I stood on tiptoe and looked properly, peering through the gathering shadows. Down in the hollow to my left there was a gap in the leaf canopy where an old tree had fallen, and a shaft of sunlight illuminated that patch of
undergrowth
like a stage set. The hollow was entirely filled with bluebells that crowded around the fallen tree. The flowers’ hazy bluish purple mirrored the clear evening sky above. All around, silvery-white birches lined the clearing, their bark streaked with definite black lines, their leaves the sour-apple green of new growth. The sunlight picked out the tiny bodies of flies and gnats, turning them to gold as they whirled in endless circles above the petals.
That wasn’t what had caught my attention, though. I frowned, hands on hips, scanning the clearing. Something was off. What was it? Trees, flowers, sunshine, so pretty – so what?
There. Something white among the bluebells. Something pale behind the tree trunk. I edged down the bank carefully, trying to get closer, straining to see. Bluebell stems crunched under my trainers, the glossy leaves squeaking as I inched forward, closer now, able to see …
A hand.
The breath rushed out of my lungs as if I had been punched. I think I knew right away what I was looking at, I knew what I had found, but something made me keep moving forward, something made me creep around the old tree trunk, stepping carefully over the splintered end that was brittle and hollow with rot. Along with the shock came a feeling of inevitability, a feeling that I had been moving towards this moment since I’d heard that Jenny was missing. As I crouched down beside the trunk, my heart was pounding faster than it had when I had run up the steepest hill earlier.
Jenny was lying in the lee of the fallen tree, almost
underneath
it, one hand placed carefully on the middle of her narrow chest, legs decorously together. She wore jeans, black Converse shoes and a fleece that had been pale pink, but was grey around the cuffs. The hand that I had seen was the left hand, flung out at an angle. It lay among the flowers as if it had been dropped there.
Up close, the pallor of her skin had a bluish tinge and the nails were the grey-purple of an old bruise. I didn’t have to touch her to know that she was far beyond help, but I reached out and ran the back of one finger along her cheek and the chill of her lifeless flesh made me shudder. I made myself look at her face, at her features, wanting to confirm what I knew to be true, knowing I would never forget what I saw. An ashy face, framed with tangled dirty blonde hair, matted and lank. Her eyes were closed, her lashes a dark fan on colourless cheeks. Her mouth was grey and bloodless; it had fallen open, pulled down by her slack jaw. Her lips stretched thinly over teeth that seemed more prominent than they had in life. Unmistakably, there were signs of violence on her face and neck: faint shadows of bruises that dappled her cheek and smudged across her fragile collarbones. A thin dark line showed on her lower lip where a narrow smear of blood had dried to black.
She lay where she had been dumped, where someone had arranged her body once they were finished with her as they had wanted her to be found. The pose was a grotesque parody of how an undertaker might display a corpse, a travesty of dignity. It couldn’t take away from the reality of what had been done to her. Abused, injured, abandoned, dead. Just twelve years old. All of that
limitless
potential brought to nothing, just an empty husk in a quiet wood.
I had been looking at Jenny’s body with a detachment that bordered on the clinical, examining every detail without really taking in what I was seeing. Now it was as if a dam burst in my brain and the full horror broke over me like a wave. Everything I had feared for Jenny had come to pass, and it was worse than I could ever have imagined. The blood roared in my ears and the ground tilted under my feet. I squeezed my water bottle tightly with both hands, the cool ridged plastic reassuringly familiar. I was drenched in sweat, but ice-cold and shivering. Waves of nausea swept over me and I shuddered, pushing my head between my knees. It was hard to think, I couldn’t move and the forest spun out of control around me. For a moment, I looked and saw myself at that age – the same hair, the same shape of face, but I hadn’t died, I was the one who had lived …
I don’t know how long it would have taken for me to recover if I hadn’t been brought back to myself abruptly. Somewhere behind me, not close, a dog whined once, urgently, then stopped dead as if cut off, and awareness roared back to me like an express train.
What if I wasn’t alone?
