But the officer at the little police station did not say this at all. He took the details, and said they would make a few checks. Well, no, they would not actually mount a search–not for two adults, at least not yet–but they would get in touch with the local hospitals and so forth. You never knew. Oh yes, people did vanish for several hours and then turn up unharmed. They fell into ditches and knocked themselves out, or they broke their ankles clambering across stiles, and were stranded. Neither Donna nor Don said that their parents were not the kind of people who walked in ditches or clambered across stiles.
Donna drove back to the cottage in silence. Don leaned forward eagerly when they swung off the main road and turned along the narrow track leading to the cottage, and she realized he was hoping to see lights blazing from the windows, indicating that their parents were safely back. But Charity Cottage was still in darkness, except for the table lamp they had left burning in the little sitting room and the rather dim light over the front door.
Neither of them went to bed that night. Don fell asleep on the settee but Donna stayed awake, lying in one of the armchairs, trying not to listen to the rain that was still pattering ceaselessly down on the roof. It would be a dreadful night to be lying injured somewhere. Half of her–more than half of her–wanted to join Don on the settee, but she did not.
The police came at nine the next morning to see if the absentees had turned up. Ah, they had not. Oh dear. They had drawn a blank with their own inquiries, they said, and so the next thing was to draw up a bit of a timetable, in order to establish who had been where at what time.
This was simple enough. The morning had been spent at the cottage. Don had taken a book and his unfinished holiday homework into the garden after breakfast, along with his Walkman. He had stayed there until lunchtime, half-heartedly writing the essay he was supposed to be working on, and listening to CDs.
All morning, was that?
Yes, and most of the afternoon. Oh, wait though, he had come in about eleven to get a drink of orange juice. Everyone had been here then.
‘I sort of mooched around doing nothing most of the morning,’ said Donna. ‘I had a bit of a headache as a matter of fact. I walked down to the little shop shortly before lunch to get some air. I got back just after twelve, I think.’
How about lunch? Had they all had lunch together?
‘No. My mother made some sandwiches about half past twelve,’ said Donna. ‘I took some out to Don in the garden.’
‘I brought the plate back in at quarter past one or thereabouts,’ said Don. ‘And got some more orange juice from the fridge. They were here then.’
‘We’re narrowing it down,’ said the sergeant, making notes. ‘And then?’
‘My headache was still quite bad,’ said Donna, frowning in an effort to report the precise details. ‘So I took a couple of paracetamol and went upstairs to lie down. That was probably about half past one. My mother said she’d bring up a cup of tea later on. But I fell asleep and when I woke up it was four o’clock and that’s when I realized they weren’t here.’
‘And neither of you heard your parents go out?’
‘No. I told you, I was asleep for most of the afternoon.’
‘And I was listening to the Walkman. I was at the far end of the garden anyway,’ said Don. ‘They might have called out to say they were going somewhere, but I don’t think I’d have heard them.’
‘No. Loud things, those Walkmans,’ said the sergeant, rather feelingly. ‘So seemingly, they went out somewhere between half past one–say, quarter to two–and four o’clock, when you came downstairs, Miss Robards?’