Unspoken (34 page)

‘Did you find her? Is she OK?’ My mouth is so dry I can hardly talk. I’m panting.

‘No. She’s still gone.’ Murray sprays torchlight into the night, across the river.

‘
Murray, Murray!
’ I scream. I lunge at him. Half because of hatred and half because he’s the one I’ve always turned to when things are bad. He catches me as I slide down his body. ‘Oh, shit, shit. Did you run up and down the bank? Did you look in the water?’ I point either way up and down the wretched river. ‘I told you not to take the kids on the boat. She could drown. What time did she go?’

My chest heaves up and down. The breath in me is enormous. I’m ready for anything. Ready to run for miles to find Flora. Any minute now, she’s going to come striding back to the boat, angry with her daddy for letting her get lost. I tell myself this over and over.

‘Between six and eight. Maybe half an hour either side.’ Murray’s face is crinkled with worry; his cheeks burning red with panic.

My watch says eight forty-five. ‘Where are the police? Did you call them?’ Then it strikes me. ‘Why don’t you know exactly when she went? Where the hell were you, Murray?’ No doubt he had fallen asleep after drinking too much. I try to catch the smell of his breath on the wind. ‘You said you were getting food? Where was Flora when you were cooking it?’

‘We hadn’t started cooking, Mum.’ Alex grips my arm as if he’s caught in a gale. ‘We were going to have a campfire and cook sausages.’

‘What on earth were you doing, then?’ I scream at Murray. I run to the boat and peer through each small window in turn. I dash back to Murray. ‘What were you doing?’ I yell up close into his face. I smell beer.

‘I was getting food. From the village.’ Murray bows his head. ‘It’s no good standing around talking. I’ll keep searching until the police arrive. You stay with Alex on the boat in case she comes back. Keep calling her name. Yell as loud as you can. She can’t be far away. She’s probably hiding, frightened she’ll get told off.’

I stare at him in disgust. ‘Our daughter is
deaf
, Murray, in case you’d forgotten.’ I turn away, unable to look at him.

Without another word, knowing there’s no way back from this, Murray strides off up the river, leaving me in a silent stupor.

 

Flora had two hearing aids fitted when she was fifteen months old. They were so tiny I couldn’t understand how they would help her hear such a big, noisy world. And Flora was so tiny that I wasn’t sure I wanted her to hear it anyway.

The first pair, she ripped out and threw into a puddle. We were out walking after a thunderstorm – Flora in her pushchair, Alex trotting alongside. She’d been tetchy all day; grizzling and moaning as if she was coming down with a virus. She batted at her head, rolling it from side to side on a pillow just like when she cut a tooth. In the end, I put it down to that – she was teething.

Flora’s aids had been fitted the day before and it hadn’t occurred to me that being bombarded with something so invasive, so unknown, was the cause of her misery. She heard the crackle of the thunderstorm long before we did. Every car that passed by was an earthquake. Birds squealed in the trees, the breeze howled through her head, and other children made a deafening din. At home, it wasn’t words and happy sounds that she picked up. No, all Flora heard was a jumbled cacophony of pain, bangs and meaningless noises. She’d been thrown into a hearing world from her perfect silent one. To her, it was like being dumped on another planet.

She destroyed three further sets of hearing aids over the next two years. It was then I told the doctors she wouldn’t be wearing them ever again.

‘Ju?’ Murray and I hadn’t discussed it. After yet another hospital appointment, I told him of my decision.

‘How would you like to suddenly be made deaf?’ I asked.

‘Well, I wouldn’t, but—’

‘So why should Flora suddenly be made to hear?’ Flora knew some basic signs already. I’d been on a course. Alex was amazing with her, knowing exactly what his sister was saying even without their hands talking. ‘She is how she is, Murray. She hates wearing the aids. I think she . . .’ It was difficult to explain. ‘I think she hears too much with them in. I think it’s just too painful for her to hear the real world.’

Murray thought about what I’d said. That evening he watched our daughter intently – playing, leaving a trail of toys around the house, interacting with Alex, beaming with happiness when a neighbour and her child called by. Flora splashed in the bath and she refused to go to bed without looking through a picture book. She hugged us both, pretended to go to sleep, and was downstairs begging for milk ten minutes later. She was just like any normal three-year-old.

