The Silent Twin (3 page)

J
oanna stared
into the full-length Victorian mirror as she allowed the memory of her husband’s anger to seep away. Her outfit had been purchased in that gorgeous little retro shop in Haven, the one with the Portuguese shop assistant. She had chosen the ensemble herself, adding personal touches to ensure its uniqueness. She kept busy in everything she did, because she could not afford to stop, not even for a moment.

She had spoken to numerous police officers since Abigail’s disappearance, telling them the same story, over and over again. It had been showery after breakfast, and the twins were going stir crazy inside. As soon as the sunshine peeked through the clouds, they had begged to be allowed out. ‘Please, Mummy, we want to play hide and seek,’ they chorused in unison. It was their favourite game. It didn’t matter where they hid, they could always find each other. They had an inseparable bond.

‘Oh go on, then,’ she had said. ‘Daddy is clearing out the cow shed. Don’t go any further than the hen house, all right?’

Living in the countryside meant imposing strict limitations. Their ten acres of farmland was so rugged, so desolate, they may as well have been on the moon. The last ten years of her life had been spent between the city and Haven’s busy town. But lost in the jumble of crowds, she had felt so alone.

The girls had responded with giggles, pulling on their wellington boots before dragging open the kitchen door and clattering outside. It wasn’t much fun for them inside, the renovation work made many of the rooms a no-go area. Of the five bedrooms in the house, four were fit for purpose, and the twins shared one between them. It wasn’t easy for her either, when she was used to living in luxury accommodation. But it wasn’t just the refurbishment that made living in the house so hard – only hours after moving in, strange things had begun to occur. Cupboard doors swung open by themselves, and there were odd scratching noises, as if someone was clawing the walls. But these strange events usually happened when her husband was out, which was most of the time. Nick told her it was her imagination. The hinges were wrecked, and nothing in the house was straight. He even put a spirit level to the cupboard doors to prove his point. She watched as the bubble edged away from the middle strip, and caught a triumphant glint in his eye as he was proved right.

But she knew better.

Fiona had been baking bread in the Aga while Joanna worked on her laptop at the table. Her housekeeper had been a godsend since they moved in, and at least the kitchen was fully functional. The oven produced a wonderful homely scent, and the twins would be treated to the jam roly polys which were rising on the second shelf. Thick plops of rain had begun to drum on the tin buckets underneath the broken guttering outside. The
tap tap tap
of the rain felt like stiffened fingers on her forehead, like a clock counting down to some god-awful event. Joanna stretched her neck to look through the window for the girls. She had been so carried away working, that time had passed without her noticing.

She had barely opened the front door to call for them when Olivia rushed into her arms. Tears were spilling down her face, and Joanna felt her heart give a little jolt in her chest. ‘What’s wrong honey?’ Joanna said, removing her daughter’s rain-dappled glasses and drying them with the corner of her dress. Olivia was a quiet child, but her lack of response was uncharacteristic. She stared at her mother with wide, frightened eyes, her mouth open, a hollow cave devoid of words. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Refusing to speak, Olivia responded to Joanna’s questioning with nods and shakes of her head. It was enough for Joanna to ascertain that Abigail had hidden and Olivia could not find her. But they always found each other. Joanna took a deep breath. Calm down, she told herself. Everything is going to be all right. There’s nothing to be scared of. Push it down. Way down.

Nick arrived minutes later, red faced and sweaty, rubbing his roughened palms against the back of his jeans. She was used to him looking at her with disdain when he thought she couldn’t see. But there was something more in his expression. Something hidden. She pushed away the thought. Abigail was probably hiding in one of the barns, too scared to come out because she had gone further than she was allowed. But Abigail loved her parents. She had nothing to be scared of. They never smacked her. In fact, they barely raised their voices. She never gave them cause to.

With each minute that passed, Nick became more panicked. Joanna, on the other hand, fell back on her coping mechanism. Nick used to find it soothing, her ability to face any crisis with a smile. But not today. Today he looked like he wanted to shake her until her smile became loose and fell from her face. The shower of rain soon became a downpour. She had never seen rain like this when she lived in the city, thick plops of water that could soak you to the skin in the distance between running from your car to the front door. Fiona and Nick searched the barns and sheds while she stayed indoors with Olivia, trying to encourage her to speak. Joanna settled the glasses back onto Olivia’s face and, in the absence of words, the child responded with nods and shakes of the head.

‘Where is your sister?’ Joanna asked.

Olivia replied with a shrug. But the depths of her emotions were reflected in her eyes. Something had frightened her, and she was too scared to say what.

‘Do you know where she is?’ Joanna said, her voice calm and even.

Olivia shook her head in a ‘no’.

‘Did you see her go off with anyone?’

Olivia shook her head again.

Joanna recalled her husband’s expression; wild, frightful even. She took her daughter by the hand. ‘Is something scaring you?’

Olivia bit her lip before fat tears sprang to her eyes, clinging to her long blonde eyelashes until she blinked, setting them free. She didn’t need to answer. Her demeanour was answer enough.

‘Do you think Abigail’s still hiding?’

