I drove on the half mile or so to Howick. The house was easy enough to find—it was the only one there, perched precariously on a cliff top, looking out to sea. As expected, a red Vauxhall was parked out back. Its boot was open.
As I dragged myself out of the car, my feet heavy with dread, one of the PCs came over to give me an update—where they were looking, what they’d found. They were talking to the coast guard. “Sea’s quite rough, so if either of them was in there, they could have been washed quite some way in a short space of time,” he said. “Of course, we don’t know when they got here, or . . .” He led me over to the car and I peered into the boot. “You can see,” he said, “it looks as though someone’s been in there.” He pointed to the smear of blood on the carpet, another on the rear window. A strand of blond hair was caught on the lock mechanism, just like the one found in the kitchen.
He showed me the rest of the scene: smears of blood on the garden table, on the wall, on a rusty nail. I had failed her, like I had failed my mother. No—her mother. I’d failed her like I’d failed her mother. I could feel myself drifting again, the sense that I was losing my grip, and then: “Sir? We’ve got a call. A shopkeeper in the next village up the coast. Says he’s got a girl in there, soaked through and a bit bashed up, no idea where she is, asking him to call the police.”
• • •
THERE WAS A BENCH outside the shop and she was sitting on it, her head tilted back, her eyes closed. She was draped in a dark-green jacket that was too big for her. As the car pulled up, she opened her eyes.
“Lena!” I leaped out of the car and ran towards her. “Lena!” Her face was ghostly white, save for a smear of bright blood on her cheek. She said nothing, just shrank back on to the bench as though she didn’t recognize me, as though she had no idea who I was. “Lena, it’s me. Lena. It’s OK, it’s me.”
I realized when her expression didn’t change, when I held out my hand to her and she shrank away still farther, that something was wrong. She saw me just fine—she wasn’t in shock, she knew who I was. She knew who I was and she was afraid of me.
It brought something back to me sharply, a look I’d seen on her mother’s face once, and on the face of the policewoman, Jeannie, when she took me home. Not just fear, but something else. Fear and incomprehension, fear and horror. It reminded me of the look I gave myself sometimes, if I ever made the mistake of catching my eye in the mirror.
JULES
After Nickie left, I went upstairs to your bedroom. Your bed was stripped bare, so I went to your wardrobe and pulled out one of your coats, caramel cashmere, softer and more luxurious than anything I could dream about owning. I wrapped myself in it and still I felt colder than I had in the water. I lay on your bed for a long time, too stiff and too tired to move, I felt as though I were waiting for my bones to warm up, for my blood to circulate once more, to restart my heart. I was waiting to hear you in my head, but you were silent.
Please, Nel, I thought, please talk to me. I said I was sorry.
I imagined your icy riposte: All this time, Julia. All I wanted to do was talk to you. And: How could you think that of me? How could you think that I would have just dismissed a rape, that I would have taunted you with it?
I don’t know, Nel. I’m sorry.
When still I couldn’t hear your voice, I changed tack. Tell me about Lauren, then. Tell me about those troublesome women. Tell me about Patrick Townsend. Tell me whatever it was you were trying to tell me before. But you wouldn’t say a word. I could almost feel you sulking.
My phone rang and on its bright-blue screen I saw DS Morgan’s name. For a second I didn’t dare pick it up. What would I do if something had happened to Lena? How could I ever atone for all the mistakes I’d made if she, too, was gone? My hand trembling, I answered. And there! My heart pumped again, pushing warm blood to my extremities. She was safe! Lena was safe. They had her. They were bringing her home.
• • •
IT SEEMED AN AGE, hours and hours, before I heard a car door slam outside and I was able to rouse myself, to jump up and throw off your coat and run down the stairs. Erin was already there, standing at the foot of the steps, watching while Sean helped Lena out of his car.
She was wearing a man’s jacket over her shoulders and her face was pale and dirty. But she was whole. She was safe. She was fine. Only when she looked up and her eyes met mine, I saw that was a lie.
She walked gingerly, placing her feet down carefully, and I knew how that felt. Her arms were wrapped protectively around herself; when Sean reached out an arm to guide her into the house, she flinched. I thought about the man who had taken her, about his proclivities. My stomach turned and I tasted the sweetness of vodka with orange, felt hot breath on my face, the pressure of insistent fingers on soft flesh.
“Lena,” I said, and she nodded at me. I saw that what I’d taken to be dirt on her face was blood, flaking from her mouth and chin. I reached for her hand, but she only held herself tighter, so I followed her up the steps. In the hallway, we stood facing each other. She shrugged off the jacket and let it fall to the floor. I bent to reach it, but Erin got there first. She picked it up and handed it to Sean, and something passed between them—a look I couldn’t read, almost like anger.
“Where is he?” I hissed at Sean. Lena was bent over at the sink, drinking water straight from the tap. “Where is Henderson?” I had a simple, savage urge to inflict pain on him, this man who had taken on a position of trust and then abused it. I wanted to grab at him, to twist and rip clean off, to do to him what men like that deserve.
“We’re looking for him,” he said. “We have people looking for him.”
“What do you mean, looking for him? Wasn’t she with him?”
“She was, but . . .”
Lena was still bent over the sink, gulping water.
“Did you take her to the hospital?” I asked Sean.
He shook his head. “Not yet. Lena was very clear that she didn’t want to go.”
There was something in his face I didn’t like, something hidden.
“But—”
“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Lena said, straightening up and wiping her mouth. “I’m not hurt. I’m fine.”