Page 26

CHAPTER 26

OLIVIA

I stare out of the train window on the way back to Oxford in a daze. Hard to figure out how I really feel. Sort of confused and disappointed. But also ashamed.

I was so sure Matthew Hill was going to be my breakthrough. My solution. And now?

Now all hope’s gone. Poof. Nothing.

As I tilt my head, the folly up on the hill comes into view. It means I’m nearly home and I get this really strong muscular pull in my stomach. At first I think it’s nerves but it’s not. Something nicer. Warmer. I used to walk up there with Mum when I was little. Staring at the folly, I’m surprised to remember for just a moment exactly what that felt like. Holding my mother’s hand. Staring up into her face.

I haven’t been out here for ages and it shocks me that the sight of the folly can do this. Trigger such a strong sensation. Like time travel. It’s such a nice feeling – warm and unexpected – that I try really hard to hold on to it, but all too soon the folly has passed out of view. It means there’s just five, maybe ten, minutes of the journey now. I squeeze my fingers with my thumb, trying to hold on to my mother’s hand but the memory is gone. She’s gone. All the warmth is gone with her and I feel a sudden tremor of panic.

I’ve missed Chloe so much. We’ve never been apart this long. I was supposed to return yesterday but a stupid landslip cancelled all the trains. I was in an absolute panic and tried to find a bus. I phoned my friend who’s looking after Chloe but she said she was having the time of her life. Perfectly OK, hun. She can stay another night, no problem . Funny how parents always assume the worst and then the kids surprise us.

Whatever. Trains all fine today but I’m worried now about how my father will be when I get home. I don’t travel by rail often so I’m nervous about missing my stop. When exactly I should get up. Take my case down from the rack? Is it too soon?

I glance around the carriage to see if anyone else is moving and press my hand on to my stomach to try to steady my nerves.

The truth is I have no idea what to do next. I don’t mean the luggage; I mean about finding Mum. Where to turn now. I want to feel sorry for Matthew Hill. And I do. I saw it all on the news in the Premier Inn. Shook me right up – the real reason he bolted from our meeting.

I was in shock when he threw me out of his office. Had no idea what was going on. I remember watching his car. I wanted to run along the pavement, stand in front of it. Try to stop him. Make him explain. Listen to me.

I kept thinking about it all, stuck in the hotel for a second night. I just couldn’t believe it. Matthew Hill’s poor wife’s face in that news conference. But here’s the shameful bit. I don’t just feel sorry for them. I feel sorry for me too. And yes. Angry too. Bloody furious actually.

I watch the trees whizzing by – the blur of green making me feel almost dizzy. I take out my phone to call up Google. Search the latest.

As I watch the wheel whirring, searching, I think how cruel it’s been. Of all the people I hoped would help me, I had to pick the one person whose life was about to blow up. His kid gone. Who could believe it?

It’s as if the universe is laughing at me. Ha, ha, Olivia. Thought you were so clever, didn’t you? Thought you’d found someone to help. Well, guess what?

I finally get a stronger signal. The page loads but there’s nothing fresh on the news website. Just more appeals for witnesses. The number to ring for the incident room.

I think again of his wife – Sally Hill – at the press conference. I stared at her face on the TV screen when the camera zoomed in – all pale and close to tears – and I remember thinking it would break me into a million pieces if anything happened to Chloe. I don’t think I could survive that. So – yeah. I feel really sorry for them, I do. But I also feel – I don’t know – as if the whole universe is against me. Sending me a signal that this is how my life is and I just need to accept it and stop dreaming. And that makes me really, really angry. Which I suppose is why I feel ashamed.

Matthew Hill said he would try to find someone else to help me. I assume he meant another private detective, but that’s not going to happen now, is it?

First thing this morning, after breakfast in the hotel, I was thinking of dialling his number and leaving a message. Ask him to recommend another detective. Just a name. Or a link to a website. Someone else, anyone else who might help us. Me and Chloe. But I bottled it, because I realised, what kind of person troubles a parent when their kid’s missing?

I phoned Alicia again instead. She’s my friend. The best. The one looking after Chloe for me. Her first sleepover for little Suzie’s birthday. To be honest, I was worried that Chloe might get scared and want to come home, especially with the train delays. She’s only five and my dad wasn’t keen on her going. Says she’s too young and kids grow up too quickly these days, but like I say, Alicia says the girls are having the time of their lives. She sent me pictures.

