I’m sitting on an old plastic stacking chair. I haven’t dared move yet in case I get told off. It’s earthy warm in here and smells funny. The damp air makes me cough.
After ages of sitting still, I really need the loo. I don’t know where it is. Everyone at home will be so worried about me. It’s been hours and hours since I went to get my ice cream. I’m jiggling back and forth on the chair. What will happen if I wet myself? When I weed on the floor at school, I got a bad mark. I had to wear someone else’s knickers from the lost property cupboard. They were grey and baggy, and everyone laughed.
If I wet the floor now, I’ll probably get killed.
I really want to find the loo, but I don’t think there is one. It’s just one room, and the door out is locked. There’s a plastic bucket that’s been left beside a foam mattress on the floor, so I use that, sliding off the chair slowly in case something bad happens. As I pee, I look at the mattress. Is that my bed now? There’s a stuffed toy owl on it. Whoo-whoo, I think as I pull up my sandy swimsuit. I can still taste that yukky ice cream in my mouth.
I don’t even know if it’s dark outside because there aren’t any windows. It feels like I’m underground, but I don’t know if I am. I sit back on the chair because I don’t want to get told off when the door opens again. I tap my feet and wait. I wait for ages and ages longer. Tappety-tap.
I’m really hungry now. And cold. My swimsuit has dried stiff on me and my skin feels crisp and salty. This place is horrid. I want to get out. It’s got old brick walls with a white furry crust. There’s just a chair and the mattress on the floor, the bucket and a big metal bowl on a wooden stand. A tap hangs on the wall above it and wobbles when I dare turn it on. The water tastes of soil.
I start to cry. I don’t want to be a baby, but I’ve been here ages now. Hours and hours, though it feels like my whole life. One tear comes and then they all come. I lean forward with my face down on my knees, crying and crying until there’s nothing left.
‘Help!’ I call out, crawling over to the pile of clothes left on the floor, rummaging through them like Mummy does at the jumble sale. I want a jumper and I don’t care who knows it! When I find one and put it on, it smells dirty and stale. It has someone’s dinner down the front. I get back on the chair. And then I just wait.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Callum sat facing his lawyer. They’d been allowed fifteen minutes to talk in private. He hadn’t liked the way John had lowered his head and sighed grimly when all he’d done was tell him how it had happened. Virtually everything.
‘It wasn’t like that, John. You know that’s not the type of man I am. I’d had a bit too much to drink, I admit. She came into my room uninvited, for God’s sake.’ Callum didn’t like John’s blank face either, felt as though he was being judged. ‘My first thought was that I was having a bloody good dream.’ He laughed raucously, like when the group of them were at the golf club bar, but John’s expression remained blank. ‘You’d have thought the same if it happened to you, let’s be honest.’
John raised his hands to halt him. ‘You know she’s a minor?’
‘Well, I bloody well do now. Fucking little tart. Going around dressed like that. My son thought she was eighteen.’
‘But did she tell you that?’ John didn’t wait for an answer. ‘To put it bluntly, I imagine the police suspect one of two things. One, that young girls are your thing and you forced her to have sex with you, or at least encouraged it, and then she ran away upset. Or secondly, that you had sex with her and then killed her when she threatened to tell.’
‘Killed her?’ Callum thumped his fist on the table, half standing up and leaning in towards him. ‘For fuck’s sake, that’s totally ridiculous! I swear I didn’t do anything wrong and I certainly haven’t bloody murdered the stupid girl. She’s a menace. She’d already come on to me inappropriately once before.’ His breathing was quick and shallow. Murder? How the hell could this be happening to him?
‘She had?’
‘Yes. I was in the cellar choosing wine last Saturday evening and she followed me down and started behaving like a provocative little slut.’
‘Anyone see this?’
Callum shook his head. ‘No,’ he said quietly, wondering what the hell had possessed him to tell Claire it was Maggie, not Rain. He’d just wanted a reason to get rid of them both. ‘No one saw it at all.’
* * *
Shona was alone in the farmhouse, exhausted and awaiting news from Jason about the babies. She’d been looking after Amy, but distracted herself by walking her granddaughter up to the village to play with a school friend. The little girl needed some normality. The other girl’s mum, a good friend of Claire, was sympathetic and happy to help out for as long as needed.
The walk had certainly helped clear her head so, on the way back, she decided to take the cliff path rather than the shorter road route home. She found herself gazing along the familiar length of Trevellin beach, remembering Lenni, thinking of all the years that had passed, shocked by how it didn’t seem any time at all since they were tearing around trying to find her.
When she got back to the farm, Nick was still there, not realising Shona was within earshot judging by the whispered expletives, pacing and clenched fists. He quickly stopped when he spotted her. Shona thought he looked worn out. ‘Sit,’ she said, pointing to the chair. ‘Let me make you some food.’
‘It’s been a while since anyone did that for me,’ he said, while Shona buttered some bread.
‘Then it won’t hurt for once, will it?’ Claire had briefly hinted to her about his loss, skirting around the horrific details, as well as mentioning his new project in London. She hadn’t delved much into any of the friends’ lives since they’d been here, but had picked up snippets of conversations, gleaning facts here and there, building up a current picture of the people who’d once played such a large part in Lucas family life. She’d always loved Nick. He’d been a constant member of the usual gang of kids who gathered at the farm, and he’d been good to Claire. For Claire.
‘The old days were good times, weren’t they?’ Shona said, grating cheese. She wasn’t expecting an answer; rather she was trying to convince herself that things hadn’t been all bad.
As it happened, she didn’t get any kind of answer because Claire and Maggie burst into the kitchen, spewing out words, talking over each other and not making any sense. Their faces were flushed, their expressions anxious. Shona picked out something about Jason and babies… a boy… a girl, and then she heard mention of Rain.
‘Slow down,’ Shona instructed. Maggie was clutching her phone to her chest, her knuckles white around it. ‘Claire, what on earth’s going on?’ Shona glanced between the two women.
‘Greta’s had a boy and a girl. They’re all fine. Jason sent me a text. I don’t know any more details.’ It came out quickly and then Claire fell silent, touching her forehead as she looked across at Maggie.
‘That’s wonderful news,’ Shona replied. But she knew there was more. Maggie had garbled something about Rain. She braced herself for the worst.
‘They… they’ve found her,’ she said quietly, as Claire held her. Together they rocked back and forth, Maggie’s face pressed against Claire’s shoulder. ‘Oh God, oh God…’ she said, ending with a muffled wail. Shona waited for more details, praying that Rain had been found alive but she was too afraid to ask. ‘The signal here is so patchy I only just picked up the message from earlier. All they said was that I need to get to the hospital urgently.’ She dragged a hand down her face, wiping away her tears.
‘I’ll drive you,’ Nick said. ‘And you don’t know anything else?’
Maggie shook her head, unable to help more sobs. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘She could be on life support, for all I know, or…’