1st December 2019
Evening
Dad had gone to bed early, and I could hear him muttering to himself from his room. I thought about our chat and his haunting words, that he would rather die than go into a home. I left a note in the kitchen, telling him I’d be back soon. I placed it next to a sandwich wrapped in clingfilm, next to a cup, teabags, sugar and a small jug of milk. I hoped he would see I wanted to help, I was being thoughtful, rather than taking away his independence. Messaging Esther to tell her I was OK, despite the latest development, I grabbed a torch and a few candles from his emergency power cut box, stuffed them into my coat pockets and left the safety of his house to walk, in the dark, to the hut where I was to meet the others. Or what was left of us. As I walked, my phone pinged and pulling it out of my coat pocket I saw it was from Esther.
I wanted to speak to her, hear her voice, tell her what was happening and have her help me make sense of it. But I didn’t.
Putting the phone in my pocket, I continued on towards the lane. Above me the trees moved like a stormy sea, moaning, surging. And beyond it, the mine watched me approach.
Finishing my cigarette, I prepared myself, then turned the corner to the hut. I don’t know why I came so early. The hut, the place that once was synonymous with fun and a carefree life, now felt haunted. Walking around the back, I dropped low and crawled through the hatch. I lit the candles, warming the darkness to trick myself it was somewhere comfortable. One eye towards the hole in the wall that looked towards the mine. All I could do now was wait for the others.
‘Neve?’
Michael’s voice made me jump and I stumbled, catching my calf on the corner of the coffee table. ‘I’m here.’
After a shuffle, and a groan, Michael crawled into the hut and stood, dusting his jeans down. ‘I swear, that hole gets smaller and smaller,’ he said, smiling, but I could tell he was rattled.
‘I thought the same,’ I said, trying to appear in control. I offered him a cigarette, which he took, lighting up before me. I looked to the ceiling. There was a new crack.
‘How are you holding up?’ Michael asked. I smiled back and took a drag. ‘I know, silly question, right. This is a fucking mess,’ he finished, rubbing his eyes.
‘Are you OK, Michael?’
He looked at me, half scoffed and lowered his head. It was a stupid question. Of course, he wasn’t OK.
‘Neve, when we were kids, I wish…’
Before he could finish the hatch moved, and in crawled Holly, who looked as we all felt: tired, drained, afraid. I didn’t waste time with frivolities and told them about DCI Thompson’s visit last night. They didn’t comment, but fresh panic rose. I said he had been to the hut, and that we shouldn’t stay long.
‘Why did he come here?’ Michael asked. ‘I thought he was retired?’
‘He is, Michael, but he’s searching regardless.’
‘And making things twice as complicated. You know, Hastings asked to talk to me today,’ Michael added, his eyes wide, and wild and fearful.
‘Me too,’ Holly added.
‘And me,’ I said. ‘I also spoke with the new DCI on the case. She’s sharp.’
‘Fuck!’ said Michael, turning his back to me and Holly. ‘Fuck! I thought all this shit was over. I thought we could get on with our fucking lives.’
‘Michael, calm down.’
‘Calm down? It’s like you’ve forgotten what actually happened back then.’
‘No, Michael, I haven’t forgotten.’
‘Are you sure, because from here it looks like you’ve convinced yourself Chloe really was taken by the Drifter.’
‘Michael, please, we need to calm down,’ Holly reiterated, her voice cracking.
‘Let’s say it out loud, for once – let’s actually say out loud what actually happened to Chloe.’