Someone is Lying, page 13
‘But you’re not hurt – otherwise?’ I ask tentatively. I mean before that, I mean by Dylan, but right now I need to tread carefully.
‘I’m fine.’
She is anything but fine. My daughter. My baby. My adult child now. I reach up and take a tendril of her hair. It slips through my fingers before they catch on a knot. ‘Where have you been?’ I ask in a whisper. Where have you been to get like this?
Her skin looks dirty. A streak of dried mud runs down the front of her shin, a giveaway that she has fallen over. Had she been running from something? From him? Her denim shorts are stained, I don’t recognise the black vest top she is wearing.
Issie’s eyes stare back at me, heavy with tiredness although I can see a glimmer of tears in them too.
She doesn’t answer me at first but then whispers back, ‘I want to go.’
I nod. ‘Of course.’ I stand up, still holding on to her. I cannot take my eyes off her. To think I have been imagining I may never see her again and yet here she is, sitting in front of me. I would have taken anything, I was willing to deal with whatever was thrown at me, as long as she was alive. But now, when I look at her, I see something else. Something that resembles terror, and I’m already moving onto what I fear most: what has happened to my daughter in the last week to bring her back like this?
‘Let me go and speak to the doctors and check we can go,’ I say, eventually letting go of her as I turn and find the nurse at the door to the ward chattering furiously to another.
I wait patiently for a moment, until she sees me. ‘I want to take my daughter back to my hotel,’ I tell her. ‘Is that okay?’
‘Yes, I am sure,’ she says. ‘I will find out for you.’
‘There are no other tests you think she might need?’ I ask. Tests that could tell me what has happened to her.
‘I don’t think this is necessary. We do all the tests we need and everything seems to be fine.’
I nod. That word fine again. I am loath to take her from the hospital if Dylan has hurt her in any way. But then, if there’s nothing physically wrong with her, she isn’t going to tell me here.
‘Wait here a minute, please,’ the nurse says.
I do as I am told, looking up to see Inspector Melo coming along the corridor. I had forgotten he said he would meet me here. ‘How is your daughter?’ he asks when he is near. I look for a trace of mockery that I have caused a scene in declaring Issie as missing, and now she is suddenly back like he said she would be. Or even anger that my ex-husband spoke to the press only this morning, making an accusation that Melo and his team have done nothing to help. But I find neither. Instead he looks grave as he comes to stand by me. He frowns, his lips pressed together and there is nothing but concern.
‘I think she is physically okay so I’m waiting for the nurse to tell me whether I can take her back to my hotel. Do you know what happened? You said she stepped in front of a tram?’
‘I do not think she saw it coming,’ he says, ‘from what the driver says. One minute there is no one in front of him and the next she is stepping out. Like her mind is somewhere else entirely, maybe?’
He goes on, ‘She collapsed then at the side of the road. Maybe she fainted. I am pleased she is okay, but I wonder where she has been if she is not in a good way. Has she said anything to you?’
‘No. Not yet. All she wants is to go back to my hotel.’ I don’t know which of us is in the wrong. If he was right and my daughter went off on her own accord, or if he should have listened to me because it could have turned out so much worse. Somehow I am certain it is the latter, but I need to talk to her to find out.
‘I would like to speak with her,’ he says. ‘Before you go anywhere.’
‘Okay. She’s tired though.’ I find myself excusing her for the fact she isn’t acting herself. I think of how she felt so stiff and fragile beneath my arms and how the nurse said she wasn’t speaking to anyone.
‘It will not take long,’ he assures me, looking over my shoulder and into the ward.
‘I’m worried about her,’ I confide in him, pulling him out of the doorway and around the corner, lowering my voice so no one nearby hears me. ‘Maybe not physically, but she looks awful, and I can tell something bad has happened. I think she’s too frightened to speak right now.’
Melo turns his attention back to me but doesn’t respond.
‘Hopefully she’ll tell you,’ I go on. ‘But—’ I flick a hand through the air. ‘I don’t know. I guess seeing her again after all this time isn’t how I imagined it would be,’ I admit. Perhaps I’d expected some joyful reunion, though is that too much to ask?
