The Hidden Girl (24 page)

She poked her head out.

The light came from downstairs.

The toolbox sat outside one of the guest bedrooms. She crept along to fetch a hammer, then tiptoed to the stairs. A hissing sound was coming from the kitchen. Her heart thumped so loud that she swore she could hear it in the corridor.

The hissing grew louder.

The kettle.
Someone was boiling the kettle
.

Then there was a soft, sucking noise – the fridge opening.

Will
.

Hannah exhaled with relief. Burglars didn’t make tea and toast. Dropping the hammer, she padded downstairs, ready to bollock him for frightening her. The lamp on the kitchen table was switched on. One of the old photo albums was on the table. There was a scuffle of shoes on tiles. Will was standing in the scullery, head in the fridge.

But something was wrong. Fragments of unexplained images flew at her.

The three photo albums were in her bedroom.

The big scullery window, to the left of Will’s head, was wide open.

A jar of liquid with herbs in sat on the table.

The odd, sloping shape of his shoulders. A flash of red T-shirt as he turned round.

‘Oh my God!’

Elvie stood there, a chicken leg in her hand, looking as stunned as Hannah felt.

‘What are you doing?’ Hannah gasped.

Elvie stood as still as a mountain. There was a dark bruise on her face. An unpleasant waft came in Hannah’s direction – sour odours emanating from various unwashed parts of her body.

In this confined space she was so enormous that Hannah stepped back.

Elvie’s expression changed.

Hannah knew then she had not imagined it the other day. In Elvie’s eyes was pure, unbridled fury.

Suddenly, Elvie punched herself in the chest. Her mouth opened.

Out of it came a high-pitched whine, followed by a roar infused with so much anger that Hannah felt spit on her skin from five yards away.

‘MYYY! HOOUUSE!’

On a hostile-environment training course for TeachersSpeakOUT years ago, Hannah had been surprised in a corridor by a six-foot-four male training officer screaming in her face.

She had instinctively run, only to find herself trapped in a dead-end.

He’d brought her back and taught her what she should have done.

If ever Hannah needed to remember what that officer had told her, it was right now.

She took three deep breaths to calm her racing heart.

Stay calm.

Stay in control.

Assess the situation.

She was alone in a house in the middle of nowhere with an emotionally or mentally disturbed, towering intruder who looked as if she wanted to kill her.

Show respect.

Engage her on a level where you can communicate.

As sweat broke out on her forehead, Hannah kept her arms by her sides to avoid a gesture that could be perceived as threatening.

‘Elvie. Tell me how can I help you.’

With another growl of anger, Elvie kicked a kitchen chair hard, as if trying to expel it from the house. It hit a cupboard and toppled over. Her body swayed with the aftershock.

Hannah tried not to flinch.

Assess the situation.

Elvie was angry. People stayed angry for a while. You couldn’t rationalize with people while the chemicals that were created by anger raced through their bodies. She needed to let Elvie vent.

So Hannah waited, fighting the impulse to run out of the front door into the dark and hide.

Elvie let out a frustrated howl, grabbed the photo album and flung it across the kitchen floor. It landed with a crack on the flagstone, the spine splitting into two.

Hannah blinked.

Having a strategy under attack will give you back a sense of control.

More seconds passed.

Then, to her relief, Elvie’s shoulders slumped, and Hannah knew it was a sign.

She counted to thirty. The open fridge clicked as the temperature adjusted itself.

Now: engage her.

‘Elvie. That’s so interesting what you said. Would you tell me about the house?’

Elvie’s mouth hung loose. Her eyes went slack.

‘I’d like to hear more about it, and maybe help you fix this.’

Then the unexpected happened.

A tear appeared in Elvie’s eye and rolled down her long jaw.

Bewildered, Hannah slowly pulled out a kitchen chair.

‘Elvie, what about a seat?’ she said. ‘Shall we both sit down?’

The odour was overwhelming this close. She saw now that Elvie’s trousers were stained and her fingernails filthy.

‘I’d like to hear what you have to say. It’s very important to me.’

To Hannah’s surprise, the young woman looked utterly lost.

Hannah felt a stab of anger towards Frank and Tiggy. How could they leave her like this? Elvie was clearly vulnerable, unable to wash or feed herself properly.

She pulled out another chair more confidently and pointed towards it.

