Chapter Two
CATH ARMSTRONG COULDN’T THINK STRAIGHT. IT wasn’t just the panic of finding Lottie dead and her daughter having disappeared.
That was a bizarre nightmare, but she’d have been knackered anyway.
She’d shared the overnight driving with her husband but had hardly even dozed when it was her turn to rest. As soon as she’d taken over, Paul had fallen fast asleep, the passenger seat tilted back.
Not snoring exactly, but breathing heavily and rhythmically, the noise soporific, so she’d had to open the window to keep herself awake.
Yet, when it was her turn to nap, she’d found it impossible.
Insomnia had always been a curse, even when she was a teenager.
Now, exhaustion and anxiety were muddling her thoughts.
It was a struggle to believe that Lottie was actually dead, and that Hannah had disappeared into thin air.
The day was turning into a blur, spiked by moments of sparkling light and sharp shadows.
The steep path to the beach led through woodland, the trees stunted by the wind and the shade in the combe, so the light filtered through, dappled on last autumn’s dropped dead leaves.
If Hannah was hiding away anywhere, surely it would be here?
Her car had still been outside the house and inland she only had the farm and the village to head out for.
If she’d reached those, she’d have got in touch with them, answered their phone calls.
Cath thought there must be some logical explanation.
She was given to panic and fearing the worst. Paul was always telling her to be more positive, and now she tried to follow his advice.
Lottie’s death must be an accident – tragic of course, but not sinister – and Hannah would be here on the beach, perhaps with that local boy from the farm she’d taken a shine to.
She wouldn’t even know that Lottie was dead.
Cath conjured up the image of a fire, encircled by pebbles, the ashes still warm, and her daughter lying sleepily on the dry sand in the arms of a handsome young man.
It was the sort of thing she’d have done when she was young.
As she skittered down the footpath, she shouted, ‘Hannah, pet! Where are you?’
She wasn’t even too disappointed or panicked when there was no reply, because her daughter would be on the beach, not in the woods, wouldn’t she? With the boy from the farm. Asleep after a night of sex and cheap red wine.
The path was rocky where the soil had worn away.
To her right there was the stream, hardly more than a trickle after a month of drought.
Beyond that, the silhouette of the ruined watermill that had given the combe its name.
Cath was wearing sandals and had to watch where she was putting her feet, not looking ahead, so it was almost a shock, a jolt, when the ground levelled, and she came out onto the narrow beach.
There must have been an early morning high tide, receding now, because the emerging strip of sand was dark and smooth, perfectly clean.
No debris. No footprints. No beautiful girl sleeping with a good-looking boy.
Cath was hit again by reality. Lottie was dead, and she’d swum for England in international schoolgirl competitions, so she wouldn’t just drown.
And Hannah was missing. Paul was a fixer.
He could sort out most of the family’s problems, through his contacts or his cleverness.
But this was something he wouldn’t be able to fix.
She sat on the dry sand that the tide hadn’t reached and started crying again.
The cove was surrounded by two low headlands.
Seabirds were breeding on the cliffs and the noise of their calls drowned out the sound of the water which was calm and oily.
Cath didn’t realize that someone was behind her until they tapped her gently on her shoulder.
She turned and saw a tall woman, of about her own age, with wiry red hair.
The sun had brought out her freckles. The woman sat down beside her.
‘I’m Jen. Jen Rafferty. Inspector Venn’s sergeant.
’ The voice was quite unexpected. Scouse.
Out of place here on this idyllic beach in North Devon.
But Cath had often felt out of place here too.
And in their smart north London home. It was only when she saw the Angel of the North on the skyline and crossed the Tyne Bridge into Newcastle that she had a sense of true belonging.
She was, as Paul called her, a sentimental Geordie.
The sergeant spoke again. ‘Did you think Hannah might be here?’
‘She loves the beach. For the boys, it’s the pool, games, diving and jumping, but Hannah was always a little mermaid. She’s most at home in the sea.’
‘Tell me about her.’
That surprised Cath. She’d expected questions, action, not a chat. But still, she found herself talking.
‘We were too young when I had her. Students. Paul was doing medicine, so you’d think we’d have known better, but sometimes these things happen, don’t they?
And we were excited. Those days everything seemed possible, easy.
We didn’t think a baby would change our lives so much.
We’d carry on in the same way but just take her with us. ’
‘Did it work out like that?’
‘It kind of did.’ Cath found herself smiling, thinking of those days in dreadful student flats in Newcastle, brightened by cheap rugs and home-painted charity shop furniture.
Hannah in a makeshift carrycot in the corner while they partied with friends, the child asleep despite the noise of the music.
‘But she was an easy baby. I’m not sure it would have been so possible with the boys. ’
‘Were you doing medicine too?’
‘No.’ Again, the thought of that made Cath smile. ‘Languages were my thing. French and Russian, but I dropped out because I couldn’t do the compulsory year abroad. Not with Hannah.’
‘That must have been tough.’
‘It was. I always thought I’d go back to it, but it never worked out. Paul’s career took up so much time. And then he got into politics too. Stood for the council first. Every night a meeting. Even worse when he became an MP.’
‘So,’ the detective said, ‘you were at home, holding it all together?’
‘Aye, something like that. Especially when the boys came along. Financially, things were easier of course. We all moved to London to be close to Paul when he became an MP but I’m a Northerner at heart and I missed the support of my friends and family.’
