Night Visit (6 page)

Even
I with my fertile imagination could not have guessed the terrible truth.

Vera
continued in a flat, unemotional voice. ‘Both my son and his wife worked. So we all thought Melanie would be much better off here, with us, through the holidays, where we could keep an eye on her, far away from the smog of London, that made her chest so bad.’

She
was staring at me now. ‘We all thought she would be safe here. We didn’t think anything would...’

I
could not stop myself from asking. ‘What did happen?’

‘
We never knew.’

‘
I don’t understand.’

‘
She must have got up early one warm morning and wandered outside. We couldn’t find her.’

‘
So where did...?’

Vera
shook her head. ‘You don’t understand, Doctor,’ she said. ‘We never did find her.’

I
hadn’t caught up with the story. ‘But what happened to her?’

‘
That’s what I’m telling you,’ Vera said patiently. ‘They searched for her everywhere, right the way through the forest, in all the cowsheds. We all looked everywhere.’ Again that hint of humour shone through. ‘She was a great one for hiding and then springing out at people. She had such a sense of fun. We all thought she had hidden somewhere and got trapped. There’s plenty of places even on a small farm like ours. They even drained the well in the back yard. But there was no sign of her.’ Her face seemed to collapse like a deflated rubber mask. ‘For weeks we all looked for her but it was hopeless. In the end the police had to give up. She was classed as a vanished person. We didn’t know whether she’d been murdered or met with an accident and me and Reuben even wondered... she’d been such a pretty child. We wondered if someone had taken her for their own. Brought her up, you know. We knew that if she returned anywhere it would be here. We couldn’t think that she might be dead.’ She glanced around the kitchen. ‘Truth was we’d had enough of farming years ago but every time we came close to leaving we’d think the same thing. “What if she came back and there were strangers here?”’

‘
But surely,’ I objected, ‘this entire episode was years ago.’

‘
Ten.’

‘
Then Melanie would now be sixteen. She can’t still be...’

Her
knuckles were bone-white as they still gripped her coffee mug. ‘Sense and reason might tell you that. The love we felt for that little girl had nothing to do with either. We’d keep imagining things, that she’d pop out from behind a tree or something. You have to understand. She was that sort of a child. Unexpected. You just never knew with her.’

‘
Not after ten years,’ I said, and Vera gave a low sigh.

‘
Not after ten years. But Reuben and I have always felt she isn’t so very far away.’

‘
So that’s why... ?’

And
Vera nodded. ‘She’d find Reuben.’

‘
I’m so sorry,’ I said, and pushed my hand towards hers. She could have taken it but there was something else. She was studying the grain on the table in a concerted effort not to meet my eyes. ‘There was something else, Doctor.’ Her voice was brittle now. Brittle as thin glass. ‘There was worse.’

I
couldn’t imagine.

‘
Tongues started wagging. Some people said... they said... the police tried to say that Reuben had been interfering with her.’

I
shook my head hard. ‘Oh no, Vera. No.’

‘
We couldn’t prove it either way,’ she said. ‘Because they never found her they never knew what happened. They had nothing to go on, you see. But we knew while there was all this uncertainty we wouldn’t be welcome back in the town. So we stayed,’ she finished simply. ‘At least Reuben knew I trusted him. I knew the truth. He loved our little girl. But there was nothing abnormal in his love. It was healthy, good love. Natural too.’

‘
Did the police have nothing to go on?’

‘
Oh they found her dress, torn, not so far away.’ A spasm crossed her face. ‘I suppose they’ve still got it somewhere. Just in case...’ For a moment she was unable to continue.

I
waited.

‘
They pulled a few people in for questioning but it never led anywhere. You see this is a quiet place. Melanie went out very early that morning. Even we were asleep and we rise at half five. There was no one around to watch her.’

Even
then I knew the truth. That someone
had
been around to watch her. Someone knew exactly what had happened to the child. And that someone knew where she was now.

And
I was disturbed by the powerful image of the child in a red and white spotted dress, running across a field. I knew this vision would haunt me for the months ahead.

‘
If I’d been the fanciful sort,’ Vera was saying, ‘I’d have thought she really had been turned into a toadstool. There’s plenty out there, in the trees. One more, no one would notice.’

‘
And your son?’

‘
Believed the worst.’ She must have seen my face because she quickly added, ‘Oh, not about Reuben. Not even he could believe that about his own father. He held us responsible for everything else but not that. All the same I have heard nothing from him since then. Not a single word. I have heard they have another child. I suppose you can’t blame them for not wanting to bring it here. Maybe they think—’ She was struggling to keep the tears back. ‘Reuben and I wanted to drive down to London. We wanted to look at her, to see if she looked like our Melanie. But we never did. We wondered.’ Her eyes wandered past me to the empty sitting room. ‘Nights we’d sit down and wonder.’

‘
Does your son know his father’s dead?’

‘
I wrote when he was ill. I wrote again after Reuben died, telling him when the funeral was. I heard nothing. I’m surprised no one mentioned it to you.’

‘
I suppose if it was just gossip…’ I said lamely.

She
stood up. ‘You must want to see, Doctor.’ There was a disturbing cognisance behind her eyes as though she could read the motive that lay behind my professional talk. ‘I’ll take you there.’

Neither
of us spoke as we tramped across the field, through a herd of cows, and approached the tree-line and a long mound of freshly turned earth marked with a simple wooden cross bearing the name Reuben Carnforth, the date and the year. There was an inscription, unusual on most tombstones, logical on this.

