‘Because … because I didn’t think you would cope with it, Amelia. You’ve been so up and down over the last year. I thought it would be too much. I didn’t mean to deceive you. I wanted to protect you.’
He’s right. I’ve been so unstable. ‘But I still don’t get why you would go back to that place.’
His chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath. ‘Inspector Beynon may have given up hope of finding Lark, but I haven’t. I need to check we didn’t miss anything. Something that could lead us to her.’
‘After all this time?’
He raises his eyes to the ceiling, tears glistening. ‘I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It just feels right somehow.’
‘Oh, Dad,’ I say, softening. ‘She’s not in Scotland.’ But there is no strength in my words. Despite the whole area being searched at the time, my mind still wanders back there. What if someone hid her underground, or deep in one of the many caves along the shoreline? We’d combed the area for hours, the police, dogs, and people from the local villages giving their support. But had we really covered every inch of the Drummondale House estate? I sigh deeply, reach over, and close my hand over Dad’s.
Truth is, I’ve been through every possibility. At first I’d clung to the hope she took off. But when Mum died and Lark never appeared – never said goodbye – hope petered away, and lately I’d wondered if we’d missed something in Scotland too.
Dad grabs a clump of tissues from a box on the table and divides them between us.
‘I need to do something,’ he says, dashing a tissue across his eyes. ‘Since your mum’s been gone, all I can think is what if we missed something, so we thought we’d head up there.’
‘We?’
He nods. ‘Thomas and Maddie are coming for support.’ He looks away, as though he doesn’t want to see my reaction.
I feel my eyes widen. ‘Maddie is your support?’
‘Not exactly. Thomas is my support, and your brother needs her. You know that.’
My jaw clenches. ‘Bloody Maddie. I curse the day she became Thomas’s carer.’
He shakes his head. ‘Please don’t say that, love.’ He places his hand over mine once more. ‘You sound so bitter.’
I cover my face with my hands. ‘She should never have said those things about me on her vlog, Dad.’
‘I agree, it was thoughtless—’
‘Thoughtless? She made me look—’
‘I know, love, but she’s young. She made a silly mistake, and you needed someone to vent your anger on. She’s sorry, Amelia. The post has gone now. Please let it go.’
But I’m not sure I can let it go.
‘I’ve rented two of the cottages,’ he says. ‘If you feel you’re up to it, there’s room for a small one.’
I look up and shake my head. I’m not sure I can face going back there.
‘No.’ He shakes his head too. ‘I didn’t think so. Although, it could be a chance to talk to Maddie – lay your demons to rest, as they say.’
‘I quite like my demons full of energy, thanks very much.’ It comes out snarky, and I’m not even sure of the point I’m trying to make.
He looks down for a moment, and then up and into my eyes. ‘And we might find something that leads to Lark.’
I so want to embrace his hope.
I have three choices: One, go home to my empty apartment and lose myself down a bottle of wine every night, whilst making desperate calls to William. Two, spend time here alone in this house, regressing into my childhood. Or three, head to Scotland, to Drummondale House with my dad beside me.
Tears burn as I imagine one of us recalling something vital that leads to finding Lark safe and well. Is it really possible?
‘OK,’ I say before I can change my mind, a surge of hope rising inside me. What if the answer to my sister’s disappearance really does lie up there in the Scottish Highlands? What if retracing our steps unearths a vital clue?
I drain my tea. ‘But you’ll need to keep me away from Maddie,’ I say, thumping my mug down. ‘Or I may just kill her.’
*
I watch from the front doorstep, as Dad lifts Thomas into the back seat of his Ford Freedom, and puts my brother’s wheelchair into the boot. Thomas looks different to when I saw him last. His hair’s longer, and it’s tied back in a man-bun, and he’s grown a beard too, which suits him.
‘Robert, could you spare one of those bottles of water? My mouth is so dry,’ Maddie calls out of the rear car window, as he loads a pack of water into the boot along with the bags and other provisions, including a litre bottle of gin, which looks tempting. The wind catches Maddie’s silky black hair and whips it across her face. ‘The weather’s going to be a challenge,’ she says, pulling the strands from her cheeks. ‘Let’s hope it’s better in Scotland.’
‘I hope so too,’ Dad says with a laugh.