I move back to the ward and go to point Issie out to the inspector, but I am staring at an empty bed. Where Issie was sitting only moments ago, there is now no one, the ruffled sheets the only giveaway she had ever been there.
‘Issie?’ I say as I step back in, looking for her across the half-dozen beds as if she might be hiding in here. But there is no sign of her. ‘She must have slipped past me.’ I look one way then the other up the corridor. My heart starts to hammer, the thought that she has vanished so quickly after I have only just got her back. I start to run down the corridor, my feet picking up pace as I go, turning corners one way and then the other, Melo at my heels.
I push through the glass revolving doors, outside into the sun that beats down heavily still. It is late afternoon and the sunlight blinds me as we step out. I put up a hand to shield my eyes as I strain to look for her.
I see her then, halfway across the car park. She is walking, not fast, more staggering away from the hospital. ‘Issie!’ I call after her as I chase her down. It doesn’t take long to reach her. I grab her wrist and make her stop and am grateful when she doesn’t try to get away.
‘What are you doing? Why didn’t you wait?’ My eyes flick over her face. I am desperate for anything, for her to tell me what is going on behind her glassy stare.
‘I want to go home,’ she says in hushed words.
Melo has caught up with us again and I feel her flinch and pull her hand out of my grip.
‘Can this wait?’ I say to him because, for whatever reason, I know she doesn’t want to speak to him. ‘Please? I just want to get her back to the hotel so she can shower and eat.’
He tells me it can but only after he has taken the name of the hotel where I am staying. He says he will call me this evening and then, with relief, he finally leaves us.
I don’t say anything more as I steer Issie back towards the hospital and park her on a bench out of the sun as I call for an Uber. I wonder if it is because of Santos Melo that she left the ward, and assume it likely is.
I don’t want my daughter to be a victim who doesn’t speak out and yet I can also understand it. Sometimes we do anything to protect ourselves.
But I will not let her protect Dylan, I think, as we wait in interminable silence for the Uber to arrive. I sit close to her so I can feel her beside me, my leg pressed up against hers. I reach out an arm and wrap it around her shoulders, waiting for her to eventually fall against me. Only once she does do I let myself breathe.
The woman is sitting at her desk in the reception of the hotel as we go in. She looks up with horrified interest at the sight of Issie. ‘My daughter,’ I say. ‘We’re going up to my room.’
She begins to speak but I push Issie past her, up the ornately winding staircase to the second floor where I open the door to my room and gently nudge her in.
She looks around but doesn’t say anything. ‘I’ll run a bath,’ I tell her, and don’t wait for the response I won’t likely get as I turn on the taps and sluice a foaming gel under the running water.
I stand in the bathroom and keep the door open so I can see her in the bedroom, in case she suddenly gets up and walks out. Maybe she won’t now we are on our own, but I won’t take any chances. I track her shadow through the crack in the bathroom door as she moves towards the windows. I edge back so I can peer around and see her better. I have a view of her back as she stands motionless, looking out onto the street below.
I have had so many visions of what might happen if she called me or suddenly returned and yet none of them were this. In all of them, we were both full of relief and joy, hugging each other and holding on like we couldn’t let go. I never once saw her pulling away from me, silently, like she is doing.
What the hell has happened to you, Issie? I think as I watch her. Something has for sure. Something she does not want to talk about. Something that made her run when Santos Melo arrived at the hospital.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When Issie has been in the bath for an hour, I call through and ask if she is all right.
‘I’m coming out,’ she says and I hear the water start to gurgle down the drain.
I wait on the bed until she appears, watching her move around the room like a ghost. I have made her a cup of tea and opened a complimentary packet of biscuits. ‘You must be hungry. We can get something to eat in one of the restaurants below,’ I suggest, gesturing out of the window.
