‘They do that job in pairs, love,’ Patrick replied.
Claire forced the thought from her mind and went around the kitchen, gathering all the mugs and glasses that had been used over the morning. She needed to keep busy. She put them into the big Belfast sink, running a bowl of hot soapy water, and set to washing up. She wondered how many hours her mother had stood at the same sink, washing, rinsing and drying countless plates, cutlery, pots and pans. Shona had been a worker all her life and Claire couldn’t think of a time when her mother had ever been idle.
Between them, her parents had saved Trevellin from bankruptcy, their dedication and hard work re-establishing the dairy herd within a couple of years. She recalled how her dad would leave the house before they even got up for school and come back home mid-evening reeking of his beloved cows and the scent of their warm, creamy milk.
‘Claire…’ Her father’s deep voice resonated through the kitchen. She turned, pulling off her rubber gloves in time to see PC Wyndham leaving by the back door. Maggie was standing perfectly still, hands clasped under her chin, looking as if she was the only person left in the entire world.
‘What is it, Maggie? Is there news?’ Claire went up to her, but Maggie just stood, refusing to move, apart from a small tremor that ran the length of her body.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Back When I Remembered
‘Hello,’ I say next time I’m not alone. ‘Am I going home now?’ My throat tightens as if a boiled sweet is stuck in there. That happened once and Mummy made me drink hot water to melt it.
There’s no reply but I’m given some colouring pens and a pad of paper instead. I like drawing. I also like practising my writing, so I write a letter to Mummy. I know she’ll be worried sick about me, while Daddy will be angry, shouting at everyone, shouting at the police if they’ve been called to find me. But mostly he’ll be hating himself for being so careless, for allowing bad things to happen to me. Jason will hide in the barn, chucking his ball against the wall and not wanting to talk to anyone, while Claire will be sad. She was meant to be looking after me.
‘Will you give this to my Mummy?’ I ask. The letter is snatched from my hand and nothing more is said. I wonder if they think I’m dead, if they’ve given up on me.
When I’m alone again, I scream as loud as I can. I keep on screaming all day long until my throat bleeds and my eyes don’t see properly. Jason used to call me a little firecracker, waiting to explode. He was right, I am about to explode, although when he said it, it just made me even madder, got me hot and sweaty and hating everything. When things went wrong, if Claire or Jason annoyed me or if something got broken and I couldn’t fix it, I’d clench my fists and my cheeks would go scarlet. I’d try to hold it in, but sometimes it bled out of me as if I was leaking badness. Mummy would watch me quietly, allowing me to get rid of the rage, then she’d hug me and talk softly to me. Then Daddy would tuck me into bed with one of his stories until the fizzing inside my chest started to go down. They both knew what to do.
Now, alone, I’m standing beside the tiny sink screaming out my unheard anger. I cry and yell, spinning around and around in mini circles like that lion I saw once at the zoo. I jump as high as I can, slamming my feet onto the floor so tingles shoot up my legs. I hurl myself against the wall and drag my nails down the wooden panelling until splinters push up under my nails and crescents of blood appear.
‘Help me!’ I cry a thousand times, pacing the short length of the room until it seems to close in on me, the walls getting closer together with every step. My eyes swell in and out of focus, transforming the dingy space where I now live into the pretty pink of my bedroom, only to vanish again when I scream even louder. My lungs bubble with sadness and despair. Spit froths between my lips.
‘Help, please… help… me.’ It’s just a whisper now. I fall to the floor until it’s over, until the anger has leaked to earth. In my head, Daddy tells me a story. His words calm me and send me to sleep. I do this every day.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Callum was between patients when PCs Wyndham and Holt came into the consulting room that afternoon, followed by a very flustered nurse. He glared at them. ‘This had better be important. I have ward rounds.’ He didn’t bother standing up or shaking hands. A nerve twitched under his left eye.
‘This shouldn’t take long, although you might prefer to speak in private.’ PC Wyndham looked back at the nurse.
‘Thanks, Megan. You can close the door on your way out.’ The nurse did as she was told, looking relieved. ‘What won’t take long?’ Callum pushed back in his chair. ‘I’ve already told you everything I know.’
‘Are you certain about that?’ PC Holt said, sitting in the patients’ chair. PC Wyndham perched on the end of the examination couch, her ankles crossed. ‘It’s slightly unusual, but under the circumstances we made the decision to send a forensics team to both properties earlier today.’
‘And that justifies disturbing a busy surgeon?’
‘I’ll get straight to the point, Mr Rodway. Rain’s fingerprints were found in your bedroom. We’d taken known samples from her phone and other belongings.’
Callum’s mouth went dry. ‘That would make sense. I saw her in there with my wife. They were chatting.’
‘And when was that exactly?’ PC Wyndham removed a small notepad from her inside pocket, poised to write.
‘They arrived early on Saturday morning, so it was… during the afternoon, I think. Yes, it was Saturday afternoon.’
‘What time?’
‘About three?’ Callum felt as though he was asking them, not telling them.
‘Rain’s fingerprints were found on your bed frame. Your side of the bed, incidentally.’
Callum felt his mouth twisting into an odd shape, as if he’d temporarily lost control of it. ‘Again, that makes perfect sense. Claire and Rain were sitting on the bed – my side – while they were chatting.’
‘As you know, the bed base has a deep, polished board running around it. There were many fingerprints and finger smear marks found all along one side of it, and the angle of them indicates that she may have been trying to push herself off the bed while lying on her front. An odd position for her to be chatting in, don’t you think?’
Callum ignored the look on the officer’s face. He wasn’t fazed. ‘I don’t know. I only passed the bedroom doorway. I wasn’t there the whole time.’ He allowed a moment’s silence. ‘Are we done now? I really need to see my next patient.’
‘Of course,’ PC Holt said, standing. ‘I’m sure your wife will confirm your story.’
* * *
Claire searched for her phone and, remembering she’d left it charging in the hallway, slipped it into her back pocket. Everyone had gone up to the Old Stables, having vacated the farmhouse so the officers could look around, take prints, perhaps get an insight into Rain’s whereabouts from her belongings. Given that was where she had actually been staying, Claire expected them to take a little longer there.
‘How they expect to find anything useful, I don’t know,’ Patrick grumbled. They’d been discussing reasons why the police were focusing on the two properties so early, concluding that if Rain didn’t come back soon, then their investigations would be scaled up and any evidence in the houses might, by that time, have been accidentally destroyed.