Page 11 of The Vanishing Place

Effie stared through the plane window.

With the time difference, she’d lost most of a day—as well as the motivation to watch another second of in-flight entertainment. She was also pretty sure that she smelled. Thirty-seven hours, and three flights, was too long to exist in recirculated air.

She barely remembered the long journey to Scotland nearly two decades ago, but there was a lot about that week that she’d blocked out.

Rubbing her eyes, her body clock somewhere in the middle of the night, she peered out the glass at the bright afternoon sky. As the sun caught on the snow-capped peaks, a rush of heat spread through her chest, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. It was truly beautiful. Breathtaking.

Home .

For more than half her life she’d lived on the other side of the earth. But home—the sense of belonging that hung heavy in her bones—was down there, beneath the clouds. The bush had never left her—it had lain dormant in her core, no matter how deep she’d buried it.

The Southern Alps spread out below her, infinite and spectacular, as the plane dipped toward Queenstown Airport.

The peaks of the Remarkables poked out through a basin of thick white clouds like a snapshot from a National Geographic magazine.

Effie kept her fingers to the window as the plane sank into the clouds and the world disappeared.

Nothing. Just a wall of white mist. Then, miraculously, the clouds parted and a long strip of water appeared between the mountains—the lake leading all the way to the airport.

It wasn’t until the wheels thudded on the runway that Effie realized she’d been holding her breath.

Up there, looking down, she’d kept picturing them.

Somewhere in the vast expanse of bush, hidden in the trees.

What happened to you, Tia?

Where are you?

Effie closed her eyes as she stepped off the plane and inhaled the warm spring air, letting it soothe her.

By the time she’d made it through customs and ordered a coffee, she was fine.

She found a seat at the Patagonia café, sat down with her long black and a sandwich, and logged on to the Wi-Fi.

Within seconds, her WhatsApp started beeping, making Effie smile.

She took a sip from her cup and started scrolling through the messages—all from Blair.

Are you there? Message me as soon as you land. x

And when you get to Koraha. x

Is the coffee good? I’ve heard that Kiwis make a good coffee. They invented the flat white apparently. Who knew? x

Google says that you can bring your OWN WINE to restaurants. I knew I should have gone with you. x

Miss you. Love you. x Ewan (big soppy weirdo) says he loves you too. x

Ewan says no great loss with Greg. Apparently he always thought Greg was too short for you. x

Ewan says you should find a hot Kiwi barista. x

Ewan is now trying to make me a flat white. x

According to Qantas, you should be in Queenstown. Message me. x (Ewan’s flat white was bloody good—don’t tell him though, I’ve told him he needs to keep practicing.)

Rimu is doing great. Doesn’t miss you at all. Think we’ll keep him. x

Effie rolled her eyes. Blair would be spoiling Rimu rotten.

Ewan probably even more so; he was a giant softy.

Effie liked Ewan. He and Blair had tied the knot just over a year ago at a small ceremony at Fairy Glen.

There had been a lot of umbrellas and a lot of whisky. Effie smiled as she typed a reply.

I’m officially in New Zealand and I can confirm that the coffee is fantastic. Unfortunately, the barista is wearing a wedding ring. I’m just grabbing a quick bite then I’ll drive to Koraha. About 3 hours.

Blair replied immediately.

Are you sure you should be driving?

Slept surprisingly well. Had 3 seats to myself from Dubai. Isn’t it like 3 a.m. in Scotland? GO TO BED!

Will you see Lewis today?

Go to sleep. Love you. Say hi to Ewan and Rimu. x

Don’t let Rimu sleep in your bed. x

Too late x

Effie slipped the phone back into her pocket and sipped her coffee, which she had to admit was extremely good.

There was probably even a coffee shop in Koraha now.

But other than that, she doubted Koraha would have changed much—that was how the West Coast worked.

The same small town. The same people. People who believed that Effie was still missing—the bush girl who’d vanished into the trees.

She chewed on the end of her thumb. Returning to Koraha was risky. Effie knew that, and so did Lewis. Going back meant exposing what Lewis had done all those years ago.