‘You’re right, of course,’ Murray said, pulling me close. We’d just flicked off the light in Flora’s room. Even through the half-darkness, we heard her loud and clear when she signed that she loved us. ‘No hearing aids.’

That was how we learned the difference between language and speech. That what you’re trying to say, that what is so important it must be heard, doesn’t have to be spoken. Flora showed us that actions speak way louder than words.

 

By the time the police arrive, I can’t stop shaking. It’s a combination of fear and the freezing night that takes hold of every cell in my body.

‘Tell us what happened, Mr French. As quickly as you can,’ the constable says. Murray came running back to the boat when he saw the flashing lights of the police cars.

‘Where’s Ed? Where’s DI Hallet?’ I ask him. He’s too young to be dealing with this. ‘I want Ed here searching for Flora. He’s my brother-in-law.’ PC Clough ignores me.

‘Speed is of the essence, Mr French.’ Murray can barely speak.

‘I . . . I went to the village. Just to get some sausages for Alex to cook on a campfire. The kids were in the boat. They knew not to leave. Alex was baby-sitting.’ Murray falters and glances at me. ‘He was happy to look after his sister. When I came back to the boat, Alex was on the bank collecting firewood. I’d told him to stay inside the boat but he couldn’t wait to prepare the fire. When we went back inside the boat together, Flora was gone.’

‘Oh Murray, you stupid—’

The constable holds up a hand to silence me. ‘What times were you away from the boat and how far away from the boat was Alex when he was collecting wood?’

Murray thinks. Shame settles over him. ‘I was gone for a couple of hours, between six and eight, and Alex was maybe fifty feet away. That way.’ Murray points in a northerly direction. ‘Shouldn’t you be out there searching? Have you got sniffer dogs coming?’ he asks, deflecting the blame. ‘Have you got helicopters and searchlights? Please . . . do something.’ He isn’t quite yelling, not quite crying. ‘Alex, why didn’t you stay inside the boat with your sister?’

‘Murray, stop it,’ I tell him. He can’t blame our son.

‘Dad, you were gone ages. I was bored and Flora was doing her colouring. I thought I’d surprise you and get the fire built for our cooking.’

‘Oh, Murray . . .’ I bury my face in my hands.

‘The village isn’t a particularly long walk from here, yet you said that Flora could have gone missing between the hours of six and eight. Two hours to buy sausages?’ PC Clough waits for a reply.

He’s right. ‘Hell, Murray, why were you gone so long? Where were you that took two hours?’ I push past the constable and grab my husband’s shoulders. I inhale deeply at his mouth. I am sickened. ‘You were in the pub, weren’t you?’ My voice quakes, on the edge of erupting. ‘You left our children alone at night on a boat and went to the pub.’ I push myself away from him, disgusted by his behaviour. ‘Get out there and find Flora.’ I’m crying again. Tears that won’t help find her.

‘Mrs French, we have a number of officers doing just that. But we need to get the facts straight here.’

‘It’s Mrs
Marshall
,’ I say, appalled at the thought of being Mrs French right now. ‘Facts? My daughter’s missing and you’re sitting here chatting. Please, go out and find her!’

The PC turns away from me. ‘Can you give us a detailed description of the child, Mr French? Anything that will help our officers. And we may need an item of clothing or something personal of hers for a scent.’

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ he replies slowly. None of this is real. He’s sitting there saying these things but the words aren’t real. ‘She’s got blond hair that’s slightly auburn in certain lights. It’s quite curly and shoulder length. Her eyes are blue—’

‘Greeny blue,’ I add. Can’t he even remember what she looks like?

‘And her skin is pale. She has a birthmark at the nape of her neck. She’s about up to here on me.’ Murray stands and places his hand beneath his ribs, as if he’s patting the top of Flora’s invisible head. ‘So about four feet tall, I don’t know. Maybe an inch or two more. Maybe less.’

