A Savage Hunger (Paula Maguire 4) (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

‘I can’t take you onto the main island. People come here for rest and reflection, it would disturb them too much to have questions.’

‘Of course.’ Paula was glad, despite the difficulties, that she’d come with Guy rather than Corry, who could be abrasive and impatient with religious people. The manager, a man called Callum Manus, spoke in soft tones. They were in the visitors’ centre, which was open to the public. Beyond that was the rest of the island, tranquil and green. Squinting out the window, Paula could see people walking far off, small dots in the afternoon sun.

‘So is there anything you can tell us?’ Guy was asking. ‘You haven’t seen Ms Morgan?’

Callum Manus had looked at Alice’s picture for several moments, with a creased brow. He had a pale, bloodless face. ‘I don’t recognise her, no. But sometimes people come here for a reason. They may not want anyone to know where they are.’

‘We understand that, but Alice’s parents are very worried about her.’ It was what you always said, but in this case Paula wasn’t sure it was true. ‘If we could be sure no harm had come to her—’

‘I don’t recognise her, as I said.’ He passed the picture back. ‘As I told the Garda who was over, a boat was found floating in the lake two days back. And one of our American guests thought he’d seen someone on the shore around that time. Wearing a red jumper, he thought. It was too far away to see anything else.’

Red like an Oakdale hoody, maybe. Guy said, ‘Is he still here, the witness?’

‘No. Gone back to the States.’

‘Can we have his details?’

Manus hesitated. ‘I’ll contact him and ask. We have to respect people’s privacy here, you see. We don’t always know why they come to us.’

Guy glanced at Paula. She asked, ‘Mr Manus, I know this is a place for people to retreat to . . . and I feel it would have been very appealing to Alice. You fast here?’

‘Guests fast for three days. Most find it a very spiritual experience. There are no phones here, no news, no distractions. It cuts through everything.’ He spoke simply, and she believed him.

‘So – I’m sorry to ask again, but are you absolutely sure she didn’t come here? Do you check people’s ID when they book in?’

‘No, why would we?’ He looked puzzled. ‘I don’t recognise the picture. But we give people their privacy. I wouldn’t have looked too closely at everyone. But she’s very . . . striking. I think I’d remember.’

With her frail bones showing through the skin, Alice would have stood out all right. Paula nodded. ‘Thank you.’

‘I’ll be praying for her. That she’s found.’

‘By us, you mean?’

He looked at her. ‘By you, or by herself. There are other ways to be lost than just not knowing where you are.’

It was similar to something Dermot had said. Paula couldn’t argue with that, so she and Guy took their leave.

‘All these people came to help with the search?’

Corry spoke in low tones. ‘People want to find her – and the relic too, it unsettles them that it’s gone.’ The village hall, co-opted into headquarters to search the area round the lake, echoed with voices, feet tripping off the parquet floor. It smelled of village plays, and music competitions, and meetings of the parish council. If they closed their eyes it could have been a pleasant gathering. Paula looked round at the variety of people – some in Oakdale hoodies and jeans, as well as older people from the area, farmers, off-duty police. Kemal the CSI was there, looking pale and attentive. Presumably in case they did find something. Alice’s father was circulating, shaking people by the hand, thanking them. Paula saw he and several others wore a T-shirt with Alice’s face on it – her cheekbones standing out sharp as knives. There was, however, no sign of Alice’s supposed best friends – Peter, Katy, or Dermot.

She saw Guy across the room, his blue T-shirt bringing out the shifting colours of his eyes. He’d been perfectly reasonable with her all day. Pleasant, like a colleague. Maybe that was how he saw her now.

She tried to focus. Fiacra was on stage, giving the briefing. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said. Not too loud, not too quiet. ‘We’d like to thank you so much for being here today. Alice’s family are also very grateful for your support.’ Tony Morgan, who stood behind him, nodded his head in acknowledgement. ‘As you know, there was possibly a sighting of Alice here a few days ago.’ He spoke reassuringly as a ripple of low-level interest went through the room. ‘There’s every chance that if it was her, we’ll find other signs in the area. So we’re looking for anything and everything that suggests Alice was here – damaged bushes, signs of a struggle, anything. When she disappeared, she was wearing blue jeans, brand name Prada, and an Oakdale College hoody.’ Helpfully, Alice had posted a selfie in those clothes on the day she’d last been seen. In it she looked serious, presenting herself in profile to the camera phone in her hand, lifting up the jumper to show her flat stomach.

