The Girl You Lost: A gripping psychological thriller (6 page)

‘What exactly was she wearing?’ I sound like a police officer now. I don’t really need to know how Charlotte was dressed but it helps to paint a picture in my head.

‘A dress I told her was too short. But she’s twenty, how could I stop her? She’s her own person, I can’t control her. All I can do is guide her.’ Her eyes flick up to the ceiling as she remembers, and more tears pool in her eyes. ‘It was one of those sleeveless vest type dresses. Green and sparkly. Pretty, if you can get away with it, and Charlotte could.’

A picture of this woman’s daughter floats into my head. Wavy red hair, large green eyes. She is a pretty girl. I look at her mother now and decide she would have been stunning at the same age. Even grief hasn’t erased every trace of the woman she once was.

‘She said she’d decided to meet friends at the pub,’ Tamsin continues. ‘I’m a terrible mother. I didn’t … didn’t even ask which friends or which pub.’ She erupts into loud sobs, and I move closer to her and wrap her in a hug. I know we are strangers, but we are bonded by our stories.

‘Can I ask
you
something now?’ she asks, when finally her tears subside.

I reach forward and pick up my mug of tea. ‘Of course. Anything.’

‘How do you live with it? How do you get through each day?’

I haven’t wanted to talk about Helena in detail, but I give in to the desperation on Tamsin’s face. She needs to know she is not alone. ‘I didn’t. Not at first. But, Tamsin, it’s been over eighteen years. I suppose the pain just sits beside me, whatever I’m doing. Like a constant companion. It’s just part of my life now, part of me. But please don’t think your story will be the same. There’s every chance Charlotte will turn up, you have to just cling to that.’

She nods and grabs my hand, squeezing it tightly. ‘Thank you. I’ll try.’

For over an hour we continue talking, and by the time I leave we have scheduled an interview for tomorrow afternoon. It will mean working through the night to get everything ready, but I want to do this story. I feel as if it belongs to me, that Tamsin Bray’s pain is also my own.

I
t is almost
five o’clock when I get back to the office, which doesn’t leave much time before I need to be back at the house to meet Grace.

‘Simone, I’m glad you’re back.’ Abbot is still sitting at his desk, in the same position I left him in, and for a second I wonder if he’s moved at all since this morning. He turns to face me. ‘How did it go? Did Tamsin Bray agree to do an interview?’

‘Yes, it’s all sorted for tomorrow. I just need to write everything up for Hayley. Mark told me she’ll be covering it.’ I log on to my computer and tap in my password, not bothering to shield it from Abbot’s view.

‘Good,’ he says. ‘I’m glad you got it. Not that I ever doubted you would. People never say no to you, do they?’

But Tamsin’s trust came at a price, I think, but don’t say. I had to bare my soul to a stranger. ‘I can’t take any credit for this one,’ I tell Abbot. ‘Anyway, look who’s talking – you’re the smooth-talker around here.’ This is true – Abbot always seems to get his way.

We both laugh but Abbot stops before I do. ‘Hey, do you fancy a drink tonight? Blow off some steam? Make up for standing me up at breakfast? I’ve been flat out on this banking story, I’m even dreaming about the man!’

An image of Grace appears in my head and I glance at my watch. ‘I’m really sorry but I have plans tonight. But soon, okay?’

‘Sure,’ he says, turning back to his computer. ‘Guess I’m not that much of a smooth-talker after all, eh?’

‘I’m just immune to your charms,’ I say.

By five-thirty I am ready to leave. Meeting Grace this evening won’t leave me much time to get everything ready for the interview tomorrow, but I will work at home tonight and come in early to catch up.

I am home by six-fifteen, grateful to have a few minutes to get my thoughts in order. Grace still hasn’t texted me a phone number, but perhaps she couldn’t get hold of one.

I set up the laptop in the kitchen and wait to see if Grace turns up. I still haven’t heard from her so have no idea what to expect now.