‘And she’s deaf. Profoundly deaf,’ I say. The constable gives me a worried look. ‘You will find her, won’t you?’ I grab the torch off Murray and tell Alex to stay with the boat. ‘She can’t be far away. She probably wandered off looking for you, Murray. I’m going to head for the village.’

‘Until she’s found, I assume abduction can’t be ruled out?’ Murray’s comment freezes me. He sounds like a solicitor. For a second, all I hear is the water slapping against the side of the hateful boat.

‘Indeed,’ the constable says. ‘We have to consider all possibilities. Is your daughter able to swim?’

‘Yes, yes,’ I say, inspiring hope in all of us. ‘She’s a good swimmer.’ Just how good a swimmer she is in the dark, in freezing temperatures, fully dressed, perhaps with a bump to her head, I wouldn’t like to guess. I leave the boat and step out into the darkness to search for my daughter.

Several couples are leaving the pub in the village. I run up to them like a madwoman, breathless and sweating even in the cold night.

‘Please . . . help me. Have you seen a little girl of eight with blond hair? She’s lost. Did she come into the pub?’ Perhaps Flora knows her daddy too well and guessed that’s where he’d be. A few more drinkers are leaving the building. I try them instead. ‘Did you see a girl tonight? Blond hair, pretty?’

‘I wish,’ jokes one of the men, raising a laugh from his fellows. The sick feeling in my stomach erupts, forcing me to bend into the gutter while I retch up my dinner. ‘Go home, lady. Sleep it off.’

I rush inside the pub. Everyone turns and stares at me. ‘Has anyone seen a little blonde girl tonight? I’ve lost my daughter. Please help. Please think.’

‘No, sorry,’ one woman says, followed by a few more head-shakes and shrugs. They just want to get on with their drinking in peace. I see the blue staccato of a police car light in the street. I run outside again and flag down the officers.

‘Any luck?’ Of course they’ve had luck, I think, peering through the back window, praying I’ll see Flora sitting there.

‘Sorry. No news yet. The dogs have arrived and are going to search down at the river.’ And they drive off.

‘Excuse me, have you seen a little girl? She’s eight years old with blond hair?’ A man is walking his dog.

‘No, but I can help you look. Where did you last see her?’

In my mother’s house this morning, I want to tell him. She left with her father and didn’t remember to take her coat. I didn’t even get to give her a kiss goodbye.

‘She was on a boat on the river with my husband. He walked up to the village, and when he got back she was gone. I thought she may have come looking for him.’

‘An eight-year-old left alone? Oh dear,’ he says. ‘I’ll keep a lookout. I’ll walk all around the village again. He hasn’t done his business yet.’ He points to the old Labrador and shrugs.

‘She’s called Flora,’ I tell him. ‘And she’s deaf.’ I start running one way, then another. I’ve lost my bearings, and when I see another police car, I charge after it back to the boat.

The riverbank is swarming with uniforms. Two dogs sniff at the night air. Their tails are high and they strain at their leads, excited by the prospect of a search. Floodlights illuminate the area as if it’s daytime, and radios crackle inaudible messages into the sky. I wonder, amidst this riverbank mess, if anyone is actually searching for Flora.

‘Murray . . . what are you still . . . doing here? Why aren’t you out looking?’ I nearly fall as I go down into the boat’s cabin. I can hardly speak I am so out of breath. One officer, a higher rank judging by the plain clothes, stands beside my husband in the cabin. He turns to face me.

‘Oh,
Ed
,’ I wail and fall into his arms. ‘Thank God you’re here. Now we can find Flora.’

‘I’ve been looking for her,’ Murray snaps back before Ed can speak. ‘The sniffer dogs have just arrived. I’ve been looking for some clothing, her bag, anything of hers to give the dog handler, but there’s nothing here.’

‘Well, she didn’t have a coat with her, Murray.You drove off from Northmire without it. She just took her bag of crayons and paper and goodness knows what else. There must be something of hers around here.’ I glance about but see little evidence of my daughter. The fold-down table has lines of crayon smudged on its cracked varnish, and there is a half-finished cup of orange squash sitting beside some sweet-wrappers. I imagine my daughter, absorbed, head bent over her work, sucking on a sweet, her little eyelids batting in concentration.