The Silent Twin (10 page)

The words were punctuated by heart rendering sobs. ‘They left me here . . . I don’t like it. I’m scared.’

Tears slid down Jennifer’s jawbone, dappling her shirt collar. Abigail’s fear had infiltrated her senses, and she wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. Time was running out, and she was no further on.

‘Who, Abigail? Who left you?’ Jennifer whispered.

Olivia jumped as the bathroom door slammed in the hall, and her glazed eyes became sharply focused as a look of terror streaked across her face.

Hearing her father’s footsteps, Olivia jumped from the bed and over to the far side of the room. Raising her finger to her lips, she climbed into the wardrobe, pulling the doors shut.

‘Hide,’ she whispered urgently. ‘Hide, or Daddy will be cross.’

A
gentle morning
fog skimmed the banks of the Blakewater river, rising like steam over the divers who had been there since sunrise. Jennifer picked her way across the dewy bank. It felt odd having the soles of her feet firmly on the ground. Downsizing by five inches to squeeze into wellington boots unsettled her, and she craned her neck to look up at Sergeant Mike Stobart as he directed his team of divers. Jennifer had come to know Mike well over the years. He had begun his career at the age of eighteen, working in various roles until he found his place as the head of the diving team. It was a position he had been in for over ten years, and he was not shy when it came to sharing his experiences. He was a competent officer; Jennifer could relax knowing he was overseeing the search. There were five other divers on the bank, and it was obvious by their determined expressions that they had been fully briefed on the situation.

‘Mike,’ Jennifer said, offering a nod of respect.

‘Well, if it isn’t me old mucker. How the heck are you?’ Mike said, throwing an arm around her shoulder in a half embrace.

Jennifer laughed, cutting her joviality short as she took in the scene. It felt wrong somehow, laughing on such a sombre occasion. She was painfully aware that at any second a signal could be raised, and Abigail could be found. She was a professional, and she had faced some horrific things in her career, but it didn’t make it any easier. ‘I’d be a lot better if we could find Abigail,’ she said. ‘I take it you’ve not found anything?’

Mike gave her a wilting look and Jennifer blushed. ‘Sorry. Stupid question.’

He smiled. It was a patient smile; the kind you would give one of your kids. He had a large family, with five children under ten. Patience was something he had cultivated over the years. ‘The water’s murky, although thankfully the last few days have been cool, and the river’s not moving very fast.’

The divers were in full dry suits with face masks. These were a given when searching the river Blakewater, due to the risk of pollution and the presence of rats. Jennifer shuddered at the thought of groping her way through its hidden depths. She was far too claustrophobic to submerge herself in the murky waters.

She watched as one of the divers disappeared into the depths of the river, leaving an eruption of bubbles on the surface. His rope attachment resembled a yellow umbilical cord, his lifeline to his colleagues on the surface. Jennifer stared, fascinated, as the officers on the ground communicated with him through their two-way equipment. She did not envy his task. Most of the team were mature in service and had children of their own, and a solemn atmosphere fell as they spoke in hushed tones.

‘Wouldn’t the body be floating on the top?’ Jennifer said, never afraid to ask questions.

Mike shook his head. ‘Bodies don’t tend to float until after a few days, when the gases build up. The warmer the weather, the quicker the process.’

More bubbles broke the surface of the water as the diver arced across the river, his colleagues releasing another metre of rope as each section was searched. Most of their work was nil visibility underwater. Submerged in darkness and chilled to the bone, they groped their way through the rising silt, weeds and debris, never knowing what was going to appear before them. So far the process had turned up some car tyres, an old safe, bottles and other unwanted souvenirs.

It had been Jennifer’s job to assimilate a list of new questions to put to the family. A full background of the incident had been requested by the diving team: exactly where Abigail was last seen, and by whom. What sort of mood was she in? What she was like around water, was she foolhardy or cautious? Could she swim, and if so, what was her level of capability? What was the weather that day? What she had been wearing? Was her hair tied up or down? On and on the questions went, and given the lack of cooperation from her parents, Fiona had answered the bulk of them. Although there was nothing to suggest that Abigail had gone as far as the river, drowning could not be ruled out. The search was centred around the most likely point of access from the house to the river bed. Abigail and Olivia had walked the crooked path with their father a couple of times in the past. Neither of them were confident swimmers, and would not have got into the water on their own. Jennifer discussed what Abigail had been wearing last. It was not for descriptive purposes. Her clothing could have been caught in the riverbank. Wellington boots could be submerged with water and act as weights unless she could wriggle free. Dungaree straps could get stuck in low-lying branches and foliage. The thought of Abigail floating in a watery grave sent a sick feeling through Jennifer, but she discussed it all with her usual professionalism. She never met Abigail, but felt like she knew the little girl, because Olivia was worming her way into her heart.

