The Girl You Lost: A gripping psychological thriller (7 page)

‘Is there anywhere you think she could be?’ I ask, snapping out of my melancholy. ‘Perhaps with a boyfriend or something?’

Jasmine shakes her head. ‘There’s nowhere I can think of. And she doesn’t have a boyfriend. Grace is too picky for that. She won’t just settle for anyone. And when she’s not in lectures she’s with me or at her mum’s. She takes her studying seriously, you know. Wants to work for a newspaper. But you must know all this.’

I smile and keep to myself that I know very little about Grace. ‘I think I’ll leave her a note. In case she comes back late and you don’t get to speak to her.’

‘Okay,’ Jasmine says, bending down to pick some clothes off the floor.

On the desk by the window I find some printer paper and a pen and begin scrawling a note. It is difficult to know what to write, as anyone will be able to read it, so I only get as far as writing her name. If I ask her to call me, Jasmine will wonder why I’m not asking her to call home. Exasperated that I don’t quite know what to write, I simply scrawl
Call home, your mum’s worried about you. Simone x.
Only Grace will recognise the double meaning behind my words.

And then I notice a set of keys by Grace’s laptop. They can’t be for this place and I wonder if they are for Ginny’s house. Checking that Jasmine’s not looking, I grab the keys and thrust them up my coat sleeve, clutching the fabric to keep them in place. Once more I have crossed a line, but I’m only doing what’s necessary to get to the truth.

But having the keys is no good if I have no idea where the woman lives. All Grace told me was that her house is in Ewell. Glancing around the room, I realise it won’t be hard to find something with Grace’s home address on.

‘I’m just going to tidy these papers away quickly,’ I tell Jasmine. ‘Ginny would never forgive me if I left the place like this.’

Jasmine frowns but then starts gathering the pile of books from the floor. ‘It won’t take long if I help. I’m always telling her, but she can’t seem to organise herself.’

I begin tidying the desk and within seconds I have found a mobile phone bill, registered to an address in Ewell. Checking that Jasmine is occupied, I pull out my phone and quickly snap a photo of the address, making sure Grace’s phone number is visible. If she’s been telling the truth about Lucas then it won’t do me any good, but I need to find out.

Ten minutes later the room is as tidy as we can get it, without intruding too much, and I let out a heavy sigh. I have been lucky so far, but I’m waiting for my luck to run out.

‘Okay, I’ll go now,’ I say, heading towards the door. ‘But don’t forget to text me later, even if you don’t hear from Grace.’

Jasmine nods and follows me out, locking the door behind her.

As soon as I am away from Liberty Hall, I check the photo I took and dial Grace’s number.

But the phone is switched off, and it doesn’t give me an option to leave a message.

I
t is
past midnight by the time I get home. Expecting to find the house in darkness, and Matt asleep, I am surprised to find him in the living room, sitting on the sofa with the fire lit. I kneel in front of it to try to warm my frozen hands, and turn to him, praying for some news. He shakes his head and there is no need for me to question him. The test results have not come through and Grace has not shown up.

He gets up to make us tea and when he comes back we both sit together on the sofa. ‘You were gone ages. Did you write the report there?’ he asks, sipping his tea.

‘It’s not quite finished,’ I say, avoiding an outright lie. ‘I don’t think I’ll get much sleep tonight.’

He nods slowly. ‘This business with Grace is crazy, isn’t it? For years we hear nothing, not even a sniff from the crazies, and now this.’ I wonder if he is beginning to believe Grace is telling the truth, but he soon puts me straight. ‘I just want to know what she wants. Are we sure it’s not money?’

‘But she hasn’t asked for anything,’ I say.
Except my help.

‘Not yet, at least,’ he says. ‘I think she must have realised we’re not the type of people who will fall for this kind of thing. We’re stronger than that, aren’t we?’

He pulls me towards him and I sit cradled in his arms. We have been through so much, it’s hard to believe we have survived it. And then, just as we’ve managed to accept and live with our tragedy, this happens.

‘Let’s see what tomorrow brings,’ I say, and Matt squeezes my hand. It is what we said to each other in the time following Helena’s abduction, when our strength ebbed away.
Fresh hope for a new day.

‘I love you,’ he says, kissing my forehead and then my lips. Despite my thoughts being a million miles away from anything physical, I warm to his touch. I escape into the moment when he unbuttons my shirt and strokes every part of my body. And I relish every second of it just being the two of us and nothing else, because I know it will be fleeting. Somehow, the feeling that Grace is our daughter is now stronger than ever.

