The Girl You Lost: A gripping psychological thriller (8 page)

‘Anyway, she said she’d try and come back home in a couple of weeks. Teenagers! They’re just so busy, aren’t they?’

I nod. ‘Yep, Jasmine’s the same. Anyway, I’d better leave you to it, I’m sure you’ve got plenty to get on with.’ I stand, leaving my coffee almost untouched.

She sees me to the front door, telling me to give her love to Jasmine, and reminding me to contact the agency. To save me looking up the number she recites it from memory and I tap it into my phone.

I’m about to step outside when she grabs me and gives me a hug. I don’t want this woman touching me and it is all I can do to lift up my arms to reciprocate.

B
y the time
I get home it is nearly dark, most of the day gone and evening creeping in. I sit at the kitchen table, checking my work emails on the laptop, not bothering to turn on any lights. My head aches from going over everything on the drive home, but I still have no answers. All I can do is hope tonight brings up something that will help me make sense of it all.

When Matt gets home at six p.m. I am still sitting here, the coffee I have made myself stone cold in front of me. He turns on the light and I squint as my eyes struggle to adjust.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks. ‘Why are you sitting in the dark? Has something happened?’

I need to compose myself. Matt can’t know what I’m involved in, what I’m planning. It would put his career at risk, and everything else he’s worked so hard for. ‘No, I’m fine. Just had a tough interview today. Charlotte Bray’s mother. It just brought it all back to me.’

Matt joins me at the table, pulling his chair closer to mine and reaching for my arm. ‘That poor couple. They’re in hell now, just like we still are. I just hope they get answers soon.’ He kisses my forehead. ‘Look, Simone, I need to tell you something and—’

I reel back. ‘You’ve got the results back? Tell me!’

‘I’m really sorry. There’s been a problem and they’ve come back inconclusive. Apparently Grace’s sample got contaminated.’

I quickly digest what this means. ‘But … but we can’t do another one! Grace is missing and—’

‘What do you mean missing? Why do you say that?’

‘I … just meant she didn’t come back. So we’ll never find her now, will we?’ My voices rises, as does my anxiety.

Matt reaches for my arm again. ‘But it’s possible to track her down. What’s her surname?’

‘I don’t know.’ The lie lodges in my throat.

Matt falls silent, shaking his head. I desperately want to tell him the whole truth but I can’t get him involved in this. I can’t even make sense of it myself. Ginny said earlier that Grace texted her, but according to Grace, she left her phone at Lucas’s flat. So either Grace is lying, and is fine, or Lucas or someone else texted from her phone. But why?

Oblivious to my thoughts, Matt continues. ‘The simple truth is, if she really is Helena she’ll come back to us, won’t she?’

He is right.

Unless she can’t make that decision for herself.

‘
I
’m sorry
,’ Abbot says as he answers the door.

At first I’m not sure what he’s apologising for, until I notice he is wearing only his jeans. I glance at his toned chest and wonder how he maintains his physique; I have never known him to set foot in a gym, and all he eats is food that requires no effort to cook it.

‘Oh please, spare me!’ I say, covering my eyes with my gloved hands.

Abbot steps aside. ‘Hey, it’s not that bad, is it? I jumped out of the shower to answer the door. Didn’t realise it was seven already. Just be grateful I bothered to throw these on.’ He tugs at his jeans. And for just a few seconds, Abbot has made me forget what’s happened in the last couple of days. Standing here, it could be just an ordinary evening after work.

But I am soon brought back to reality when I remember why I’m here. I brush past him and head straight for his open-plan living room. The flat is small, but it’s well-maintained. Besides, Abbot spends so much time at work, he only really needs somewhere to lay his head at night.

Sitting on his sofa, I flop back and let out a deep breath I had no idea I was holding in.

Abbot watches from the doorway. ‘I’ll just throw on a top and then I think you’d better tell me what’s going on. Because I know there’s something, Sim.’ For as long as we’ve known each other, Abbot has called me this; he is the only person who addresses me as Sim.

Moments later, he sits beside me on the sofa and I find myself telling him everything that’s happened since Grace approached me on Monday. I recount every detail of our meeting and the conversation we had, and for the first time I speak aloud what she told me about Lucas Hall. It feels good to share this with someone else, even though that person should be Matt. Feelings of disloyalty stir within me but I remind myself I’m doing this to protect Matt.

It is not often Abbot is lost for words, but my story tonight renders him speechless. ‘It can’t be for real,’ he says eventually. ‘Can it?’

‘That’s what I need to find out,’ I say.

He questions me further about what Ginny said and then chews his bottom lip, deep in thought. ‘I just don’t know, Sim. It sounds so dodgy. And I’m someone on the outside so it’s probably easier for me to be detached. It just seems so implausible.’

I know he is right, but if there is even a one per cent chance that Grace is my daughter then I need to pursue this. I explain how I feel to Abbot and he assures me he understands.

‘So what are you going to do?’ he asks.

‘That’s the thing. I really need your help with something.’ I hate dragging him into this, but I’m desperate and am sure he knows I’d do the same for him.

