Rachel

Rachel fell into a light doze on the couch, her laptop on her knees. She was woken by her ringtone: Mimi Johnson. It was near midnight: clearly not a welfare call.

‘Hello?’ she croaked, straightening herself up.

‘Rachel, it’s Mimi. I’ve got Fitz here with me. He has something to tell you.’

Oh, Jesus. This was it. A confession. What had he done? Where was Bridie? Rachel experienced a roaring sensation in her head: she didn’t want to hear this, couldn’t bear it, wished Rory were here to take the call.

A crackling noise as the phone changed hands.

‘Hi, Mrs Sullivan.’ Fitz’s voice was deep, husky: a stark reminder that he was no longer the ten-year-old boy she saw in her head.

Rachel didn’t return his greeting. For a start, she couldn’t fake civility even if she tried. She’d also learned that kids told you more when you stayed quiet.

‘We’ve, ah, just come back from the police station. I had to do an interview … and make a statement. I, ah, remembered something. I dunno if it’s important or means nothing. Mum thought I should tell you because we know how worried you are.’

So the police had interviewed him. Good to know they were working around the clock, not deterred by the fact that it was late Sunday night.

There was another pause. Eventually Fitz must have realised that Rachel didn’t intend to speak or help him out. He cleared his throat. ‘It was a couple of weeks ago. I was at the beach with the boys, and I, ah, ran into Bridie and her cousin …’

Rachel had to recalibrate her thoughts. She had been expecting to hear something about last night, at the concert. Instead, she was hearing about an event that had apparently occurred a few weeks ago?

‘The girls were in the water when we were getting ready to leave. I went over to where they’d left their things. I, ah … I was going to leave something for Bridie – a cool shell I’d found earlier – but there was a girl there. She was kneeling on the towel, rummaging in a beach bag … I just assumed that I’d got it wrong, that they’d left their things somewhere else. But the beach bag looked like Bridie’s one – I’d been eye level with it earlier, when she’d stopped to say hello.’

Not the huge revelation or confession she’d been expecting. The noise cleared from her head. Dread eased its vice-grip on her heart. ‘Can you describe the girl?’ she asked abruptly.

‘Early to mid-twenties. Thin. Wearing those big rimless sunnies. Lots of tattoos.’

‘Would you recognise her if you saw her again?’

‘Dunno. Hard when you can’t see the eyes.’

What did this mean, if anything? Assuming that Fitz wasn’t mistaken, or lying through his teeth, had the stranger put something in Bridie’s bag, or accessed her phone somehow? Had she followed Bridie and Imogen to the beach, or had they inadvertently sat next to a predator or scammer? And, most pertinently, did this information get Fitz off the hook?

‘You asked her to meet you at the bathrooms,’ Rachel stated, accusation underlining every word.

‘That wasn’t me,’ he said breathlessly. ‘It was someone pretending to be me. The cops have my phone. They can see now it wasn’t me.’

Mimi said something in the background. The phone changed hands again.

‘He’s telling the truth, Rachel. From what I’ve gathered, the message was a text which came through under Fitz’s name but wasn’t from his number. Look, we’d better go. It’s late and there’s school tomorrow. I’ll keep in touch.’

Tears started to form, leaking down Rachel’s cheeks. A new school week, and her daughter would not start it alongside her peers. Rachel had no idea where she was. She didn’t know what to think or what to believe anymore … about Fitz, about anything at all.

Her nose was running as she called up Tanya’s number. She wiped it with the back of her hand, didn’t stop to find a tissue.

Despite the late hour, Tanya answered after the first ring. ‘What is it? Have you had some news?’ Her sister’s question was infused with fear; Bridie was like one of Tanya’s own.

‘Can you wake up Imogen?’ Rachel asked between loud sobs. ‘I need to ask her something important.’

Maybe her niece would recall the girl on the beach. Maybe, with Imogen’s input, they could determine if her presence that day meant something.

Or maybe she was clutching at straws again.