30th November 2019
Morning
News left the village quickly after Georgia’s top was found. And by the following morning, the media swarm had descended. There was no longer gossip of the BBC being here, no longer the wait for reporters to be banging on people’s door – they were here en mass. Part of me understood why. One bloodied top belonging to a man with well-known mental health issues was hardly noteworthy. But two within a week, in the same village where the infamous Chloe Lambert disappeared decades before – that’s a story. Four days had passed since Baz had found Georgia’s top. I had stayed inside Dad’s house the entire time. Still a prisoner of sorts. Nothing happened, nothing of note. Dad slept a lot; I wanted to drink but didn’t let myself. It was all a little bleak. Today was different. There was hope, light. He had a doctor’s appointment this morning. He wanted to go alone. I hoped that there would be good news.
True to my word, I kept Esther in the loop. She said that the village had been mentioned a few times on the news. This morning, she messaged saying that we had been mentioned; the connection had been made. Because of that connection, there were now live reports coming from the village centre, interviews with locals. Esther didn’t say either way, but I wondered if those interviews were about what was happening now, or the events of 1998. She told me about The Tea Tree and found it strange that the thing that was so important to me seemed an afterthought. Still, it was nice to hear that business was picking up. She begged me to come home, and I wanted to, I missed her and the business, and London, which was so big I could hide in plain sight. But I knew I needed to stay, for Holly, for Chloe. Before hanging up, I told Esther I loved her.
I turned on the TV to see the report she spoke of. Sure enough, a reporter was outside The Miners’ Arms talking to someone I had seen walking to and from the village only days before. It made me nervous. There were more eyes watching, more questions being asked not just of Jamie and Georgia, but of the past too.
I wanted to keep a low profile, wait for it to blow over. But the group chat had sprung to life. Michael speculated that now our names and connections were out, it would raise more questions if we all continued to hide away than if we were seen in public. If we didn’t act, they would hate all over again, like they did back in 1998. So, it was agreed we would meet in the pub, make sure we were actively involved, as a group, in the search for our friends. That made me nervous. Then, the TV screen filled with PC Hastings’ face, and my heart began to beat harder still.
Thankfully, the front door opened, Dad was home and his presence forced me to switch the TV off. He walked into the living room, slumped into his chair and turned it back on again, changing from the news to a documentary.
‘Dad? What did they say?’ I asked tenderly.
‘It’s fine, Neve. It’s all fine.’
‘What do you mean it’s fine?’
‘Well, they said my blood tests came back and it’s not, you know… that.’
‘Well, what is it then?’
‘Oh, I can’t remember these fancy names for things. All that matters is it will get better.’
Grabbing my phone, I googled what else could be causing his symptoms and saw that an underactive thyroid could be to blame. I asked if that was it. He nodded.
‘Sounds about right.’
I read more: apparently, an underactive thyroid could cause memory loss, confusion and sleep deprivation. All of Dad’s symptoms. I gave him a long hug and as I did so, I could feel myself start to cry. I expected him to push me away, but he didn’t – he held me, stroked the back of my hair, and as I cried into his jumper, he told me it was all right. Everything was all right. I cried because of Chloe, of being here, I cried because of the others going missing. But mainly, I was crying tears of relief.
Dad fell asleep in his chair shortly after, and I tiptoed upstairs to grab the car keys. I knew I wasn’t going to leave; I had known since we understood categorically that the Drifter was back, but I kept the car for as long as possible anyway. Because, if I was honest, despite knowing I would stay, I also knew I might still run. I looked at my travel bag at the foot of the bed – it would be so easy to pack it, throw it in the boot of the car and not look back. I could even ask Dad to come with me, but I already knew what his answer would be. I forced myself to leave my clothes untouched and close the bedroom door. Resting my head on it, I took a deep breath, forced down my need to run, and walked downstairs with just a key in my hand. As I approached the lounge, I heard Dad crying from within. It was clear what he’d been told wasn’t good news and he had lied to protect me. I announced myself, giving him a chance to wipe his tears and pull himself together.
‘Fancy a tea, Dad?’
‘That would be lovely, thank you.’
‘I’ve got to pop out soon; the car I hired needs to be returned today.’
‘Oh, do you need to go back to London with it?’
I hesitated. ‘No, I can change my drop-off point online. There’ll be somewhere close by.’
‘Oh, that’s good.’
‘Yes, so, I’ll be off soon. And I’ll get an Uber back.’
‘Uber?’
‘A taxi. Do you need me to do anything?’
‘No, no, I’m fine.’
I googled the car rental company and saw there was a depot about ten miles away. One quick call, and the drop-off point was changed. To get to the car rental place, I needed to drive through the village and out east of it. And as I did, I had to move slowly. The roads were busy: vans and cars parked in the usually quiet parking spaces that lined either side of the street. I passed the cemetery, the white tent pitched over Chloe’s grave, bunches of flowers beside it. Then I passed Chloe’s house: Brenda stood on the front doorstep, wrapped in a dressing gown, smoking. I drove past the pub, its doors wide open despite it being only 10 a.m. and three degrees outside. Then past the lane, and despite not wanting to, I couldn’t help but look down towards the hut, towards the mine.
That was when I saw the shape of a person standing right near the bend in the road that led to the hut. I slammed on my brakes, the car behind having to do the same, and as she overtook, the driver flipped her middle finger at me. Reversing, I looked down the lane, expecting to see nothing, but he was there, in the distance, and I was sure he was looking towards me. I felt like a rabbit in headlights, unable to move, or even blink – until he started advancing. Panicking, I started to drive off, forgetting I had put on the handbrake, and removing it, I stalled the car. I fired up the engine again, too frightened to look, as I expected to see him charging towards me, and drove away quickly, nearly hitting a car coming in the other direction. I kept checking my rear-view mirror until I was a few miles away from the village. And only then did I slow down enough to catch my breath, and release the tears that pressed against the back of my eyes, desperate to escape. Pulling over at the next layby I took my phone and messaged the group.