The Silent Twin (9 page)

W
hat is
it about this place? Jennifer thought, stepping out of her car. She had been hopeful just moments before, but a gloom descended as she walked towards the old grey farmhouse, sapping her good mood and replacing it with a heavy sense of resignation that things were not going to end well. The farm had the cold stillness of a graveyard, dotted with clusters of purple-headed thistles affording splashes of colour in an otherwise bleak landscape. Once filled with livestock, the fields were now barren, dotted with ramshackle galvanized huts. The sky resembled a sheet of dirty white cotton, casting a dull filter over the fuzzy radiance of the sun. Abandon all hope ye who enter here, Jennifer thought wryly, surprised to find the front door unlatched.

She blinked to adjust her eyes to the dim corridor, silencing her steps by walking on the balls of her feet. She preferred not to announce her arrival. At least not yet. The smell of freshly baked bread and melting cheese filtered down from the kitchen, and her stomach grumbled in response. She hadn’t eaten breakfast, but now was not the time for food. Nick’s low murmurs confirmed his presence in the living room. She leaned in to the door to listen, but his words were unintelligible. Her hesitation weakened her resolve and doubts began to creep in. What if confronting Nick put Olivia in danger? Could she live with that on her conscience? Jennifer dismissed the thought. Nick was a police officer, not a killer, and there was probably an innocent explanation.
I’ll be a good girl, Daddy. I promise I won’t tell.
Olivia’s words replayed in her brain, more damning each time they were repeated. She had to confront him now, before she lost her bottle. Hoarse murmurs drifted through as she slowly pushed open the door. Nick was having a one-way conversation with Olivia about the pony.

Jennifer caught Nick’s furtive glance as the door creaked to announce her presence. His jeans were stained with dried mud, and his hair was in disarray, as if he had been running his fingers through it backwards. Tiredness had finally caught up with him, days without sleep taking their toll.

Nick jerked up, turning to his daughter. ‘Tell you what, why don’t we go out and have a look at the stable now?’

Jennifer bit her lip, assessing the situation. It was clear he was avoiding her, but she couldn’t allow Olivia to get caught up in their confrontation.

‘Food’s ready,’ Joanna said, walking in behind her. She was wearing a peach 1940s-style dress, making her look like a bit part in a low-budget stage show. ‘Oh hello, Jennifer, I didn’t realise you were here. Would you like some pizza? It’s homemade.’ She tittered behind her hand as if sharing some private joke. ‘Olivia loves pizza any time of the day.’

‘I was just hoping for a quick word with Nick,’ Jennifer said, observing Joanna’s expression to see if she too would notice just how haggard her once handsome husband had become. But the eyes behind the smile were unconcerned.

Joanna reached out for her daughter’s hand. ‘C’mon, sweetie, Fiona’s made your favourite.’

Olivia gave her father a pleading look.

‘I said we’d go outside to see about stabling the pony,’ Nick said, clearing his throat.

Joanna stretched an insistent hand towards her daughter. ‘Later. You don’t want your food getting cold, now, do you?’

Joanna and Olivia left, sealing Jennifer and Nick in the room. His eyes darted to the floor as he shifted on his feet, his hands deep in his jean pockets.

‘You missed the drones,’ he said, his voice scratchy from calling for Abigail. ‘The helicopter came over briefly too. They couldn’t find any heat sources, but it’s difficult with the woodlands.’

‘What did she mean, Nick?’ Jennifer asked bluntly, locking on to him with her eyes.

‘What did who mean?’ Nick said, barely having the strength to return her gaze.

Jennifer took a step forward. ‘Olivia. What did she mean when she said she wouldn’t tell?’

‘When did she say that?’ Nick said, his voice rising an octave.

‘I heard her whisper it before I left yesterday. She said she’d be a good girl and she wouldn’t tell.’

‘You must have misheard. She hasn’t spoken a word.’

Nick put his hand on the door knob but Jennifer blocked his path. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body, heat derived from an inner anger he had carried since Abigail’s disappearance. She stood firm, a tightness forming in her throat.

‘If you’re in trouble, I’ll do everything I can to help.’

Nick bore down on her, his stale breath heavy on her face. ‘If you’re insinuating that I’ve hurt my daughter, then you are way off the mark.’

She resisted the urge to let him past as his grip tightened on the door knob. ‘I’m not insinuating anything,’ Jennifer said, her tone taut. ‘I’m trying to help. You’d do exactly the same in my shoes.’

