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Lucy goes to the window. Outside, the worst of the violence has abated. The sea looks much calmer than it did. No rain is falling. Even the wind has dropped. She sees fishing vessels and cruisers on the water, Skentel’s inshore lifeboat coming back into harbour. How many of them are still looking? How many have turned their minds to other things?
Impossible that her children have survived this long in that sea. Which means, if they’re alive –which they are, they have to be– they must have washed up on land.
Plenty of reasons the shore-based searchers might not have discovered them: horrific conditions, limited manpower, miles of wild and inaccessible coast. And yet, without immersion suits or some other protection, there’sstilllittle chance they could have survived this long.
So where does that leave her? Where can she invest her last hopes?
Upstairs, Billie’s room is a cathedral of silence. Lucy forces herself across the threshold, breathes the ghost of her daughter’s Jimmy Choo perfume. Billie’s dressing table is a trove of bangles and bracelets, necklaces and make-up bottles, phone chargers, empty mugs and magazines. But there are no waymarkers. No hastily scribbled messages. No clues to what happened, or where she might have gone.
On the windowsill is a silver bracelet adorned with charms: tiny starfish, tiny surfboards, tiny shells. Billie bought it a few years ago in a Cornish boutique. Lucy still has Snig tied around her arm. Now, she fastens her daughter’s bracelet around her wrist.
Fin’s room is harder. Everything in it is so small. Small furniture, small belongings, small clothes. On his pillow, neatly folded, lie his dinosaur pyjamas. His Iron Man dressing gown hangs from the door.
Her son’s desk is a precariously stacked testament to his interests: comics, Lego kits, a partially dismantled telephone, a partially built crystal radio set, the dried-up remains of old chemistry experiments, collections of shells, rocks and fossils. Sprouting from everything is a yellow forest of Post-it notes, complete with Fin’s lopsided scrawl.
Remember to tell Miss Clay about tektonic plates on Monday.
Make sure to draw Bogwort for my book after school.
Ask Mummy if we have any Vikings in our family.
Find out when the next luner eclipse is and if I can stay up late this time.
Remind Daddy to think about a Playstayshun 5.
Suddenly, Lucy can’t fill her lungs without her broken ribs skewering her. She sits on Fin’s bed, trying to catch her breath. On a shelf of his bookcase stands a row of die-cast models: a Volvo XC90, a blue sailing sloop, a grey dinghy, a Tamar-class lifeboat, an AgustaWestland helicopter, a Sikorsky S-92 and a Triumph Rocket.
Lucy studies each model in turn. Then she pushes up from the bed. Teeth clenched against the pain, she barrels out of the room and thunders down the stairs.
3
Outside, she lifts the garage door and flicks on the overhead fluorescents. The space is cluttered, but not messy: carpentry tools, gardening equipment, boxes sorted for charity. At the back, protected by dust sheets, is everything Daniel used for theLazy Susan’s restoration, along with all their yachting apparel.
Lucy whips away a sheet, raising a fine haze of dust. Shesmells petrol and motor oil, wood varnish and timber. She pulls off more sheets. With each reveal her heart beats faster.
She takes out her mobile, dials Abraham Rose. When the detective doesn’t answer, Lucy leaves a message. Behind her she hears the pop and hiss of shingle – a vehicle pulling on to the drive. She walks outside in time to see Noemie and Bee climbing from Tommo’s car.
‘Hon,’ Noemie says, after an embrace. ‘We just heard from Jake. Bee and I wanted you to get the news from friends rather than strangers. The shoreline searches are still going strong. Most of Skentel’s out looking. They won’t let up until every inch of coast’s been covered. But – here’s the thing – Jake says the coastguard’s about to stand down the offshore search and rescue. It hasn’t been announced to the media yet, but it’s coming. They’re saying that with the water temperature, the conditions and how long it’s been since the Mayday, there’s just no way that, well …’
Lucy nods. She doesn’t need Noemie to spell it out.
‘Dude, so we came up with an idea,’ Bee says. ‘Something to raise everyone’s spirits when the news hits. You said you wanted to make Billie and Fin famous until they’re found. We figured we’d hold a vigil, tonight, on Penleith Beach. There’s a shit-ton of media in Skentel right now. I’m pretty sure the TV people would cover it. We just wanted to check with you first.’
‘I think … I think it’s a great idea.’
‘There’s something else,’ Noemie adds. ‘Again, best you hear it from us first. Couple of journalists out there are trying to dig up dirt. We’ve all been approached. Obviously, no one’s saying anything, but we just wanted you to know.’She pauses, glances briefly at Bee. ‘Have you heard anything more from the police? One of the hacks said Daniel’s been released from hospital. Is he here?’
Lucy shakes her head. ‘He’s at the police station.’
‘Is he … Have you seen him?’
‘Not yet.’
‘What are the police saying?’
We interviewed Daniel under caution earlier this morning. It’s very hard to tell you this, and it’s going to be very hard for you to understand, but I’m afraid that during that interview Daniel confessed to the murders of Billie and Fin.
Lucy straightens. She thinks about what she just discovered in the garage. The voicemail she just left on Abraham Rose’s phone. ‘You’d better come in.’