I notice the way Thomas still looks at Maddie. I can’t work out if he’s in love with her, and I worry she’ll break his heart. A brief memory of her kissing his teary cheeks at Mum’s funeral flutters in and then evaporates. I’m sure she only sees herself as his carer, and one day she’ll meet someone and fall in love, and then what? Where does that leave my brother? My parents never planned for that.
‘Are you getting in, Amelia?’ Dad slams the car boot, and hands Maddie a bottle of water through the window.
Apprehension and the freezing weather nails me to the spot, and the earlier fluttering of snow is moving into blizzard territory.
‘Amelia?’
‘Uh-huh.’ A deep sigh turns to mist in front of me, as I make my way down the path, almost slipping on an earlier settling of snow. I climb into the passenger seat. Slam the door. Say nothing.
‘Grumpy!’ Thomas says, with a laugh. ‘I can see you’re going to be fun on this trip.’
‘How the bloody hell is this trip going to be fun, Thomas?’ I refuse to look round, sense Maddie’s eyes boring into my back.
‘Oh come on, sis,’ Thomas says. ‘Don’t be like that. We’ve got so much to catch up on.’ My brother seems oblivious to the suffocating tension in the car, or the fact we are heading to where we last saw our sister; that Drummondale House was the last place Mum smiled.
Dad gets into the driver’s seat and closes the door.
I finally snatch a glance over my shoulder, and Thomas grabs the moment to smile my way. He may be twenty-eight, but I still see my little brother sitting there, and recall how we used to run and play together. But that was long before he took off to America – long before his accident.
I return his smile, and turn watery eyes back to the front window.
‘Should we be going in this?’ I ask Dad as he starts the engine. ‘The snow is pretty heavy.’
‘It doesn’t look great, does it?’ Dad agrees, flicking on the wipers. He leans forward and looks up through the window towards the sky.
‘Of course we should go,’ Thomas says. ‘It will be fine. I’m psyched up for it now.’
‘I don’t know, it looks a bit scary,’ Maddie says.
‘Well, let’s give it a go, and turn back if it gets too bad,’ Dad says, putting the car in gear, and pulling away.
It will take over four hours to get to Drummondale House, so I bring out my phone, shove in my ear buds, and begin trawling through YouTube videos, particularly enjoying a video of a cavalier puppy being taught to high-five and roll over. Eventually, despite not being tired, my eyes grow heavy – and sleep with its awful nightmares of a year ago beckons.
I’m going to where I last saw Lark.
A sense of foreboding rises. Why do I feel this is the biggest mistake of my life?
Chapter 3
Present Day
Amelia
The first two hours of the ride is silent, and by the time we get to the services in Perth, the snow has turned to rain now lashing across the windscreen.
Dad pulls onto the forecourt. ‘Need to stretch my legs,’ he says. And we take the opportunity to grab a takeaway.
Dad and I get out of the car, and race towards the McDonald’s, and despite him using his coat as a makeshift umbrella for us both, rain splatters down my collar, making me shiver.
We are silent in the queue. We are silent returning with the burgers. We are silent while we eat in the car.
‘Well at least the snow’s cleared,’ Dad says finally, finishing the last of his burger and screwing up the wrapper. ‘I was beginning to worry we would end up snowed in in the Scottish Highlands.’ He laughs. ‘Imagine that.’
‘I’d rather not,’ I say, though the thought of it raining all the time we are there is almost as bad.
‘Only another two and a half hours,’ Dad says, wiping his hands with a serviette. ‘You’ve got a splodge of something on your cheek, love,’ he adds, and I instinctively touch my face, and get mayo over my fingers.
Back on the road, I find myself dozing once more. When I wake, the car’s heater is pumping out a dry heat, and snow tumbles from a charcoal-grey sky once more, as though someone’s tipped out a giant bag of cotton-wool balls.
Dad is crawling along at ten miles per hour and the wipers struggle to and fro – thump, thump, thump onto cushions of snow each side of the windscreen.
‘When did it start snowing again?’ I say, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
‘About an hour ago,’ he says. ‘We’re almost there.’
We make our way up a steep hill, skidding and sliding. ‘I think we should have turned back, Dad,’ I say. But there’s a determined look on his face. He’s desperate to get there.
As the wrought-iron gates that separate Drummondale House from the rest of the Scottish Highlands loom in front of us, my stomach flips. Memories of the last time we were here invade my thoughts, and a feeling of absolute dread rises inside me.
