‘I got the impression she wasn’t the type of girl to go AWOL, as you put it.’
‘Maeve is a drama queen, always looking for attention.’
Lottie knew a couple of other drama queens, both living in her house.
‘So it’s not unusual for her to go missing, is it?’
‘Not really. She has friends in Dublin. Sometimes she heads up there on the train. Gets sick of looking after her alcoholic mother, so she says.’
‘She hasn’t been seen since last Friday,’ Lottie said.
‘Don’t think she ever went off for that long before. Usually a day or two.’
‘Emily Coyne thinks she has an online boyfriend. Know anything about that?’
Chloe hesitated. Just a fraction. Lottie caught it.
‘Emily is a gobshite. I’m not BFFs or anything with her or Maeve. They’re a year ahead of me.’
‘I know. So how are you acquainted?’
‘We hang out online sometimes.’
‘Facebook?’
Another hesitation, then, ‘Yeah.’
Lottie had the feeling Chloe was being purposely evasive. ‘If she wanted to leave home, do you think she might go to these friends in Dublin?’
‘I said I don’t know.’
Lottie stood up, went to the door and looked back at her daughter. When had she lost her? Chloe used to be the child she could depend on, the sensible one. Had life in the Parker house become too much for the teenager? Her mood had definitely altered recently. Since Lottie had been off work? At home all day going stir-crazy and making her kids just as crazy? But she sensed it was related to the events that happened in January. Or maybe it went back even further, to Adam’s death. She knew how devastating it had been for the whole family. But she thought Chloe had coped better than the others. Maybe she’d been wrong about that too.
Chloe chewed her lip for a moment, then, as if having a change of heart, she said, ‘I thought Maeve was supposed to be staying with Emily for the weekend.’
‘Emily says she didn’t stay with her. Tell me, what’s Maeve like?’
‘She’s okay,’ Chloe said. ‘A bit of a loner. Before you ask, she doesn’t do drugs or any of that shit.’
‘This boyfriend of hers…’
Chloe shrugged her shoulders. ‘She’s always online. Has her phone glued to her hand, even in school.’
‘Same as you, then.’ Lottie smiled. ‘We’ll interrogate her Facebook account.’
‘Is nothing sacred any more?’ Chloe groaned.
‘And we’ll check any other social media sites she might be using.’
‘Whatever.’ Chloe pulled the Beats over her ears.
‘I’ll be getting my guys to probe all her online accounts, but maybe you could have a look and see if you notice anything unusual or odd that might escape us old people.’
Lottie walked out onto the landing, followed by the thump of music from the headphones.
‘Your room could do with a hoover,’ she said with a backward glance.
Chloe closed her eyes and waved her away.
Conversation over.
* * *
When she was sure her mother had gone downstairs, Chloe logged on to her phone and searched Maeve’s Facebook page. No updates. She tapped on Twitter, clicked her lists. Nothing. She keyed in the hashtag #cutforlife and scrolled. No posts from Maeve since last Friday. Odd. Normally she posted every day, every minute some days. Luckily they hadn’t told big-mouth Emily anything, because she would surely blab. There was enough strife in her life without her mother finding out about this.
She expelled a loud breath. Life was such a bitch. She hated having to keep secrets. Why had Maeve told her anything? She should have gone off to do whatever it was she wanted to do without bringing Chloe into it.
The panic was back. Cutting through her chest. Hauling off her headphones, she threw them on the pillow and sat upright. She rolled up her sleeve and trailed her fingers along the inside of her elbow, feeling the scabs healing over old cuts. Her fingernail caught the edge of a fresh crust, pulling it away from her flesh. She watched a dark blob of blood bubble then settle. She knew what she needed to do.
Jumping off the bed, she searched in her rucksack for her pencil case and sat back on the bed. Extracting the tissue with its sharp implement inside, she listened again to ensure no one was outside her door. She didn’t need Sean snooping around. He would surely call their mother.
Very little space remained on her arm. She pulled down her trousers and felt along the soft skin of her inner thigh. It was virgin white and smooth to the touch. Squeezing the flesh, she brought the blade down hard and sharp. A small groan eased from between clamped lips as the pain cut into her.
She knew it was wrong, but somehow it felt right. Later she would tweet about it and hopefully he would see it. After all, the hashtag was his idea.
She smelled the cooking from the kitchen downstairs and suddenly she felt hungry. She knew she had to clean up before eating but still she lay supine on the bed. As the blood trickled from the wound, she thought about Maeve. Where on earth was she?
‘What’s this?’ Sean asked.
‘Chicken stir-fry,’ Lottie said.
‘Where’s the chicken?’
‘Just eat it.’
Katie looked ill as she picked through a tangle of noodles concocted from the remnants of Lottie’s last grocery shopping expedition.
‘Katie, will you shop for food tomorrow? I’ll leave some cash and a list.’
‘Okay,’ Katie said.
‘How was school?’ Lottie asked Sean.
‘Okay.’
Sometimes conversation in her house reminded her of interviewing a suspect who had taken the ‘no comment’ route. Tough going, she thought.
After the dishes were cleared away, she decided to go for a run and perhaps drop in on her mother en route. She went to her room, and once she had changed into her running gear, she stood at the top of the stairs and listened.
Loud shouts emanated from Sean’s room as he fought with his online friends over his football game. Silence from Chloe’s. Lottie put her hand on the handle of her door, but decided to let the girl be. She’d said enough for one evening.
She left the house and ran out into the heat of the evening.
By the time she reached her mother’s house, sweat was dripping down her back and drenching her Nike top. Panting, she leaned on the neatly trimmed hedge, considering whether she should call in or not. Probably not. Her relationship with her mother was fractured, to say the least. And in some ways it had deteriorated since the body of her murdered elder brother had been discovered almost forty years after he had disappeared. Hadn’t she had enough hassle for one day? She’d see her mother tomorrow.
Before she could turn away, the front door opened.
‘Are you going to stand out there all evening or are you coming in?’
Rose Fitzpatrick, with her short, sharp silver hair, seemed to intimidate the doorway. Lottie stepped away from the hedge.
‘I’m out for a jog. Better keep going or my muscles will seize up.’ She didn’t need a confrontation.