have called the police.
The feeling in my gut grows stronger. James was too quiet, as though he was frightened of saying the wrong thing. It strikes me as odd that he didn’t call the police sooner. There’s also the reality none of us talked about. With each passing hour, in this brutal cold, it becomes more and more likely something terrible has happened to Hollie.
7
Elise
After a sleepless night, I’m exhausted when my alarm goes off at five thirty. Andrew doesn’t stir. As I shower and dress, I wonder how it feels to have no conscience. Then I’m thinking about Hollie; wondering if she’s come back. Pulling on a cardigan over my uniform, I tiptoe downstairs, glancing toward Niamh’s room, still in darkness.
In the kitchen I make a mug of tea and a bowl of muesli. The certainty that it’s too early to be interrupted by Andrew brings a tenuous layer of peace to the room. Unable to stop my mind from wandering, I imagine how different this house would be, how free my life would feel, without him.
Having finished my muesli, I check my schedule on my phone. Today my flight is to Barcelona. At this time of year, I’m expecting an easy day with few passengers. Tomorrow, I go to Malaga; after that, Athens. Beautiful places where the sun shines, where life could be so different. A yearning fills me to be free of this life, of Andrew, followed by a grim determination. I need to get through these intolerable years, let Niamh grow up. But one day, I tell myself, I will be.
It’s still pitch-dark as I go outside and get in my car. Starting the engine, I let it idle while the layer of ice on the windscreen clears, then slowly set off down the drive. When I turn onto the lane, frost sparkles in my headlights, the landscape surreal, a layer of freezing fog coating every branch on each tree either side of the road. As I drive, I can’t help looking out for Hollie, even though I know I’m unlikely to see her. Then Andrew comes to my mind, the photo of the naked girl on his phone. He’s omnipresent, tainting everything I do.
Reaching the main road, I glance at the road sign. The airport is clearly marked, ten miles away, to the left. I turn on my indicator, then pulling out, I turn right.
Nicki
The next morning, the search gets under way. It begins close to the Hamptons’ home, which in daylight reveals a shabbiness I hadn’t seen last night. The paint on the window frames is peeling, the garden overgrown. Beyond the house, there are a number of outbuildings—an unused stable block and a stone building crudely converted into an office that James uses. Hollie could have hidden in any one of these and no one would have seen her.
Searching each area meticulously takes most of the morning. In the stable block are unpacked boxes and old furniture—damp, coated with dust. James’s office is no tidier. When he shows us in, he looks mildly embarrassed.
“Hollie rarely comes in here.” He pauses, frowning. “Have you spoken to her friend yet? Niamh?”
“Not yet.” My eyes scan the books and papers piled messily on the shelves. “I’ll go round there after school.”
“School’s closed.” Clearly beside himself with worry, he speaks abruptly. “The heating failed.”
“Right.” I hadn’t known. “I will talk to her, Mr. Hampton.” I try to reassure him. “Just as soon as I’ve finished here.”
* * *
As I turn into the Buckleys’ drive, it’s clear they live in one of the grander houses in the village. Gray and imposing, the cold makes it look somehow starker. The windows are dark; there’s no sign of life inside, until a sudden movement catches my eye. Then framed by an upstairs window, I see a face.
Niamh
It happens on a Friday, two weeks after the day I saw my mother take the call she didn’t want me to know about; a week after Hollie and I went into the grounds of Deeprose House, where I thought the light was flickering in one of the rooms; as Arctic air clings on, lowering temperatures, a fine layer of snow carpeting the ground.
Freezing fog blankets out the sun, so that for a few days, the world is silent, wrapped in a bone-chilling cold. Hollie remains missing. With the roads too icy to be safe, my school is closed. Pulling on layers of warm clothes, I go for a walk through the village, thinking of a hundred places Hollie could be—like her mother’s grave, or Ida Jones’s house, or with one of her school friends, somehow knowing she isn’t at any of them.
I pass no one as I walk; nor do I see any lights in any of the windows. Even Ida Jones’s cottage is in darkness. It’s as though the village has descended into an eternal night. All the time thinking of Hollie, I take the path to the church, where frozen leaves crunch under my footsteps.
Reaching the churchyard, my shiver isn’t because of the cold. It’s the rows of frozen headstones standing out against the snow; the motionless bell in the tower, its single tone waiting to announce the passing of another soul; the knowledge that I’m surrounded by the dead.
I force myself to open the church door; the latch is frozen shut so that at first I think it’s been locked. But it opens suddenly. Inside there is no welcoming light, no hope, just the same freezing cold and the sound of mice, as I imagine ghosts closing in around me. Hollie’s ghost. Leaving the church, without closing the door, I run.
* * *
From an upstairs window I watch the car pull up, then go downstairs to open the front door to find a policewoman and a younger policeman looking at me. The woman, with brown hair, shows me her ID. “I’m Detective Sergeant May. We’re from Chichester police.” She seems to look past me into the house. “Are your parents here?”
I shake my head. “They’re at work.”
She nods. “We’re making inquiries into the whereabouts of Hollie Hampton. I don’t suppose you’ve seen her, have you?”
I frown at her, not sure when she’s talking about. Then I hear a car on the drive. “That’s my mother.”
Both police officers turn to look, and DS May nods again. “We’ll wait here.”
Closing the door, I watch from the kitchen window as my mother gets out of her car. Instead of her uniform, she’s wearing her big woollen cardigan. As she walks toward the police, it falls open, revealing her navy uniform dress and patterned scarf.
After they come inside, I go upstairs. From the top, I listen to them all in the kitchen, hearing the sound of chairs being pulled out, jackets taken off, the kettle being switched on, their voices low. Ten minutes later, I’m in my bedroom when my mother’s voice reaches me. “Niamh? Could you come down here?”
I’m gripped by nervousness as I go downstairs, wondering what they want to ask me. My mother’s face is pale when I go into the kitchen. “This is Detective Sergeant May and Constable Emerson. They’re looking for Hollie, Niamh. They just want to ask you one or two questions.”
I feel their eyes on me as I pull out an empty chair and sit down.
“Thank you, Niamh.” It’s the woman, DS May, who speaks. “I understand you and Hollie used to spend time together.”
I nod.
“When