Issie takes the tea, sipping at it before shoving a biscuit into her mouth. I pat the bed next to me and she comes over to sit down. ‘Issie, what happened?’ I ask softly. ‘I haven’t heard from you in six days. I thought you might be dead,’ I add, my words straining.
‘I’m sorry,’ she tells me, looking at the tea as she swirls the cup in her hand. Tears swell in the corner of her eyes. Her face is etched in pain and I reach out to hold her.
‘You don’t have to apologise,’ I say. ‘All I want is to know that you’re okay.’
She starts crying now, tears that turn into sobs, and I hold her, shaking against me, resting my chin on top of her head, thoughts of what might have happened swarming like sharks.
I haven’t held her like this in a long time, I think, though I had never forgotten the way it feels. The warmth of her body against mine, knowing that right now in this moment, nothing else matters. Issie is here with me, and I swear on my life I will never let anything happen to her again. A promise I have been making since the day she was born. Yet somehow, I made a mistake. I allowed something to hurt her. I allowed someone to.
‘I want to go home,’ she whispers. ‘Can we get a flight tonight?’
‘I’ll look into getting one tomorrow. You need to have a good night’s sleep first.’
She doesn’t reply and eventually pulls away.
‘Where’s Dylan?’ I ask her.
Issie gets off the bed and wanders over to the window, staring out of it in silence.
‘Do you know?’
‘No,’ she murmurs.
‘Issie? What happened?’ I say softly.
‘I can’t talk about it right now.’
I frown. I want to talk. I need her to talk. Only, isn’t it enough that she’s here with me, I ask myself. She is safe. I will keep her safe. We can talk when she is ready.
So I drop the subject for now, mindful not to keep pushing when she feels so frightened, so fragile. I don’t know how much space she will need, though I am aware she will have to talk soon because Inspector Melo will be calling and we can’t keep fobbing him off. Not when there are headlines out there, shouting about Issie, and what Dylan might have done to her. All the terrible possibilities I put into Scott’s head which he, in turn, fed to the media.
I updated Scott while Issie was in the bath, telling him she wasn’t hurt, but that I still didn’t know what had happened to make her disappear for five days. I wonder how he will handle the media, how he will stop everyone thinking my daughter is missing or dead. Hopefully he is already setting the story straight in a way I have no doubt Scott can.
Issie is still wrapped in a towel, and it hits me that, apart from the small bag she has by her feet, she doesn’t have any of her things. ‘Where are all your clothes?’ I ask her.
‘In the hostel. Near here.’
‘In Lisbon?’
Issie nods.
‘Let’s go and get them,’ I say. ‘You can borrow something of mine for now.’
‘No.’ She shakes her head adamantly. Then, ‘I can go later.’
‘Why not now? Let me go for you if you can’t face it. You don’t have to leave the room,’ I tell her, although, as soon as I say it, I feel unsure about leaving her alone.
‘You don’t need to do that.’
‘Do you think Dylan could be there?’ I ask.
She looks at me, wide-eyed, before turning away. Surely this thought must have crossed her mind. ‘I can get my stuff some other time. There’s really no rush.’
I nod, letting this go too. Of course there is every chance Dylan is in the hostel. But what I also consider is that if all her clothes and belongings are still in Lisbon, and all she has is a small bag with her, then there was clearly no way they arranged this little trip to the mountains for a few nights. The post on her Instagram was a lie. It wasn’t a mini trip. Whatever this was – it was not planned, at least not by Issie.
‘Was it you who messaged me last night?’ I ask her as I open up another packet of biscuits and pass them to her. I wish I had more food to give her but we will have to go out for that.
Issie nods. ‘You were worried.’ She gulps. ‘I know you must have been and I didn’t want you to be scared.’ She glances up at me now and catches my eye. ‘That’s the last thing I wanted. I’m so sorry.’ I can see by the agony in her eyes she means this. ‘But I couldn’t—’ She stops abruptly, as if a memory has taken over her thoughts.
‘Issie—’ I stop her again. ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ I tell her. ‘Was it?’ I prompt.
‘Of course not.’
