Page 25

I haul open our gate, careful not to lose a sandal down the cattle grid. Father likes everyone home by six forty-five on Fridays so as not to be late for dinner, so if he gets back around then, he closes the gate for the day.

The long driveway up to the farm slopes gently uphill, through an immaculately kept tunnel of yew trees. In their shade, the sweat clinging to my neck becomes ice.

The wide black roof with its many chimneys and cockerel wind-vane appear at the brow of the hill. White light bounces off the windows. Our extension clings to the back like an overgrown limpet.

I remember, when I was little, feeling slightly overwhelmed whenever we came home. It was fine in my room or Tristan’s, running up and down the main stairs, but when I saw the house like this, stretched out and looming, it felt like a vast and unknown kingdom; shut-off rooms full of dust and shadows; places to get lost, trespass, die and never be found.

It doesn’t look so daunting now. Just a large farmhouse like all the others dotted about the Cornish countryside. What was I so scared of? I wipe at the freezing shawl of sweat.

It’s a waste of time, but my father hates it when we leave our cars in the drive so I park in the old grain store. Mina’s silver Audi sits beside the twins’ Range Rovers, and Father’s burgundy Bentley is still warm. Only Tristan’s car is missing.

As I trudge back to the house, I see Ash and Ava sitting on the new wicker sofas out on the terrace, engrossed in their phones.

Ava lied to me. They both did.

‘Ava, Ash,’ I say, coming to a halt in front of them.

They glance up then go back to their phones – the latest iPhones. They both have the latest of everything, and I feel a pang of jealousy on Jenna’s behalf; she never has the latest of anything.

Not that anyone has a God-given right to an iPhone, but it’s all family money. Tristan did have a fancy job at a bank, but he gave that up to concentrate on politics. Mina doesn’t work, and Tristan only started earning again when he became the North Cornwall MP. Until then I had earned more than the pair of them working at the gallery.

But my brother and his family must present themselves in a certain way to be taken seriously by certain people in politics, so our parents give him a generous allowance. Which I support. Because he’s talented and wants to make a difference and what have I ever done to make the world a better place?

Ash’s mouth is curled in a secretive smile. Ava scrolls with the flick of a perfectly manicured finger – pink glitter.

I want to shake them, ask why they didn’t tell me about the argument, why they omitted the fact that the last time they saw Jenna, she was walking away from school. But I don’t want them on the defensive.

‘Hi, guys,’ I say, and Ava looks up. For the first time I wonder if her sweet smile is an act. And then I realise I should’ve just called Ava from school and asked to speak to my father. ‘Did you ask Granddad if he’s heard from Jenna?’

Ava shakes her head. ‘Sorry. I didn’t think.’

Of course not. Because he’d never know where my baby was. ‘Do you know what Jenna and Rose were arguing about at lunch?’ I ask.

Ava’s gaze slides to her brother and he seems to feel it. He nods almost imperceptibly, not looking up from his phone. His hair is shaved at the sides, a mass of waves on top. A lock drops to his forehead and he pushes it back.

I had hoped to get one of them on their own, but they’ve always been inseparable.

Ava shrugs. ‘I don’t know, Auntie Fran. They’re always arguing about something.’

‘Are they?’ I feel my eyebrows knit together. It’s the first I’ve heard of it.

Ava nods.

‘Did you hear what they said? Was there something in Rose’s bag? The head says Jenna took Rose’s bag.’ I don’t want them to know I’ve seen a video of them.

Ava gives me an apologetic look.

‘Rose is a little bitch,’ murmurs Ash, still looking at his phone. ‘Everyone – adults – thinks she’s so sweet. She’s a bully.’

My stomach drops. I’ve always been anxious about them being friends, simply because she”s Lydia”s daughter, but I’ve never thought Rose was anything other than kind and easy-going.

Ava adds, ‘She’s always taking Jenna’s stuff, spreading lies.’

I sit on the low wall, winded. ‘Is this true?’

They look at each other, then at me, nodding.

‘Why didn’t you tell me about the fight?’

Ava shrugs again. ‘None of our business.’

I try to hold her gaze but she looks beyond me.

‘Why didn’t you tell me Jenna left school?’

She bites her lip. ‘I didn’t think she’d want you knowing she was skipping.’ She moulds her perfect face into a picture of concern. ‘You really think she’s missing?’

‘I don’t know where she is, and neither does anyone else.’

The concern reaches her eyes.

‘What did she say to you as she was leaving?’

She flicks a dandelion spore from her lap. ‘That she wanted to be alone.’

I rub my hand, still smarting from the thistle, down my thigh and press harder where I nicked myself with the clippers. Pain swells. ‘Can you two search the whole house and the gardens?’

They lied to me, but I need their help. We should look everywhere we can before calling the police. If only I knew I could trust them.

‘Of course,’ says Ava, standing, tapping Ash’s knee so he stands too, putting his phone in his pocket.

‘Do you know what happened with the kids she and Rose used to hang out with? Devon, Dinae, Sylvie?’

Ash shrugs and Ava looks away.

‘Are they still friends?’

‘I…’ Ava starts.

‘Ava?’

‘I don’t really know, Auntie Fran. She’s in the year below.’

‘You’re all in sixth form now.’

She waggles her head. ‘I really don’t know. But it looks to me like Jenna and Rose kind of keep themselves to themselves these days.’

‘I thought Rose was bullying Jenna?’

‘I think it’s like… a love–hate thing.’ She looks down at her feet, bare on the terrace slabs, and I wonder if I see a hint of blush rising in her cheeks.