‘Uh oh. That doesn’t sound good.’ He turns to me, a wide grin on his face. ‘But you know I’ll help you in any way I can. Especially if it’s technology related.’ He eyes his laptop, which is sitting on the coffee table. ‘What do you need?’

‘I know it’s a lot to ask, but would you come with me to this Ginny woman’s house? Tonight? She’s away until tomorrow and it’s not like we’ll be breaking in. I mean, not really.’ I reach into my pocket and pull out Grace’s key, jangling it in front of Abbot.

He hunches his shoulders and whistles a sigh. ‘Let me guess? You took them from Grace’s room?’ He doesn’t wait for an answer. ‘But what are you hoping to achieve there? What do you think you’ll find?’

I tell him there might be something there to prove that Grace isn’t her natural daughter. I have no idea what that might be, but it’s a good place to start. All I know is I need to take action because this is driving me crazy. When Helena was abducted I was too distraught to do much, too dependent on police, or Matt, or the private detective. And there was nothing to go on anyway. But this time it’s different. There is something I can do.

I hold my breath and wait for Abbot’s response.

‘Sim, you know you’re my great friend, but this is crazy. If we get caught that’s the end of our careers or worse. I want to help, but there has to be another way?’

‘I know I’m asking a lot but there’s no other option. I can’t just approach her and accuse her without firm evidence. I wouldn’t ask but I’m desperate for answers.’

Abbot is silent for a moment, and I prepare myself to go to Ginny’s house alone.

‘I know how hard this must be for you,’ he says eventually. ‘I may not have kids yet but losing one has got to be the worst kind of hell. You’ve waited long enough for answers.’

‘Does that mean you’ll come?’

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘But let’s go now, before I realise how crazy this is and change my mind.’

I
n less than half an hour we
are in Ewell, parked outside Ginny’s house, in the same spot I was in earlier. I have told Matt I am working on a story with Abbot, which is not exactly a lie, so we should have a couple of hours to search Ginny’s house. Abbot insisted on driving here and I’m grateful for his kindness. I am too pumped with adrenalin to concentrate on driving. Bathed in darkness, the road has a different feel to it; sinister, too quiet. It’s my guilt, I tell myself.

Beside me Abbot drums his fingers on the steering wheel and peers over at the house. ‘Are you sure about this? Really sure? Because—’

‘I’m sure.’ My words may be forceful but I’ve had no time to actually stop and think carefully about what I’m doing. I feel I’m being pulled along by a magnetic force I have no control over. I am just doing what I have to do.

‘Let’s do this, then.’ Abbot jumps out of the car, and I wonder if, even after his reluctance, some small part of him is enjoying playing detective.

At the front door I ring the bell, just in case Ginny’s plans have changed. There are no lights visible anywhere in the house, and the red Renault Clio I saw earlier is no longer in the drive, but I plan on claiming I left something behind earlier if Ginny does answer the door.

‘I think we’re safe,’ Abbot says. ‘And there doesn’t seem to be a burglar alarm.’

I pull out the key and we both step inside, shutting the door behind us. Not wanting to turn on lights and alert any nosey neighbours that someone’s in the house, I use the torch on my mobile to light our way, and Abbot does the same. Just like the street outside, the house has a sinister feel about it when it’s shrouded in darkness.

‘Where first?’ Abbot’s voice is a whisper, even though we are alone here, and he heads towards a closed door on our left. I wonder if, now that we are inside, he feels as anxious about being here as I do. But I remind myself why we are here.

‘How about you check down here while I have a look upstairs?’ I suggest.

‘Okay, but it will help to know what exactly I’m looking for.’

‘Anything relating to Grace that might prove Ginny is or isn’t her mother,’ I say. ‘Like a birth certificate or hospital records.’ It suddenly hits me that I have no idea what I’m doing. ‘I’m not sure,’ I admit. ‘Just see what’s around. Check everything you can.’

Abbot squeezes my arm. ‘But don’t get your hopes up. We may not find anything.’

I tell him I realise this, and he disappears into the room I assume is the lounge.

Upstairs there are three bedrooms and a bathroom and I begin with the closest door. It appears to be the main bedroom so I assume it is Ginny’s. Even in the dim light of my phone torch, it doesn’t take long to work out she is almost as untidy as Grace. The duvet lies in a crumpled mound at the bottom of the bed and there are clothes scattered on top of it. Odd pairs of shoes are strewn across the floor and the curtains are half-closed. This woman cares for other people; she is supposed to be organised.

I slide open the mirrored door of the built-in wardrobe and find clothes fighting for space, so tightly packed together that I wonder how she picks anything out each day. Although she has twice the amount of clothes I have, none of them seem glamorous. They are mostly jeans and sweatshirts, dark-coloured T-shirts and vest-tops. There doesn’t seem to be anything here that might help me.

Next I check the chest of drawers, but again, I find nothing but clothes and underwear, and the bedside table only contains hair products and make-up. I hope Abbot is having more luck downstairs.

The room next door must belong to Grace; I know this the second I step inside. It has the same smell as her student room – a mixture of perfume and shampoo – only it is tidy. She will have taken most of her things with her to Liberty Hall, but it is worth checking what’s left behind.

