The Girl You Lost: A gripping psychological thriller (11 page)

W
hen I get home
, I find Matt sitting at the kitchen table. A half-empty bottle of wine sits in front of him and one of our photo albums is open on the table. He looks up before I can ask what he’s doing and I see his eyes are swollen and red.

‘I wonder what Helena would be like now?’ he says. ‘And we’d be different people, wouldn’t we? We would have had the chance to be parents. That’s bound to have changed us for the better.’

I pull out a chair and sit next to him, helping myself to a sip of his unfinished glass of wine. ‘Do you remember when I always used to say that things happen for a reason? Every little thing? Well, maybe I don’t believe that anymore. It’s been eighteen years and we still don’t know why she was taken from us. What if we never do?’ I am speaking aloud the fear I have always had, but this time I am also worried that my investigation of Grace will come to nothing. She won’t be Helena, and where will that leave us?

Matt squeezes my hand ‘You would have been a great mum. Do you think I would have been a good dad?’

‘The best,’ I say, leaning over and cuddling into him. I open my mouth to speak again but think better of it. Because what will come out is the truth about everything Grace told me, and an explanation of what Abbot and I have been doing. And I can’t burden Matt with that.

We sit like this for over an hour, sharing wine from the same glass, poring through the old photos and talking about the six months we had with Helena. It is a comfort to us both.

But I don’t sleep well that night. My mind is a flurry of ominous thoughts; there can be no happy end to whatever our search turns up. All I know is that I am getting closer to the truth. Of that I am certain.

I
vy Whitehouse lives
one street away from Ginny Rhodes. I park on a different road, just in case she is anywhere nearby and recognises my car, and tentatively walk along the icy pavement to number ten. It is a similar house to Ginny’s, and I wonder what kind of help Ivy needed, and why she no longer requires it.

‘Can I help you?’ a voice says, before I’ve reached the front door.

Spinning around, I find myself staring at a woman who can’t be more than sixty. She is wrapped in a thick winter coat and her short hair is bright white. She inches towards me, clearly on guard because there is a stranger in her front garden.

‘Hi, I’m looking for Ivy Whitehouse.’ I take a step back.

‘That’s me,’ she says, reaching into her handbag but keeping her eyes fixed on me.

I explain the story I am now well-rehearsed at: how my mum needs a carer and I’ve recently found a lady called Ginny Rhodes, through Angel Carers. ‘I know she looked after you recently and just wondered if you had time for a quick chat. Just so I can make sure I’m leaving Mum in good hands. I won’t keep you long.’

Through narrowed eyes she digests my words, and for a few seconds I can’t tell whether she is buying my story or not. But then she speaks. ‘I suppose I can spare a few minutes. Come in, then. What did you say your name was?’

‘Hayley,’ I tell her, suppressing the usual guilt that I’m again using my work colleague’s name. ‘And please, feel free to call Angel Carers to check I am who I say I am.’ I can only pray she doesn’t take up my suggestion. Thankfully she heads towards the door, with no mention of making any call, so I follow her in.

She directs me to her living room and we sit on her grey fabric sofa. I study her appearance and still can’t see any sign of her needing a carer. She walks and stands without help, and her posture gives no hint of any physical issues. ‘Do you mind if I ask what Ginny was helping you with?’ I say.

‘I had an operation and couldn’t get around much for a while. It was only a few months, but even just washing myself was impossible.’

I don’t ask what operation she had, I am already pushing ethical boundaries, and if she wanted to offer that information she would have done so. Instead, I ask what she thought of Ginny personally. ‘I know she’s a great carer, but Mum’s the kind of person who needs a bit of companionship too, and I just want to make sure they’re a good match for each other. Does that make sense?’

‘Perfect sense,’ she says, her smile showing me she believes me. ‘But I don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about. Ginny is so easy to talk to, we hit it off right away. In fact, I’d say I got to know her quite well over the last few months.’ Her tone becomes perkier as she talks more about Ginny. Once again it all comes back to how well thought of she is.

‘That’s good to know,’ I say, hoping I’m hiding my uneasiness at hearing Ginny spoken of this way.

‘Her brother died recently. So sad. I think they were very close.’ She shakes her head slowly and stares at her feet.

I feign ignorance and agree that this is awful for her, but I still find it hard to sympathise with the woman when I’m so unsure of her.

‘But she never let it affect her work,’ Ivy continues. ‘She always turned up when she was due, and more often than not, ended up staying longer and just having a chat.’

‘Oh, Mum will love that,’ I say, picturing just how much my mum would hate having a carer around. She is so independent, she wouldn’t even want me having to help her. ‘And, she does sound like a lovely caring woman,’ I stifle the bile rising in my throat.

‘Well, it comes so naturally to her. She’s just one of those people. But then she is a mother, so she has experience of looking after others.’ She fixes me with an inquisitive stare. ‘Do you have any children?’