‘Elvie, please sit.’

And she did. It was like a mighty tree collapsing. She bowed her head and placed her hands on the table.

Close up, they couldn’t look more different from her face. Her hands were hard and calloused, the skin like leather – lined before her time.

Hannah guessed from experience that Elvie’s anger was an expression of fear. She wasn’t dangerous. She needed help.

‘Elvie, it’s very late and I am so tired. Are you tired?’

Elvie stared at the table.

‘Listen,’ Hannah continued. ‘I’m on my own too, tonight. Would you like to be my guest?’

Elvie didn’t react.

Hannah stood up. ‘OK, I’ll be back in a minute.’

She walked upstairs, desperately hoping she was right, and ran a bath. As Will had done, she poured in shower gel to form bubbles and lit the Christmas candle, then returned.

Elvie was slumped at the table, the physical power of ten minutes ago extinguished.

Hannah held out a hand. ‘Do you want to come up, Elvie?’

She didn’t move.

‘Elvie,’ she tried again, ‘can you come upstairs, please?’

The chair shot back and Elvie stood up. She thumped up the stairs behind Hannah.

‘In here, Elvie,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I had a lovely bath this evening, and I thought you might like one before bed?’

Elvie surveyed the bath with utter amazement. She leapt forward and instinctively Hannah shut her eyes, waiting for a blow. There was a rush of stinking air past her.

She opened them.

Elvie had sunk to her knees and was touching the bubbles. She dabbed some on her fingers and licked them.

‘Elvie, would you like a cup of tea in your bath? I’m just making one.’

When the woman didn’t answer, Hannah motioned pulling off her clothes. Elvie stood up like a robot and did what she was asked, as if someone had pushed a button that said ‘Remove clothes’.

Hannah turned to give her privacy. There was a loud splash. She lifted Elvie’s clothes from the floor, trying not to gag.

‘Elvie, I’m going to find you something to wear.’

She grabbed her phone from the bedroom, plugged it in downstairs and checked the clock: 3.35 a.m. Jesus. She threw Elvie’s clothes in the washing machine, returned upstairs with a cup of tea, and found a T-shirt and some pyjama bottoms of Will’s.

She knocked on the open door.

‘Can I come in?’

No answer.

She entered cautiously. Elvie sat in the bath, holding her toes, her body rigid.

Hannah stared, unable to help herself. It was not just the bruises all over Elvie’s arms, neck and back, but the massive size of her arms. They were thick and well defined, like a rugby player’s or a boxer’s. Her back and shoulders were the same: heavy with muscle.

Elvie was sitting, mesmerized by the bubbles. She had some on her nose. Hannah lifted the shampoo and held it out. Elvie’s gaze moved to the bottle, then up at Hannah. Her eyes looked childlike in the soft light. Hannah decided to tell her what was happening.

‘Elvie, I’m going to wash your hair now.’

Elvie bent her head down.

Hannah poured the gloopy shampoo onto her greasy hair and rubbed it gently. The hair loosened. Elvie scrutinized her knees.

‘Mama,’ she said in her strange, deep voice as Hannah rinsed it off.

Hannah stopped. ‘Oh, Elvie, I’m sorry. She’ll be back soon. She might even be on her way now.’

To her shock, Elvie pulled away, nearly knocking the shower head into her face. She jumped up, water tumbling off her long, naked limbs, stepped out of the bath in one giant gallop and, naked, ran past Hannah.

‘What are you . . . ?’ she said.

She found Elvie at her bedroom window, pressing her face against it.

Hannah held up a towel, realizing the implication of her words.

‘Oh no, I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. Not tonight, but she might be here tomorrow, OK? Elvie, turn round, please, you’re cold.’

Elvie did so. She seemed to respond best to direct commands.

‘Right. I want you to go back to the bathroom and put on the clean clothes. Then I’m going to put you into this bedroom here,’ Hannah said walking off, with a giant soaking-wet Elvie behind her. ‘And tomorrow we’ll try to find Frank and Tiggy, OK?’

She showed Elvie into the biggest guest bedroom and pulled back the made-up bed.

Elvie spoke again, in her strange, deep voice. ‘No flowers,’ she said.

‘Oh. No, not yet, but Tiggy and Frank are bringing some back from Devon, aren’t they? Do you like flowers?’

