Michael

 

I have to use my lunch break to make agency calls on behalf of a girl who’s no longer on my books. I take a bite of my sandwich, cursing that I’m spending so much time on hold. I’ve a lot of people to speak with, and not a huge amount of time to do it in.

The result: more of the same old shit.

They’ll need her to register. They’ll need some form of ID. They’ll need to do an assessment.

They’ll be able to do none of those things unless Carrie actually agrees to toe the line.

I’m exasperated by the time I look up Rosie and Bill’s number at the end of my shift. One last shot, that’s what I tell myself. One last attempt to reason with them and get them on side enough to keep her room open for her until we can get her into these appointments.

It’s Rosie who answers. She sighs as she registers it’s me.

I launch quickly into my monologue, telling her I know how hard they’ve worked with Carrie, how much time they’ve put in, and how difficult this has been on all of them, but if she could just find it within herself to give this one final push…

It’s another sigh that cuts me off.

“You’re too late,” she says. “She’s gone.”

My mouth drops before I reply. “Sorry?”

“She took off this morning. Left with all her clothes and everything.”

“And where has she –”

“Don’t know, don’t really care,” she interrupts, and it pains me.

“She didn’t say?”

“Didn’t see her. She’d slipped out the living room window before Bill and I got up.”

I’m lost for words, my pulse heavy in my temples. “Have you called the police?”

She tuts like I’ve insulted her. I probably have.

“Of course we did. They won’t do anything until she’s been missing forty-eight hours, not given the trouble we’ve had before. By then she’ll be eighteen. Not our problem.” She pauses. “And not yours, either.”

Her tone is kind but it’s pointed. I’ve known these people a long time, and they know me. “She’s not on your books anymore, is she?” Rosie asks, already knowing full well she isn’t.

It’s my turn to sigh. “No, not officially.”

“Then I think it’s about time we all let her go, Mike. We’ve all tried.”

Not hard enough.

I can’t say that to her, not given how hard they’ve worked for those in need over the years, so I don’t.

“You’ll let me know if you hear anything?”

She tuts again. “You’ll be the first to know. It’s not a long list.”

I say thanks, and I’m surprised at how clammy my palms feel when I hang up.

Gone.

She’s really gone.

The thought of her being alone out there is a kick to my gut. She could be cold, hungry. Lost, for all I know.

We’re surrounded by miles of woodland – she could be trekking through there for days. She could trip and break and ankle. Those boots of hers have seen better days. They wouldn’t hold up to that.

I’ve grabbed my car keys before I’ve regained my composure. And I’m driving the streets before I’ve even contemplated what my strategy is.

There isn’t one. She could be anywhere.

I head out towards Gloucester, scouring the verges for sight of her. Nothing.

I double back and drive the country lanes through the forest. Nothing.

I pass through Lydbrook three times, asking dog walkers if they’ve seen her around. Nothing.

Finally, I drive into the heart of Gloucester itself, not caring that the night is closing in and I haven’t stopped for dinner. I wander streets I shouldn’t be wandering, asking questions of those settling down outdoors for the night.

I’m crazy and I know it.

I shouldn’t be doing this, and not even Jack is around to talk some sense into me.

Finally, after stopping at all the picnic areas through the forest on my way back home, shining my flashlight around like a madman, I accept defeat for the evening.

I grab some instant noodles and eat them in a daze. I do internet searches on my work laptop, even though I know my history is logged, and I ring the local police and hospitals before I allow myself to get some sleep.

Nothing.

Carrie Wells has gone.

I don’t sleep a wink.

 

* * *

 

Carrie

 

The sleeping bag at Eli’s stinks of weed like the rest of the place. I know they say it’s nature’s herb and all that, but it’s always smelled like crap to me. It’s only ever made me sick and giggly. I don’t really do giggly, so I’m better off without the shitty stuff.

Eli says it will chill me fucking out, but I do chilled even less than I do giggly. He stays up late with the TV on loud. The room is full of the stench, and when I hunker down under my grotty covers that’s when I come to realise everything smells of it here.