Seek
and
Ye
Shall
Find
.

But
he hadn’t. Had he? I glanced around and had a sudden clarity of vision.

‘
Did he specify this precise spot?’

Vera
nodded.

There
was a rotting tree stump beside a post. Perhaps, ten years ago, a child might have used it to climb before jumping off the other side.

Had
Reuben
known
this
?
By
instinct
?
Or
had
he
seen
her
?

Vera
was staring down at the grave, her fists clenched. ‘I have to know,’ she said. ‘I cannot leave this life not knowing, never knowing. It’s eating me up like a cancer. While I had Reuben it was at least bearable, just. We both could keep her alive by remembering her. And I knew if she was found that Reuben and I could go to London, to our son and make our peace. But it’s too late for him now. And one day it’ll be too late for me too. I just can’t stand that thought.’

She
was gripping the top rail of the fence as she spoke, facing not the house but the edge of the trees. ‘They know,’ she said. ‘Bloody things. Sometimes I think I hate them. It’s as though they grow to hide things. Damned trees,’ she said again and I knew she must have stood here and scanned the trees a thousand times before, through hot summers and chill winters, soaking autumns and bright green springs, and on New Year’s Eve too, longing for the child to pop out from behind one of the trees. Except she never did. Melanie had remained hidden. And now, surely, it must be too late. She must be dead.

I
didn’t mention the steep drop to the road. Vera must know about it and that possibility had surely been explored. I followed Vera back to the farm, leaving her at the door.

‘
I’ll come again,’ I said.

‘
If you like.’ At the door she paused, still scanning the skirt of trees. ‘If only Reuben was right and Doctors really did have some special powers. If only by some miracle you really could find out what had happened to her.’ She gave an abstracted smile. ‘Silly, isn’t it, Doctor, the way we clutch at straws.’ Then she closed the door firmly behind her.

I
felt altered all the way back down to the town. It was as though the story of the missing child had wrought a catharsis.

She
felt like my responsibility.

Everywhere
looked different, the cliff, clearly visible from the road, jagged and dangerous to a child, the causeway, the Heron Pool, where it was easy to slip through the reeds, easy to fall and be swallowed up in the still water. And the winding lane seemed menacingly remote and deserted. As I drove through the trees I kept turning my head quickly as though I might catch a glimpse of the child even though I knew it was not possible. Maybe it was the ridiculous name by which her grandparents had called her but she didn’t seem a real kid, like Rosie. Rather she was a wraith, something that could still jump out from behind a tree even though she had vanished ten years before. In fact the child’s presence was so strong that I tilted my rear view mirror, sure I would catch sight of her. Even in the water I searched for her reflection and when a wood pigeon burst through the trees my heart skipped a couple of beats. The cloudburst seemed to echo the threat and I switched my windscreen wipers and lights on. The sun had vanished. I was glad to return to town and civilisation.

*

The Lazy Trout was an old stamping ground of ours, a beamed black and white pub with roaring fires and a menu that would convert an anorexic. Robin and I had patronised it when I had first joined the practice seven years ago and our lively, two-year-old toddler had made us the pariahs of most civilised restaurants.

It
was a clever choice of Robin’s, calculated to evoke memories of happier times. Even sliding the Carlton next to the black Mercedes conjured up some vivid memories. When we had first come here I had been enthused by my vision of general practice, something to do with generous government funding plus a certain youthful optimism. Robin had swum along with my dream, like the lazy trout of the pub. Yet, almost unnoticed by me, his accountancy business had also flourished. Whatever virtues he had—charm, a head for figures, business sense—they had all combined to make him successful.

And
me?

I
got threatened by a druggie because I wouldn’t give him what he wanted and still had to tumble out of bed in response to my patients’ sometimes unreasonable demands. Times had changed. I locked my car door, skirted a deep puddle and entered the pub.

Inside
there was the wonderful scent of bacon frying combined with some ancient muck from farmers’ wellies. This was not a pub to stand on ceremony, not some ‘country pub’ dreamed up by the brewers to hoodwink townies but a working pub that catered for locals and merely tolerated tourists.

The
lounge bar was kept permanently darkened by tiny windows and a low, beamed ceiling on which Robin had hit his head more than once. In the corner stood wooden Edwardian bar skittles beneath a bowed, glass case containing a stuffed trout. Lazy this one certainly was.

I
picked Robin out immediately, leaning against the bar, chatting to some of the locals. It was one of his most dubious charms that although throughout our married life I had invariably waited for him on any social occasion, when on a date he was unfailingly punctual.

His
mistresses had fared better than his wife. But, I considered with amusement, now that I was disengaging myself from being his wife was I elevated to the position of mistress? Was this a surreptitious date? Did Janina know he was meeting me?

I
found the thought amusing and gave Robin a warmer smile than I had planned. The idea of Robin sneaking off to meet me was attractive. I studied the blunt, good humoured face before standing on tip toes and kissing him on the cheek. He felt the same, slightly scratchy, aftershave tangy but faint. Collar crisp, scent of spray starch.

I
had trouble disliking him. No trouble hating her.

He
followed me to a table, banged his head on the beam and grinned at me without a trace of self-consciousness. ‘Hi, Harry.’ Hurtfully his voice was as warm as though he was addressing his favourite sister. With a sinking heart I realised what was missing from it. Lust. That had been the missing factor.