A Game of Proof

She could hear birds singing in the trees, and a blackbird called out in alarm as she approached. A lawnmower hummed in the distance. But other than that the silence was eerie, empty as she often found it. The sound of her boots on the grass, the creak of her leather jacket, became large as they never were in the city. She could even hear the cows munching in the meadow. The sudden croak of a moorhen startled her, and without warning two ducks skimmed round the bend and crash-landed on the river in front of her.

I’m supposed to like this place, she thought. It’s luxury. Emily likes it anyway, that’s why she may be out here. But why so late? She noticed a tangle of green weed close under the bank and shuddered. God what am I looking for? She braced her shoulders resolutely and strode on. For Christ’s sake the child can swim well enough and anyway why would anyone be so crazy as to try swimming here when there are perfectly good swimming pools in town?

But she might have slipped and fallen in. Then she would climb out and come home. The girl’s not an idiot.

So where is she?

A woman, a matronly figure in stout boots, tartan skirt and woolly hat, came along the path walking two labradors. ‘Hello,’ she said politely. ‘Lovely evening, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Sarah said. ‘Er … you haven’t seen — a girl, have you?’ A corpse, a drowned body floating up from under the water, her long hair drifting around her like water weed?

‘Girl? No, I don’t think so. Do you mean a small child?’

‘No — no, not a child, a teenager. She’s got long dark hair, looks a bit like me, about fifteen years old …’

‘What was she wearing?’

‘I don’t know, I’m afraid. She’s my daughter, and she went out before I came back from work. I’m a bit worried — but you haven’t seen anyone?’

‘No one like that, dear, no, I’m sorry. They’re a worry, aren’t they, children? Specially at that age. I remember …’

‘Yes — well, thanks anyway.’ Sarah moved on swiftly to avoid getting entangled in the woman’s reminiscences. But after fifty yards she thought: there’s no point, if that woman’s already been along here. I should have asked her how far she went. She looked back and saw the woman and the dogs in the distance. If I go back I’ll get involved in conversation and that’s pointless too. I’ll go half a mile further on and then back. Emily wouldn’t have gone further than that, she’s no great walker but she’s been gone all day and Bob’s right, it’s getting dark. Christ this is bloody absurd, she can’t have been abducted. She’s probably gone into town and run out of bus fare.

Did I leave the answerphone on? I didn’t check it when I came in — surely Bob did that? What happens if she hasn’t got any money and she rings the operator for a reverse charge call and gets the answerphone?

Nothing, probably. No message at all.

Sarah walked another hundred yards, stared despairingly at the empty towpath winding through vacant fields beside the river in the gathering twilight, and turned back. I’m no good here, I’d be better in the house. I can organise things there.

When she got back the house was empty and there were no messages on the answerphone. She dialled 1471. A flat mechanical voice said: ‘Telephone number 0–1 — 9–0 — 4–3 — 3–6 — 8–9 — 4 called today at ten twenty seven a.m. If you wish to return the call press 3.’

Sarah pressed 3. The phone rang five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty five times. She put it down, dialled 1471 again and wrote the number down. That’s something, she thought. She looked at the number but didn’t recognise it. That’s where she must be. I can ring it again and if it doesn’t answer the police can find out where it is.

The police. It isn’t going to come to that, is it?

The back door opened. She turned with hope singing in her heart but it was Bob. He stood there in boots and anorak, breathing heavily as though he had been running.

‘Have you found her?’

‘No. You?’

‘No. There’s a number on the phone.’ She showed him. ‘I rang it but it didn’t answer.’

‘I don’t recognise it, do you?’

‘No. I thought …’

‘What?’

‘The police could find out who it was if …’ Sarah hesitated, not wanting to draw the conclusion. It seemed so ridiculous. Things like this didn’t happen to them. ‘… if she doesn’t come home soon,’ she finished more firmly.

‘Soon? She’s been gone over twelve hours! I’m going to ring them now. Give me that.’ Bob took the receiver out of her hand. For a moment she thought of resisting but then she looked out of the window and saw it was nearly dark. He was right. It was already far too long.

Chapter Eleven

‘So when they sing, they’re calling their families over hundreds of miles,’ Jessica explained earnestly. ‘They haven’t got ears, but they feel the sounds in their heads … they’ve got, like …’

‘Supersonic earsight,’ ventured Terry helpfully, spooning up his cornflakes.

‘We saw a whale in a museum once, didn’t we, Dad?’ Seven year old Esther was determined not to be left out. ‘It was as big as a bus.’

‘Two buses, actually. We measured it, remember?’ Jessica, two years older, was used to competition for her father’s affections.

Diplomatically, Terry wiped the spilt milk from around his younger daughter’s plate while smiling encouragement at the elder one, whose enthusiasm continued unchecked. ‘A sperm whale is the biggest creature on the planet, and it doesn’t attack people at all, it just feeds off small planks …’

‘Plankton.’

‘Yes, that’s it, millions and millions of them. Mr Jones said whales are like huge cows eating grass in the sea. They’re gi-normous …’

‘Who’s ready for waffles? Esther?’ Trude, the nanny, came in bearing two hot waffles on a plate and wearing a t-shirt cut to display her exquisite belly-button to perfection. She flopped a steaming waffle onto Esther’s plate. ‘Strawberry jam or blackcurrant?’

‘Treacle.’

‘Oh no. Not before school,’ said Terry firmly. ‘Remember yesterday.’

‘But I like treacle!’

‘No one in Norway has treacle for breakfast,’ said Trude supportively. ‘It’s a law.’

Esther gaped at her, then gave in and reached for the blackcurrant jam. Even without treacle, waffles for breakfast were an incredible luxury, one of Trude’s best introductions. The young nanny had been amazed to find herself in a family with no waffle-iron. Every Norwegian family had one, she said. She immediately sent for one and now it was in constant use, delighting Terry and his daughters equally.

But a different aspect of their nanny’s culture was troubling Jessica.

‘Only two countries still hunt whales,’ she whispered solemnly, her big brown eyes fixed on her father as she folded her waffle. ‘Japan and — Norway.’ She grimaced towards the kitchen in a way intended, no doubt, to show an adult appreciation of a touchy problem. To Terry it conveyed something utterly different — a twinge of memory, sharp as toothache, of exactly the same expression on the face of the child’s mother.

‘Don’t you think it’s important?’ Jessica persisted.

‘What?’ Forget the pain, he told himself. It will pass. And Mary’s still here, her genes are alive in this child we made together. ‘What’s important, Jess?’

‘Dad! Norwegians killing whales, of course!’

Trude, coming in from the kitchen, overheard. ‘I don’t kill them,’ she protested. ‘Though I did have whale meat once. It was good. Better than reindeer.’

‘Reindeer? Yuck!’ said Esther. ‘Trude, you can’t!’