‘I did, but it didn’t work out.’ Which probably meant he moved there for a relationship that has since broken down.
‘How long have you been back in town?’
‘A few months. I would’ve looked you up but …’
I waved him off. ‘Don’t worry, it’s fine.’
‘How’re you doing?’
‘My parents aren’t coping well. Dad always looks so lost and angry and Mum’s in denial.’
‘How’re you doing?’
I hadn’t really thought about how I was doing. Actually, I tried to avoid thinking about that as much as possible. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Keeping busy. Making binders.’
He held my gaze, his eyes narrowing. It reminded me of being young again and sitting on his flannel sheets while I tried to convince him I loved going to see him play rugby. ‘It’s okay if you’re not okay, Ada.’
Christopher has always been self-assured. He says whatever comes into his head even if it isn’t the polite thing to say. I used to like that about him.
Ethan would much rather dance around all issues. Yesterday evening, as I was cleaning the aftermath of the chicken cassoulet he’d requested for dinner, he looked up from his laptop long enough to say, ‘Mum said she rang you today but you didn’t answer. Was your phone off?’ He knew my phone wasn’t off. It bothers me he didn’t just ask me outright why I was avoiding his mother’s calls.
‘Ada?’ asked Christopher. The silence had lasted a couple beats too long.
I grasped for something to say. ‘Just … find my sister. I know it’s a needle in a haystack but …’ I trailed off because I was right, wasn’t I? Finding you would be a near-impossible task.
‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I have an idea, and I could do with your help.’
Chapter Sixteen
9 Days Missing
Adaline Archer
I’d never pulled an event together so fast. Margot helped. You know, I’ve always liked Margot. She’s smart, efficient; nothing fazes her. When I told her we had two days to arrange a lantern release in the park by your house, she took it all in her stride, pulling in favours with wedding vendors so, within hours, we had stacks of invitations and posters.
Margot, along with everyone else, thinks this event is to raise awareness of your disappearance. And it is. In part. Christopher asked me to keep quiet that the true reason is to draw the perpetrator out. I wonder if he used ‘perpetrator’ instead of ‘abductor’ or ‘murderer’ because he doesn’t know what the police are hunting for yet. He says it’s common for perpetrators to make an appearance at these sorts of events. Apparently, standing among family and friends of the victim knowing no one else is aware of what they’ve done gives them a sense of power.
Ideally, we’d hold a press conference, but Mum is refusing because pleading for your safe return would ruin her delusion that you’re sunning yourself in the South of France. I wish she’d talk to the counsellor. I did offer to hold the conference myself, but the police advised against it. It must come from our parents, or the media will make a scandalous drama out of it, probably pointing the finger at our family. So, until Mum and Dad change their minds, we don’t talk to the media.
Margot drove from London to deliver the printouts and help put them up around town. While we walked, she told me stories about your uni days I’d never heard before: the night you both dressed up in sun visors and Argyle jumpers to play pub golf, and Margot got so drunk, taxis refused to take her, but you walked her all the way home and put her to bed; the birthday Margot baked you a cake, accidentally using salt instead of sugar, and you were so desperate not to hurt her feelings, you ate a slice without complaint. As I listened, love for you gurgled up. I was trying to recall the last time I told you I loved you, but I couldn’t.
As Margot talked, I realised I could see you in the way she absently strokes her hair, the way she brings her hand to her mouth when she laughs, the way she bites the inside of her cheek when she’s thinking. Do people see you in me too? If you never come home, when our parents look at me, will they only ever see the ghost of you?
Margot was going to stay at a local B&B until after the lantern release, but I insisted she stay with me. Ethan has had to go away for work for a few days, and I like to host. But when we returned from putting up posters, lurking outside my front door was a tall man in dark trousers and a sweat-stained shirt.
‘Reporter,’ warned Margot as we neared.