A
n hour
later I am upstairs in bed, the laptop balanced on my legs, while Matt watches television downstairs. I manage to write the report for the Brays’ interview tomorrow, but my mind is distracted, crowded with thoughts of Grace.

I try Grace’s mobile several times, but get the same message. Jasmine hasn’t texted, so even though it is late, I send her a text, asking if there is any news. There is always a chance she is still up. But when fifteen minutes pass with no reply, I can only assume she is asleep.

I shut down the computer and open my bedside drawer, pulling out the set of keys I took from Grace’s room, jingling them to check they are real. Tomorrow I will use them to find out more about Grace.

If Grace is Helena, then Ginny Rhodes is tied up in her abduction. This faceless woman could have stolen our daughter from us, robbed us of the lives we were meant to live. I will never get those years back, no matter what happens now. Anger wells inside me.

Tomorrow I will pay Ginny Rhodes a visit.

And I will get answers.

T
he atmosphere
at the Brays’ house is tense this afternoon. Hayley Shaw, our News 24 presenter, tries her best to put Tamsin and Elliott at ease, but, as is to be expected, their bodies are rigid as they sit on the sofa and robotically answer questions.

I sit to the side of them in an uncomfortable armchair, and occasionally Tamsin glances across at me, her eyes desperate for reassurance. The police liaison officer, a short, friendly faced woman, stands by the window, but it is me Tamsin seems to need. I nod each time she catches my eye, silently urging her to keep going. It will soon be over and this interview will gain them important exposure.

As I watch Tamsin, her eyes red and her cheeks glistening with tears, I remember how it feels to be sitting there, words spilling out you pray will make a difference. The desperate hope that whoever took your child will take pity on you and suddenly see the devastation they have caused. But this is a pipe dream. People who do things like this aren’t capable of feeling emotions.

Elliott Bray seems to be holding it together, and I admire him for keeping his composure. When Helena was taken, Matt could barely utter a word. There were moments when I wondered if we would make it, if we would ever be able to communicate again. But perhaps it is different when your child is an adult. Not easier, just different.

‘This is not like Charlotte,’ Elliott says. ‘I know she hasn’t done this voluntarily. She would never put us through this pain.’ His tone is firm. ‘I know everyone says that, but it really is the truth. Surely finding her bag proves she’s been abducted?’

When Hayley brings the interview to a close, I help her and our cameraman Rob pack away. I tell them I’ll see them back at work, and when they both offer me a frown, I quickly explain that I have some errands to do.

‘Thank you,’ Tamsin says, once Hayley and Rob have left. ‘I don’t think I could have done this if you hadn’t been sitting right there with us. It just helps knowing you understand.’

I nod and we both fall silent with our thoughts, until Elliott lays a hand on his wife’s shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze before he tells her he’s heading back to their shop. I’m glad they have each other; I don’t know how Tamsin would cope without his support.

I think of Grace, and how I need to visit Ginny Rhodes as soon as possible, but I know without her mentioning it that Tamsin needs me to stay a bit longer. I wonder what she would think if I told her what happened yesterday. It’s been twenty-four hours since Grace first approached me, but it seems impossible that so much has taken place in that small amount of time. And, now she is missing, I have more of a bond with Tamsin. We are both worrying about missing young women, and even if Grace isn’t Helena, I have begun to feel responsible for her.

The police liaison officer excuses herself to use the bathroom, and Tamsin waits until she’s disappeared upstairs before she speaks. ‘Can I ask you something?’ she says.

‘Of course. I hope you know that. Anything.’

‘We’ve been discussing hiring a private detective. What do you think?’ She looks down at the tiled floor, as if she is ashamed of her suggestion.

‘I think it’s a good idea. Matt and I hired one, but with Helena being a baby it was hard for him to find anything. All he had to go on was the park where it happened. The difficulty is that babies don’t leave much of a trace. I mean, it’s not like they use credit cards or mobile phones.’

Tamsin nods. ‘I just feel like people will think we don’t trust the police. Do you think that’s what they’ll say? Because it’s not that at all, I just want to find Charlotte.’

I think carefully about what I say next. I cannot let Tamsin know that I feel let down by the whole system. By everyone. Nobody could find Helena for us, or give us any answers, so I can’t put my trust in anyone. I have seen plenty of cases where the police have helped victims since then, but it’s hard not to focus on my own story. ‘I think you have to do everything you can to find your daughter. That’s all that matters.’

Tears slide down Tamsin’s cheeks and she makes no attempt to wipe them away. ‘Was he good, though? The one you used? Would you recommend him?’