Olivia shook her head, a sob escaping her lips.

‘Oh sweetheart, don’t cry, we’ll find your sister. She’s probably just found a really good hiding place. Now, why aren’t you speaking?’

Nothing. Her sob turned into a hiccup and Joanna stood to pull a tissue from the box on the table. Her mother used to keep them up her sleeve, or stuffed in her bra. She was not her mother.

Any further attempt at questioning came back with the same response. Olivia didn’t know where her sister had gone. But she was scared. Too scared to speak. But that was okay, because Joanna had enough reassuring smiles for everyone. Unlike Olivia’s, her body was relaxed, her words soft and cheerful. Each time she felt a flicker of anxiety she pushed it down, cranking up another ratchet of denial as she told herself everything would be all right. Her ability to push away the worry reminded her of the wind-up soldiers she had played with as a child. She preferred mechanical toys to dolls. She loved the inner workings as
tick tock, tick tock
the cogs fell neatly into each other. Arms and legs stiffly positioned, with a shiny bloom of rosy cheeks, the soldier marched with a rich smile painted on its face. No matter the adversity, his arms and legs kept moving, cogs whirring, in the quiet confidence he would be set back on his feet to complete his journey.

Joanna smiled sweetly, swallowing back the bile. She spun around as the back door opened, and her husband and Fiona walked inside, sodden and shaking from the rain. An hour had passed, with no sign of Abigail. It was a good thing they had tiles on the floor, Joanna thought. She could easily clean up the mud that had been dragged in from the farmyard.

‘No sign?’ she said, reaching for the mop.

‘No, and the rain is coming down hard,’ Fiona said, remembering the bread as grey ribbons of smoke rose through the crack in the oven door.

Nick wiped his rain-drenched face with a checked tea towel before plucking his phone from his pocket. ‘We need to call the police.’

The mention of the police temporarily seized the cogs in Joanna’s heart. She watched Fiona hurriedly slide the burnt bread and pastries onto a tray before easing off her wellington boots. The tips of her thick woollen socks were wet. Focusing on the mundane helped take Joanna out of her world of discord, and the next few hours passed as painlessly as she could make them – the arrival of the police, the endless form filling, the continued search for their daughter and the onslaught of questions that followed. Joanna didn’t notice the odd looks from the police officers because she focused her thoughts elsewhere.

The first officer to arrive was the local bobby. Joanna concentrated on the greasy cow’s lick that appeared when the officer removed her sodden police hat, and the rivulets of rainwater that trickled from the rim as she rested it on the table. Joanna answered the questions, while the downpour outside drowned her husband’s shouts for their daughter.

But something changed when DC Knight arrived. There was nothing mundane to focus upon there. The girl was strikingly pretty, with dark, soulful eyes. Sharply dressed in a designer suit and heels, Joanna afforded her instant respect. She was certainly an improvement on Sue, the previous Family Liaison Officer, all flappy and jumpy. Sue’s energy reminded her of Abigail. Whatever she was doing, she had to be moving, tapping her foot, nodding, eyes roving. Her daughter was never still. Abigail . . . Joanna’s thoughts floated. She swallowed hard. She could not afford to think about Abigail. Not any more.

O
livia’s footsteps
dragged through the puddle of milk leaking from the upturned ceramic jug. Her face was haunted, and deathly pale. The room seemed to close in around the child, who walked in slow motion, as if she was carrying some terrible burden.

Jennifer willed her to come further, fighting the urge to clean up the remnants of the upturned tray underfoot. Olivia had been wordless since her sister’s disappearance, and somehow Jennifer knew that her whispers would be precious, secret. But the moment was lost as footsteps approached, and Jennifer stole a glance over the child’s shoulder into the dim hall, half expecting to see Nick’s sinewy frame.

A woman appeared,smiling gently as she took the hand of the bewildered child. She was slimmer than Joanna, but with softer features, and coffee-coloured hair which skimmed her shoulders in a functional bob. The apron tied over her jeans was covered in a light dusting of flour.

Jennifer’s phone continued to buzz, and she silently cursed its insistence.

‘I’m Fiona,’ the woman said. ‘Why don’t you answer your phone? I’ll take care of things here.’

Jennifer nodded, relief sweeping over her at the presence of a capable pair of hands. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed. She could not afford to miss the call, particularly when it was the senior investigating officer for the case – DCI Anderson, or ‘Frosty Bollocks’ as her colleagues called him. It was not a term of endearment. He oversaw both Lexton and Haven CID, to which Jennifer had been seconded to assist with the case. DCI Anderson was stiff, regimented, and as Jennifer came to realise when she took the call outside, furious.

‘I’ve been trying to contact you. Why haven’t you answered your phone?’

Jennifer picked her way through the farmyard as she tried to find a sheltered place to speak. The wind had eased, and the clouds, streaked pink and gold, drifted over the last rays of sun. ‘I’m sorry, sir, things are very fraught, as you can imagine.’

‘They’re not much better here. Just what was that woman thinking, appearing on television like that? Couldn’t you have stopped her?’