But as I wait, I realise I am hoping to see her. I want to hear how her day at university has gone, how it went with her mum. Perhaps I am deluding myself, getting carried away with the idea that she could be Helena, but for years I haven’t allowed myself to entertain thoughts of seeing my daughter again. It is an unfamiliar feeling, as pleasurable as it is terrifying.

Realising I haven’t spoken to Matt all day, I call his mobile, even though I doubt he’ll be able to answer. He does, though, and the first question from my mouth is whether he has had the results yet.

‘No, not yet. But they’ve put a rush on it for us. You know I’ll call you the second I hear anything. I’ll hang around here for a bit, just in case. Where is she now?’

‘She’s due here any minute.’ I poke my head around the kitchen door to see if I can see a silhouette through the glass of the front door. But there is nobody there.

Matt sighs. ‘Is that a good idea? Shouldn’t we wait until the results before we see her again?’

I’m about to object and defend my decision when I remember that Matt doesn’t know the full story. He doesn’t know how much this girl needs help. Whatever might have happened with Lucas, there was still a man in that flat who heard what we were talking about. ‘Well, it’s not for long,’ I say. ‘I just wanted to ask her a few more questions.’

‘Okay, I just don’t want you to get your hopes up, that’s all.’

I reassure him I’ll be fine, then we say goodbye.

It’s nearly six forty-five now and there is no sign of Grace. There are any number of innocuous reasons she might be late, but uneasiness creeps through me as the minutes tick by.

To begin with, I am consumed with thoughts of Grace and Helena, which makes it hard to get my head around doing any work. But eventually I open my laptop and start preparing for the Brays’ interview tomorrow. I am so lost in the story that by the time I look up from the laptop it is eight-fifteen.

And there is no sign of Grace.

I
need
to start somewhere near the beginning, to help you understand, don’t I? Not that you ever truly will – because what would that make you if you did?

I knew things far too young. Sex was never a taboo subject in our house, a dirty conversation to be avoided at all costs and frowned upon by tight-lipped parents. No, I knew all about it by the time I was five; none of this ‘the stork brought you to us’ bullshit. I knew exactly how I had come about, and this thing adults did fascinated me. So by eleven years old, I was already experimenting with girls in my class. Ha, I don’t even think they knew what they were doing, but for some reason many of them let me do what I wanted.

Perhaps I was charming, I don’t know. But even as I got into my teens and eventually left school, all I felt after these experiences was empty, like a deflated balloon. Too much, too young? Maybe. But now I was cursed, sex had become mundane, a function to fulfil, and I was deeply unsatisfied.

Are you astounded by my ability to self-analyse? Well, don’t be. A lack of self-awareness is not my problem. My issue is being unable to stop the heavy compulsions within me. I have tried, I really have.

When I was sixteen I watched
The Accused
with Jody Foster. My parents had rented it from the video shop and unable to sleep one night, I snuck downstairs and, with nothing else to entertain me, pressed play. Do you know the film? I’m sure you do. Perhaps it made you feel uncomfortable to watch? Perhaps your natural human instinct kicked in and you had to turn away, unable to be a witness to the poor woman’s horrific attack? But not me. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, and I felt my body stiffen with excitement. I felt alive.

I rewound that part four times that night, my desire for it never lessening, until every moment was etched in my brain.

But in the cold light of day, I felt floods of shame. I really did. And I vowed to never think about it ever again.

I did well for some time. I listened to music, played football on Sundays. Smothered my compulsions.

Until I met a man who changed everything.

‘
I
can’t say
I’m shocked,’ Matt says.

He has been home for less than a minute but already I have filled him in on what’s happened, my voice betraying how disappointed I am, how desperate I was to believe Grace, despite myself.

‘I’ve tried to make excuses for her but there are none,’ I say. ‘She has both my numbers. She even knows which surgery you work at. There’s no explanation other than she was trying to con us.’

Matt hugs me and pours us each a glass of Pinot Grigio. ‘I know it’s upsetting. And to be honest, at work today I started to imagine that it could be true. Hope, even. Especially as she so readily agreed to the DNA test.’ He shakes his head. ‘But now I guess we have our answer.’