I stood up and looked around the little clearing, eyes wide, alert to any sudden movements near me. I was standing beside a body that had been left there by someone – presumably whoever had murdered her. And murderers sometimes went back to a body, I had read. I swallowed nervously, a knot of fear tight in my throat. The breeze swept through the trees again, drowning out all other
sounds
, and I jumped as a bird whirred out of its hiding place somewhere on my right and rocketed through the branches to the open air. What had disturbed it? Should I call for help? Who would hear me in the middle of the woods, where I had gone to be alone? Stupid, stupid Sarah …
Before I panicked completely, cold common sense clamped down on the rising hysteria. Stupid Sarah indeed, with her mobile phone in her pocket, just waiting to be used. I dragged it out, almost sobbing with relief, then panicked again when the screen lit up to show only one bar of reception. Not enough. I scrambled back up the steep bank, holding the phone tightly. It was hard to climb up the sharp gradient and I scrabbled to get purchase with my free hand as grass and roots pulled away from the soft earth,
please please please
running through my head. Two more bars appeared as soon as I reached the top of the ridge. I stood with my back to a solid, sturdy old tree and stabbed 999 into the phone, feeling slightly unreal as I did so, my heart beating so hard that the thin material of my vest top was shaking.
‘Emergency, which service?’ asked a slightly nasal female voice.
‘Police,’ I gasped, still out of breath from the clamber up the bank and the shock I was feeling. It was as if a tight band was wrapped around my chest, constricting my ribs. Somehow, I didn’t seem to be able to get a deep enough breath.
‘Putting you through, thank you.’ She sounded bored; it almost made me laugh.
There was a click. A different voice. ‘Hello, you’re through to the police.’
I swallowed. ‘Yes, I – I’ve found a body.’
The operator sounded completely unsurprised. ‘A body. Right. Whereabouts are you at the moment?’
I did my best to describe the location, getting flustered as the operator pushed me for more details. It wasn’t exactly easy to pinpoint where I was without convenient road signs or buildings to act as points of reference, and I got completely confused when she asked if I was to the east of the main road, first saying yes, then contradicting myself. My head felt fuzzy, as if there was static interfering with my thoughts. The woman on the other end of the line was patient with me, warm even, which made me feel even worse about how useless I was being.
‘It’s all right, you’re doing fine. Can you tell me your name, please?’
‘Sarah Finch.’
‘And you’re still with the body,’ the operator checked.
‘I’m nearby,’ I said, wanting to be accurate. ‘I – I know her. Her name is Jenny Shepherd. She’s been reported missing – I saw her father this morning. She—’ I broke off, struggling not to cry.
‘Is there any sign of life? Can you check if the person is breathing for me?’
‘She’s cold to the touch – I’m sure she’s dead.’
Cover her face. Mine eyes dazzle. She died young
.
The woods spiralled around me again, and as my eyes filled with tears I reached back to touch the tree trunk behind me. It was solidly real and reassuring.
The operator was talking. ‘OK, Sarah, the police will be with you shortly. Just stay put and keep your mobile phone switched on. They may ring you to get further directions.’
‘I can go nearer to the road,’ I offered, suddenly oppressed by the stillness, horribly aware of what was hidden behind the tree down in the gully.
‘Just stay where you are,’ the operator said firmly. ‘They’ll find you.’
When she had hung up, I sagged to the ground, still clutching my phone, my lifeline. The breeze had picked up and I was cold in spite of my jacket, chilled to the bone, and utterly exhausted. But it was all right. They were coming. They would be there soon. All I had to do was wait.
I run into the kitchen as soon as I hear Mum calling. Being indoors feels weird at first – dark and cool, like being underwater. The tiles are cold under my bare feet. I slide into a chair at the kitchen table where two places are laid: one for me, one for Charlie. Mum has poured two glasses of milk and I take a big gulp from the one in front of me. The sweet coldness slides down my throat and into my stomach, spreading a chill through my body that makes me wriggle. I put the glass down carefully, without making a sound.
‘Did you wash your hands?’
She hasn’t even turned around from the cooker. I look at my palms. Too dirty to lie. With a sigh, I get off my chair and go to the kitchen sink. I let the water run over my fingers for a minute, making a cup of my hands and filling it to overflowing. Because I feel lazy and Mum isn’t watching, I don’t use soap, even though
my
hands are tacky with grime and sweat. The water drums on the sink, drowning out my mother’s voice. It’s only when I turn off the tap that I hear her.
