Page 45 of 59 Minutes

MRS DABB

She can hear movement inside the crumbling farmhouse.

‘Bunny!’ She bangs and kicks so hard the door shakes in its frame. Who is behind that door? How many of them still live here? Where the fuck are all the vehicles?

‘Bunny!’

‘Alright,’ a strong Devon accent shouts back. ‘Keep yer wig on.’

The door swings inward and an elderly lady in a pinafore apron – four foot if she’s an inch – is staring back out. She has a face of gentle ruin but her eyes are warm. ‘You’ve lost your rabbit?’ she says, sympathetic but bewildered.

‘No, my daughter, is she here?’

The hallway behind the old woman is filled with work boots, wax jackets and old puffy coats, but Bunny’s is not among them.

The smell of baking competes with the smell of cheap synthetic logs burning somewhere else in the belly of this house.

But she cannot smell any trace of her daughter, nor see or hear her.

‘There’s no one here, love, they’re all at the church or out …’ She lowers her eyes. ‘Out looking.’

‘Please, if you’ve seen her … just please say. She’s thirteen but she’s tall, she was in school uniform but she might have changed. She’s got dark hair and …’

‘But why would she be here, my love?’

‘My daughter is a relative,’ she says, uneasily. ‘She’s related to the family that live here.’

The woman frowns, as if trying to read the face in front of her for signs and similarities.

‘Well, I’m not a part of the family that live ’ere myself,’ the woman says.

‘But I’m an old friend of Mrs Curtiss and I’ve just brought food over for …

for afterwards, you know.’ Her eyes are watery now.

‘When the time comes. Someone needs to help out, I know the family’s not everyone’s cup of tea but I watched those boys grow up and … ’

‘I don’t have time for this and they don’t bloody deserve you, or her, so if you have any idea where they might have taken her, whichever of these scumbags have been sniffing around, giving her things and trying to take her from me then—’

‘Oh, love,’ the woman says. ‘Come on, don’t upset yourself, this is a hard day for everyone but we’re all in this together, especially if you’re related, so let’s—’

‘I’m not related!’ she shouts then. ‘All my relatives are dead except for Bunny and that’s all down to the Curtiss family!’

The woman recoils and her face changes in an instant. She knows. She has recognised, from the court, from the news.

‘Your daughter’s not here,’ she says, firmly. ‘And I don’t know where she’s got to, but you need to get away from here right now.’

‘But—’

‘It’s not safe for you here. I know who you are and I’m sorry for your loss but you’re a liar, aren’t you? All this time … And I’ll be telling Mrs Curtiss about this, I promise you that.’

The door is slammed closed, a faded sign that reads, ‘CURTISS’ swings on its nail and slides to the floor. ‘Bunny!’ she shouts, ‘if you’re in there, come out!’

From behind the wood, the little woman shouts, ‘You need to get out of here right now.’