‘Ben’s Shack,’ he said. ‘Three weeks ago, I picked Constance up from there.’ He saw his brother wince and look sharply across at Jenna. Apart from that exchange, they remained silent as Karl told them about the phone call he had received from Constance. She had rung him in the early hours when Nicole and Sasha were sleeping, and he was downstairs working on his laptop. Hearing her slurred, disjoined sentences and gulping sobs, he had decided the caller was playing a practical joke. A drunken teenager randomly tapping digits. He was about to end the call when he recognised her voice.
‘Uncle Karl… help me, Uncle Karl… please help me.’
‘Just calm down.’ He tried to make sense of what she was saying. ‘Take it slowly and tell me exactly what’s going on.’
She had left her house after her parents had gone to bed and was at a party in Ben’s Shack. The party was over and she was alone on the beach. Her house key had fallen from her jacket pocket and disappeared into the sand. She begged him to collect her and bring his spare key to her house with him. He mustn’t tell her parents. She would run into the sea if he brought them with him. She sounded hysterical, capable of carrying out her threat, and Karl, unable to tell if she was drunk or drugged, or both, drove to the beach to pick her up.
He had cut across the sand dunes, following a well-worn track through the marram grass. The tide was out and wet sand gleamed in the moonlight. Ben’s Shack was deserted but the glowing embers of the bonfire led Karl to her. She was huddled behind the rocks, the smell of vomit on her clothes, her eyes luminous, her gaze disoriented.
‘I’m sorry… sorry… sorry…’ She had blubbered apologies into his neck as he carried her from the beach. She was feather-light in his arms, her stick-like legs dangling. She made him think of an overdressed rag doll, her short skirt rucked above her thighs, a glittery top stretched across her small breasts. A sprite child, perched on the cusp between capricious, dangerous immaturity and budding sexuality.
Back in his car, he had listened while she attempted to explain what had happened. She belonged to a gang called The Fearless. They were an exclusive group who dared each other to undertake different challenges. Painting graffiti on walls, egging the front doors of teachers’ houses, waterbombing passing cars, using fake ID in a pub to order a vodka and Red Bull, breaking into graveyards and lying on tombstones to take selfies… her voice shook as she listed the various challenges the members had undertaken. She became evasive when Karl demanded the names of the gang. Membership of The Fearless would be taken away if a member revealed anyone else’s identity or refused a dare. Constance had been challenged to take a naggin of vodka from her parents’ drinks cabinet and gatecrash Ben’s Shack.
She held up her phone to show Karl the video she had taken at the party. Flames from a bonfire leaping upwards. A young man sitting astride a rock, playing his guitar. Two girls dancing together, bodies touching, arms raised, holding bottles. The gang on the beach had been at least five years older than Constance. She admitted that she’d videoed them from behind the rocks, too frightened to mingle with them. She had taken selfies of herself drinking the vodka but admitted she had only drunk it for courage. The night had ended on an even more dismal note when she lost her keys and threw up over the sand.
‘For God’s sake, Constance, I always thought you were a sensible girl.’ Karl had been outraged by her recklessness. ‘What are your parents going to say when they find out?’
‘Please don’t tell them, Uncle Karl. Promise me you’ll never tell them.’
‘We’re not arguing about this,’ he had replied. ‘I have to tell them. Anything could have happened to you tonight.’
‘I rang you because I knew you’d understand.’ She was terrified, sobbing, pleading… please… please… please. She would do anything he asked if only he would keep that night a secret. ‘They’ll ground me for forever if they find out. You’ve no idea what they’re like. They’re so strict. They don’t remember what it’s like to be young. Not like you do.’
He told her she must leave the gang. She cried some more but, before he drove her home, he had wrung the promise from her. Cherrywood Terrace had been deserted when he braked outside her house.
‘Thank you, Uncle Karl, you’re the best.’ She flung her arms around him and kissed his cheek. ‘I just wish you were my dad.’ She stumbled up the driveway, then turned and waved before closing the door behind her.
Over the following weeks, Karl checked that she had kept her promise. She insisted she was no longer in the gang and he had taken her at her word. Now, as he faced her parents, and watched their agitation grow, the burden of what she had confided to him fell like a stone between them.
‘Our daughter got drunk, gatecrashed Ben’s Shack and you never thought to let us know.’ Jenna sounded more astonished than angry.
‘It was stupid of me. I know that now,’ Karl replied. ‘But Constance promised it wouldn’t happen again. I trusted her. We’ve all had similar experiences when—’
‘Not when we were thirteen.’ Justin slammed his fist into his other hand. ‘Jesus Christ, Karl, I can’t believe you never told us.’ The edginess in his voice echoed with past recriminations. The tone was always there, lying below the surface, ready to rise when, as now, he expected to hear the worst from his irresponsible younger brother.
‘She was frightened of what you’d say—’
‘Your first responsibility was to us, her parents.’ Jenna stared angrily at him. ‘If Constance is in some kind of trouble I’ll never forgive you.’
‘This isn’t the time for a row.’ Karl tried to placate her. ‘I searched the beach because I thought there might have been another party last night. It was a shot in the dark and I was wrong. But she could be involved in another challenge. Check her texts—’
‘I’ve already checked them,’ said Jenna. ‘There’s no information that can help us.’ She showed Karl the texts. Constance had been angry, ranting about her parents and her disappointment over the concert, but there was nothing about The Fearless or the reckless challenges she had described. He checked the photographs in her gallery, the dates they were taken, but was unable to find the video Constance had shown him.
‘She must have deleted it.’ He handed the phone back to Jenna. ‘Her friends have to know something. You should ring Tracey and Gillian again. They must be members of the gang.’
‘If they do know something, they won’t be able to hide it from the police.’ Justin stood up and shoved his arms into his jacket. ‘I’ve wasted enough time. I’m going to Glenmoore Garda Station to report her missing. Come with me and tell them what you know about these so-called challenges.’