‘I said, where’s your brother?’
Telling the truth feels like a betrayal. ‘I haven’t seen him.’
‘Since when?’ She doesn’t wait for an answer, walking to the back door to look out. ‘Honestly, he should know better than to turn up late for his tea. Don’t you turn into a teenage rebel when you’re Charlie’s age.’
‘He’s not a teenager.’
‘Not yet, but he acts like one sometimes. Wait until your father hears about this.’
I kick the chair leg. Mum says a word I know I’m not supposed to hear, something I store away, even though I know I definitely shouldn’t repeat it – at least, not in front of her. She goes back to the cooker, scooping up oven chips with fast, angry movements. Some of them skid off the tray and fall on the floor and she throws the spoon down with a clatter. When it comes, my plate is overloaded with food. Two eggs glistening with oil stare up at me, a pile of chips beside them, balanced like a game of spillikins. Carefully, I draw out one chip from the bottom of the pile and press the sharp end of it into a round, quivering egg. Yellow oozes out onto the plate, mingling with the ketchup I squiggle over
everything
. I expect to be told off for playing with my food, but Mum leaves me to eat alone and I hear her at the front of the house, calling Charlie. I plough through the stack of chips, the sound of chewing too loud in the quiet kitchen. I eat until my stomach aches, until my jaw is tired. When Mum comes back, I think she’ll be annoyed with me for leaving food on my plate, but she tips the leftovers into the bin and doesn’t say anything.
I am still sitting at the table, dazed with food, when Mum goes into the hall to phone my father. Anxiety gives an edge to her voice, an edge that makes me nervous, even though I’m not the one in trouble.
The hands of the kitchen clock slide around the face and there’s still no sign of Charlie and I’m scared. And almost in spite of myself, without really knowing why, I start to cry.
IT TOOK SURREY’S
finest quite a while to reach me, in the end.
I sat with my back to the tree and watched the sky fade in colour as the sun slid down towards the horizon. The shadows lengthened and joined up around me. It was getting dark under the trees and cold. I wrapped my arms around my knees, holding them close, trying to hug myself warm. I checked my watch every minute or so, for no real reason. The operator hadn’t been very specific about how long it would take the police to get there. It didn’t matter, really. It wasn’t as if I had somewhere better to go.
I didn’t really believe that Jenny’s killer would come back to that quiet spot in the woods, but my heart still pounded at every sudden noise and half-seen movement. Tiny sounds all around me suggested invisible animals going about their business, unmoved by my presence, but every rustle in the dry leaves had me twitching with nerves. I could only see a few yards in any direction as the trees grew so close together in that part of the woods, and it was hard to shake the tingle at the back of my neck that said
you’re being watched
…
All in all, it was a great relief to hear voices in the distance, along with the rattle and cough of police radios.
I
stood up, wincing as I straightened stiffening limbs, and shouted, ‘Over here!’ I waved my arms over my head, lighting up the screen on my mobile phone to try to attract their attention. I could see them now, two of them, moving through the trees with purpose, high-visibility jackets gleaming in the fading light. Both were male, one stocky and middle-aged, the other younger, leaner. The stocky one was in the lead and, it quickly became apparent, in charge.
‘Are you Sarah Finch?’ he asked, stumbling a little as he approached me. I nodded. He stopped, bracing his hands on his knees, and coughed alarmingly. ‘Long way in from the road,’ he explained at last in a strangulated voice, then hawked up something unspeakable and spat it to his left. ‘Not used to all this exercise.’
He had taken out a handkerchief and was wiping sweat from his quivering cheeks, which were latticed with broken veins. ‘I’m PC Anson and this is PC McAvoy,’ he said, indicating his colleague. PC McAvoy smiled at me tentatively. He was really very young, on closer inspection. They were oddly mismatched, and I wondered, irrelevantly, what they found to talk about.
Anson had got his breath back. ‘Right, so where’s this body you’ve found, then? We’ve got to check before the rest of the crew turns up. Not that we think you’re a nutter with nothing better to do than call 999 for kicks.’ He paused for a moment. ‘You’d be surprised how many of them there are, though.’