The gates stand open, and as Dad pulls through them onto the drive that leads to the ruin, I battle an urge to grab the steering wheel and turn the car around. We shouldn’t have come. My heartbeat quickens, banging against my chest as I catch sight of Drummondale House, shrouded in snowflakes. A few years back I would have whipped out my phone and taken a picture. Put it on Facebook or Instagram. But I’m a different person now. Broken.
I sense Maddie moving forward in her seat, her breath hot on my neck. ‘This weather is awful, Robert,’ she says. ‘I mean I love snow, but this is crazy.’ There’s tension in her voice. ‘We should have turned back an hour ago.’
I turn and glare at her. ‘Well, maybe you should have said something an hour ago.’
‘It’s too late now, Maddie, love,’ Dad says, meeting her eye in the rear-view mirror.
I snap a look at Dad, my body tense. His eyes are back on the windscreen, and he’s hunched forward over the steering wheel.
‘I’m sure it will clear up by morning,’ he says.
‘Unlikely. I’m pretty sure this snow is here to stay, Robert.’ There’s a quiver in Maddie’s voice.
‘Well we can’t go back now,’ he says, blinking. ‘It’s too late. We’re here now.’
We pull onto the snow-covered car park, and memories of twelve months ago skid into my head like a skier on a downward slope. I remember it all so well.
I press my forehead against the side window, eyes tipped towards the sky. It’s blustery out there – the wind rattling and moaning as it wraps itself around tall trees that sway as though dodging its icy hands.
A sudden thump on the glass makes me jump. ‘Fuck!’ It’s Ruth, the owner, far too close to the window, peering in at us, her small, grey eyes screwed up against the weather. I sink down in my seat, holding my chest, taking deep breaths to calm myself.
‘I’ll get the keys,’ Dad says, switching off the engine. He leans over his seat, grabs his coat from between Thomas and Maddie, and opens the door, which swings outwards, almost ripping from its hinges. Snow invades the car.
Once outside, Dad struggles to put on his coat, wind whipping it into the air like a kite, as he pushes his body weight against the door to close it. Finally, he beats the wind, and manages to get his coat on, doing it up as he trudges through settled snow, Ruth by his side.
I glance back at Thomas. He’s asleep, making puff puff sounds as he breathes. It breaks my heart that he messed up his young life. I can still recall how excited he was a few years back when a Hollywood director hired him to write a screenplay for a new feature – we all were. He’d flown to the US full of so much hope. But he struggled. Mingling in circles where he didn’t quite belong was too much for him. He began drinking and dabbling in drugs to cope, and instead of his life taking off, as it should have, he spiralled downhill. Lost control.
I gulp back my emotions, and turn back before Maddie can speak.
The cottages are a blur through the front windscreen, and I realise tears have filled my eyes. I cough, choking, as my larynx twists. I’d blocked this place out as best I could. Attempted to run from the memory.
‘You do know I’m sorry,’ Maddie says and I feel her move, and grip my seat. ‘That I didn’t mean—’
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ I cut in.
I hear her flop back in her seat. ‘OK,’ she says. ‘Fine.’
We sit in silence for some time, before the car door opens, and Dad jumps into the front seat, feathers of snow covering his hair and coat.
‘Ruth says we can pull up in front of the cottages for now.’ He starts the engine and drives towards Bluebell Cottage where Mum, Jackson and Lark had stayed last time. He stops outside the front door, and glances over his shoulder. ‘Right, let’s get you two in the warm.’
‘Thomas,’ Maddie says, shaking my brother to wake him. ‘We’re here.’
He opens his eyes. ‘Christ. Where are we – Narnia?’ He pushes his nose against the window, and takes a gulp of air. ‘When did we drive through a wardrobe?’
Maddie laughs.
‘We have seen better days,’ Thomas says, his voice suddenly low and level. He often quotes Shakespeare, since studying literature at university and getting a first-class master’s degree. ‘Now is the winter of our discontent.’
Chapter 4
Present Day
Ruth
‘Finn!’ I call, heading into the kitchen. ‘We need to prepare the vegetables. I want this meal to be perfect.’ I pick up a small knife that once belonged to my mother, and begin peeling potatoes. ‘Finn!’