I take a sip of wine and stare through the french doors. The garden looks so grim in winter. ‘But what do you think she wanted?’

He shrugs. ‘Maybe money? I mean, I know she didn’t ask for anything but perhaps she got scared off once she’d met us and realised we weren’t easily fooled?’

I tell Matt it’s possible, but I’m not convinced. I have also thoroughly checked the house and nothing is missing, not even a pair of earrings.

I turn back to face him. ‘What about the rabbit? How did she get Helena’s rabbit?’

We both fall silent, no easy answer occurring to either of us.

‘I think we should call the police,’ Matt says eventually.

I know he is right, but something tells me to put him off, to give Grace just a bit more time. ‘Can we do it tomorrow, though? They’ll probably need us to go down there and make statements and I don’t think I have the energy tonight.’

Matt reluctantly agrees and then makes a suggestion. ‘Listen, it’s too late to cook now, shall we go out to eat? Take our minds off it all? How about that new Italian place near the station?’ I know he is just trying to distract me, and I appreciate his effort.

‘Okay. I just need to get changed.’ As I head to the hall Matt’s phone pings, stopping us both in our tracks. His friend at the lab told him he would email the results as soon as they came in, and even though it hasn’t been twenty-four hours, perhaps this could be it.

Matt pulls his phone from his trouser pocket, his eyes flicking back and forth as he reads the email.

‘Is it the results?’ I ask, preparing myself for the worst, even though I’m not sure I even know what the worst scenario would be.

He shakes his head. ‘No. Not those results. It’s a patient. She has terminal cancer. It really didn’t look like it at all. Poor woman. She’s got three kids.’ His face pales and he shakes his head as he slips his phone back in his pocket.

‘That’s awful,’ I say, stroking Matt’s arm. No matter how much he insists he’s learnt how to detach from the job, moments like this convince me it’s not always that easy. ‘Look, shall we just eat here? I can rustle up something quickly.’

He pulls at his tie. ‘Actually, I’m not that hungry. Maybe later? I just need to do some work.’

‘Will you let me know the second the results come through?’ I ask, even though I know he will.

‘Of course. But Simone, please don’t get your hopes up. I really don’t think this girl is Helena. I don’t know how she got the rabbit, but she’s not our daughter. I can feel it. I know that doesn’t make sense, but I think we would know if she was ours. And this disappearing act, well, it just proves she’s up to something, doesn’t it? Otherwise why hasn’t she come back? She must think we’ve got the results by now and have messed up whatever she was planning.’ He pulls me towards him and wraps his arms around me, squeezing tightly.

I open my mouth to object but quickly reconsider. Of course Matt is sceptical. He doesn’t know the whole story, he wasn’t there to see the fear in Grace’s eyes when we were at Lucas’s flat. He knows nothing of the man who knocked her down.

‘Let’s just see what happens,’ I say. ‘We’ll know soon, won’t we?’

‘And we’ll get through it together,’ he says, rubbing my back.

When he’s gone upstairs, I sit once more in front of my laptop and bring up Google. It is nearly nine p.m. and I need to know what’s happened to Grace. Whether or not she is Helena, she has started something now and I want answers. It might be different if she hadn’t told me about Lucas – easier to dismiss her as a fraud – but I have an uneasy feeling about that man in the flat.

Grace’s student ID was from City University and I’m sure she told me the name of her halls of residence, but can’t recall what it was. I type the university into the search box, and check the names of the student accommodation, to see if anything rings a bell. When I see the name I know it is the one. Liberty Hall. That’s definitely where she said she lived. A further search tells me it’s near Angel station. I shut the laptop and grab my bag from the table.

At the bottom of the stairs I shout up to Matt, telling him I need to go back to work, that I’ve forgotten something and need it urgently.

He appears on the landing and peers down at me. ‘But it’s late. And dark. Is it that important?’

‘I’ll be as quick as I can. I left my notes for an interview behind and I need to write up the report tonight.’

