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‘I don’t know what he did. I already told them Miss Smith attacked him before?—’
She laughs again. ‘This has gone on long enough, don’t you think?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean it’s time someone told the police the truth.’
‘You’re going to tell them?’ Something inside me tenses and relaxes over and over.
‘I just might.’
‘But what if… What if he can just… put the whole investigation – the search for Jenna – on pause?’
‘He would do that,’ she says.
I stare at the red marks on my hand from grasping the thistle, the dot on my index finger from the upholstery pin, the pushed-back quick.
‘I doubt even Tristan could stop an investigation this big.’
‘It’s not big. They still think she might be at Glastonbury.’
‘Well, it’s about to be big.’
‘We haven’t even made a press statement. The detective said that kind of thing had to be timed carefully, and even if we do…’ I don’t say, Tristan knows the press, because do I really think he’d suppress the story of his own niece’s disappearance?
‘Two pretty teenaged girls from affluent families go missing on the same day? That sounds like national, front-page coverage to me.’
‘Two?’
‘Why do you think I called you, Frances?’
I stare into my lap, at the dark dot of dried blood. ‘Because Rose is missing too.’
52
NOW
My stomach churns as I pull up at the police station. Rose is missing too. For all our differences, Lydia is going through what I’m going through.
I stay in the car and call Dan.
‘Frances? I, uh, I’ve just arrived at Glastonbury. I need to look, myself.’
I clench my jaw to stop it from dropping. Not on his way home, then. Not likely to be home for however long it’ll take to search the largest festival in the country. Not available for police questioning.
Do I even trust him? This cheater? This man who shares my bed and calls himself Jenna’s father? Is he really at Glastonbury? He could be anywhere.
He could have Jenna.
My heart.
That would be easier, wouldn’t it? To blame everything on the interloper. The only member of my family I’ve chosen myself, and who loves me.
He does love me. If he’s cheating, it’s my fault.
And he loves Jenna. There’s no question about that. I see them sitting cross-legged on the lawn, their faces calm, strumming their guitars. Ever since I was a girl, I’ve loved a man who can play an instrument. He gave Jenna her love of music. What have I given her?
I take a deep breath and tell him about being best friends with Georgia, and being taught by her mother when we were all at PES.