‘For God’s sake, Mum, give me time to get down the bloody stairs.’ He appears, lifts a stripy apron from the back of the kitchen door, and slips it over his head.
I look up at him and smile. He’s looking so much better than he did a year ago. He runs each morning before I get up, and every evening too. I reach up, stroke his hair – he suits it shorter – a tingle of satisfaction running through my body. He’s finally got over his wife’s affair. It took some doing but I’ve got my son back.
Finn picks up a peeler, begins stripping carrots with the speed and skill of a professional chef. I’ve taught him well. My daughter couldn’t carry the baton, but Finn is the next best thing. ‘So the guests are here?’ he says.
I nod. ‘They are Lark’s family. They hope to remember something.’
He catches his finger on the blade, and winces. ‘About the disappearance?’
‘Mmm. I’m not sure what they hope to achieve.’
Finn shrugs, glances through the window. ‘And the snow is getting deeper out there. They can hardly search the woods.’ He crosses the kitchen and grabs a blue plaster from a medical box. ‘This is going to be awkward. I mean do we mention what happened?’
‘We let them take the lead.’ I cut a peeled potato in half, and drop it into a saucepan of water with a splash. ‘Oh, and I had a call from Rosamund Green this morning. She should be here by dinnertime with her daughter.’
‘Really?’ He glances towards the kitchen window once more, his eyes narrowing. Snow rests on the frame, like a picture on a Christmas card. ‘Do the Taylors know she’s going to be staying here too? I mean Rosamund wasn’t exactly supportive when Lark went missing.’
I shrug. ‘I have no idea.’ I feel a smile stretch across my face. ‘But I can’t wait to see how it all unfolds.’
‘Well I for one am dreading it.’
I curl a tendril of hair behind my ear, noticing how grey I’m getting. ‘It will be fine, Finn,’ I say. ‘I’ll make sure everything is perfect.’
Chapter 5
A Year Ago
Amelia
They tried so hard to hide their sadness the day they arrived at Drummondale House a year ago, the sun warm on their backs as they headed across the cobbled car park.
Amelia clung on to her dad’s arm. To her, he’d always been strong. Her rock. The person she leaned on if her world fell apart: like the night she was dumped at the school prom by Joshua Williams, or the day she didn’t get that weekend job at Blockbuster she’d set her heart on.
Once, when she was little, her dad had appeared in the kitchen wearing green corduroy trousers that were slightly baggy at the knees, and an equally green cardigan. Amelia called him The Incredible Hulk, and her mum couldn’t stop laughing. She could never see what Amelia could see – called him a dusty historian. Maybe that’s why she left him for Jackson.
Today there was no sign of The Incredible Hulk. Her dad was struggling like the rest of them. This was to be her mum’s final holiday, and she’d gathered those she loved most in the Scottish Highlands.
As they strolled across the grass, Amelia released her dad’s arm. Her insides were a knot of sadness and anxiety, her eyes ached from tears she tried to hold back. But she knew, like everyone else on this ridiculous venture, that she had to make it the best holiday ever, for her mum’s sake.
‘You OK?’ she asked, looking up at her dad as they followed the rest of the family – six of them, and Maddie – towards Drummondale House reception.
He fiddled with the binoculars hanging around his neck – always a keen bird watcher – and shrugged, eyes shining. It was a stupid question. Of course he wasn’t OK. He was losing the only woman he had ever loved to cancer, and he couldn’t even comfort and care for her, because Jackson bloody Cromwell had moved in on her a year ago – taken her from him.
Still, Amelia told herself, her mum must care for her dad. She wanted him to be there. She touched his arm. ‘We’ll get through this,’ she said. ‘For Mum.’
‘Well, it’s a tough one, and no mistaking.’ He rubbed his head with both hands, as though the action would scrub away the pain. ‘And if I’m honest, I don’t feel right being here. I don’t belong with your mum anymore.’
‘But she still loves you, in her own way.’
He shook his head.
‘You were together for over thirty years, Dad. You had three children together.’
‘Yes, but …’ He looked towards the cloudless sky, his brown eyes watery. ‘Bloody disease,’ he muttered, his voice cracking. He’d aged. His dark hair speckled with grey, the creases on his forehead deepened. Amelia leaned into him. Rested her head on his shoulder. Finding out her mum had terminal cancer had taken its toll on them all.
