Part of the Silence

When I return late that afternoon, the house is silent. Abbie Rose is in the kitchen. There’s no sign of Jen.

“She’s better than she was.” Abbie Rose switches off her iPad. “She had soup for lunch, but apart from that, she hasn’t moved.”

“I brought a chicken pie. Assuming she eats chicken.” I think of the birds in the yard, wonder if Jen’s one of those sentimental nutters who give them names and think of them as people. Then I remember the way she dispatched the sick bird. She definitely isn’t.

It’s a day in which Jen remains wrapped in confusion, in grief. That’s what this immeasurable sense of loss she’s feeling is. Grief. For her daughter, their life, their future. No easier because there’s the frailest hope Angel may be alive. And if she is, if Jen never sees her again, if she never finds out what’s happened, it will be a million times worse.

When PC Miller returns for the night, I give Jen the pills he’s picked up from the pharmacist, hoping they offer her some respite from the emotions battering her.

The following morning, there’s no sign of her on the sofa. Upon quietly pushing her bedroom door open, I see she’s in bed, still sleeping. I take it as a positive sign that she got herself up there.

The weather has blown through, leaving a lovely morning, the sun glistening through the trees, the birds in full song. Downstairs, as I draw the curtains and open one or two windows, I hear the sound of someone moving around.

When I go back upstairs, Jen’s door is open. “Hi? Evie?” I knock, then push the door open.

“Charlotte?” She’s standing by the open window, wearing a sweater over her pajamas. It hangs off her gaunt frame, drawing attention to how thin she is.

“Hi. I thought I heard you. I wondered if you’d like some help.”

She turns away from the window. “I was about to come downstairs.”

There’s a silent understanding between us as I say, “I’ll help you.”

I get her sitting at the kitchen table, then make her some breakfast, but she doesn’t eat much, just nibbles at some toast.

“Thank you for staying with me,” she says at last. “I mean it. I thought they were going to insist I go back to the hospital.”

“So did I.” I sit down opposite her. “But they can’t force you, Evie. Not if you don’t want to go.”

“I don’t know what the police are thinking.” Suddenly her face is stricken with anxiety. “I don’t understand. Why hasn’t anyone seen us?”

Yet again, I’m trying to imagine how it is to have all these disconnected strands of thought, none of which make sense. “It looks as though you were hiding.” I pause. “Has anything else come back to you?”

She looks blank. “No.”

“Do you think it’s strange that there aren’t any medical records?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I’ve been thinking about that. But if Angel hadn’t been ill since we moved here, I wouldn’t have taken her to the doctor, would I?”

It’s the only logical explanation. “It’s possible. . . .” I hesitate. “But most mothers of young children like to know they’ve registered somewhere—just in case.”

“Maybe I was going to . . . and I just hadn’t got around to it.” Jen looks away.

Outside, I see Abbie Rose walking toward the back door. There’s a rush of cold air as she opens it.

“Morning . . . How are you today?”

Jen nods. “I’m okay.”

Abbie Rose pulls off her gloves and jacket, then sits down at the table with us. “Someone else has recognized you from the photo on our Facebook page. A Tina Wells. Apparently, she buys your vegetables and eggs for her farm shop.” She looks at Jen expectantly. “Do you remember her? Her shop is on the outskirts of Wadebridge.”

Jen’s frowning. “I’m not sure.” But as has happened before, the name seems to set a process in motion, while Jen searches for something to link it to.

“Don’t worry for now. It may well come back to you later on.” Abbie Rose pauses, a more serious look on her face. “Evie? There’s something else I need to talk to you about.” There’s one of her strategic pauses. “I’m afraid there’s been another attack.”

About bloody time someone told her, I’m thinking, wondering what else Abbie Rose is keeping to herself.

Jen looks ashen. “Who? When?”

“About a week ago, a girl was found in a field that’s part of the same farm where you were attacked.”

“Found?” Jen stares at her. “Is she dead?”