‘That’s all,’ said Fiacra. ‘Please follow your assigned group leader and fan out – but remember to stay close and shout out as soon as you see anything. Please, most important of all – if you do see something, don’t touch it. It’ll be your first instinct, but if you do it’ll banjax all the evidence and cause a terrible headache.’ Here he smiled, and some people smiled back, grateful for a release of tension. ‘Thank you.’

There was movement, feet on the floor, chairs scraped back. Paula watched the team members move out ahead of the volunteers, the CSIs in their suits and masks. Alice’s father remained on stage, talking to Fiacra. Outside the hall, people were heading into the woods around the lake, walking slowly, pacing the ground, looking for any clue as to where Alice might be found. Paula felt a breeze rise to her from the dark water, and shivered slightly in her vest top.

Kemal went by, walking slowly, and she smiled at him in passing. She was just thinking,
He looks pale
, when she saw his face go blank, and he stumbled suddenly against the wall and crashed to the floor. Around him, volunteers dashed to his aid.

‘God! Are you all right?’ She was moving forward, pushing through the gathered band of people.

His eyes fluttered as he sat up. ‘I’m so sorry, Dr Maguire. I must have fainted. I’m fasting, you see. And the days are so long here—’

It took her a moment to figure it out. ‘Oh! It’s Ramadan?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

She didn’t know what to say – oh, that must be bad – or what one of the station canteen women had rather brilliantly replied on hearing he was fasting – ‘Oh God love you, pet. Will I make you a wee ham sandwich?’ But it made her think. Fasting all day, no food passing your lips till the sun set. People still did it, all over the world. It was happening on their doorstep right now, at Lough Derg. It wasn’t only people like Alice who tried to control everything that went into their bodies. Alice had just taken it that bit further.

Paula realised a girl was kneeling beside them, having lurched to help when Kemal fell down. She wore an Oakdale hoody, like they all seemed to. ‘Thank you, I think he’s OK now.’

‘It passes,’ the girl told Kemal, ignoring Paula. ‘If you’re really faint you could try chewing on something, like a bit of leather or plastic. It helps.’

He was getting up, straightening his boiler suit, seeming embarrassed. ‘Thank you, miss. Apologies, I’ll be fine now.’

‘Did you know Alice?’ Paula asked, standing aside to let Kemal up.

The girl, who had glasses and short, ragged, dark hair, didn’t answer for a minute. ‘I wouldn’t say I knew her, no.’

‘Well, it’s kind of you to help.’

She just nodded, putting up a hand to pull at her hair, and Paula saw her nails were bitten to the quick, smudged around with some dark tidemark. Were all the Oakdale kids messed up?

‘Could we stop here for a minute?’

Corry glanced at her. They were almost back in the centre of Ballyterrin, drawing slowly through the town in the end-of-day traffic. The evening sun touched the windows with fire. ‘At the shops?’

‘Yeah. I just need to . . . sort something.’

‘I see. Well, I’ll pull up, but if the traffic lot come you can explain to them yourself that we’re attending a wedding-dress emergency.’

Paula made a face at her. ‘It is an emergency. Apparently I should have ordered it a year ago or something.’

‘Well, you better go quick then.’

In the shop, the girl looked up as the door jangled, a pleasant smile pasted on her made-up face, fading as she recognised her difficult customer. ‘Oh, hello there—’

‘Hi. Right. Have you any dress that’s less than five hundred quid? If so I’ll take it.’

‘Do you not want to try on—?’

‘No. It’ll do, if it’s white and froofy. Oh, and has straps, I can’t do strapless. If I try on one more dress I swear I’ll spontaneously combust.’

The girl made an ‘it’ll cost you’ face, the exact same one the builders always did when Paula asked if they’d any idea how long her current sink-less and cooker-less state might go on for. ‘I don’t know now . . .’

‘I’ll take anything. Look, I’ll have one of these – I fit into them before, didn’t I?’

‘Well, yes, they’re sample size, but I need to measure you—’

‘I’m a twelve.’

‘And what will you be at the wedding?’

Paula narrowed her eyes. ‘The same, I’d say. It’s next week.’

‘Oh, you’re not—?’

