Roxanne
Roxanne sat by the window in reception, waiting for Sally and Gary, fumbling open Sara’s email on her phone.
Hi Roxanne,
Of course I remember you. Lovely to hear from you, although the circumstances are totally awful – you and Isla were inseparable at university, if I remember rightly.
I’m shocked and truly upset to hear about Isla. She seemed great when I saw her, and we’ve exchanged a few emails since then and met up in Hitchin. She did mention Andy at the reunion. In fact, she wouldn’t stop talking about him. I didn’t mind, it was nice to see her so in love.
If there’s anything I can do, please just shout. Keep me updated.
Love Sara x
It didn’t make sense. Had Isla confided in Sara about Andy, and not her?
Her thoughts whirred as she opened up old emails from Isla, trawling through their daft exchanges, trying to find something Isla said that would give a clue to her state of mind – her whereabouts. But there was nothing.
It was as she closed the final email that – like a bullet from a gun, about to blast everything she’d seen and heard up until that moment into a thousand pieces – it hit her.
She fired off a message to Sally asking her to forward Isla’s final email. And waited.
She’d never fully understood why Isla hadn’t mentioned Gary or Millie in her email to Sally. She’d idolised her dad and sister, and even if it was over between her and Jack, surely she would have said sorry for the pain she’d caused him. Isla was a good person. Wasn’t she?
Roxanne dragged her fingers through her hair, growing agitated and impatient, when the email pinged into her inbox.
To: SALLY Johnson
From: ISLA Johnson
Dear Mum
I’m sorry I can’t go on living.
I fell in love for the first time in my life in Canada, but I was let down so painfully. Andy is my everything. Without him, I can’t go on.
I’ve been writing a blog since August – . It began as my travel blog, but later it was where I privately wrote my thoughts. I’ve sent you an invitation to read it, in the hope that when you do, it will help you to understand what I’ve been through and why this has to be goodbye.
Isla xx
‘Oh, my God,’ Roxanne whispered, her thoughts confirmed. The email couldn’t have been from Isla. Isla’s email address was . The email Sally had received had come from . There was no ‘j’ in the address. No ‘j’ for Jane.
Doubt crept in. Maybe Isla had another email address, a secret one. But then she wouldn’t have contacted her mum with it, would she? And Isla had only ever used one email address in all the time Roxanne had known her.
Roxanne rubbed her face, her heart knocking against her ribs. She was suddenly certain Isla never sent it. And it was the email that had directed them to the blog. If Isla hadn’t written the email, she hadn’t written the blog posts either.
Isla had never been suicidal.
Before she could register her thoughts, the door opened and Sally, Gary and Millie fell through, a sense of exhaustion wafting from them. They looked so pale – so cold.
Roxanne shot up and, after a shower of hugs, Millie headed off to find their rooms, and Sally and Gary settled on one of the sofas, fingers entwined, her head resting on his shoulder. But Sally wasn’t sleeping. Her eyes were wide open, as though she daren’t close them for fear of missing a single clue that would lead them to their daughter.
Roxanne looked down at Gary and tried for a smile.
How are you doing? she wanted to say. But she didn’t have to ask. His skin was pallid, his eyes bloodshot. He was thinner too, if that was possible, his face unshaven. She knew exactly how he felt – she felt it too.
‘All right, love?’ he said, dragging his head up, his voice quivery and quiet, as though someone had turned down the volume.
Roxanne perched on the edge of an armchair opposite them.
‘I don’t think Isla sent the email,’ she said, and began desperately trying to explain. They looked confused, tired, helpless. She could almost hear their unvoiced fears, as they avoided her stare, their eyes shimmering. If she didn’t write it, who did? If she didn’t write it, someone’s taken our daughter.
Roxanne needed to say something, anything that would help. But what could she say? We will find her. Everything will be all right. Don’t worry. Her throat seemed to swell. Did she even believe that any more? Empty words filling empty spaces. She headed away to call the police.
‘Don’t you see,’ she said down the phone. ‘If Isla didn’t write the email, she must be in danger.’ But they seemed to struggle to understand the relevance. ‘Something’s not right,’ she insisted, voice rising. ‘You must do something.’
‘We’re doing everything we can, Miss Furaha. But we have little to go on. Your friend sent an email saying she was going to take her own life. We don’t . . . ’
‘But that’s what I’m saying. She didn’t send it.’ You fucking moron.
‘Calm down, we are doing all we can.’ A pause. ‘We’ve organised a search, and I’ll send two officers to Camp Arctic now.’
When she returned, Sally was in floods of tears. ‘I keep thinking about her when she was a little girl,’ she was saying. ‘Seeing her with a high ponytail and a tinsel halo, the day she played an angel at infant school.’ She let out a sob. ‘She was so excited to be allowed to be barefoot on stage.’
Roxanne reached over and squeezed her hand.
‘Gary wanted a son, didn’t you, Gary?’ Sally continued, as though she was doing a documentary on her daughter. This is your life, Isla Johnson.
He nodded, eyes shimmering.