‘I’ll come with you, then.”

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. And Grace might turn up. If she does, text me and I’ll come straight back.’

Matt nods. ‘Okay, but don’t be long.’

I
t takes
over an hour to get to Angel and I feel guilty as I head out of the station. I never lie to Matt, not even small ones, and it doesn’t sit well with me. Up until now I have been able to tell him everything, but I assure myself I am doing this for us. To get to the truth, whatever it is. If Grace is our daughter I will encourage her to be as open with Matt as she has been with me. The three of us will need to get through this together, and how can we do that with a lie hanging over us?

And if she isn’t Helena then I will go straight to the police. I’ll tell them everything, including what she told me about Lucas.

Using Google maps, I find Liberty Hall and stand across the road, staring at the building. It is larger than I expected, with a modern light brick façade and huge glass doors, and I have no idea how I will find Grace in the mass of students that must live here. I haven’t thought this through in any detail, but I am used to formulating plans on the spot.

Through the glass doors I see a reception area with bright orange sofas and an unmanned desk. It is long past office hours so I’m not surprised to find there are no staff around, but this will only make it harder to find Grace. The only thing I can do is wait for a student to come in or out and then ask if they know her. Although it’s past ten p.m., for many students their night will only just be beginning. So I stay in my position across the street, in the doorway of a mobile phone shop, and wait, folding my arms against the cold.

Ten minutes pass before a young man appears in the lobby. He is dressed in loose-fitting jeans and a hoodie and I assume he is a student. He crosses to the reception desk and dumps a huge rucksack on it, bending his head down to rummage in it. This is my chance.

Crossing the street, I stand by the door of Liberty Hall, the bright lighting inside providing me with a good view of the student. He is still busy searching in his bag and doesn’t notice me for a moment. Finally, he lifts his head, heaves his bag onto his back and makes his way towards me.

‘Hi, sorry,’ I say, once he’s opened the door. ‘Could I just ask if you know Grace Rhodes?’

His thick dark eyebrows knit together and I wonder if he is startled by my abrupt question. He scratches his unshaven chin. ‘Um, what does she look like?’

‘Tallish. Long dark hair. Pretty. She’s studying journalism.’ Even as I say this I know it could describe a number of people. But I don’t know enough about Grace to give a more personal description.

The student shrugs. ‘Not sure. But go in if you want.’ Holding the door open, he steps aside to let me through.

Part of me is pleased I have got in so easily, the other half annoyed at the lack of security for Grace, and my protectiveness towards her takes me by surprise. Thanking the student, I head towards the lift he has just come from, not looking behind me in case he suddenly realises he’s made a mistake letting in a stranger.

In the lift I see this building has five floors. I press the first floor button and prepare myself for the task ahead.

On the first floor there are doors on either side of a long corridor, making this hall of residence feel more like a hotel than anything else. I feel a stab of sadness that I never got to fully live the student life. Having Helena so young stalled my plans, and then after her abduction it took me years to be able to focus on studying and get my degree. I lived with Matt, so never got to experience what Grace is doing now.

At the far end of the corridor I see what looks like a communal kitchen, and excited voices drift from inside. Feeling like an intruder, I head towards the noise, preparing a speech in my head.

‘Oh, hi,’ a young woman says when I knock on the door. ‘Can I help you?’

There are three other students in here and they fall quiet and watch me, probably annoyed at my intrusion. I give each one a cursory glance before explaining that I’m looking for Grace Rhodes.

‘Oh, yeah, she’s on the second floor,’ one of the other girls says. She looks me up and down, but I ignore her judgemental stare.

‘Oh, I thought this was the second floor?’ I smile, pleased at my quick response.

‘I’m always doing that,’ one of the girls says. ‘They all look the same, don’t they?’

And then they resume the conversation I have interrupted, forgetting I exist.

On the second floor, I am still clueless as to which room is Grace’s, but I start at the first one, number eleven, and rap my knuckles against the door. There is no answer, so after a few seconds I move on to number twelve.