Nick pressed his face inches from hers, his voice low and rumbling. ‘How could you think I’d hurt my children? They’re my whole world.’

Their standoff was interrupted by a scream from the kitchen. Nick barged past, and Jennifer followed, barely having time to register what was happening as she burst through the kitchen door.

Fiona was clutching Olivia tightly in the corner of the room, and Joanna was pointing to the floor. Jennifer’s gaze fell on the blood-red splatters on the kitchen tiles and gasped with relief as she spotted the Heinz label clinging to fragments of glass. It was ketchup.

‘What happened?’ Nick asked, checking Olivia over.

Fiona cleared her throat to speak, her expression one of disbelief. ‘It . . . it just flew off the table by itself.’

‘Again?’ Nick said, shaking his head. ‘It’s okay, sweetheart, the table’s crooked, that’s all. Eat your pizza. Everything’s all right now.’

Jennifer assessed the room, sensing a charge of static electricity. Sue had mentioned things moving by themselves, and judging by Nick’s reaction it was not the first time. Olivia nodded glumly as she slowly pulled in her chair to sit. Her eyes nervously darted around the room as she nibbled the pizza crust, like a small bird waiting for a predator to pounce. Jennifer’s heart plummeted. This was the last thing Olivia needed.

Nick left the room, mumbling something about getting a bath. His blistered feet had prevented him searching any longer, and he plodded heavily up the stairs, hitting each step with a laboured thump. Nick’s anger seemed to have evaporated in a puff, but Jennifer grew fresh concerns about Joanna’s relationship with her husband.

‘Are you OK?’ Jennifer said, glad to get Joanna alone as Fiona took Olivia to the living room to watch TV.

‘Of course. I’m fine,’ Joanna replied, delivering her usual smile.

‘I mean with Nick. He’s a bit aggressive. Is this something I need be concerned about?’

Joanna gave a short laugh. ‘Nick? He’s a big softie. He’s just stressed, that’s all.’

‘Because if you’re worried, I can try to get you and Olivia into a women’s refuge for a few days, give you some time apart.’

Joanna’s retort was firm. ‘I appreciate your concern, DC Knight, but I’m perfectly safe. I’m not a battered wife. A refuge is the last thing we need.’

Jennifer noted the coldness in Joanna’s tone and decided to leave it at that. She was right. Staying at a refuge might only add to Olivia’s trauma, and she was probably worrying over nothing.

‘There is one thing you can help me with,’ Joanna said, running a mop over the kitchen tiles.

Jennifer raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ll do my best. What do you need?’

‘I want you to contact Abigail.’

Jennifer recalled her earlier contact, and a wave of guilt fell over her. She cleared her throat as she constructed a suitable response. ‘We’re doing everything we can to find her.’

‘I don’t mean that. Your colleague Sue, she said . . . well, she said you’re psychic. I want you to speak to Abigail. See if she’s on the other side.’

Jennifer inhaled sharply, cursing Sue under her breath. How dare she act so unprofessionally?

‘I think Sue’s got her wires crossed. I’m a detective, first and foremost. Granted, I sometimes deal with unusual occurrences. Haven is different to other towns. It hasn’t moved on from the days of superstition and folklore. It doesn’t mean I’m psychic, sorry.’

‘Then you must know someone that can help,’ Joanna said, her smile loosening as her voice became frayed. ‘You hear about psychics helping the police all the time.’

Jennifer thought of the last psychic she had had contact with and it made her shudder.

‘“Help” is the operative word. After all this family’s been through, the last thing you need is someone making it worse. Besides, you’re making the presumption that Abigail might have passed away. It might not be the case, and to presume such would be very upsetting for Olivia, don’t you think?’

Joanna shrugged, returning her attention to the floor. ‘She’s her twin. She already knows.’

The conversation took a surreal turn as Jennifer watched Joanna casually discuss her daughter’s death while mopping the floor. She wanted to throw the mop to the other side of the room, and ask her to at least have the decency to grant her daughter her full attention. She was beginning to experience the frustration and disbelief that Nick felt.

‘What do you mean, she already knows? Has she said anything to you?’

Joanna dipped the mop into the dented metal bucket and pumped the handle up and down. ‘No. And believe me, I’ve tried to get her to open up. But I can tell. Twins pick up on things.’