Her question catches me off guard, immediately transporting me to a different time, a different place. ‘Um, yes. A daughter. She’s eighteen.’ I am only telling the truth.

‘How lovely! She’s the same age as Ginny’s daughter. Grace, her name is. Lovely name.’

But is that her real name? I nod and smile, trying to stay focused on what Ivy Whitehouse is saying. For the next ten minutes she talks about her own children. She has three grown-up sons, all of whom are married with their own families. I only half-listen, desperate to find a way to steer her back onto Ginny, but before I think of anything, Ivy suddenly stops talking, her face crumpling.

‘Is something wrong?’ I ask. ‘Are you okay?’

It takes her a moment to answer. ‘Yes … I’m fine. Sorry, I just thought of something I’d completely forgotten until now. It’s … no, it’s nothing. Forget I said anything. I’m always being told off for gossiping.’

Finally, I feel as if I am about to learn something, but getting it out of Ivy won’t be easy. ‘Please, Mrs Whitehouse. I just want to make sure my mum’s in good hands.’

‘Of course she will be. It’s nothing to do with her ability to care.’

‘Then what is it?’

Sighing, she finally answers, her need to gossip overcoming her. ‘Well, it’s a bit strange, and I don’t know what to make of it. In fact, it was months ago so I’m not even sure I’m right.’

I lean forward. ‘What is it?’

She bites her thin lower lip, and her face flushes. ‘Yes. I feel bad saying this to you but Ginny and I were talking about our children once. It’s a bit hazy but I do remember telling her I had to have a caesarean for all three of mine. I didn’t recover well from them and I’ve always envied women who can have natural births, but I’m sure Ginny said she’d also had a caesarean. I’m sure we talked about how difficult it was for both of us.’

My heart thuds in my chest. If this is correct, and Ginny has had a caesarean, then she will have a scar as evidence she gave birth. But there is something else Ivy wants to tell me and it must be related to Grace. ‘Why is that strange?’ I ask.

‘It’s not. Except that another time when we were talking she said she’d had a home birth. Through choice. She told me all the details about it, I’m sure of that, because I remember wondering why on earth she didn’t just go to the hospital and get looked after in the right place. I don’t know why I didn’t put the two together before, but I was a bit fuddled after my operation. But I’ve probably got this all wrong, and it doesn’t take away from the fact that she really looked after me. There’s every chance I misunderstood her.’

I nod. ‘Yes, I’m sure that’s exactly what it is.’

‘Yes, that’s what happened. There’s always a simple explanation for things, isn’t there?’

My head spins as I walk to the car. Has Ivy Whitehouse just given me more evidence that Ginny abducted my daughter? Or is she misremembering, somehow mistaken because the conversation took place so long ago, and when she wasn’t in the best of health? There is no way to know without confronting Ginny, and it’s looking increasingly likely that this is what I’ll have to do. But I need more evidence to present to her. I don’t want to give her any opportunity to weasel out of what she has done. If she’s guilty. I still don’t know if I can trust Grace’s words.

In the car, I call Abbot to tell him I’m on my way. I fill him in on what I’ve just found out and he emits a heavy sigh. ‘Just get here quickly,’ he says. ‘I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t like it. The sooner we track down Lucas Hall and find out where Grace is, the better.’

N
icholas Gibbs lives in Richmond
, only a short drive from Abbot’s flat. He answers the door with two young children clinging to his legs, and looks even friendlier than he does in his photo. As he is the CEO of his own company, I have been expecting him to be dressed in a suit, but when my eyes focus on his jeans and Lacoste polo shirt, I remind myself it’s Saturday. Plus, he probably doesn’t need to dress up in his industry.

Abbot steps forward first. ‘Hi, are you Nicholas Gibbs?’ He asks this even though we already know he is.

He smiles. ‘Yes, I am. How can I help you?’

Holding out his hand, Abbot explains that we’re friends of Lucas Hall. ‘Hannah’s sent us,’ he adds, when a puzzled frown crosses the man’s face. ‘Can we have a quick chat?’

Nicholas steps back, his kids both shuffling back with him, and beckons us in. ‘Sienna!’ he calls, turning towards the house. Moments later a small brunette woman appears, smiling when she notices they have company.

‘Oh, hi,’ she says. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone. I must look a mess.’ She smooths down her hair, but she is far from a mess. Although she is dressed casually in jeans and a loose jumper, I can tell she has made an effort with her appearance this morning, and bothered to put on a touch of make-up.

‘This is my wife, Sienna,’ Nicholas says. ‘Honey, these are friends of Lucas and Hannah.’

I cringe at the word he uses to describe us.

Sienna holds out her hand and shakes mine first. Her palms are warm and moist, and I’m not surprised if she’s running around after two small children. She grabs Abbot’s hand next and I notice him jolt slightly at her touch.