Abbie Rose pauses, then nods toward me. “It was actually Charlotte who found her.”

Here, in Jen’s kitchen, it seems surreal to hear Abbie Rose talking about the body I found. Jen’s reaction makes it plain why the DC has waited so long to tell her: she wanted to delay another shock unless absolutely necessary.

Jen’s eyes flit from one of us to the other. “Why?” she says at last. “Why didn’t one of you tell me sooner?”

I want to tell her the truth, which is that I thought she should know, but Abbie Rose had asked me not to. “Honestly, we just thought you had enough to worry about. . . .”

“How could you?” Her words are accusing; her eyes, glittering with anger. “Both of you. How could you hide it?”

I glance at Abbie Rose for help.

“Charlotte’s right, Evie. And you haven’t been well.”

“I’m not a fucking child.” Her voice is high pitched. “It’s linked. It’s obvious, isn’t it?” She seems to shrink in her chair as she stares untrustingly at both of us.

“There’s no proof as yet, but yes, we’re considering the possibility. Two attacks at around the same time, the same place, seems quite a coincidence.” Abbie Rose speaks quietly.

“How did you find her?” Jen eyes bore into me.

“I was walking along the coast path. I saw these birds circling. It seemed odd, so I went to look.” The image comes back to me of the mutilated flesh, the dried blood. I try to block it out.

“Do you know who she is?”

“We think so.” Abbie Rose pauses. “She was a local girl . . . only twelve years old. She was reported missing by her teacher two weeks ago. Apparently, she was always going off on her own, so to start with, no one thought much of her disappearance.”

“Not even her mother?” Jen’s incredulous.

I can imagine what Jen’s thinking, because I’m thinking the same. How can a mother let her child go off for days on end without even knowing where she’s gone?

Abbie Rose sighs. “According to everyone we’ve talked to, Tamsyn did what she liked when she liked. . . .”

A look of shock crosses Jen’s face. “What did you say her name was?”

“Tamsyn . . .” Abbie Rose frowns at her. “Why? Do you know a Tamsyn—”

But Jen interrupts. “What does she look like?”

“Tall for her age. And lanky. With red hair and freckles . . .” She reaches for her phone, scrolls through e-mails until she finds what she’s looking for. “Here.”

After she passes the phone to Jen, I know from the way Jen’s hand goes to her mouth and her eyes widen with horror that she recognizes her. Looking across, I note that even on the small screen, there’s an attitude in the set of the girl’s chin, the look of defiance in her eyes. Suddenly tears are pouring down Jen’s face.

“You know her, don’t you?” After Jen’s lack of clarity about almost everything, it seems like a breakthrough. Abbie Rose looks at her sharply. “Do you have any idea how? Or where you might have seen her?”

But her hopes are short lived as Jen shakes her head. “All I remember is her face.”

“It’s strange you know her.” She looks at Jen more closely. “When you think no one round here seems to know you, and no one’s looking for you. With the exception of Nick and Tina Wells from the farm shop, she’s the only person so far who’s familiar to you. I have to call the station and let them know. When you think of her, does anything else come to mind?”

“No . . .” Jen shakes her head. “Just her laughing. Loudly. She was outside. She wasn’t with anyone. That’s all I can remember.”

“Okay . . .”

When Jen falls silent, I can’t help wondering if this will trigger her to remember more.

I go outside to feed the chickens. Then, when I come back inside, unbelievably, after Abbie Rose’s revelations, Jen’s curled up on the sofa, asleep.

“It’s probably a good thing,” Abbie Rose says quietly. “She needs to rest in order to heal.”

Gathering my things together, I’m about to go back home for the day when I hear Jen calling out.

I follow Abbie Rose to the sitting room, where Jen’s sitting with an expression on her face I haven’t seen before.

“I had this dream. When I woke up, I could remember things—about the past and Nick and where we lived. In detail. It’s happening. My memory’s coming back.”