‘And Hannah? What did she make of her dad being in the public eye?’
‘She struggled.’ It was, Cath realized, a kind of confession.
To herself as well as Jen Rafferty. ‘She was a shy, timid little thing, and our house was always full of people and noise. I didn’t mind the role of an MP’s wife.
I liked being a part of the decision-making, even on the edges.
I thrived on the chaos. It never occurred to me that all those people intimidated her.
Perhaps I didn’t give her enough time, didn’t listen enough.
’ Cath paused. She expected the other woman to jump in with a question – most of her female friends were better at talking than listening – but Rafferty just stared out towards the sea, so Cath continued talking.
‘Hannah found it hard going back to school after Covid. Of course, our place was very different during the pandemic. Quiet. Paul went back to working for the NHS in London, filling gaps wherever he was needed – he wasn’t a minister then – so usually it was just me and the kids there.
Hannah spent a lot of time in her room. The boys were very young, so I thought she needed a bit of calm for the Zoom teaching.
She was in the third year of secondary school when she went back.
Without thinking, we’d sent her to our local comp.
It was a brilliant school, one of the reasons why we chose to live where we did.
Paul and I are both against private education. ’
‘She didn’t settle?’
‘It was a nightmare. Every morning was a battle. She was physically sick. We stuck it out for a term, but if anything, it was getting worse.’ Cath stopped suddenly and turned to the woman. ‘Look, shouldn’t we be searching for her? Why are we just sitting here chatting?’
‘Other people will be searching for her,’ Rafferty said. ‘This is important. I need to understand her.’ A pause. ‘I’ve got a lass who’s just started uni. I’m a single mam. I know teenagers aren’t easy.’
‘She never got into any bother,’ Cath said.
The northern accent was getting stronger.
She felt easy, as if she were talking to one of her mates back home.
‘No drugs, no coming home pissed. Nothing like that.’ As soon as the last sentence came out, though, she knew that wasn’t true.
It wasn’t a lie exactly, because Cath had only had her suspicions, but it wasn’t the whole truth.
‘You were worried about her?’
‘I was. We were …’ Though Paul had never been quite as worried as she was, Cath thought. He was always too busy. Not just with parliamentary stuff, but all the media, the after-dinner speeches, the well-being podcast that had done so well and allowed them to buy this house in North Devon.
‘In the end, we took her out of the academy and started her in a private day school close to home. Just girls and small classes. Against all our principles, but sometimes they have to come second, don’t they?’
‘Did it help?’ It sounded as if Jen Rafferty was genuinely curious.
‘It did. At first at least. Lots of the girls had parents who were famous for one reason or another. She didn’t stand out or get bullied because her father appears on the telly.
She’s a grafter and did really well in her GCSEs.
She’s into environmental science. She’s got a university place if her A levels are good enough. ’
‘But more recently?’
Cath knew that things had changed lately but thought this wasn’t the time to talk about that. No need for the police to get involved. Paul would have a fit if the incident became public, and it could have nothing to do with Hannah’s disappearance.
She shrugged. ‘She’s a teenager. Raging hormones. They’re all desperate to fit in, aren’t they?’
‘Ah,’ Jen said. ‘Not the easiest to live with. Boyfriend? Girlfriend?’
‘She wasn’t in a relationship with Lottie, if that’s what you mean. Not, of course, that we’d mind.’ Cath was about to say that some of their best friends were gay, but stopped herself, just in time. Wasn’t that the sentence mocked by some of her friends?
‘Anyone else special in Hannah’s life?’
‘She did have a thing with the lad who lives at the farm on the edge of the village when we were here at Easter. Or, if not a fling as such, then a friendship. Intense. You know, as only they can be in their late teens.’
‘What’s his name?’ The question sounded casual, but Cath could tell that the detective thought this was important.
‘Jake. Jacob. Jacob Brennan. He’s a bit older, but not away at college. He works for his dad. We only met him properly a few times when Hannah brought him to the house for supper or to use the pool.’
Cath was expecting more questions about Jacob, but the detective’s focus shifted again.
‘Tell me about Lottie.’ Jen Rafferty was looking at the sea, at the shallow waves sliding across the sand, as if she had nothing better to do than sit here in the sunshine, topping up her tan.
Cath felt impatient again. Angry. ‘What do you need to know?’
‘Did she have any problems? Was she happy? Stable? Confident?’
‘Are you thinking that she might have killed herself? No! If anything, she was too confident!’ As soon as the words were out, Cath wished she could suck them back.
‘Oh?’
Now she’d started Cath couldn’t stop. All her resentment at Lottie came spilling out. ‘She was one of those girls that have everything: brains, looks, money, a mother who adores her.’
‘A bit spoiled, you’re saying?’
‘Maybe.’ Cath struggled to find the words to explain. ‘She was used to everything going her way. It made her seem entitled. A bit entitled.’
‘But Hannah got on okay with her?’
‘Oh yes, Hannah was thrilled when Lottie decided that they’d be best friends.’
‘You don’t sound too enthralled by the friendship.’
There was a moment of silence. ‘Oh no, I was delighted,’ Cath said.
Because she wasn’t stupid. If Lottie hadn’t killed herself, and her drowning wasn’t some dreadful accident, then it must be murder.
Hannah had disappeared, so it made sense that the police would be considering her a suspect.
‘Besides, it didn’t matter what I thought, did it?
I was just pleased that Hannah had found a friend. ’