M
ike left
to speak with one of his divers and re-joined Jennifer at the bank.

‘That’s Ian,’ Mike said, making scant effort to hide his grin as he buried his hands into the pockets of his police jacket. ‘He made a bit of a schoolboy error when we recovered that suicide victim last week.’ He gave a little chortle. ‘I’ve told him a hundred times. Never grab a body face-on when asking to be pulled in. It wraps itself around you, and that’s when you drop it. Which is exactly what Ian did. We had to send another diver in to start the search all over again.’

Jennifer shuddered as she imagined the weightless body enveloping her, its cold bloated face looming in on hers. Black humour was a coping mechanism used by the police to deal with such incidents. Nobody cared more about their victims than they did, but to an outsider listening in, his laughter would have been difficult to understand.

Jennifer stared, mesmerised by the water. ‘I don’t know how you do it. It’s not my cuppa tea.’

Mike, who was enjoying her discomfort, carried on. ‘You have to be careful when you grab things like a trainer, because quite often there’s a foot attached. And then there’s the thermoclines. They take a lot of young lives in the summer.’

‘Therma what?’ Jennifer said.

‘Thermoclines. Different levels of water as you descend. One minute you’re having a nice lukewarm dip, and the next you come into a pocket of freezing cold water. It can literally shock the breath out of your lungs.’

‘From what the family have said, I don’t think Abigail would have entered the water voluntarily.’

Mike’s chest heaved in a thick heavy sigh. ‘No. Neither do I.’

Jennifer wondered if it would be better for Abigail to be found, just to put an end to the misery. Olivia’s words replayed in her mind, like an earworm that refused to go away.
‘Dirt. I can feel dirt between my fingers. I want to come home.’
She was lost in a pit of darkness, lying in a bed of soil. Was she naked and dumped in a shallow grave? Or was the dirt in the depths of the river bed? The Blakewater river had claimed many lives over the years; tormented souls searching for peace. Or maybe . . . just maybe she was alive. But how? Where? Jennifer had tried reaching out, but there was nothing but a void. She cursed the powers that chose the worst possible time to desert her. Abigail needed her, and all she was doing was playing referee between the family and trying to coax whispers from a traumatised child.
Hide, or Daddy will be cross.
The urgency of Olivia’s words had startled her. She was beginning to regain her speech, and Jennifer wished she could whisk her away and talk to her alone. She knew from the beginning there was something special about the little girl. A vibrational energy afforded only to children with certain abilities. Yet Olivia seemed unaffected by the spirits that roamed the house. Was her energy tuned in to that of her sister’s, like an old transistor radio that could only pick up one channel? And if so, was Jennifer’s slow, gentle encouragement the right way to get her to open up? A midge landed on Jennifer’s neck, its bite bringing her sharply back to reality. Mike had walked up the bank to talk to his diver, and she hadn’t even noticed. She bade him goodbye. There was no point in staring mournfully into the water when there was so much to be done. As she trudged back up the path, Abigail’s words repeated in her thoughts. She walked away from the cold unforgiving river, and was just out of earshot as the diver’s hand speared the water, beckoning his colleagues to his find.

I
t’s been
two days now and the police are still here. The longer they stay, the tighter my old, destructive emotions wrap themselves around me. But there’s no getting away from it. The press appeal has placed Abigail’s name on everybody’s lips. I can’t walk down the street without hearing about it, and if I see one more yellow ribbon tied to a lamp post I will scream.

I was upstairs last night, when Olivia’s grandparents called. Good old Bob and Wendy, with their rosary beads and whispered prayers. Downstairs, they mumbled their usual platitudes about Abigail, and how the fires of Hell awaited whoever was responsible for her disappearance. I came out of the bathroom to find Olivia, pale-faced and ashen, taking it all in. Not once had they mentioned her, or asked how she was feeling. It was as if she had become the house ghost, and I thought, just for a second, that perhaps it would be better if she was. I stood behind her at the top of the stairs, and had this incredible urge to shout
Boo!
in her ear. What a hoot that would have been! Instead, I uttered some comforting words, and asked if she wanted to join me downstairs. I rested my palm on her back, and for a few delicious seconds I felt the urge to push. But Olivia stepped forward and the moment was lost.

