‘Come in,’ she said, moving to one side to let Donovan in. ID was rarely asked for since his appearance on TV. He offered up a smile as Tasha closed the door behind her, and waited for her to lead the way. The cosy dormer property was filled with an array of house plants, and Donovan cast an eye over the school photographs on the wall as he followed her down the brightly lit hall: a catalogue of a little girl’s life from primary school upwards. They began with a brown-haired girl in pigtails sporting a gap-toothed smile. As the photos progressed, she was wearing braces and, later, a thin layer of make-up. Her uniform was oversized, most likely so she would get a ‘wear out of it’. Tasha was a single mother and he knew every penny would count. The last picture on the wall gave Donovan pause. Gone was the girl’s cheeky smile, and the brightness behind her eyes had dimmed. Her hair had been chopped short, her arms wrapped around herself as she scowled. Donovan guessed this was the last photo her mother had taken of her because there was no other earthly reason as to why it would be on display.
She led him into the kitchen, which was narrow but long. Next to the sink was a peace lily with a spray bottle next to it.
‘I was just watering my plants.’ Tasha smiled, gesturing at him to sit.
He cast a glance across the windowsill at the flowering plants lined in a row. In each corner of the room was a healthy-looking parlour palm. The addition of plants gave the narrow kitchen a tropical feel.
‘I work part-time down the garden centre,’ Tasha explained as she followed his gaze. ‘I rehomed these plants. They were withered when I took them in.’ She smiled proudly. ‘But look at them now.’
Donovan declined her offer of a coffee as he took a seat at the table. An array of photographs were spread across it, and Tasha picked one up. ‘Shame I’m not as good at looking after my daughter. She’s fifteen next week. Fifteen and sleeping rough.’
‘I’m sure you’re doing your best,’ Donovan replied, his thoughts with his own daughter. Their relationship had been fractured by his divorce, but they had come out the other side.
‘You can take one if you like,’ Tasha said, her gaze vacant as she stared at the photographs. ‘The last time I saw April she’d chopped her hair short. I was gutted. It used to be down to her bum.’
‘Thanks,’ Donovan said, preferring a physical copy to digital. The girl was the image of her mother, her hair the same shade of brown.
The shrill chime of an ice cream van rang through the kitchen as it drove through the estate. It sounded weirdly off-kilter, and Tasha rose to pull the window shut. ‘I wish he’d get that fucking thing fixed!’ She reddened at her outburst. ‘Sorry.’ She plopped back into her chair. ‘I feel so helpless.’
She returned her gaze to the photographs, touching each one with care. ‘I dreamt last night that she was drowning in the bathtub. I pulled her out, but she was so heavy . . . I was too late.’ Her voice cracked as she spoke, sadness and desperation lacing each word.
‘Are you OK?’ Donovan asked. It was important to know what Tasha was capable of dealing with. She had lost a lot of weight, judging by her baggy tracksuit.
‘It was hard at first, but the chemo worked and I’m in remission now.’
‘That’s good,’ Donovan said, but they were meeting in less than cheery circumstances. He could see why Carla had become so involved in this case. Tasha was someone who deserved a break.
‘April would love this.’ Tasha forced a smile. ‘A real-life celebrity in my kitchen. It would be worth coming out of hiding just for that.’
‘Is that what you think she’s doing? Hiding?’
Tasha responded with a nod. ‘It’s not her fault. None of this is. I blame myself. I took my eye off the ball.’
‘Fighting breast cancer is hardly taking your eye off the ball,’ Donovan retorted. He knew of Tasha’s backstory from their earlier phone call. She had split with her husband, who was a bad influence on April’s life. But she hadn’t realised how bad until it was too late. April had moved in with him while Tasha’s chemotherapy was underway. At the time, Tasha was grateful for his support, but she never imagined her fourteen-year-old daughter would return home with a drug habit. ‘I tried to get her clean,’ Tasha continued. ‘But she wasn’t having any of it. When I stopped her seeing her dad, she took off.’
Tasha wasn’t the only parent whose child had fallen through the cracks. So how did Carla become involved in her case? He put the question to Tasha as she tidied the photographs.
‘She got in touch the first time April went to Clacton. Said she was working on cases of missing kids . . . the ones people forgot.’ Her eyes flicked up to Donovan. ‘I’m not rich, I don’t have a high-profile job or a handsome husband. The press isn’t interested in me. But Carla was. She said everyone deserved help.’
Donovan nodded in recognition. That sounded exactly like her. Tasha’s head lowered as she sank into herself. ‘April didn’t get hooked on drugs of her own accord. Her dad’s low-life mates got her into it. And they . . .’ She picked at a photograph. She wouldn’t look at Donovan as she drew breath to speak.
