1st December 2019
Morning
My subconscious mind quickly switched off after speaking with DCI Thompson, and I fell fast asleep, my mind thankfully knowing I needed to shut down and process what was going on. It didn’t last long, and just after three, I was wide awake again, staring at the ceiling. Focusing on the shadows created by the small rivets in the aertex. The brief conversation with Thompson played on a loop in my head, over and over, and I struggled to order the pictures. He had been there in the pub and down the lane but not in the woods or outside my house, and I believed him. He had no reason to lie. It weirdly confirmed what I already knew – the Drifter was back, but so was DCI Thompson, and I had merged the two in my mind.
We weren’t just facing one problem anymore. There were two ghosts from 1998 roaming the village, two people who were connected to that night. One of them knew what happened, one didn’t, both wanted to end it. And then, in the middle, there was me.
By the time dawn began to splinter the night sky, I had run and rerun the past ten days, since that message from Holly telling me Jamie was missing. I wanted to help rid the village of the Drifter somehow, I wanted him to be found. I just didn’t know how to go about it.
By the time Dad was up and moving I had been awake for nearly five hours, and needy for some company, I came downstairs shortly after he did. Walking into the kitchen he stood with his back to me, his hands clamped on the draining board, staring out of the window. I thought for a moment he was enjoying the sunshine which, although weak, was out, trying its best to warm the winter ground. But he wasn’t. The shed door was wide open, the lawn mower in the middle of the garden. Its cable had been unravelled and the plug was resting on the outside window ledge. By the back door were muddy footprints.
‘Dad?’
‘I don’t remember waking up,’ he said, his back still to me. I didn’t know what to say – what can you say to someone who knows they are beginning to lose who they were? How do I talk about it when he had lied, telling me everything was OK? I took a tentative step towards him, joined his side, placed my hand on top of his and squeezed. And for a while, we didn’t move. I just held his hand and we looked outside.
‘Neve, what do I do?’
‘Well,’ I said, fighting to keep my emotions under control. Dad had never asked for help before. ‘How about you put the kettle on while I tidy up?’
I smiled at him and gave his hand another squeeze, and he smiled back before moving towards the cupboard to grab a couple of mugs. Stepping into his large shoes to go into the garden, I couldn’t help but remember when I was a kid. I used to walk around in his old boots, pretending I worked down the mine. When I was little, I didn’t want to be a ballet dancer or a pop star like most of the girls in my class, girls like Chloe. I wanted to be a miner, just like my dad. And I would often put on his boots and helmet and pretend I was. I would dig holes in the garden, looking for coal, and Mum would despair when I came in, covered in soil and leaving the garden looking like we had a problem with foxes. She would tell me off, say I wasn’t being a proper lady. Dad wouldn’t say anything, he would just smile, catch my eye and give me a wink. Those moments made my heart burst. I hated myself for so easily forgetting them.
Through the open door, I looked through at him in the kitchen: small and sad and lost as he made us both tea. The weight of the world pressing down on him, like he had become the coal he once mined. Putting away the lawnmower, I came back inside and sat with him at the kitchen table.
‘What are you thinking Dad?’
‘Why on God’s earth did I think it was a good idea to mow the lawn last night?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, taking a sip of my tea.
‘I mean, I can barely be arsed to do it in the middle of the day,’ he said with a wink, and I laughed tea out of my nose. He was there – buried under the worry and forgetfulness was my dad who made light of things. He laughed with me, just for a moment until the weight shifted back onto him.
‘I don’t want to go into a home.’
‘Dad?’
‘I’ve been thinking, and I don’t want to go into a home, it would kill me.’
‘You’re not going into a home,’ I said, hoping I sounded convincing.
‘Doctor McBride didn’t say I have a… what did you say it could be?’
‘A thyroid issue.’
‘That’s it, he didn’t say it was a thyroid issue. I just hoped when I said I couldn’t remember the name, you’d find something on the internet to explain it. I’m sorry I lied.’
‘Don’t be, I know you were trying to protect us both.’
He nodded, his eyes brimming.
‘Have the blood tests come back yet?’
‘I didn’t do them.’
‘Dad…’ I said, exasperated, but not at all shocked. ‘I watched you walk towards the nurse’s office?’
‘I did, but I didn’t go in. I just said I was waiting for someone. Before you came into that first appointment, he told me he was convinced it is… well, he didn’t say the words. It was like he couldn’t, but you know. What’s weird is, even with the lawnmower thing, I don’t feel like I have Alzheimer’s. I just can’t remember doing things. Does that make sense?’
‘I think so. Can I be honest, Dad?’
‘Yes, sure.’
‘This is the most you’ve ever told me about how you feel. Ever.’
‘Yes, I guess it is,’ he said, trying to smile again, but falling short. ‘I’m sorry, love.’
‘I always thought that after Mum left, you stopped caring.’
‘About what, about you? Of course not. Neve, you are now, and have always been my girl.’
It was my turn to well up; two decades of things unsaid sat just behind my eyes, desperate to come out. ‘So, why don’t you ever call? Why don’t you ever want to visit?’
‘When you grew up, I felt like I was a burden, I was an embarrassment.’
‘What, why?’
‘I lost my job, your mother. I was ashamed. And then you wanted to leave too.’
‘Oh, Dad!’ Reaching over, I hugged my dad and felt tears escape. I had been so selfish in assuming his distance from me was because of him not caring, not because of how vulnerable he was. I understood what DCI Thompson meant when he said he’d spoken with Dad and understood why I had gone. Dad thought I didn’t want to be with him anymore. I vowed would never let him feel like that again.
‘Shall we go back and see Doctor McBride? Both of us. Get those tests done.’
‘What? So, he can confirm I’m losing my mind?’
‘It might not be what you, I, or even Dr McBride thinks. We won’t know for sure until we do the tests. What do you say? I can call him right now.’
He offered a small nod and rubbing his arm I got up to make the call. After three rings a receptionist picked up.
‘Sherwood Practice.’
‘Hello, it’s Neve Chambers, my father Sean Chambers has been seeing Dr McBride about an ongoing health concern. I was wondering if I could make an appointment this morning for us to come and see him.’
‘I’m afraid Dr McBride isn’t in today.’
‘Oh, when will he be back in?’
‘I’m afraid we don’t know.’
‘What? Why not?’ My heart skipped, and I forced myself to be rational.
‘Miss Chambers, you are friends with Dr McBride, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, we are friends.’
‘I shouldn’t really say but…’
‘But what?’
‘Barry hasn’t turned up for work today. No one can find him.’