‘Kids, come on, let’s leave Daddy to talk to his friends.’ That word again. She ushers the children away from Nicholas, with an apologetic smile when at first they resist her. A pang of envy takes me by surprise. This should have been me, years ago. With Grace. Perhaps with another child too. Instead, my life has taken a different direction, one I try hard to appreciate and make the most of. But sometimes witnessing moments like this threatens to floor me.

Pushing my feelings aside, I focus on the man whose house we’re standing in. ‘Sorry for interrupting your family time,’ I say. ‘Two young kids can be a handful, I’m sure.’

‘Three actually,’ Nicholas says. ‘We also have a thirteen-year-old. He’s probably holed up in his room. Anyway, enough about me. Let’s sit in the front room and you can tell me what’s going on.’

As we sit on his black leather sofa, I think of how many different people’s living rooms I have sat in over the last few days. And how, despite this, I don’t seem to be getting any closer to the truth.

‘Now, how can I help?’ Nicholas says, looking from me to Abbot, a pleasant smile on his face.

‘Well, Nicholas,’ I begin. ‘We—’

‘Please, call me Nick. Nicholas is so formal!’

Surprised by his interruption, I agree, and then tell him we’re here because Hannah is worried about Lucas. ‘We’re just trying to see if we can help her find him,’ I say.

Nick’s smile disappears, replaced with concern. ‘Hmmm. Hannah did call me a couple of days ago,’ he explains. ‘She was in a state, but I just thought it was Lucas being Lucas. He’s not … well, let’s just say he’s not the most reliable of husbands, as I’m sure you know.’

‘Actually, I haven’t seen Lucas since university,’ I say. ‘I was trying to get back in touch with him. Then we found out he was missing. It got me worried so we said we’d help Hannah.’

Nick nods. If he finds this strange, nothing in his expression reveals these thoughts. ‘I see. Okay, well, all I can tell you is what I told her. I haven’t seen him for several weeks now. To be honest, we’ve both been so busy, it’s been hard to stay in regular contact.’

‘How do you know him?’ I ask.

‘Oh, just through the restaurant. I used to have a lot of business meetings there. I know it’s a bit of a trek, but the food is well worth the journey.’

‘So you haven’t seen Lucas for a while?’ Nick asks.

‘It’s been years. I’ve been living in Australia so lost contact with most of my friends over here.’

‘Yep, that happens a lot doesn’t it? I’m not in touch with anyone from uni. Or school actually.’ He leans forward. ‘Anyway, it is a bit strange. Lucas would never leave Hannah to worry about him, no matter what goes on in their marriage. He at least tells her where he is. I told her to call the police, do you know if she’s done that?’

‘Hopefully by now,’ Abbot says.

‘Unfortunately,’ Nick says, ‘they probably won’t do much about a grown man leaving his wife, especially when he’s disappeared on her before. But I have some contacts who might be able to help, so I’ll get on to them. But please, if you hear anything before me, will you let me know?’

I tell him we will, and give him my mobile number.

When Abbot grills Nick for details about his company, he answers politely, and doesn’t lose patience with Abbot’s gushing, but I feel that each second ticking by is an intrusion into the man’s life. His wife must surely need help with something, and we have taken up enough of his time.

But then I remember he knows Ginny. I want to ask him about this but can’t risk it at the moment. And does being acquainted with Ginny also mean he knows something about Grace? But he said that he only knows Lucas through the restaurant, so it is doubtful he will know if there’s any truth to Grace’s claim. It occurs to me that I can’t trust anyone. Since Grace appeared a few days ago my life has been turned upside down, not only because of the conflict I feel about the possibility that she’s Helena, but also because I’m lying to Matt and relying on my friend far too much.

‘What do you make of him?’ Abbot says, as we’re driving back to his flat.

‘He seemed nice, the complete opposite of how I imagine Lucas to be, so I don’t know how they ended up friends. But anyway, I don’t feel like we got any further.’

Abbot agrees. ‘I know what you mean. It’s like we’re going around in circles and always coming back to the beginning. But we had to be careful what we said.’ He sighs. ‘Let’s just hope the laptop turns up something. In fact, I’m going to go and see my friend now. Maybe encourage him to move a bit quicker. What will you do now?’

What I want to do is confront Ginny, this time demanding answers, but we still don’t have enough evidence. ‘I need to go into work. All of this is making me so far behind, I need to get on top of things.’ It will also be a welcome distraction.

Abbot drops me back at my car and we say goodbye, arranging to speak later. But as I drive home alone, I feel the heavy weight of the last few days.

I
spend
a few hours at work so it is evening by the time I get home, and the house is shrouded in darkness. It is only then I remember Matt is going for a meal with some colleagues tonight. The house is cold so I turn on the heating and flick on light switches, anything to help me feel less alone.