An image of Mark Hunter forms in my head. His kind, serious face. His assurances that he would find our daughter. I had immediately warmed to him. He seemed to care about Helena, and didn’t treat us as just another job he had to do. But I was so distraught at the time, perhaps I would have trusted anyone. It has all become a fog now, and I only remember snippets of conversations. Futile conversations that got us nowhere. I had let Matt deal with him after the first few meetings; I couldn’t bear the disappointment when I had pinned my hopes on this man. But still, I am convinced he tried his best.

‘Well, it was a long time ago,’ I tell Tamsin. ‘But he was quite young so there’s every chance he’s still working. I’ll get his details from Matt for you. He dealt with it all.’

She lets out a deep sigh. ‘Thank you, Simone. For everything. You won’t forget us, will you? You’ll keep Charlotte in your thoughts?’

‘Of course I will.’

Outside the Brays’ house, I sit in my car and call Abbot. I am weighed down by guilt that I am asking him to cover for me again, but he takes it in his stride.

‘I wish you would talk to me,’ he says, lowering his voice. ‘I know something’s going on – this isn’t like you. You never miss even a second of work.’

‘I know. And I will explain. As soon as I can. I just need this afternoon to do something …’ I trail off, wanting to explain, but not able to form the words. ‘How about we meet up this evening?’ Abbot lives in south west London, in Putney, easily accessible from Ewell. It’s also only a ten-minute drive from my house. ‘I could come to yours? We can talk then.’

‘Perfect,’ he says. ‘I’ll be home by seven tonight, so any time after that?’

I thank him, wishing I could tell him how much this simple arrangement means to me.

Next I call Matt, to check if he’s heard any news about the DNA test, but it goes straight to his voicemail. And then for the tenth time today, I try Grace’s mobile again, already knowing it won’t ring. I stare at the Brays’ house before I drive off, and picture them inside, Tamsin folded up in her husband’s arms, inconsolable.

I
n just over
an hour I am in Ewell, following my Sat Nav through unfamiliar roads. It is a strange area: not quite London, but not exactly Surrey either. School hasn’t yet finished for the day so the traffic is light, and as I turn into River Way, I begin to feel nervous. I tell myself to treat it as just another news story, but there is so much at stake, so much I don’t know about. Still, I keep going; I have come too far to turn back now.

Number eighty-seven is a semi-detached 1930s property and I park across the road and watch for signs of life. I have no idea whether Ginny Rhodes will be at home; Grace told me she works as a carer, so her hours are probably irregular, but I have already decided if she’s not here I will stake the place out until she turns up. I can’t risk using the keys yet when she could be back any moment. There is a red Renault Clio parked in the driveway but it could belong to anyone. I know nothing about this woman; I am fumbling along with a half-formed plan, out of my depth.

Taking a deep breath, I step out of the car and wrap my coat tighter around me as I cross the road and head towards the house. My mobile pings and I scramble to grab it from my pocket. It is Jasmine, apologising for taking so long to get back to me but saying Grace still hasn’t come back. I send a reply thanking her and asking her to keep me updated, adding that I promise to do the same if I hear from Grace.

But as I slip my phone back in my pocket, foreboding engulfs me. Disappearing for one night is one thing, but Grace missing another day of lectures makes me certain something is wrong.

At Ginny’s front door, the bell chimes and echoes when I press it and I take a step back and wait. Through the glass panel in the door, I see a figure appearing and hear shoes click-clacking against wood.

My body turns cold when she opens the door and says hello. I am connected to this woman somehow – this stranger – if nothing else, the rabbit is proof of that, and it’s not a good feeling. I search her face for signs of Grace, but see none. Her hair is light brown and curly, her skin several shades paler than Grace’s. I remind myself this doesn’t mean anything. Grace’s father – if it’s not Matt – could be her mirror image. Ginny looks older than me and wears a baggy jumper over fitted bootcut jeans.

‘Hi,’ I say, flashing a bright smile. ‘I’m sorry to just turn up like this but are you Ginny Rhodes? Grace’s mum?’

She frowns, unable to recognise me, puzzled by what could have brought me here. ‘Yes. Can I help you?’

‘I’m Hayley, Jasmine’s mum.’ My colleague’s name is the first one that comes to me, but as soon as I say it I realise I could be making a huge mistake. There is every possibility that Ginny has already met Jasmine’s mum, or that she might at least know her mother is Chinese. And even worse than this is the fact she might know exactly who I am. If she abducted Helena then perhaps she has been following my life, keeping tabs on me to make sure I remain at a harmless distance?

