4

“It was definitely after.” I hesitate. “Do you think this is connected to what happened to Leah?”

Abbie Rose gives nothing away. “We’ve no idea. But at this stage, we have to look at everything.”

“Of course.” But it still surprises me. It must be fifteen years since Leah disappeared. “Poor Jen. I don’t know how you ever get over that. I mean, losing someone’s child when they’re in your care . . . You didn’t have to know her well to see the change in her after. And now her own daughter is missing. . . .” I imagine guilt layered upon guilt, at the same time as I wonder how Jen’s coping with what must be unbearable.

Abbie Rose doesn’t comment. “And you haven’t seen her since then?”

“Like I said, the last time we saw each other was at that party.” I get up and walk over to the window. On the beach, I can just about make out clean, barrelling waves and, floating beyond them, the lone dot that must be Rick.

“Do you remember much about that time? When Leah disappeared?”

“God. It’s not something anyone could forget in a hurry. It was awful.” I watch Rick catch a wave, wishing I could surf as well as he can. “No one could believe a child would just disappear. It was like a black cloud over everything—it changed our lives. Everyone’s parents became overprotective. And people gossiped.... Eventually, it died down, but at the time, it was like the world had ended.” Turning to face her, I add, “Sorry, Detective Constable. I don’t mean to sound indifferent. It was terrible. It destroyed Leah’s family. Did you know that?”

“Did you know them, Charlotte?” Abbie Rose’s eyes linger on me.

“Not when it happened.” I’m not sure what to say, wondering what it will do to Jen right now to have the police asking about another missing child, particularly one who was never found. “I knew of them. I was good friends with Leah’s older sister for a while, but that wasn’t until later.”

“Do you know what happened to them?”

“Her father had left by the time Casey and I were friends. Her mother was really strange. I think she had a breakdown. Casey died only a year or so ago. I think she suffered the most.”

“Casey was Leah’s sister?”

“Yes.” I don’t say it out loud, but I’m remembering how it was for Casey. The hardest of lessons, having to haul herself out of the darkest place. It was either that or give up. Life makes no concessions for the bereaved. It goes on regardless, mercilessly, ruthlessly. “Did the police ever find out what happened to Leah?”

“No.”

“It’s still hard to believe something like that could happen. Especially here. It’s so quiet. . . .” Apart from the influx of drunken teenagers in the summer, it’s true. That’s why as soon as they’re old enough, most young people can’t wait to move away. Yet here I am, back again, I muse, not far from where I started. So is Jen.

Abbie Rose nods. “I wanted to ask you if you’d come and see Jen. The attack has left her memory badly affected. Seeing a familiar face could really help.”

I don’t answer straightaway. I’m wondering how it would be for Jen. Too much of a reminder of the past? “Are you sure it’s a good idea? Of course I’d like to see her, but I wouldn’t want to make things any worse for her.”

“To be honest, I’m not sure things could get much worse.”

My ears prick up. “Really? How bad is it? It must be awful for her.” I look at Abbie Rose quizzically, but her face is blank. “I could see her tomorrow morning,” I add. “Say, around ten?”

“Thank you. I’ll tell her you’re coming. She’s in the Royal Cornwall Hospital in Truro.” She hesitates. “You wouldn’t happen to know if she has family nearby?”

I shrug. “I’m out of touch. But I remember her aunt’s house. It’s out in the sticks—near Bodmin. We went there sometimes during the school holidays,” I say vaguely. “You know, gangs of girls camping in the woods. Being so remote, Helen’s place was perfect.” I try not to smile inappropriately. “All our parents thought camping was such an innocent, idyllic thing to do, which it was—until we got older, of course. By then, Helen was deaf as a post. She had no idea what we really got up to.” I pause. “Just teenage stuff. Nothing bad,” I add quickly, thinking of drunken nights and the boys who used to join us, remembering I’m talking to a police officer.

“You don’t by any chance remember the address, do you?”

I pause, thinking not so much of the cottage, but of the woods where we used to camp. “Not off the top of my head.” But then I remember something. “Actually, I think her aunt’s name was Helen Osterman.”

Abbie Rose writes it down. “That gives us something to go on.” Then she gets up. “I’d better get back. Thanks for your help. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

But I’m still puzzled about something. “Why have the press been calling her Evie?”

“It looks as though she changed her name. At the moment, we don’t know why. I’m hoping a face from the past might trigger her to remember something.”

“Okay.” I shrug. It’s understandable: maybe she wanted to break any association with what happened to Leah. Jen—Evie—it makes no difference as far as I’m concerned. “Whatever. At least I know.”

Abbie Rose walks over to the door. As she opens it, she pauses, a quizzical expression on her face. “Up until that time you last saw each other, do you happen to know if Jen was ever pregnant?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking Jen that?” After talking about Helen’s place, I’m uncomfortable all of a sudden. It was years ago. Why is she so interested in the past?

“She can’t tell me much about anything right now.” Abbie stands in the doorway. “I’m trying to help her build a picture of how her life was.”

I hesitate, not sure what to say. Not sure, either, why Abbie Rose wants to know. “There was a rumor . . . but I’m fairly sure that’s all it was. Probably spread by a couple of girls who had it in for her. She didn’t look pregnant—certainly not when I saw her. I don’t know if she’s still the same, but she was skinny back then. I can’t imagine she’d have been able to hide it. . . .” I frown. “But there was a time she wasn’t around for a while. And no one knew why. I’m sorry. I don’t really know any more than that.”

Abbie Rose frowns. “Why would those girls have had it in for her?”

I shrug. “The usual reasons. Because she was thinner and prettier and smarter than they were. Plus, everyone liked her.” Meaning boys, in particular, but Abbie Rose seems smart enough to work that one out.

“I see.” Abbie Rose pauses. “There isn’t any other reason?”

I shake my head. “Nothing comes to mind.”

“Perhaps we can talk more tomorrow. You can always call me if you think of anything else.”

She hands me a card, and then I follow her outside to her car. After she drives away, I wander around the side of the house and onto the grass, which needs cutting again, annoyed by the shrieks of children floating up from the beach below. The beach may no longer be a secret, but most vacationers are too lazy to walk the half a mile down the stony path from the road, then clamber down the rocks. It’s not for the fainthearted. Other than the occasional lunatic like Rick who carries his surfboard down there, visitors are few—an irritation I’m forced to tolerate.

He’s still out there, the water flat between sets as he waits for the next wave to roll in. Rick has his own philosophy, about how the universe brings us what we need. I learned from him, when he tried to help me surf bigger waves, how to clear my mind as I sat on my board, to feel the rhythm of the ocean.

Nothing is by chance. A wave is the culmination of many factors. There’s the swell, the wind; it depends on the shape of the coastline, the ocean floor. It shows the divine timing of all things, because you can’t hurry the perfect wave. He’s taught me the need for patience as you see a set coming, to rely on your judgment. The perfect wave will come when the time is right.

I stand there watching him as he deftly rides a wave to the shore, then—instead of paddling out against the tide—catches the rip. Its powerful flow is an easy ride out past the waves when you understand the forces at work, as Rick does. When you don’t, it’s an easy way to die.