Chapter 16
Present Day
Me
Misty nudges my face with his nose, and the rumble of his continuous purr is comforting. He has no concept of what I’m going through. He comes and goes as he pleases through the cat flap, unlike me. There’s no escape for me.
I’m on the bed where I spend almost all of my time. Waiting. There’s no structure to my days. And I’ve given up thinking anyone’s looking for me. Nobody will find me here.
I look through the window, as I tickle Misty’s soft ear. Clouds move fast across the dusty-grey sky as though escaping. It hasn’t snowed in a while.
I rest my face against Misty’s coat, breathing him in. He smells of winter – but he isn’t cold. Neither am I. The heater is on.
There is a small TV here in this tiny room. I can get a few channels, and watch endless repeats of Friends. It no longer makes me laugh.
I’ve given up shouting and screaming. Only you hear me. Only you answer my calls.
I lift my heavy head, thump it against the wall, and smooth my hand over Misty’s silky, grey fur hoping he’ll stay for a while.
Chapter 17
Present Day
Amelia
Exhausted, and freezing to the tips of my fingers and toes, I shuffle out of my damp coat, tug off my snow-caked boots, and attempt to rub life back into my feet. Dad looks up from his Kindle, his face set in a frown.
‘What’s up?’ But I know exactly what’s irking him. He didn’t want me to go sledging. He thinks it’s too frivolous when we are meant to be here looking for clues that could lead us to Lark.
‘Come by the fire, Amelia. You’re freezing.’ His tone is blunt, sad. He looks back at his novel.
I rub my hands together and approach the wood burner. And once I’ve warmed up to the point where I can feel my extremities again, I turn my back on the fire, and stare steadily at my dad on the sofa. He looks like a once-plump teddy bear that’s had the stuffing knocked out of him. ‘You’re annoyed with me, aren’t you?’ I say. Even at my age I hate it when he’s upset with me.
‘No.’ His eyes stay fixed on his Kindle.
‘You’re pissed off because I went sledging, when I should have been searching for … for a pipe dream.’
‘A little, maybe.’ He looks up and meets my eye. ‘But I know there’s nowhere to look. Especially now we’re buried under a mountain of snow. Coming here was a mistake. I know that now.’ He puts down his Kindle, leaving it on, the large text of his sci-fi thriller glowing.
‘Let’s go home,’ I say, twiddling my damp hair around my finger. I can think of nothing I want more. ‘We could try the roads. Surely if we go slowly, we …’ I stop. He’s shaking his head, his forehead furrowed, as it used to when I was in my teens trying to convince him to order a takeaway, or to let me stay out after midnight.
‘I want to go home too, Amelia,’ he says. ‘But I called the local police when you were sledging, to ask how the roads are. They said we’re stuck here for now at least. Snowploughs haven’t got this far yet, and with more snow expected, even the emergency services are struggling.’ He lowers his head. Sounds defeated.
I sit down on the rug on the wooden floor, and cradle my knees; the warmth from the fire has thawed me out. ‘Shall I put the TV on? Look at the long-range forecast?’
‘No power.’
‘Really?’ Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse.
‘It went down over an hour ago. I’m sure it will be back on again soon.’
I bury my face in my knees, my mind drifting; wondering if what I’m feeling is depression, grief, or are they the same thing? The tragedy is that I thought being with Dad was exactly what I needed to lift me, but being with him, here of all places, is making me feel worse than ever.
‘So, did Thomas have a go on a sledge?’ Dad says, after a while.
‘What do you think?’ I look up to see him raise a smile. We both know Thomas. He tries anything. It’s the way he has always been. Why he is in a wheelchair.
We are silent again. Struggling to communicate. It isn’t like us. We’ve always got on great.
‘Do you remember the owner of the estate?’ I ask him, eventually.
‘Michael Collis?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes. Well, no, obviously I don’t remember him as such as he was abroad.
‘Why?’ His eyes sparkle as though he hopes I’m about to reveal something important.
‘No reason, really,’ I say with a shrug. And it is nothing. Michael Collis was definitely away that day, a year ago. And the police searched his property. I get to my feet. ‘I saw his farmhouse, that’s all. It brought back memories.’
His sparkle fades. ‘Well, the police ruled him out of any connection to Lark’s disappearance.’
‘Yes, I know.’ I drift towards the window and look out, thinking of the beautiful late sunshine we had this time last year. Recalling the day we all spent on the beach with Mum, the ghost walk. ‘I think I’ll head out again. I feel a bit claustrophobic stuck inside.’ I pad across the room, and grab my coat from the hook. ‘Want to come for a walk, Dad?’
He shakes his head, and picks up his Kindle once more, and I wonder why he doesn’t seize the opportunity to explore. But the truth is he’s already defeated, and I know how he feels. Finding Lark here is as unlikely as the chance the snow will thaw before tomorrow.
*
‘Heading out?’ It’s Rosamund, fluttering her gloved hand. She’s stomping towards her cottage in a sunshine-yellow anorak.