Jennifer clasped a hand over her ear as she strained to hear him speak. Blackwater farm was situated in a hollow, and the reception was poor. ‘She was interviewed before I got here. And I don’t think she
was
thinking. She’s not well.’

DCI Anderson huffed, devoid of sympathy. ‘She was well enough to promote her business. I want you to watch that family closely, do you hear me? No social media. No interviews. Keep tabs on them at all times. We must work together on this . . .’

Jennifer scanned the landscape, bordered by the peaks of the trees. A team of people were dotted in the far corner of a field, men and women churning the narrow dirt paths as they searched the ditches for clues. DCI Anderson was silent, and seemed to be awaiting a suitable response. ‘Yes, sir,’ Jennifer said, hoping it was the correct one. Regardless of the question, you did not say no to DCI Anderson. She squinted to make out Nick in the distance. Keeping tabs on him was like trying to control a nest of angry wasps. ‘I take it there are no updates?’ she said.

‘No,’ the DCI answered abruptly. ‘You’ve been designated a police issue laptop. Whatever you do, keep it password locked. The last thing we need is
that woman
going back to the press with our findings.’

‘Yes, boss,’ Jennifer said. She didn’t need to ask who
that woman
was.

‘I’ve requested that you’re emailed copies of statements from friends and family so you can familiarise yourself with the investigation. Has the twin spoken yet?’

‘I haven’t been able to speak to Olivia alone.’

His response was clipped. ‘Then make time. I expect a positive update at the next briefing. In the meantime, keep that family under control. We need to draw on public support, not turn them against us.’

‘Of course,’ Jennifer said, feeling deflated as her DCI terminated the call. Then it dawned upon her. This was why Sue had washed her hands of the family; not because of any suspected ghosts. Joanna’s media profile was sure to attract attention, and her unpredictable behaviour turned her into a ticking time bomb. If she handled this badly, it would be career suicide. Her eyes crept to the top bedroom window to see Olivia staring down at her. It was time for some straight talking.

She left a message on Nick’s phone telling him to return home. It may have been cruel, because she knew he would think there was an update on the case, but she had no choice. She needed him where she could see him. Jennifer rolled over the possibilities in her mind. Why was he so annoyed with Joanna? Or was he deflecting his anger because he blamed himself? The children were under their care yet neither of them had noticed Abigail go missing. Her phone buzzed with a text, and she felt a warm glow as her partner Will’s name lit up the screen.
Saw the TV interview. We still on for tonight?

Jennifer sighed. She wanted nothing more than to have Will wrap his arms around her and tell her everything would be okay. But Abigail needed her, and she was in it for the long haul. Quickly she dialled his number, needing to draw comfort from his voice.

‘Hello, you,’ he answered, in smooth tones.

‘Hey,’ she replied, feeling her blood pressure lower at the sound of his voice. ‘It’s all gone wrong here. I don’t know what time I’ll be able to get away tonight, sorry.’

‘I know,’ Will replied. ‘Have you seen the Facebook and Twitter campaign? It’s pretty grim.’

‘I’ve barely had time to catch my breath. I’ll check it out.’

‘Okay, hun. Look up hashtag “Find Abigail”. It’s not good.’

Jennifer brought up Twitter on her phone, and it took only seconds to search the hashtag. She gasped as she scrolled through, the hostility rapidly gaining momentum.

On and on the messages went, the supportive ones quickly drowned out by venomous trolls baying for blood. Jennifer turned on her heel and marched inside. This was going to turn nasty, and was bound to disturb the family dynamics. Fiona was in the kitchen, feeding cut timber into the Aga. The heat was stifling, and Jennifer removed her suit jacket and rested it on a chair. She smiled at Olivia, watching her press a cookie cutter into a slab of cookie dough. Hadn’t she just been upstairs, looking down at Jennifer? Or was her mind playing tricks on her? The little girl rearranged her features into a faint smile, but the effort seemed to pain her, and she settled back into the haunted look from that morning.

‘Where’s Joanna?’ Jennifer said, directing her question to Fiona.

Fiona dried her hands on a tea towel before returning to Olivia. ‘Mummy’s in bed getting some rest, isn’t she, Olivia? Now why don’t you wash your hands and we’ll get these in the oven?’

Olivia simply nodded, tightening her lips together, as if to prevent any words escaping.

Jennifer and Fiona looked at her sadly, and then at each other. ‘Right. Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself earlier. I’m DC Jennifer Knight, from Haven police station.’

‘I gathered that,’ Fiona smiled, signalling to Jennifer to join her at the back door. Once out of Olivia’s earshot, she asked, ‘Any news?’

Jennifer deflected the question. ‘It’s early days.’

Fiona nodded, blinking away the tears welling in her eyes. ‘I’m trying to hold it together for Olivia,’ her voice quivered. ‘She’s the one caught up in all of this. You know, she’s not spoken a word since Abigail disappeared . . . If we can get her back into some sort of normality, she might just open up to us.’

Jennifer nodded, thinking of the online witch-hunt gathering momentum against Joanna. She doubted things would ever be normal for the family again.