There is no sound from inside but the door suddenly opens a fraction and a girl’s face peers through the narrow gap.

‘Hi. Sorry, I’m looking for Grace.’ This time I don’t mention who I am, just in case this girl has already met Ginny.

She stares at me for a moment. ‘Her room’s next door. But she’s not in. I’ve just tried her.’

‘Oh. Do you know where she is?’

The girl shakes her head and opens the door wider, allowing me to see her more clearly. She is barely five foot tall and looks as if she may have at least one Chinese parent. She’s dressed in jeans and a red jumper and has a sweet, pleasant face.

‘No,’ she says. ‘The last time I saw her was this morning. She was just coming home as I was leaving for a lecture and she said to tell our tutor she’d be a bit late. She needed to get changed. But then she didn’t show up for it. Come to think of it, she didn’t show up for any yesterday either.’

‘So the two of you are friends? Did she mention she’d lost her mobile?’ I ask.

‘No. I’ve been trying to call her all day but it’s switched off. We were supposed to meet up to study at lunchtime but she didn’t turn up for that either. Do you … have you seen her? Are you a friend of hers?’ She frowns. It’s not hard to see I am a lot older than Grace, so her theory is unlikely.

‘Actually, I’m a friend of her mother’s. Ginny.’

She nods. ‘Oh yeah, I’ve met her a few times. She’s really nice.’

I try not to show any emotion at these words. Whoever this Ginny woman is, she might have been bringing up
my
daughter, keeping her from me. ‘Yes, she is. Actually, it’s Ginny who sent me. She’s worried she hasn’t heard from Grace and just wanted me to check on her while I was in the area. You know, make sure she’s okay.’

The girl visibly relaxes. ‘To tell you the truth, I
have
been worried. It’s not like her to miss classes. She loves uni. But I just thought maybe some family stuff had happened.’

Hearing this, I become convinced that something isn’t right. Grace seemed so desperate for my help, so why would she now disappear? I need to get her mobile number from this girl, but I’m concerned it will blow my cover story. Any friend of Ginny’s would be able to get Grace’s number from her.

I focus on her friend once more. ‘Okay, well if you hear from her, could you ask her to call me? Actually, I’ll give you my number, so maybe you could let me know if she doesn’t come back in a few hours? If you’re still awake, that is. A text is fine.’ I fumble in my bag for a pen and paper and scribble down my number. ‘What’s your name, by the way?’

‘I’m Jasmine,’ she says, taking the piece of paper.

‘Well, thanks, Jasmine. I appreciate your help.’

‘Wait,’ she says, as I turn to leave. ‘I, um, actually have Grace’s key. We weren’t supposed to but we got a copy cut of each other’s just in case there was an emergency. Do you think we should check her room?’

For a second I wonder if I’ve heard Jasmine correctly. She has known me for less than a minute yet is full of trust. I almost want to tell her to be more careful but rarely do things fall so easily into one’s lap so I take this opportunity, even though it feels wrong, an intrusion into Grace’s private world. But I remind myself she could be in trouble and needs my help so this is justified. If nothing else, the story about Lucas shows how troubled Grace is.

‘I think that’s a good idea.’ It is hard to keep the eagerness from my voice.

Jasmine rushes inside to fetch the key while I wait in the corridor, and less than a minute later we are standing in Grace’s room, staring at chaos. Clothes are strewn over the bed, drawers hang open and the floor is littered with books and papers. I let out a gasp.

Jasmine chuckles. ‘Oh, don’t worry. It’s not been broken into or anything. Grace is always this messy.’

I smile at the irony; breaking in is exactly what I’m doing now.

‘What’s through there?’ I ask, pointing to a door in the corner of the room.

‘The bathroom.’ She steps over an open shoebox to reach it and peers inside. ‘Just in case,’ she says. When she turns back she shakes her head.

A wave of sadness washes over me. If Grace is Helena then I should have been here before. I should have helped her move in, shared her excitement at being independent, cried tears over the emptiness she would leave behind.