KATE
‘Would anyone like another cup of tea?’ Dad makes himself busy again, after the officers have gone. He always does this when he’s uncomfortable.
Charlotte shakes her head, folding her arms. ‘What else is going on, Kate? Why did you want us to come and see you, before all … before all this?’
She’s like Mum, she doesn’t go for the softly-softly approach. I don’t feel ready to do this, not now.
‘Look. I couldn’t say this, not in front of them,’ I start. ‘And I know I’ve been a bit – off the radar. But I don’t think this was just a burglary. There was someone in my garden the other night, too. And there’s something else doing on. I’ve found Sophie’s emails – someone knew she was running away, was planning to go with her, I think.’
There’s a puzzled beat. ‘Well, who?’ says Charlotte.
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know yet, but I’m trying to find out. But that’s not the only thing either. Wait, let me explain properly. From the beginning.’
And then I tell them: everything flooding out, like a dam’s broken in me. I start with what they already know: the phone call from Sophie; how I think she sounded scared, that she didn’t finish the call like she normally did; then I explain what Holly said about the pregnancy test, that it was really Sophie’s; Danny denying anything had happened, and his comment about Sophie’s dad picking her up.
‘And you know Mark never did pick-ups, so now I’m thinking: who could that have been?’
‘Uh-huh,’ says Charlotte, frowning in concentration.
Now I tell them the rest of it: the police finding Sophie’s diary; the things inside it seeming to confirm that Sophie was pregnant, ‘and then,’ I say – I can’t look at Dad – ‘she got it sorted’, though Danny her boyfriend, wasn’t happy. How it had me thinking we were really getting somewhere, that I was finding out why Sophie had left, painful as it was.
They’re both quiet, listening to me.
‘But then something really big happened: that’s when I got into her emails – an account we didn’t even know about, that she’d mentioned in her diary. And in it, there are these messages where she’s talking to someone about running away.
‘And then Nicholls – this policeman – I haven’t told you about him.’ I explain how he said someone’s making calls to the charity from the phone box near my house, how unhelpful I’m finding him. ‘He was at Sophie’s school, years ago, and he didn’t breathe a word to me. And I saw him at Nancy’s house—’
‘Wait, wait, who’s Nancy?’ says Charlotte, frowning.
‘Right, I haven’t even got to that; she used to live at Parklands, that big house over there’ – I gesture to the garden – ‘and she ran away, oh, more than twenty years ago now, but she looks just like Sophie. And their runaway notes, they’re so similar, I mean they’re not identical, but there’s a phrase that I found in both of them. Just let me go and get Sophie’s I’ll show you, then you’ll see …’ I’m heading off into hall, and stop, turning round. ‘Aren’t you coming? They’re in the living room, it will make much more sense.’
They’re not moving.
‘I’m sorry, I’m going too fast.’ Their faces are comically similar, eyes worried, mouths down-turned.
‘It’s OK,’ I say, more softly. I don’t mean to shock them. ‘I’m really worried too, of course, it’s a lot to take on – that finally, things are happening. But I really feel I could be getting somewhere.’ I’ve got to convince them. ‘She’s out there, you know, and she’s reaching out to me, to us, regardless of what she said about stopping contact. And I just feel once we’ve got some momentum, put more pressure on the police – oh, not the two who were just here. And definitely not Nicholls.’
A thought occurs to me now. ‘You know, where’s that number the police gave me. Because I did notice something was missing the other day. Sophie’s old blanket, you know, her blankie she called it, and I thought, who would want that old thing, other than … And her Teddy’s gone, too, isn’t it? But if it’s all tied together …’ I stop stone-cold, my eyes fixed on nothing. ‘But that was before. My God, does that mean he has been here before …’
‘Kate, stop.’ Charlotte actually puts out her hands, both palms up. ‘We need to talk to you. About all this.’ She’s right, I need to let them digest this, but— ‘You’re completely manic, can you hear yourself?’
‘What? No, I’m not, I just need to make you understand.’ The fear starts to rise in me again; if I can’t reach them, Sophie’s slipping away …
‘But, Kate, love,’ says Dad. ‘Please just think. Start at the beginning. If she’s really scared, if she’s in trouble – why ring the helpline? Why not just ring the police?’
