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‘I don’t think so.’
‘But he could?’
She holds her face in her hands. ‘I don’t know any more, Fran. With Tristan, I think anything’s possible.’
63
NOW
The sky is bright in the windows. The birds have been singing for some time. Mina is asleep on the sofa opposite me. It’s quarter past five. I can’t tell if I’ve been asleep or not.
My daughter is gone.
Last night, I drove to the police station and told a practically teenaged police officer that I thought my brother had tried to rape Georgia Smith, and then attacked, maybe raped, and attempted to kill her mother.
It seems unreal.
If he finds out, he’ll never forgive me. If my father finds out, my family and I will have nowhere to live.
I’m a terrible person. For betraying my family. And for not doing it thirty years earlier.
My phone is ringing. I scrabble for it.
It’s Dan. I press ‘answer’ while looking at the TV, which is showing the news on mute, something about a missing reporter being found washed up on the banks of the Thames, way out by Sheerness.
For a second I’m distracted by this other tragedy. She has a sensible short haircut and a welcoming smile and thick-framed purple tortoiseshell glasses. Brenda Rogers, it says beneath the picture.
But my own fear and grief wash over me and I swallow to stop myself from heaving and press the phone hard against my ear.
‘Frankie?’ says Dan.
I want to ask him where he is but instead I just start crying.
‘I don’t think she’s here at the festival. They wouldn’t let me in and they said it would be impossible – ridiculous – for me to try to find her myself. They have her photo and they say they’ve been searching. I feel useless. I’ve been trying to get in but I can see inside and it would just be… I thought I’d stay and wait in case they found her. I thought one of us should be here. And they have Rose’s photo – Rose is missing too?’ He sniffs.
I ball up my free hand and scrunch my eyes closed. ‘Dan, come home,’ I say. ‘Tristan offered to get her a ticket and she didn’t take it. She isn’t there.’
Guilt flowers in my stomach. I had just assumed the photo was real. I hadn’t questioned that he was cheating on me. I went upstairs after Mina fell asleep and dug the photo from the bin. It looked real, but this time I hadn’t believed it. He’d never do something like that.
‘I’m coming,’ he says.
Mina sits up, yawning, struggling to unglue her eyes. Her make-up has smudged and the cushion has left lines over her cheek. ‘Was that?—’
‘Frankie? Mina?’ Tristan stands in the doorway, his face white.
Oh God – does he know what I’ve done? He has contacts in the police. Have they told him?
Mina pushes her hair from her face. ‘Tris?’
‘Have you seen Ava and Ash?’ he asks.
Mina freezes. I shake my head.
‘They’re not in their rooms. Their cars are still in the grain store.’
‘They’re gone?’ says Mina.
‘I can’t find them,’ he says, pinning her with his gaze.
