Tess Evans - Book of Lost Threads

He awoke to see that the road unspooling before them had darkened and the shadows lengthened. As the bus sped on, the sun’s last rays randomly painted the embankment with a brief fiery palette, and the new gum tips glowed red in the slanting light. Leaning into the window, Finn felt a sense of place, of homecoming.

They were approaching Mystic, and Finn observed that the Lions and Rotary clubs were happy to welcome him to a town with a population of 3500. Most of the passengers alighted here. Finn shrank back in his seat as Helen Porter clambered untidily onto the bus, carrying two overflowing shopping bags. Don’t let her see me , Finn prayed, but she looked up and smiled as she approached, and he was forced to assist her to stow her bags. Why didn’t I bring a book or a newspaper? he thought as she settled beside him and commented on the weather.

He answered in a monosyllable, and she looked at him sharply. ‘Are you okay? We heard you left town.’

‘Embarrassed-TV show,’ Finn mumbled.

‘That may be, but you had us all worried. No-one takes that program seriously. Well, some do,’ she added dryly, ‘but they don’t have a very long concentration span.’

Finn nodded his gratitude, and Helen tactfully took out a magazine, allowing him to once again follow his own thoughts. As the bus approached Opportunity, he retrieved Helen’s bags and carried them the short distance to her house.

‘Thanks, Finn.’ She grasped his arm. ‘Look, the gossip will flare up for a bit now you’re back, but ride it out. This is your home.’

As he turned the corner into his street, he saw that Sandy’s car was parked outside his aunt’s place. He hoped Moss was there too. It was better to get it over all at once. Steeling himself, he knocked on the door to be greeted by Errol’s bark and the sound of his paws skittering down the passageway. The door opened, and in a moment he found himself swept inside and seated in the familiar kitchen. Moss was there, looking apprehensive.

‘Finn, I’m so sorry,’ she wailed, flinging herself at him.

He was startled by the intensity of her emotion and patted her ineffectually, murmuring, ‘It’s okay, Moss. It’s okay.’ She continued to sob until, holding her at arm’s length, he gripped her shoulders and looked straight into her eyes. ‘Listen. It really is okay. In one way, it’s a weight off my mind and-who knows?-it might lead us to Amber-Lee’s family.’

Sandy couldn’t contain himself. ‘It has, Finn,’ he chortled. ‘Moss has heard from the police. A woman contacted them from England. She’s the other girl in the photo. She had a dog called Mr Pie. Remember? That’s what Brenda told the TV people: that Amber-Lee said Mr Pie was a stupid name for a dog.’

MEG TURNER WAS NOT SURE what to pack. She would need something smart for the TV interview and had already spent some of her expected payment on a stylish new suit. She was a shrewd woman, and had negotiated herself a rather good package, which included accommodation, return airfares to Melbourne for two, plus a sum that would cover a nice little holiday on the Great Barrier Reef. All she had to do was take part in an interview regarding her missing cousin. She’d seen the photograph on the local news along with an appeal for anyone in the Blackpool area who might know its origins to come forward. The woman she’d contacted passed her details on to the producer of Across the Nation , who signed her up immediately, expressing the hope that the interview would be sufficiently emotional. So the viewers can understand the depths of your loss , the producer explained. Meg also agreed to cooperate with the police investigation.

Folding her T-shirts and pants, she wondered how much she should tell. She’d never really missed Jilly. They were four years apart in age so they were never friends. She was quite a nice little kid, as Meg recalled. A bit shy, but biddable. To be honest, she could barely remember what her cousin looked like. She did remember the kafuffle when Patty ran away. Her own mother, Ellen, had pursed her lips and said, I expected as much of that sister of mine , but the grandparents never ceased to mourn the loss of their granddaughter. When he failed to get his daughter back, Jilly’s father went crazy and took to the drink. He somehow managed to work during the day, but according to the whispered conversations Meg overheard, he would return home each evening to drink alone. Sometimes he would come to her house, crying. Meg had hated that. Adults weren’t supposed to cry.

‘I feel sorry for him,’ Meg’s mother would say, ‘but he should pull himself together. Even if they do find her, they’ll say he’s not a fit parent if he keeps carrying on like that.’

Meg paused as she held up her new swimmers and posed in front of the mirror. Very nice. Just the thing for a tropical holiday. It was all amazingly lucky. Still, her cousin owed her something. Her grandparents did nothing but talk about Jilly till the day they died: where she might be, what she might be doing, what she would look like at this age or that. By contrast, they treated Meg and her brother with an abstracted sort of kindness, and as children they always felt that they were poor substitutes for the missing Jilly. Meg felt some satisfaction in the knowledge that her cousin had been working the streets. What would Grandpa and Grandma have thought of that ?

Pressing hard on the lid of her case, she closed the zip and picked up the photo. It belonged in the hand luggage, she’d decided. She couldn’t afford to lose the evidence.

Poor old Uncle Andy , she thought suddenly, looking at the fresh young face smiling at his daughter. It broke his heart. Maybe it’s just as well he’s not here to find out what happened to her . Despite the fact that there was no firm evidence as yet, Meg was sure that this Amber-Lee really was her cousin Jilly. Ellen agreed. She wasn’t in the least surprised that Patty’s daughter came to a sorry end.

Ellen saw them off at Heathrow and reminded Meg that the family honour was in her hands. ‘Aunty Patty may have been a tart,’ she reminded her, ‘but you don’t have to broadcast that to the world.’

As it turned out, Meg did rather well. She managed to paint a picture of a family bereft when a headstrong (but not wicked) young woman took her daughter and ran away with her lover.

‘We all missed them so much,’ she told a nodding Lisa Morgan. ‘Jilly’s father died of a broken heart, and my grandparents never really got over it.’ She looked into the camera as she’d been instructed. ‘And now that we know, it’s too late.’ A discreetly applied tissue added to the effect.

The studio scene faded out to a shot of Meg placing flowers on the corner where her cousin died. She looked quite forlorn, standing there with her head bowed.

‘Cut,’ said the producer. ‘Good value for money, I think.’ She turned to her assistant. ‘We can get some more out of this one. How about this for an idea? Let’s try to arrange a meeting between the cousin and the bloke who killed her. That ought to keep the punters happy.’

Unaware of this plan, and having fulfilled her obligation with the interview, Meg was ready to cooperate with Senior Sergeant Patterson. She showed him her copy of the photograph and formally identified her cousin and family.

Graham Patterson was cautious. ‘Our problem is that we only have Brenda’s word that Amber-Lee said it was a photo of her family. She was paid by the TV station, you know. It makes her testimony a bit suspect.’ Meg had the grace to blush but the policeman went on, oblivious. ‘We’d like to do a DNA test. Do you have a problem with that?’