My childhood is as much a part of my present as it was my past. I have tried to leave it all behind, to be normal; but doing so has resulted in my mother’s prophecy coming true. She was right. I
am
Jekyll and Hyde. I wonder whether, if she had taken a little more notice, I would be any different now. Mother didn’t notice my disappearances when I was Olivia’s age; she just presumed I was out playing with the other children. It was a close-knit community. Someone should have known if there was a wolf in the village, shouldn’t they? Only the wolf wasn’t in the village. He was living in our home.

Slowly he groomed me, and made me grateful to have him as my first and only friend. We even had our own private jokes; rude names for Mother’s cats, that we used when she wasn’t listening. For the first time in my life, I woke up with a smile on my face. Father had never paid much attention to me before, but now we were the very best of friends. And the most exciting thing of all was that I was going to be a model. At first, I didn’t believe it either. But grown-ups didn’t lie. He was a good man, because Mummy told me so. He was my friend.

At first, they were simple photo shoots: smile for the camera, cross your hands on your lap, make it natural. It was the usual rubbish taken by amateurs. He said that he would make a portfolio, get me some modelling work. I was nine, not old enough to understand that grown-ups didn’t always tell the truth. I imagined my face on the cover of the fashion magazines that Mother used to read. He said most famous models started off when they were children. But it had to be our little secret. Lots of people would be jealous, and we weren’t to tell a soul until the contracts were signed. Then I would be rich, and everybody would want to be my friend.

Sometimes he would catch my eye and wink, and I would wear my secret smile. He even sorted out the bullies so they would not bother me again.

We developed a routine. Every Sunday, I attended my photo session. The studio was heated by a two-bar electric fire, and kept under lock and key. Anyone that dared interrupt his session by knocking would bear the brunt of a temper that could change in a millisecond. One Sunday he said his contacts had come back to him. They wanted something different, something to make us stand out above the rest. He told me how grown up I looked and gave me some clothes to wear. It didn’t matter if the trousers were too small. Tight-fitting clothes were all the fashion, he said. I changed in the studio, and he returned when I was done. He didn’t mind when my rolls of fat peeped out from under my vest. When the magazine signed me, I would go up to London, and wear proper clothes that fit. For the first time in my life I felt valued. I could not have been happier. Little did I know what was ahead.

J
ennifer made
it back to the house just in time for the news. Nick had provided police with a short video clip of Abigail and Olivia playing in a field of sunflowers. It was the same image that had been displayed on the first day of briefing. It would soon be Abigail’s signature, aired worldwide for all to see. An entrepreneur mother and police officer father, the case was certainly worthy of media attention. Jennifer hoped that the video would help draw focus away from the poisonous trolls hounding Joanna and back to Abigail. She wondered, not for the first time, how people could be so venomous.

The family sat in silence as the video aired on Sky News, scattering the images to the far corners of the world like freshly potted billiard balls. The only sound was the girl’s laughter, as she danced between the long stalks, touching the petals in amazement. Seconds later, the presenter moved on to the story of a disgraced politician, and the family stared motionless, not taking in a word.

Their grief filled the room, their combined energies reaching breaking point. Joanna shot up to her room without a word. Nick trudged back outside, and Fiona planted Olivia in front of the smaller television in the kitchen while she mopped the floors. Jennifer set up her laptop on the kitchen table, to catch up on some police enquiries. Minutes later, a plate of shortbread was pushed in front of her. ‘You’re as bad as my sister,’ Jennifer said, biting into the buttery pastry. ‘She’s a feeder too.’

Fiona smiled, joining her as she laid two huge mugs of tea on the table. She had unremarkable features, the sort of person who could blend in with a crowd. She padded around in thick woollen socks rolled over her jeans when indoors, pausing only to dip her toes into her wellington boots when she had to venture outside. From her blunt bobbed hairstyle to her make-up-free face, everything about Fiona was practical, functional, homely. Which, given Joanna’s erratic behaviour, was just what the Duncan family needed right now.

Jennifer pushed down the lid of her laptop as Fiona pulled up a chair. There were times when you knew when to talk, when to ask questions, and when to thrash things out. This was not one of these times. This was a time to listen.

Fiona wrapped her fingers around her mug, probably more for comfort than for warmth. ‘It was me,’ she said absentmindedly.

