“Machara says she hasn’t seen her, either. Not since yesterday.”
“Are you sure?”
“That’s what she said.”
I set the phone down carefully, trying to think about what to do, who to try. I called Isla to see if Saffy had been with Rowan. It was a long shot, and Isla confirmed that she wasn’t. I tried other people, other school friends and acquaintances—everyone and anyone Isla could provide a number for.
But no one had seen her.
Finally, I called Finn. I hoped beyond imagination that maybe she’d walked to his home to see Cassie. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep, and Finn hadn’t the heart to wake her. I was clutching at straws.
“She’s not here,” Finn said, and I started to cry. “When did you last see her?”
I couldn’t think. My mind was a flurry of names and dates, the terrifying images in the lantern room still flashing in my brain.
I was still on the phone to Finn when Luna stepped forward, one arm across her stomach and her face full of guilt. “I think she’s run away.”
I grabbed her by the upper arms. “What do you mean, Luna? What did you see?”
She broke down into tears.
“I’m sorry!” she shouted. “I promised not to tell!”
II
Saffy was gone. She had been gone for two days.
I felt like I was in a nightmare, a living, labyrinthine nightmare that I was having to drag myself through on my elbows. Saffy’s teacher told us that she hadn’t been to school on Friday; I had supposed she’d woken early and caught the bus herself, as she occasionally did. I wracked my brains; I had thought I’d heard her come in at night. I had even crept up to the loft and peeked my head around her door to see if she was in bed, and I’d seen the rumpled covers of her bed and thought she was there. Why hadn’t I made sure?
I had been distracted by my work. So hell-bent had I been on finishing the Longing that I hadn’t even noticed my oldest child wasn’t at home.
It was after midnight, but Finn insisted on bringing Cassie over while he searched the island in his car. Cassie proved a good distraction for Luna and Clover while I made more calls. To the police, to the coast guard. I made desperate calls to Sean’s family, my father, Saffy’s old school friends, even teachers from her old schools—anyone and everyone that Saffy might have contacted.
At seven the next morning, a black Range Rover pulled up outside and two men got out.
“Who are they?” Clover said warily, watching them negotiate their way to the bothy.
“Detectives,” I told her, and I felt a fleeting sense of relief, which dissipated when Bram walked into the bothy with a junior policeman, Police Constable Thomson, a short, dark-haired man in his twenties, both in plain clothes.
My throat was tight and my head bursting with noise. I hadn’t slept, not a wink. Saffy was impulsive, and she was bullheaded and so downright hateful that sometimes I’d had force myself to walk away from her so as not to scream in her face. But I knew my oldest daughter. She’d have contacted me by now. At the very least, she’d have wanted to know that her punishment had worked. She’d have wanted to know that I was beside myself, searching every corner and overturning every stone to find her.
Bram and PC Thomson searched her bedroom. They found some letters to her boyfriend, Jack, and some books she’d been reading. One of them had several pages folded down at the corners. The one by Patrick Roberts.
“Was she having a relationship with Mr. Roberts?” Bram asked.
“A relationship?” I said, looking from him to PC Thomson. “No! And in any case, Patrick Roberts has been away for most of the time we’ve been here.”