I start with the small computer desk in the corner of the room. There is no computer sitting on top, only a couple of pens and a dictionary so I check the drawers. The first one is full of scrap paper and notebooks and I dismiss everything after a quick scan. But in the second drawer, the first thing I spot is a small red address book. It strikes me as odd that in this age of technology and social media, someone Grace’s age would use this old-fashioned method of storing numbers. But as soon as I open it I see that it isn’t hers. The name scrawled across the top of the page says Virginia Rhodes.

I remember Grace telling me that she had tracked Lucas down. This red book in my hand must be how she did it, which could mean she was telling the truth. Why else would she have her mother’s address book hidden in her drawer? Slipping the book in my coat pocket, I finish my search of the drawers, but there is nothing else useful.

The third bedroom is a box room, with only a single bed and empty bedside table. There is nothing else in here, so I close the door and after a quick check of the bathroom – which doesn’t even have a cabinet to snoop through – I head back downstairs.

Abbot is still in the living room when I get there, sitting on the floor, surrounded by an assortment of folders. ‘This is all her paperwork and stuff,’ he says, shining his mobile phone torch in my direction. ‘Bills and receipts, that kind of thing. I’m checking each one, but so far there’s nothing that seems relevant.’

I join him on the floor and stare at the pile of folders.

‘She’s very organised, though,’ Abbot continues. ‘Whoever this woman is. Everything is chronological and she seems to keep everything. Including this.’ He holds up a yellowing sheet of paper. A birth certificate.

‘Is that ... is it Grace’s?’ I know as soon as I ask that I want Abbot to say no. I haven’t fully admitted it, or known it until this moment, but I want her to be Helena. And if there
is
a birth certificate here, then she can’t be my daughter.

Abbot shakes his head. ‘It’s the mum’s. Virginia.’

Relief floods through me as I pull it from his hand and study it. It says she was born Virginia Jane Rhodes in 1967. That makes her forty-seven, ten years older than me.

‘Don’t you think it’s strange?’ Abbot says, interrupting my thoughts. ‘You’d think she’d have a copy of Grace’s too. And she’s kept all her own medical letters and information, but there are none for her daughter.’

I digest what this means. ‘That is weird.’ Even odder than the fact she is so organised with her paperwork, but not the rest of her things. ‘So there’s no red book?’

Abbot frowns. ‘What red book? What’s that?’

‘When Helena was born I was given a red book, for all her medical information. Every mother gets one. And I’d assume someone as careful at record keeping as Ginny would definitely keep that safe.’

Abbot rubs his chin. ‘I suppose Grace could have it all,’ he says.

‘I don’t think so. She’d have no need to have it, really.’ I stare at the folders. ‘Which one’s Ginny’s medical stuff?’

Abbot slides a green A4 folder towards me.

‘I need to take this home,’ I say, ignoring the frown appearing on his face.

‘What? No, that’s not a good idea. It’s too risky. Just look at it here. And why do you need this woman’s info? It’s Grace we need to find out about.’

‘But I also need to know about Ginny. Anything I can find out is important. If she really is Grace’s mother then there will be evidence of her giving birth in here, surely?’ I flick through some of the papers in the folder. ‘I mean, it looks like she’s kept every single hospital letter going back years.’

Abbot thinks about this for a moment. ‘Okay, but look at them here. If she’s guilty and she notices this folder’s gone – which she’s bound to given how meticulous she is with her record keeping – then she’ll immediately tie it to Grace, and probably the abduction. She’ll know someone’s on to her, won’t she?’

I can’t argue with this so agree and begin trawling through the documents, while Abbot leaves to search the kitchen. By the time I’ve finished I am familiar with every illness and procedure Ginny Rhodes has ever had. They are all in here.

All except any mention of her ever giving birth to a baby.

I
t is
a relief to be back in the car, driving away from River Way. Abbot always drives too fast, but for once I don’t mind; I want to be back at his flat and getting my thoughts in order, working out where we go from here.

My mobile rings and when I see Matt’s name flash up I almost end the call. But I can’t do that to him, I am keeping too much from him already. He asks where I am and I tell him I’m still with Abbot and we’ve just got a bit of work to finish off. It’s nearly ten p.m. now so I wouldn’t blame Matt for being annoyed.

But if he is, he doesn’t show it. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘But don’t be too much later, I miss you.’

I know Matt feels bad about the DNA test results, and the fact that we haven’t completely agreed about Grace. In over twenty years together I have learnt to read the silent messages in his words.

‘Everything okay?’ Abbot asks. ‘He’s not annoyed I’m keeping you from him, is he? Especially at a time like this.’

‘No, he’s fine.’

‘You really trust each other, don’t you? I think that’s great. Jealousy is ugly.’

‘Perhaps it’s because we’ve had so much else to deal with in our relationship, that petty things like jealousy never factor in. I’ve been with him since I was eighteen, it kind of gives us some security. I mean, I know people can split up at any time, but we’ve been through so much together.’

We turn into Abbot’s road. ‘I know,’ he says, keeping his eyes fixed ahead. ‘I envy you a bit. What you both have. I just never seem to feel that strongly about anyone.’