“Lewis.” Her voice had broken on the phone. “What if the police…If they find out what you did for me, they’ll…”

“I have to help her, Effie. And I can’t do it without you.”

“But—”

“Please, Effie.” He’d paused. “I know what I did. And I’d do it again. Gladly.”

It was because of that final word that Effie was sitting in Queenstown Airport. Because she owed Lewis her life.

Effie glanced down at her hands and stroked a thumb across the inside of her wrist—brushing over the small letter tattooed there.

A

She traced his initial with her finger, the shaded font making it look like two A s, one on top of the other. The stab of pain felt as real and frightening as it had all those years ago. Then she blinked and pulled her sleeve down. Some truths were best left buried.

—

It was after seven o’clock when she drove her rental car into Koraha. A rental car implied a short stay. A quick visit, then back to her real life.

For the last hour, she’d driven through the wildness of the Haast Pass, the remote roads bending through mountains and bush. The beauty of the country was mesmerizing—even after everything. It was like breathing fresh air, like her untamed blood had been craving it.

But Effie had to stop as she neared the Roaring Billy Falls, afraid that the shake in her arms might make her veer off the road.

She’d pulled onto the verge, her heart racing as she glanced over at the bush.

There was nothing to see from the road, just trees and a jagged skyline, but she knew the trail to the falls by heart.

She knew the sweet smell of the podocarp forest and the feel of tawhai bark.

A world of a thousand greens, where trees rose to the sky like gods.

As she’d sat in the car with her fingers gripping the steering wheel, she’d pictured the moss-cloaked matai and the towering miro trees.

Just a ten-minute walk would have taken her to the Haast River.

Then a boat across the water and a six-hour tramp through dense bush would have taken her to the Roaring Billy River crossing and the hut.

The barbed silence moved through her, as if the blades of silver fern traced her skin, then she started up the engine and drove off.

Now Effie sat in her rental in the driveway, unsure if she could get out.

Eventually, a figure appeared a few meters in front of the car, walking straight at her.

Effie stared through the windscreen. Her hair was still long, the silver falling to her waist, but the once voluminous strands had thinned and dried out.

Effie stepped from the car and walked straight into the woman’s arms.

“I’ve missed you, baby girl.”

“I’ve missed you too, June.” Effie clung to her, just like she’d done as a child. “I’m sorry that I—”

“Hush, now.” June gave her a final squeeze, then pulled away. “We’ll have none of that. Grab your bags,” she said. “Kettle’s on, and I’ve made Afghan biscuits.”

“You baked?”

June smiled, her weathered skin crinkling around her eyes. “I’ve learned a few things in seventeen years.”

Seventeen years .

“Come on. There’s real food too.”

Effie grabbed her one rucksack from the car—just a quick visit—and followed June inside. The small house had barely changed; it was like stepping back in time. The same floral sofa, complete with arm protectors, and the same red countertops in the kitchen.

“So, is there any more news on the girl?” asked Effie as she took a seat at the cluttered kitchen bench.

“Let me see you eat something first,” said June, dishing up two plates. “Dinner and an Afghan. Then I’ll answer your questions.”

Effie couldn’t help but smile as she dug into her lamb and three veg. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. She lifted her head and glanced past June toward the back screen door. June must have replaced the mesh. Obviously . Effie had ripped it to shreds.

“So,” said June. “Ask away.”

“Where is she?” asked Effie. “The girl.”

“At the clinic. I’ll take you there tomorrow.”

“And Lewis?”

June smiled. “He’s there too.”

“What exactly do we know about her?”

“Not much. She turned up at the supermarket on Friday morning searching for something to eat. Poor child was famished.”

“Where did she come from?”

June glanced down at her plate, then her eyes flickered toward the window. “From the bush.”

“Are you sure? I mean, Lewis said she won’t talk.”

“I’m sure.”

“How?”

June reached a hand across the table. “Because she looked just like you when you turned up. Scared. Dirty. And with those same green eyes.”

Two girls. With eyes the color of the forest and blood on their clothes.