I probably smell like it here.

He has a couple of cats that he doesn’t let out. Their litter tray stinks even worse than the weed. Some random ex-girlfriend left them here, he told me once. He hardly feeds them, so I share my ham sandwich with them, loving the way they purr as they settle down under the covers with me.

Maybe I can take them on the road with me, but they’ll probably run away.

I wouldn’t blame them.

I’d run away from here too if I didn’t need to stay warm for the night.

Eli isn’t coming on the road with me, not like he promised. We talked about it earlier, but he’d already been snorting his white stash by then. He told me he wasn’t ditching this place for a crappy fucking gig in a caravan somewhere. He told me he doesn’t love me, either. I already knew that. I already knew all of it.

He says I’m going to have to pay my keep before I leave here, that food doesn’t come cheap even though I’ve only had a couple of slices of bread and I had to tear the crusts off because they were mouldy. It just reinforces everything I already know.

People are dicks, and nobody gives a fuck. Not Bill and Rosie, and not Eli either.

I’d leave tonight if the memory of my ice-block feet this morning wasn’t still fresh. I’d wait until he passed out and slip past him, maybe try to find some cash to take with me on the way. Cash or drugs to sell. I’m sure I could get a decent price for them, just to set me up.

“Ain’t you gonna watch this with me?” he grunts, and I curse that he knows I’m still awake.

“I’m fucking tired. Walked all last fucking night.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll be walking all through this fucking one if you keep speaking to me like I’m a soft fucking asshole.”

It stings to bite my tongue.

“Lee’s coming over,” he tells me, and I cringe inside. “He’s looking forward to seeing you.”

“He can go fuck himself.”

Eli laughs. “He’s hoping you’ll do that for him. Says he’ll give you a tenner towards your caravan fund.”

Lee Davis was a mistake of mine. A stupid idiot who told me I was special.

Like I said, I’ve never been anywhere near a real man. Lee Davis is nothing but a joke. A druggie joke who thinks he’s a hard man. He’s not. I punch harder than he does.

Still, how it ended between us is all the incentive I need to get myself up and out of there. I move the cats and climb out of the sleeping bag. I head to Eli’s grotty bathroom and put on another couple of layers under my clothes.

He doesn’t even look at me when I head back through and pick up my backpack.

“Where do you think you’re fucking going?”

“I’m gonna make a move,” I say. “Gonna head down south. See if I can get to the coast.”

He laughs, points to the armchair. “Sit your skinny ass back down.”

I head for the front door regardless, hissing under my breath as he catches me. He moves fast for a stoner. That’ll be the coke. His breath is hot and fucking gross. I give him the finger even as he pins against the wall.

“Fuck off,” I hiss. “I’m fucking leaving.”

“You always were a snotty fucking bitch,” he says. “I told you. Lee’s coming. He wants to see you.”

“And I don’t want to fucking see him.”

“Tough fucking shit,” he says and then his eyes soften, just a bit.

For that moment he’s the Eli I always knew. The boy who could convince me to do anything, just with a smile, even though I knew I’d get all the blame for it.

“There’s some pasta in the cupboard. Why don’t you make yourself a proper dinner?”

I glare at him. “I can’t pay you for it.”

He shrugs. “We’re friends. We help each other.”

Friends.

That’s a fucking joke.

But I’m hungry, even after a crappy sandwich. I know it’s cold outside and I don’t want to walk through those alleys on my own, not right now when I’m already tired enough to drop.

“Alright,” I say and he smiles.

“That’s my cute little sis.”

He ruffles my hair and I cringe.

I’m not his sister and I never have been.

He lets me go and I drop my backpack. I head through to the kitchen with a sigh and he takes his TV show off pause.

“Make me some as well while you’re at it,” he says. “I’m fucking starving.”

I was only pretending when I spat in Rosie’s stew, I’m not tonight.