‘It’s crap,’ she said, looking towards Lark sitting cross-legged on the grass brushing a tear from her pale cheek. None of them were doing a good job of hiding their desperation. They needed to sort themselves out.
Lark looked so different to the last time Amelia saw her. Gone were the pale-blue dungarees, the high ponytail, her love of Justin Bieber. Today, she wore a flowing black dress, and black lace-up ankle boots. She was growing up fast, looked older than her seventeen years, her long blonde hair flowing down her back, her freckled cheeks masked by pale foundation, her lips painted red.
‘She’s refusing to go to university next year,’ her dad said, seeming to notice where Amelia’s eyes had landed.
‘Lark?’
He nodded. ‘She’s been so moody lately. I can’t get to the bottom of it.’
‘Mum’s dying,’ Amelia whispered. ‘She isn’t coping.’
Lark looked up, and caught Amelia’s eye across the expanse of grass. Her eyeliner had smudged beneath her eyes, and Amelia felt a pang of guilt that she rarely saw her anymore. ‘I’m worried about her,’ she said, turning back to her dad.
He nodded. ‘Me too.’
The rest of the family reached reception, and Lark got to her feet and shuffled towards them, head down.
‘We should probably go over,’ Amelia said. ‘Try to look happy.’
‘Yes, of course – chin up and all that.’
They rose and linked arms. ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ Amelia whispered.
As they approached, Jackson – who was only six years older than Amelia at thirty-six – had taken charge, and was in full voice.
‘It looks a bit small in there,’ he said, peering through the bay window into reception, one hand over his eyes to block out the sun. ‘I’ll go in and get the keys, shall I?’ He pushed his sandy-blond hair from his face with an exaggerated flick. ‘Then we can unpack,’ he went on. ‘Have a rest and freshen up before dinner. How does that sound?’
‘Good to see you taking charge,’ Amelia said with a roll of her eyes. This man walked in on my family and changed everything. She bit down on her lip. What right did she have to say anything? Her fleeting visits to the apartment Mum shared with him in Tweedmouth, brandishing huge bunches of flowers that only went some way towards easing her guilt, were hardly the act of a supportive daughter. She’d been a coward hiding in London, hoping a miracle would happen and she would never have to face the loss of her mother.
Her mum, who was holding on to Jackson’s arm, threw her a pleading look. She loved Jackson – Amelia knew that, even if she didn’t understand why. Yes she was still heartbroken that she’d left her dad, but this break wasn’t about Amelia. This was about her mum’s happiness – a happiness that would be cut short long before it should have been.
‘Sounds fine by me,’ Amelia said, and a lump rose in her throat as her mum smiled and mouthed, ‘Thank you.’
She let out a sigh, and looked away. How the hell was she – or any of them – going to get through the next few days?
Chapter 6
A Year Ago
Ruth
Ruth stood behind an antique reception desk, inquisitive grey eyes, like marbles, fixed on the couple entering. The woman looked familiar, though she couldn’t fathom why, but then Ruth had met so many people over the years – visitors to Drummondale House.
‘Good morning.’ She moulded her face into a welcoming smile, without showing her teeth. She didn’t like her teeth – far too small, her mother always said. ‘Welcome to Drummondale House.’
‘Hey there.’ The man was American, and exceptionally handsome. His face lit up in a smile. ‘I’m Jackson Cromwell, and this is my partner Caroline Taylor.’
Ruth’s guests fascinated her. The anticipation of discovering more about their lives was her only pleasure outside of cooking. They always arrived smiling because they were on holiday, hiding their faults and flaws, their quirks, and deepest troubles. But what was beneath their façades intrigued her. It was like finding hidden treasure when it revealed itself – always a delight to see that they were never quite as happy below their holiday sheen. No happier than she was.
Ruth had been here all her life. Her mother had owned this small part of the Drummondale estate, and her father before her.
‘Your great-grandfather won the land in a poker game from George Collis,’ her mother told her once. And now it was hers – a sizeable piece of land right smack bang in the middle of the Drummondale House estate. Her mother had used the land as a camping retreat until her death thirty-five years ago. She’d been an untrusting woman. ‘Ruth,’ she would say, ‘keep your eye on everyone you meet, and trust no one. Nobody’s really your friend.’ And Ruth followed her mother’s advice always. Apart from that one summer when she was seventeen, when he said he loved her – and she’d believed him.
