frame hard, trying to quell the rising tears. Thoughtless teenager or something more sinister – it was all too reminiscent.
After locking the door securely – then unlocking it again in case Rain came back – she decided on a nightcap. It was unlike her, but the only thing that would guarantee an hour or two’s sleep. She sat at the kitchen table, unable to prevent her mind from going back to the first night Lenni had gone missing when, shamefully, she’d slept soundly. She’d always hated herself for that, the next morning trying to convince herself she’d been exhausted from dashing about trying to find her baby sister. Or, perhaps, as she now wondered, it was self-protection that had made her sleep that night. The only way to escape the guilt.
Claire sipped the whisky that she’d sloshed into a floral teacup.
‘Where are you, Rain?’ she whispered, tapping a finger on the table as the whisky seared her throat. She knocked back the rest, pouring another shot which didn’t do anything to allay the negative thoughts.
Some days, in her mind, Lenni had become someone’s new daughter, stolen to order because a couple unable to have children of their own had so much love to offer a trusting little girl like her. Other times she’d been taken out of the country, perhaps by gypsies or kidnapped by a child-trafficking gang. Claire imagined her alive but feral, wasted away with empty, sunken eyes.
She knocked back the second shot of whisky and put the cup in the sink. The most unthinkable scenario, she now realised, was ironically the most desirable. That Lenni was dead. She flicked off the kitchen lights and went upstairs to bed.
* * *
Claire woke to the sound of a storm, with rain pelting against the glass. ‘Callum,’ she whispered. Her husband groaned and rolled over, looping his arm around her waist, pulling her closer as she tried to get out of bed to close the window. It was already starting to get light. ‘Cal, no, I have to get dressed. We’re going out searching.’
‘It’s four in the bloody morning,’ he moaned, squinting at the clock. ‘We’ve had about two hours’ sleep.’
Claire swung her legs out of bed and sat up, bracing herself for what lay ahead. Her mobile phone buzzed on the bedside table. Are you awake? I’m at the door. Callum shoved a pillow over his head while Claire slipped on her dressing gown, going downstairs to let Nick in. ‘Did Maggie sleep at all?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘We’ve been up talking for the last hour. She’s going to call Rain’s father later to see if he’s heard anything.’
‘About time,’ Claire said, closing the door behind him. She couldn’t understand why Maggie hadn’t called him straight away. Married or not, he had a right to know if his daughter was in danger and Maggie had a right to know if Rain was with him.
Claire filled the kettle. She swilled out a couple of yesterday’s mugs, tossing in teabags. ‘Nick, does this feel…’ She turned away, not managing to finish the sentence, so she stood with her hand on the kettle, head down, waiting for it to boil.
‘Familiar?’
Claire poured boiling water into the mugs. ‘I don’t like it. There are already too many similarities.’ She caught his eye as she passed him his tea.
‘Losing a child is…’ Nick took a sip instead of finishing.
‘Is what?’ Claire sat down but didn’t take her eyes off him. She pulled her robe tighter around her chest.
‘It’s still raw.’ Nick’s voice was deep and low, but Claire didn’t miss the waver in it. The look on his face told her he hadn’t wanted to say anything.
‘What’s raw, Nick?’
He stared blankly ahead but then, as if the weight of his sadness was too much, his head dropped forward, chin on chest. Claire put a hand on his arm. ‘Nick?’