‘Maybe she doesn’t want to, I don’t know why,’ I say, realising now that I can’t tell them what I really think: that that call was meant for me, somehow. ‘Or maybe she’s worried she’ll be in trouble …’
‘Kate, I know this has been so hard for you,’ he says. ‘But …
‘This isn’t right.’ Charlotte interrupts. ‘What you’ve just said, do you realise how paranoid you sound? The police inspector is against you, acting oddly? What next, it’s a cover-up?’
The realisation’s sinking in now, my hopeful energy dissipating.
‘You’re not here to help me.’
They eye each other warily. ‘We do want to help you, Kate, love, of course we do,’ says Dad. ‘But we really feel that you’re not coping.’
‘Well, you’re wrong,’ I say.
Charlotte shakes her shiny bob, her arms crossed. She always gets angry when she’s upset. ‘I wish you could hear yourself. See yourself.’ I look down at my hoodie and bare feet; I know my hair’s unbrushed. ‘I told you, Dad—’
He interrupts now: ‘You were right, it’s history repeating. I’m so sorry, Kate, we should have done more; before, after Mark left, and you had all that trouble. Now’ – he shifts on his feet – ‘we did hear he’s got a new partner, so perhaps it’s not surprising that you’re finding things so hard right now …’
‘I don’t care about that! I mean I do but not compared to this.’ I can feel the headache coming, the heaviness thudding behind my eyes. ‘That’s why you’ve come to see me,’ I say dully. ‘But I don’t need looking after. I need help, yes. To find my daughter. Why won’t you listen to me?’
‘Kate!’ says Charlotte, frustrated. ‘This – this story you’ve just told us, and now? Someone’s broken in, with no sign of anything gone?’ I can see her trying to keep calm, never her strongest point. ‘I’m scared, honestly I am. You’re delusional. You need help, serious help. He said—’
‘Charlotte,’ Dad cuts in, a warning note in his voice.
‘No, Dad, it’s OK,’ says Charlotte. ‘Kate, when you didn’t want us to take the overdose any further; I thought we were helping, but we weren’t. We’ve allowed all this to get out of hand.’
‘How can you say that?’ I am not letting her do this. ‘You know that was an accident, not a real – God – attempt to do anything. And I am OK: I don’t have a problem with pills, I’m careful.’ Why is she being like this? ‘You know, I’ve only been using them to help me sleep, and not even that recently.’
A thought strikes me now, chilling me: ‘Why do you think I woke up in the night and heard whoever it was in my house?’ And what if I had taken a pill, as so often I have in the past? And the creak of the floorboard hadn’t woken me, instead the door knob had just kept turning silently, as I slept on … I suppress a shudder. I can’t think about this now. ‘Everything I’ve found out, everything that’s happened: why won’t you believe me?’
Charlotte looks at Dad, then back to me. ‘You should have been getting proper, professional help, Kate. A psychiatrist, not this grief coach who you never see anyway.’
Finally my temper flares, the strain and fear of the night, the anger at the officers just now, spilling out. ‘I know why you’re doing this. You’ve always been jealous of me and what I had. Now you’ve got a chance to cut me down, you just couldn’t wait, could you?’
Charlotte takes a deep breath, her eyes filling with tears. ‘Maybe I was … jealous, once. But who would be now?’ I flinch.
I can almost see her wresting back control of herself, as she becomes composed again. ‘I don’t think it’s healthy to do this; we need to sort this properly. Not here, not this way.’ She steps towards the hallway, grabbing her bag off the side. ‘Dad, I’m leaving. Now. I think you should come with me.’
‘Kate, I never meant …’ He looks at me, appealing.
‘We’ll talk later,’ I manage to say. I can’t bear him looking this upset. ‘We’ll sort it out. Let’s just – have a little break.’
I don’t move as I hear the engine start up, then Charlotte roaring off, no care for the gravel scratching her paintwork this time. I went too far, I think, even as another part of me says, no: why wouldn’t she believe me? What’s got into her?
I lean back against the countertop, the headache pulsing behind my eyes.
So here I am again, alone.
No, worse than I was.
No police on my side. No family. It’s all on me now.
To find her.