Jennifer opened her mouth to speak, but Fiona’s wistful expression told her she was thinking of happier times, rather than making an admission of guilt. Jennifer had begun to roll around thoughts of suspects in her head, and it left a bitter taste to imagine that one of the people who professed to love Abigail the most could be responsible for hurting her.

Fiona tapped the cup with her neatly cut nails. They made a clinking sound as she spoke, and her head leaned to one side as she stared into the distance.

‘I recorded them with the sunflowers,’ she said, smiling at the memory. ‘We were driving past when we noticed the field. There was me and Joanna, and Abigail and Olivia. Everyone was fed up because the house was damp and miserable. Nick was working one of his long shifts and the girls were bored. I packed a picnic basket and took Joanna and the kids out for a few hours. It was really warm, for the time of year. The kids were chatting in the back about ponies, and that was when I saw the field. We pulled up alongside and shot some footage of the children dancing with the sunflowers.’ Fiona gave a short laugh. ‘I was waiting for some shotgun-toting farmer to tell us off but he never came. The girls were mesmerised by the bright colours, and they looked so beautiful with the sun reflecting off their hair. Afterwards we had our picnic on the riverside. It was perfect.’ A sob caught in her throat and she swallowed it down. ‘Now it’s all gone.’

She looked at Jennifer for reassurance but it was not hers to give. ‘We’re doing our very best. Something is bound to come up soon.’

‘That’s what scares me. I’ve only known the family six months, but I’ve really come to care for them. I don’t want something awful to be unearthed by the police. I want Abigail to come home of her own accord. But every hour that passes makes the chances of her coming home unharmed more and more remote.’

Jennifer slowly nodded, her eyes downcast. She wanted nothing more than to tell Fiona that Abigail was alive, but she knew that any second now the phone could ring with devastating news. It was easier to change the subject than it was to make promises.

‘Radcliffe . . . Have you seen him about today? I need to have a word.’

‘He’s been here every day, as part of the search party.’ Fiona sniffed, taking her cup to the sink and throwing away the remainder of her tea. ‘I’ll tell him to hang around when he comes tomorrow, although he’s already spoken to police as far as I know.’

Jennifer thought she saw a shadow cross Fiona’s face at the mention of his name, but it was fleeting, and she wondered if she had imagined it.

‘Why
did
Joanna and Nick buy this place? I’ve seen their townhouse. We’re still collecting mail from there. Why would they move from luxury into this?’

‘Joanna got it into her head that she wanted a project. She had planned to renovate the house and turn the land into a petting zoo for inner-city children. She had it all set up, and was working with a charity to make it happen.’

‘That’s some undertaking. And now?’

‘Whatever was driving her just upped and left. I’ve no other way of describing it. I just hope she finds her inspiration again . . .’

‘Otherwise?’ Jennifer said, gently coaxing for more.

‘Otherwise I’m out of a job. I was taken on as a live-in housekeeper while Joanna got on with things. If they end up selling . . . that’s the end of my job.’

‘I’m sure it won’t come to that,’ Jennifer said. But the truth was, she wasn’t sure of anything. Joanna, Nick, they were embroiled in something beyond her understanding. And it was up to her to find out what. She held her breath as the ringtone of her phone played out. It was Ethan. Without a word, she took herself away from Fiona’s questioning eyes and jogged down the path to her car. Heavy rain had been forecast, and the sky had changed dramatically in the last couple of hours, with storm clouds rolling in from the east. The first droplets of rain splashed against her jacket, and she swiftly slid inside the driver’s seat of the old Ford Focus, in case her phone call took her back to the station.

‘Hello,’ Jennifer said, slightly breathless. ‘I take it you’ve got an update?’ It wasn’t usually how she greeted her DI, but something told her the small talk could wait.

‘Yes, I do. The divers have discovered a body. It’s not been identified yet, but a journalist turned up just as they were removing it, so I need you to inform the family before they hear it elsewhere.’

Jennifer’s heart plummeted. ‘Are there any indications . . . is it?’

‘We just don’t know. We believe it to be female with blonde hair, but she’s been snagged by some debris and the body is pretty bloated. That’s all I know for now.’

‘Mmm,’ Jennifer said, her face creased in a frown. ‘I’ll tell them that a body’s been found and we’ll update them as further information comes in.’

She didn’t notice the rain pelting on her face as she returned to the house with the news. Shoulders heavy, she tried to take what she could from the update. She had to accept the truth. The communications with Olivia, the body in the water . . . it had to be Abigail. But if it was, at least they were bringing the little girl home. She pushed the heavy front door open. It was time to tell the family.