M. Arlidge: The Doll's House

They ate in silence, pushing the food around their plates. The leg of lamb, Maris Piper potatoes and posh broccoli had been bought with a celebration in mind – Ruby’s return home. But in her absence, the family Sunday lunch felt more like a wake. Jonathan had wanted to throw the food in the bin and forget the whole thing, but Alison had refused. It wasn’t in her nature to bin expensive food and, besides, she couldn’t give up on Ruby yet.

Did she really think that by cooking the meal she could make Ruby somehow appear? She couldn’t answer that question, couldn’t really explain what she was doing, but she felt compelled to keep the home fires burning nevertheless. As she basted the meat, as she trimmed the broccoli, she kept one eye on the front door, hoping against hope that the key would turn in the lock and Ruby would enter, full of excuses and half-baked apologies.

It’s funny how these things turn out. She had waxed and waned in her attitude to Ruby, one minute castigating her for her unpleasant behaviour, the next trying to understand what she was going through. Now Alison knew she would forgive her anything – never say a word in reproach ever again – if she just walked through the door. Would Jonathan do the same? Alison found it hard to tell. Usually such a ball of energy, he had been oddly quiet since her disappearance.

Was it possible that Ruby had run off? Changed her mind about coming home? Surely it was, as there had been so much fuss and upset recently. Alison cursed herself for ever having supported Ruby in her quest to find her birth mother. It had seemed the right thing to do at the time – it’s what liberal parents should do, isn’t it? – but look where it had got them.

She and Jonathan had fought so hard for their family. They’d always wanted three kids, but Alison couldn’t conceive. When they first found out, Alison feared Jonathan might leave her, in search of a more fertile mate. But oddly it had drawn them closer together. Terrible though the adoption process was, she and Jonathan had been determined not to be beaten by it and over the years they had managed to create a loving, stable home for Ruby, Cassie and Conor. Until Alison – or, more truthfully, Shanelle – had torn it apart.

Conor and Cassie were scared – that much was obvious. They read the news, watched TV – they knew how stories of missing girls sometimes end up. Alison had worked overtime to convince them that this wasn’t the case here, that things would be ok. Sometimes she even believed it herself. In the absence of fact, of certainty, all that was left was hope – and the stupid superstitions of a heartbroken mum.

Which is why the four of them now sat in silence in the dining room, eating food nobody wanted and thinking about the girl that everybody missed.

Nathan Price was not at home. His wife had been very certain on that point. On everything else, she was frustratingly vague. Sanderson had pushed Angela Price as hard as she could, but had learnt only that Price worked away a lot and was currently on a job – though she didn’t know where he was or when he’d be back.

Price was a freelance painter and decorator who went where the work took him. He had a few regular maintenance contracts with local landlords – Sanderson had checked these out, but they too had yielded little. So she was left with Angela as her ‘best’ hope of a lead.

Scanning the small flat, Sanderson felt curiously depressed. The place reeked of defeat and despair. Angela and Nathan didn’t have kids and, as far as Sanderson could tell, didn’t have much of a relationship either. They had been together several years and yet there were no photos of them anywhere, no signs that they were a happy, committed couple. Angela didn’t work and was reliant on Nathan for cash to top up her benefits. She was overweight and lacking in confidence, spending her time waiting to see if her errant husband would return. Sanderson sensed a sadness in her, as though she knew she was second best. For once in her life, Sanderson was glad to be single. Better to be alone than somebody’s doormat.

Sanderson left empty-handed, her frustration simmering. Who was this guy that he left such a small footprint on the world? Was it deliberate? If it was, it would make him hard to find. Which was bad news for Sanderson.

And even worse news for Ruby.

The Great Southern Hotel was not the plushest hotel in town, but it was central – just off Brunswick Place – and more importantly quiet. The Saturday night revellers had checked out by now and the whole place had a peaceful Sunday feel. It had been Helen’s first thought when Daniel Briers insisted on staying in Southampton, rather than returning home.

Daniel was still in shock, so Helen did the formalities for him, checking him in with the minimum of fuss. Moments later, they exited the lift on the fourteenth floor and entered Daniel’s well-appointed room. Helen knew she should really have asked a Family Liaison Officer to do this bread-and-butter stuff, but something told her not to abandon Daniel today. This strong, optimistic man suddenly looked very fragile. Having wrecked his world, Helen felt responsible for his safety and well-being. She couldn’t leave him until she was sure he was ok.

Sitting on the bed, his raincoat still on, he stared into space, seemingly oblivious to Helen’s attention.

‘I’m going to stay,’ he said suddenly, interrupting her. ‘For the duration.’

‘Of course. You must do what feels right,’ Helen replied. ‘But you should be aware that our investigations take weeks, sometimes months -’

‘I abandoned Pips once, I’m not going to do it again.’

It was said without self-pity. His tone was one of quiet determination.

‘I need to understand what happened to her,’ he continued. ‘Where I… went wrong.’

His voice quivered a little now, before he went on:

‘She was my little girl, Helen. I want to stay here until you catch…’

He petered out, grief robbing him of the breath to finish his sentence.

‘And we will,’ Helen responded quickly. ‘We’ll catch whoever did this to Pippa. You have my word on that.’

It was a stupid thing to promise and Helen knew she would regret it, but it was what Daniel needed to hear now. The only thing he could hear that would give him the strength to keep going. He looked up at Helen, his eyes full of gratitude, the colour suddenly returning to his cheeks. It was as if her words had briefly brought him back to life.

He reached out a hand and took hers.

‘Thank you, Helen.’

The pair sat in silence for a moment. Then, having checked once more that Daniel had everything he needed, Helen left. Daniel had phone calls to make – the worst phone calls he’d ever have to make – and Helen had work to do.

Walking away from the hotel, Helen was suddenly fired with determination to get justice not only for Pippa, but for Daniel too.

‘So what do we know about Pippa Briers?’

Helen was addressing the team who had now assembled in the incident room at Southampton Central.

‘Born in Reading in 1990 to Daniel and Samantha Briers,’ Helen continued. ‘Her mum died when she was six. Shortly afterwards Pippa was diagnosed as suffering from brachycardia – her heart beat too slowly – so she had a pacemaker fitted when she was ten. Her dad remarried shortly afterwards. It didn’t go down well and Pippa moved south following a bust-up with her stepmum, staying first with her friend Caroline Furnace in Portsmouth – have we tracked her down yet?’

‘Spoke to her on the phone this morning,’ DC Grounds replied. ‘Caroline’s had the occasional text, read the occasional tweet, but hasn’t seen Pippa for over three years now.’