‘Well then. Please don’t apologise to me.’ I purse my lips as she curls up on the bed, still wrapped in the towel, digging herself beneath the covers that she pulls up to her chin. ‘Iz, don’t lie there wet like that,’ I say gently. ‘Put this on.’ I grab a towelling dressing gown that hangs in the wardrobe and pass it to her. She puts it on and I take the towel from her.
I watch as she closes her eyes. She is nothing more than a shadow. It feels as though, if I reached out for her, she wouldn’t be there. But then, ‘Mum?’ she says.
‘Yes, my love?’
‘I wanted to come home.’
Those five words take me back to a time when she was almost eleven. It was the first time she had stayed with Scott after he left us. He’d come to England and stayed in a hotel in the New Forest and I had pushed Issie to spend the weekend with him, though she hadn’t particularly wanted to. Sunday night when she was back, I was saying goodnight as she lay in bed, curled up on one side and she uttered those exact words to me. They had broken me then as much as they do now.
Issie is squeezing her eyes tighter shut, clamping them up. ‘I didn’t want to be here any more. I wanted to be back at home before any of this—’ She stops abruptly.
‘Oh, Iz,’ I say, and remember how she had messaged Leah with an apology on the night before her birthday. Something happened to make her do that. But then something, or someone, stopped her. ‘We’re going to get through this,’ I tell her. ‘Whatever has happened. Whatever he has done,’ I add, my voice dropping a level.
She reaches a hand out from under the covers and grabs hold of mine, squeezing it hard. ‘You promise?’
‘Issie,’ I say firmly, ‘I promise.’
It isn’t long before sleep drags her in, her breathing begins to slow and I relax a little myself. At least she is safe here. It feels like she knows that.
Santos Melo calls ten minutes later when I am lying on the bed next to Issie, staring at the ornate ceiling above my head as my mind races through a myriad of scenarios my daughter might have been through in the last week. My phone tells me it is six thirty in the evening. I have no idea if Issie will sleep through the night or not, but I don’t want to wake her when she’s so exhausted.
‘Hold on,’ I tell him as I creep out of the room, softly shutting the door behind me as I hover the other side of it on the hotel landing. ‘She’s asleep,’ I explain. ‘I really don’t want to wake her.’
‘Okay. Well then please call me if there is anything more I can do,’ he says.
‘Wait, you don’t want to talk to her?’
‘Not if she does not want to. As far as we know, there is no crime, no? Maybe she and her boyfriend had a fight.’
‘No. It’s more than that,’ I say, adamant. Now he’s said he doesn’t need to speak to Issie, I realise how much I want him to. I hoped he’d be able to get out of her whatever she isn’t telling me. I need him to try. ‘She’s frightened of her boyfriend,’ I go on. ‘She’s petrified. She doesn’t want to go back to where they were staying. And besides, she would never have stayed away and had no contact with me just because they had an argument.’
He listens before saying, ‘But until your daughter tells us there is more, I cannot do anything.’ I know he is right and that I need to get Issie to talk. I need to dig further. ‘I am sorry, Mrs Adams. I have a teenage daughter also. They are a worry, yes?’
‘They are,’ I agree, grateful at least for his empathy.
‘Sometimes we have to let them come to us when they are ready,’ he adds.
‘Yes. You’re probably right,’ I say. ‘But if there is anything—’ I stop. ‘Could you maybe do a check on Dylan Whiting? Or speak to anyone who may have seen them at this national park where they were supposed to be staying. Is there anything you can do?’
I hear him blow out a breath. ‘I will see what I can find for you, Mrs Adams. But, please, do not hold your breath, as you might say.’
When Issie opens her eyes again it is quarter past eight. ‘Are you hungry?’ I ask.
She nods. ‘I don’t want to go out though.’
‘I can get something and bring it up?’
‘Please.’
I reach out and brush a strand of her hair off her face. ‘You don’t need to tell me tonight,’ I say, though I don’t know how long I can wait like the inspector suggests. Not when it is something that’s affecting every fibre of her being.