‘No, I am not on a diet. Do I need to be?’

‘Oh no, no, sure you must have snapped right back after the wean, aren’t you lucky!’

Paula stared at the woman, who had gone quite flushed and was fiddling with the cash register. ‘OK then. Just get it ready for me. Thanks.’

‘Do I need to lose weight?’ She slammed the door of the house behind her.

Aidan blinked slowly. ‘Is that a trick psychological question? Because I don’t have a PhD, you know, I’m just a humble hack.’

‘No. It’s just everyone keeps saying oh of course you’ll be dieting for the wedding or oh Paula won’t want a biscuit she’s her dress to fit into.’

‘You got a dress then, I take it? Well, that’s good. Did you not get one that fits?’

‘I think you’re meant to order it in a too-small size, then shrink into it. So do I need to lose weight?’

Aidan lowered the paper and squinted at her.

‘Oh my God! You looked!’

‘How else am I meant to know?’

‘You just know! Like, it’s in your head, if Paula needs to lose weight or not.’

He put the paper up again. ‘Maguire, you look great to me, always did. But if you want to, I guess a few pounds wouldn’t hurt.’

‘Wouldn’t hurt!’

‘I said if you want to! Ah Jesus.’ He went back to the news. ‘The situation in Syria is easier to navigate than this.’

‘
Wouldn’t hurt,
’ she muttered, going out. ‘I’ll wouldn’t hurt you.’

Aidan called, ‘Come back, Senator George Mitchell, your peace-keeping skills are needed in the Maguire–O’Hara household.’

She shouted back, ‘The peace process would never have held if Gerry Adams’d told Ian Paisley it “wouldn’t hurt” if he lost a few pounds.’

In response, the sound of the TV came on. Paula stomped upstairs. Conveniently, not having to tell him who she’d been working with that day. She’d tell him tomorrow. Maybe.

Alice

I’ve been thinking and thinking. What did I do wrong? What did I do to make it happen? Was it my fault for doing the stupid drugs in the first place?

It was my first time with that stuff. I’d told him and told him, please look after me, please make sure I’m OK.
Of course I will
, he said.
You can trust me.
I thought it was nice, how we were friends, how he hadn’t minded too much when I kissed him those few times, even let him take off my top, and then wouldn’t go any further. He’s cute, of course, but I just couldn’t. I can’t be like that.

He slipped me this little Rizla package in the middle of dinner in the buttery.
Are you sure? Go on.
And we smiled at each other and swallowed them down. He’d said it would be half an hour for it to kick in, plenty of time to wander down to the boathouse, meet the others – at least that’s what I thought.

Right away, almost, within the time it took to put our plates on our trays and walk to the corridor, I felt my pulse racing, like a bat was trapped in my throat. I thought I was just freaking out, looking for signs that weren’t there. I had time to say to him,
I feel weird
, and then it really hit. Everything was blurry, the colours streaked along the world like water on glass. I was suddenly intensely aware of how everything felt – my card in my hand, so shiny and cold, the wool of my jumper, so scratchy. I marvelled at it, both amazed and afraid at the same time.

I walked with him out of the dining hall – people catching on my face –
are you – is she –
and him making me move, saying
it’s fine, it’s fine, Jesus, don’t be weird, OK?
Then we were at the boathouse, and Katy and Dermot were there, and Dermot put a blanket round me, and took me inside where Katy had all cushions and candles, and I could have lain down right there, I was so relieved to be in somewhere safe.
She’s just freaking out a bit
, said Peter, and I felt his hand bat at me, clumsily. I sat down. Katy hugged me, and I smelled her familiar smell of sweat and cheap perfume with an undernote of blood, but right then it made me so happy.
Oh Alice! It’s going to be OK. What’s wrong with her? I had some and I feel fine.

You snorted it
, said Dermot, pushing up his glasses.
Jesus, how much did you give her?

I dunno, like half.

Fuck’s sake. She’s five foot two and it’s her first time. You basically just roofied her.

And I thought I heard him say then –
which is kind of your style.
But Peter didn’t hear, or decided not to, and then in a bit it all kicked in, and even Dermot was smiling, and we all sat on a rug holding onto each other, the four of us, and the only way I can think to describe it is that: afraid and amazed, all at the same time.

That’s the last thing I can remember before I woke up. And everything was different.