Goodness. Alicia’s partner must be doing well. She’s really splashed out. Got those sleepover tents with fairy lights and everything in pink. Unbelievable. Chloe was wearing a fairy costume – wings, the lot – and didn’t even want to come to the phone for another FaceTime this morning. The family have a dog and a new kitten which I suspect is a big factor. Chloe was so happy – just shouted across the room. Hello, Mummy. See you soon . Upshot is they’ve asked if I will pick her up a bit later today than we said, so the girls can play for a bit longer. They’re going to have a picnic lunch inside their tents.

Wait. The train announcer says we’re nearly there. I check my watch. Feel another flutter of nerves. The journey’s gone so much more quickly than I expected. I feel the panic over the luggage again and decide to go for it. I put on my coat quickly and get everything lined up on the spare seat next to me – suitcase and backpack. And then I get worried about negotiating the aisle, so I move through to the little area by the door, to make sure I can get out first.

I stare at the little button to open the door. And I can’t help it. I had expected to feel hopeful on this journey. I’d expected, after all the planning and the saving and the worrying, to have finally got things under way to find my mum. Instead, I’ve wasted so much money on the train fare and having to extend the hotel stay – and achieved precisely nothing.

So, yeah – I’m angry. Savings dwindling and right back at square one.

It feels weird getting off the train. Fresh air on my face again. Windier than I expected. On the walk from the station back to the house, I try to get my head back into the right gear. Trying to decide who to channel today.

Little Women? Yes. Always Jo.

I do this a lot. Climb into a book when I don’t like what’s going on in the real world. Look out on the world through the eyes of a character I love. When I was younger, I used to learn their lines. Whole chunks from favourite books ...

That child lives in a world of her own . That’s what my mum used to say when she heard me chanting. I can hear her voice now. Teasing but smiling too. I used to have this favourite reading place – a window seat with deep-red velvet curtains and cushion. It felt a bit like being on a tiny stage. Learning my lines.

Dad’s so different. A numbers man. Teaches maths. I think it winds him up that I gave up maths after the GCSE and am obsessed with novels instead. I try to explain that I need them. My stories. My escape. I’ve always found it difficult to fit in. I don’t know why. Never had many real friends. To me, books feel kinder and easier than the real world.

I’m a little out of breath from walking so fast from the station and as I reach the doorstep, I pause. I take in the bright red paint. The shiny brass knocker and the number four alongside. All so familiar, but I can’t find my key for a minute. I frown and try a different pocket in my bag. There it is. Deep breath, Olivia. Key in the door. Today I am going to be Jo. Strong and brave. He’s going to be very mad I’ve been away so long. He’ll know I’ve lied to him. So – yes. I’m going to need to channel Jo. Ride this out.

I open the door with the key, chin up, but Dad’s already standing there, which throws me. He normally waits in the kitchen.

‘Where the hell have you been all this time? Give me your phone.’ He has his hand out.

‘Sorry?’

‘Give . . . me . . . your . . . phone.’

I do as he says but am confused. I can hear Frozen playing on the TV through in the sitting room, which is all wrong. Chloe isn’t supposed to be home yet. So – he’s picked her up early without telling me? Without Alicia telling me? Did Chloe suddenly get homesick after my phone call this morning? So why didn’t Alicia text me?

I can feel panic bubbling as I hand him my phone and march through to the sitting room to sort out what’s going on here. Make sure that Chloe is OK.

The TV is up loud. She’s sitting on the floor, back to me with her eyes glued to the telly, but adrenaline shoots through me. Because it suddenly feels as if I’m in a dream. That the picture can’t be real.

Because in this picture Chloe is too big. And she has the wrong hair. Brown, not blonde.

I freeze, trying to work out what this picture means but she hears me and turns. And cold suddenly shoots through my whole body because I cannot compute what I’m seeing. It’s not Chloe. My Chloe.

It’s the girl from the news last night ...

‘Amelie. Is it Amelie?’ I can see the terrible fear in her eyes. Wide and wary as she nods. ‘It’s OK, Amelie. I’m Olivia.’ I try very hard to calm my voice for her and fake a small smile, but it feels as if my whole body is crumbling. Yes. As if the skeleton, the bones within me are all crumbling , giving way so that I worry they will no longer hold up the flesh. That I will crash to the ground.

‘Hello, Olivia,’ she says. Her eyes soften just a little but her shoulders are tense and it’s clear she’s still both confused and very afraid. ‘Can I go home now? Is Mummy better?’