Jennifer grasped the handle, temporarily gaining Joanna’s attention.

‘I may have . . . an insight, but I don’t class myself as a medium. Perhaps I can speak to Olivia alone. I might be able to help her come to term with things, at least until the child psychiatrist gets here.’

Joanna smiled, but her eyes were icy cold. ‘I’d like that. But under no circumstances is a psychiatrist coming into my home.’

Jennifer dropped her hands, splaying them palms upwards. ‘But they only want to help . . .’

‘We’ve given the police free rein on our farm. But just this once, I’m putting my foot down. I’m happy for you to speak to Olivia, but I’m not having any counsellors involved. If you have a problem with that, you can call social services.’

‘God, Joanna, I don’t have a problem. I’m just surprised, that’s all.’

Joanna smiled, calmness restored. ‘That’s okay, then. I think she’s just gone upstairs, if you’d like to speak to her now. Nick’s in the bath, so you won’t be disturbed.’

Jennifer did not need to be asked twice. She gripped the thick wooden banister as she climbed the stairs. The bulb on the landing had blown, and grim shadows filled the empty space. The need for cleanliness and order began to rise, and she could not contemplate spending a night in the unwelcoming farmhouse, let alone live there. Somewhere in the depths of her senses Jennifer could feel ghosts of the past brushing against her skin, their icy whispers raising goosebumps on her flesh. A cold, sickening sensation arose as each step brought Jennifer further up into the gloom. Whatever she had encountered previously in the living room hung like a ghostly fog upstairs. Her eyes crept to the damp speckled ceiling, and she tightened her grip on the banister. She couldn’t help but wonder what had possessed the family to leave their luxurious townhouse and set up home in such a desolate, unwelcoming abode. The air was thick with moisture, and as she ascended a humming noise played an eerie tune. Jennifer’s heart froze as she reached the landing and saw a pallid child in a white linen dress, facing an open bedroom door. A whisper rose in Jennifer’s throat.

‘Abigail? . . . Is that you?’

The child turned, her blonde hair no longer shadowing her face. She was wearing glasses. It was Olivia, who had clearly changed out of her ketchup-stained clothes. Jennifer exhaled a little sigh of relief as she approached her.

Soundlessly, Olivia raised her hand and pointed into the bedroom. The source of the humming noise was slowly dying away.

Jennifer took a step towards it, her body tensing as she wondered what she would find. She was reassured by sounds of splashing rising from the bathroom end of the corridor. At least for now, Nick was preoccupied.

Olivia took Jennifer’s hand as she entered the room. Light filtered in from the generous sash window, bouncing onto the wooden floor. The low hum subsided, and the spinning wheel which had produced it rattled onto its side. Olivia’s dolls and teddies made up an audience, surrounding it in a perfect circle.

‘Did you do this?’ Jennifer asked.

Olivia shook her head.

‘Do you know who did?’

Olivia paused, before shaking her head again.

‘It’s OK,’ Jennifer said. ‘Do you want to help me put them back?’

Olivia toed the floor with her shoe before nodding.

Jennifer wondered if Joanna’s reluctance to call in a psychiatrist was more to do with her own issues than her daughter’s. The child needed help, and further recommendations would be made.

‘Olivia, do you remember when we went to see Toby, and we spoke about Abigail?’

Olivia looked down at her hands, small and delicate as they fingered the ear of a stuffed rabbit. She nodded in response, pursing her lips.

‘Well . . . I’d like to speak to her again. Do you think you could do that for me?’

Silence. Olivia’s head dipped as she pulled the stuffed toy close to her chest.

Jennifer felt a pang of guilt as she awaited a response. She should have had an appropriate adult present. But Abigail’s life was at stake, and it wasn’t as if Jennifer was formally questioning her. One more try, Jennifer thought. One more try and I’ll let it go.

‘Can you remember anything about the last time she spoke? . . . Olivia?’

Suddenly a voice erupted, tearful and anxious. ‘I’m Abigail. I’m alone in the dark. Please, can’t you find me?’

Jennifer’s heart pounded as she measured her words. ‘We will find you, sweetheart. I need you to describe where you are. What does it feel like?’

‘Dirt. I can feel dirt between my fingers. It’s wet. I . . . I want to come home.’

Jennifer touched Olivia’s hands. They were cold to the touch, and trembled in her grip. ‘We’re looking for you. How did you get there?’