Elvie didn’t respond.

‘Right, sleep now, and I’ll see you in the morning. Now listen, you’re safe here, OK? Don’t worry.’

Elvie pulled on the T-shirt. With no response from her, Hannah went to let out the bath.

Will was not going to believe this.

When she came out, the guest-bedroom door was open again.

Shit
. Where was Elvie now?

There was a snore from the end of the corridor.

Hannah entered the smaller guestroom. ‘Elvie?’

The young woman lay on the floor, asleep. Her thumb was in her mouth. In the beam of the hallway, her wet hair looked thick and lustrous, now that it was clean.

Shrugging, Hannah draped a blanket over her and placed a pillow by Elvie’s head.

Then she locked her own bedroom door, pushed the doorstop under, just in case, and climbed back under her duvet.

Bloody hell.

How could Tiggy describe Elvie as ‘shy’? She clearly had learning difficulties and was unable to care for herself. Was Tiggy blind to Elvie’s special needs, or just so protective of her that she’d kept her close to home for decades and had lost sight of what Elvie required?

Hannah thought about the high stone wall.

She recalled Tiggy’s cheerful, manic banter and wondered if she used it to mask the difficulties of having a child who was so dependent upon her.

Hannah imagined Elvie hiding, scared, inside Tornley Hall when it was empty, to escape Madeleine’s abuse, unable to tell her parents what was going on. She had come in the scullery window, and clearly knew how to loosen the catch.

Or, worse, maybe Tiggy and Frank were so grateful to Madeleine for giving Elvie work and keeping her occupied that they chose not to see what was happening.

Hannah wished Will was here, but knew also that if he had found Elvie wandering their house during the night, the police would be here right now.

‘It’s not our business,’ he would say. ‘Why do you think Barbara will care?’

Maybe she wouldn’t. But it was a risk Hannah wasn’t willing to take.

As she prepared to sleep, a faint beam shone on the tree outside her window, then disappeared. There was a low roar of an engine.

‘What now?’ she said to herself, getting up and going to the window.

A vehicle with headlights, maybe a small tractor, was driving slowly across the donkey’s field. Behind it, two torch beams flickered back and forth.

Hannah yawned. Seriously – it was 4.14 a.m. Is that what time people started work on farms?

Two weeks had never passed so quickly in her life.

Hannah woke on Wednesday, realizing with a lurch in her stomach that Barbara’s visit was nearly here.

One more day.

In just over twenty-four hours their social worker would be standing in this hall, deciding whether or not they could be parents.

She let Elvie sleep on, and texted Dax to find out if he’d heard from Frank and Tiggy.

Hannah had made a decision last night as she fell asleep. Elvie was in a state of emotional turmoil. The best thing was to keep her here, out of Madeleine’s bullying path for a few more hours today. She could easily do that, without having to tell Will or Barbara.

Elvie’s snoring reverberated along the upstairs corridor. When Hannah peeked in, the pillow remained untouched, the blanket held tight in her hands.

Hannah sipped her tea, watching.

She didn’t even want to think what would happen if Frank and Tiggy didn’t return today.

Downstairs, Hannah retrieved Elvie’s clothes from the machine and hung them out to dry. There was still so much to do today. She washed and dried the wooden bookshelves in the sitting room, before filling them with her own and Will’s books, magazines, DVDs and CDs, souvenirs from her long-distance travels and photos of them and their families. She spread it out to look homely, then polished the silver fireplace and hearth. The room was coming on. It looked clean and fresh. With the windows and door open, the petrol smell was starting to fade.

At eleven Hannah checked her mobile. Still nothing from Dax. Feeling nervous, she tried the Mortrens’ Flowers number on the back of Elvie’s T-shirt. An automated reply from Frank asked her to leave a message. She decided not to – not yet at least.

Instead she rang Dax and got his voicemail.

‘Hi Dax, it’s Hannah – can you ring me?’

Mid-morning the stairs creaked.

Hannah found Elvie halfway down, bewildered, her skin mottled with sleep, her short hair sticking up at a forty-five-degree angle, as if she’d dried it in front of a jet engine. Her fringe was parted dramatically, like a ringmaster’s moustache, and her heavy breasts pushed down and out to the sides in Will’s T-shirt.