I wait for recognition to cross her face but thankfully the frown remains. ‘Grace’s friend at uni?’ I continue.

Finally she smiles back. ‘Oh, yeah. Jasmine’s a lovely girl.’

‘Thanks. Well, I met Grace the other day and she mentioned you’re a carer?’

‘That’s right.’ She makes no move to invite me in and the frown is back now. Perhaps she is puzzled about where my question will lead.

I persevere with the story I concocted on the drive here; I have started now so I will see this through. ‘I should have called, but I was visiting the area because my mum’s about to move here. To a retirement property. And I thought it would be good to meet you and see if you would consider caring for her. I’ll visit at least three times a week but I live so far away and I’d really like someone to see her every day.’

Ginny’s frown disappears. So far, so good. ‘Well, I work for an agency,’ she says. ‘So you’d have to go through them. But, do you want to come in? One of my ladies has just moved in with her son so I do actually have some free time.’

Once I’m inside, she closes the door and leads me through the hall to the kitchen. I don’t take in much of the house; I am too busy staring at Ginny, trying to match her up with the snippets of information Grace revealed yesterday.
Clingy
, I think she had said. But that’s not surprising, if this woman stole her from us. She must constantly live in fear that it will catch up with her.

‘I’ve just boiled the kettle, would you like tea or coffee?’

I ask for coffee, even though having a cosy drink with this woman is the last thing I want to do. She seems kind and pleasant, but isn’t that what they say about the worst kind of people? Isn’t it always the ones you least expect that turn out to be the perpetrators of atrocities?

‘Please, have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.’ She gestures to the round, glass kitchen table and I sit down, my posture too straight against the high-backed chair.

While Ginny fills our mugs I study my surroundings. This is a normal kitchen: neat and clean, with a lingering odour of cleaning products. But I will not be fooled.

For a few minutes I talk about my mother, sticking as closely as possible to the truth. I describe her in detail, and only leave out the fact that she is more active than I am and retired to Florida with my father.

‘Well, Jean sounds like a lovely woman,’ Ginny says. ‘I’d be happy to take her on, but you’ll need to go through my agency, Angel Carers. Just tell them I was recommended to you and they’ll get it all set up.’

Once again, I have the feeling that this is almost too easy. There is nothing about her words or behaviour that suggests she mistrusts me. And this makes me feel uneasy. I thank her and tell her I’ll let her know as soon as we have a moving day.

When she frowns, her eyes squinting at me, I realise I may have messed up. ‘Don’t you want to know what the cost is?’ she asks.

I curse my carelessness. ‘Oh, yes. Silly me. But it doesn’t matter. I just want Mum to be in the best hands.’

She laughs and takes a sip of tea. ‘I’m just used to it being one of the first questions I’m asked. Anyway, the agency charge according to the needs of the person. But it will probably be around twenty pounds an hour. I know that sounds a lot but I do my best for all my ladies and men. And of course the agency need to take their cut. Which is a lot more than mine.’

Relief floods through me. I haven’t done any permanent damage. ‘That’s fine. And I’m sure you do your best for everyone. Grace is such a lovely girl, she must have learnt it from you.’ I lift my cup to my mouth but only take a tiny sip. The coffee is too strong and leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

Ginny blushes. ‘Thank you. I’m probably so dedicated because of my own mum. She doesn’t quite need care yet but I often think about if, or when, she will. I wouldn’t want just anyone looking after her.’

I search Ginny’s face for sincerity and find it straight away. Her eyes light up and I can tell she is picturing her mother. But I won’t let this throw me off track. I am here for a reason.

‘In fact, I’m off to visit her this evening,’ Ginny continues. ‘She lives in Portsmouth so it’s a bit of a journey, but I have a day off tomorrow and she does love me staying the night.’

I snap to attention. So Ginny will be away all night. Once again things are falling into place with little effort on my part. ‘Does Grace come home much?’ I ask. I am confident now to broach the topic.

Once again her face lights up. ‘All the time, actually. In fact, she was meant to come and see me yesterday, but she texted in the morning to say she couldn’t make it. She had an exam she needed to study for. And then today I was working and then going to Mum’s. But we’ll catch up soon. Life’s always hectic, isn’t it?’

My blood turns cold. How can Grace have texted Ginny yesterday when she didn’t have her mobile? My mind quickly searches for an answer, but all I can come up with is that she lied to me. Or Ginny is lying. Either explanation is as likely as the other. But unless Ginny knows who I am, she has no reason to mislead me. Her lips continue moving and I struggle to make out the words until I force myself to focus.