‘He even bought a football. But, once she was in the world, it hadn’t mattered, had it, Gary?’
He shook his head again. A determined shake, as though he didn’t want his head filled with memories he couldn’t handle.
‘She wound you around her little finger from the moment she could smile.’ Her voice broke off, and she pushed her head into her hands.
Hearing footfalls on the wooden floorboards behind her, Roxanne turned to see Millie approaching. She handed Sally a key.
‘Mum said you’ve seen the police, Roxanne,’ Millie said.
She nodded. ‘They’re going to search the area and send over officers.’
‘Good.’ Millie’s eyes looked red and sore. Her hair scooped into a messy ponytail. ‘Can I get anyone some coffee?’
‘No thanks, love,’ Gary said.
‘Loganberry juice?’ Millie went on, as though determined to fill the air with words.
Would it be wrong to ask for gin? A double – no triple, maybe even a quadruple gin, no ice, no mixer, just mind-numbing, thought-squashing, intoxicating, gin?
‘I’m fine,’ Roxanne said. Fine? What a stupid, stupid word. Nobody here’s fine.
‘I’ve finally heard from Julian,’ Millie said. There was sharpness in her tone. ‘He said he’ll put a message on his model railway forum about Isla.’
And that will help, how?
‘That’s kind of him,’ Sally said, pulling a tissue from her bag and mopping her eyes.
Millie picked up the jug of juice and began pouring. She filled the glass so it splashed over the edges like a waterfall. She didn’t seem to notice, just picked it up, and sipped it. ‘Julian’s an arse,’ she said almost to herself, taking the glass from her lips and tapping her chin with it three times. ‘When this is over, and we find Isla – because we will, I know we will – I’m going to tell him that. I’m going to tell him he’s a fucking, fucking arse, and I want a divorce.’
The quiet that followed, broken only by Alma tapping on her computer keyboard, and the dogs’ heavy breathing, seemed to go and on, as though they were travelling in an endless dark tunnel, with no bright light at the end.
‘Excuse me!’
Roxanne looked up to see a woman of around forty with a mop of wild blonde hair. Next to her was the boy Roxanne had spoken to the night before.
‘Apologise,’ the woman snapped at the boy.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, head down.
Roxanne rose to her feet, and gestured for the woman to move away from Sally and Gary. And they headed into the dark, empty restaurant.
‘I found my son with a wad of money,’ the woman continued. ‘The thing is, he lied to you.’
‘Lied?’ Roxanne’s eyes slid across to the boy.
‘Someone paid him to tell you he’d seen the woman you’ve been looking for. They said he was to tell you he’d seen her with the man in a photo. I’m so ashamed, and so sorry.’
‘So he didn’t see her?’ Roxanne continued to glare at the boy. ‘You didn’t see Isla with the man in the photo?’
‘No,’ the boy said, head still down, as he scuffed his boots along the wooden floor.
‘Oh my God, you little shit,’ Roxanne spat. ‘Why would you do that?’
‘Now calm down,’ the woman said curtly. ‘There’s really no call for foul language. He’s said he’s sorry.’
‘Oh, so that makes it all right, does it? You misled me. She could be dead because of you.’ Roxanne’s deepest fears were out there now – they were real.
‘I was paid a thousand kronas,’ the boy said, with a shrug. ‘Who wouldn’t lie?’
‘Who the hell gave you this money?’
‘A woman,’ he said. ‘She was old-ish, about thirty.’
‘You bloody idiot,’ Roxanne said, stepping closer, and the boy cowered.
‘Enough,’ the woman said, adding something in Swedish and, grabbing the boy’s arm, she hurried him away.
Roxanne pulled out her phone and called the police again, relaying to them what the boy had told her, insisting, once more, that something was very wrong.
‘Two of our officers will be with you shortly, Miss Furaha, and please be assured we have police searching the area.’
She ended the call and, after several deep breaths, returned to reception.
‘Has anyone heard from Jack?’ she said, deciding not to mention what the boy had said. For now, at least, she wouldn’t worry them further. There was nothing they could do.
Sally shook her head.
Time seemed to slow even more, crawling along like an injured animal. This was all too much. Roxanne felt so helpless. Should she go out in the snow and hunt for her friend? But where would she start?
‘I think I’ll call it a night,’ Millie said.
‘Of course – try to get some sleep, love.’ Sally dropped a shredded tissue onto the table in front of her. ‘We can start afresh in the morning.’
‘No, no, we can’t just give up,’ Roxanne said, her eyes darting over their helpless faces. ‘There must be something more we can do. There has to be.’ But the truth was, there was nothing. She’d failed. Isla was in danger, and she’d failed her.
Suddenly the door swung open, and they all looked towards it.
‘Jack!’ Roxanne cried, as he stumbled in, Isla wrapped in a blanket in his arms. He laid her on one of the sofas, as everyone rushed towards them.
‘Call an ambulance,’ he yelled over to Alma, his teeth chattering, dried blood on his forehead. ‘Call an ambulance. Now!’