Rachel Bennett - Little Girls Tell Tales

Dallin stepped into the hall. ‘That’s brilliant, thank so much. Hey, I’m glad you kept the wallpaper, Mum always loved that colour.’

It was so familiar, the flow of thought and speech that characterised Dallin. Hearing it again, in this house, was a weird mix of jarring and comforting. The house was missing voices, I realised. The hardwood floors and high ceilings cried out for warm conversation and soft laughter. I hadn’t been able to provide either recently.

I ushered Dallin into the kitchen. The woman, Cora, followed. Briefly, I wished today had been the day for tidying the downstairs rooms rather than the bedrooms. It wasn’t like the place was a mess, just not as spotless as it might’ve been. I picked up a pile of magazines from the kitchen table then, realising there was nowhere better to stash them, put them back down.

‘The kettle’s just boiled,’ I said. Although, now I thought about it, I would need to boil it again, with enough water for three. ‘And – I don’t have any coffee. Or tea. I mean, I’ve got herbal tea. Peppermint. Or mint. Or spearmint.’

‘Tea sounds great,’ Dallin said. It was likely he’d only heard half of what I said. He was making a slow circuit of the room, examining everything. He studied the fridge magnets as if they held the secrets to the universe. I was glad I’d brought him and his friend into the kitchen rather than the sitting room. I couldn’t have coped with Dallin examining Beth’s ceramics with that somehow mocking, supercilious smile on his face. At least there was nothing in here except those stupid magnets, most from places me and Beth had never been.

I busied myself with the kettle and tried to gather my thoughts. Dallin was here. That was unexpected, to say the least, given it was six years since he last set foot in this house. But what could I do, tell him he wasn’t wanted? Shut the door in his face? Maybe I should’ve. But when I considered it, I almost felt Beth poking me between the shoulder blades. She never would’ve tolerated me acting like that towards my brother. Even if Dallin deserved it, and a million times more.

‘What were those kinds of tea again?’

I jumped. I hadn’t expected Cora to appear at my elbow. ‘Sorry?’

‘The teas.’ Cora tried another smile. This one didn’t look like she’d practiced it. ‘Three types of mint, right?’

‘Yeah. The peppermint is shop bought, but the mint and spearmint are from the garden.’

‘Like, leaves?’ Cora’s eyes crinkled. Her blonde hair was cut into bangs which fell forward whenever she dipped her head. Her ears had five or six piercing holes each, although she wasn’t currently wearing earrings.

‘Leaves. Yeah.’ I tucked my own hair behind my ears. I hadn’t showered that morning or done anything more with my hair than pull it into a messy topknot with tangled strands hanging down on all sides. All at once I was aware of how I must look to outsiders. I’d got used to no one seeing me for days at a time. ‘I’m sorry I don’t have any proper tea.’

‘It’s okay. I can’t have proper tea anyway.’

‘No? Why not?’

‘Because proper-tea is theft.’ Cora smiled, a little wider, a little more genuine, with a shrug that acknowledged the pun but refused to apologise for it.

I laughed. ‘So … mint?’

‘Sounds good. Thank you.’

I fished two extra cups from the cupboard. ‘So, why are you—?’

‘I can explain all that,’ Dallin said. He adjusted a seat at the kitchen table before sitting down.

Immediately he looked at home. Which was fair enough, I thought, since technically this had been his home before it was mine. The thought caused a twist of discomfort deep in my stomach. If Dallin had stayed, instead of running, it might’ve been him living here instead of me. I might’ve never had those beautiful years here, with Beth.

‘Cora’s looking for her sister,’ Dallin said.

I crinkled my brow. ‘Oh?’

‘Simone went missing twenty years ago,’ Cora said. Her attention stayed on my hands, watching as I made the tea, as if eye contact was too difficult right then. ‘She was fifteen. I was only nine. We never found out where she went.’

Dallin fidgeted in his seat. It was obvious he wanted to tell the story. ‘Cora thinks—’

‘I’ve been trying to put together what happened to her.’ Cora’s voice was soft but she spoke over Dallin with ease. ‘Trying to … piece things together. I’ve spent a lot of time chasing down vague hints and old clues. The police were involved at the time, I guess, but not for very long. Simone ran away. Nothing more to it than that. If she didn’t want to be found …’ Cora shrugged one shoulder. There was a softness to her movements as well. I got the sense she’d said these words a dozen times or more, and she’d become used to crushing the emotion so her voice didn’t shake, so now there was no inflection to her words at all. ‘It was only recently I started asking questions. My parents refused to talk about it.’

I stirred the mugs and scooped the leaves into the compost bucket. I wasn’t exactly sure why Cora was telling me all this. But I was used to people telling me their stories. It seemed to come with the territory. I had lost someone I loved. Apparently that meant other people needed to tell me their own traumas.

‘We know she went north.’ Cora took one of the mugs from me with a grateful half-smile. ‘The night Simone left home, she was caught on CCTV, getting onto a train. After that, she vanished. Never seen again.’

‘I’m sorry.’ I said it automatically, even though it always annoyed me when people apologised. Everyone’s sorry. It goes without saying. But even so, the quiet sadness in Cora’s expression made something twinge inside me. I’d spent so long pretending to be hardened, careful not to feel anything in case it set off the tsunami inside me. As harsh as it sounded, I didn’t want to feel sad over Cora’s story. I wanted to stay as I was. Feeling nothing.

‘Tell her the rest,’ Dallin said. There was a bright excitement in his eyes that he tried to hide.

‘There was a possible lead,’ Cora said. ‘Someone thought they saw Simone getting onto a ferry at Heysham. The police checked the CCTV at the time.’ She looked away to conceal the haunted look in her eyes. ‘They told me it showed a girl who was about the right age, right height, wrong clothes, but that doesn’t prove anything either way, does it? She could’ve changed her clothes easily enough. And the camera was pointed the wrong way. The police said they couldn’t see her face. And, of course, they didn’t bother keeping the footage on file, so I have to take their word for it.’ She blew on her tea to cool it. ‘Anyway, the footage wasn’t enough for the police. They looked into it – at least, they said they did. But they never found her here. Or anywhere else.’

I glanced at Dallin. From the look on his face, he was expecting something from me. But I couldn’t see what Cora’s story had to do with me.

Cora also frowned, looking hesitant again. ‘Did … did Dallin tell you this? He told you, right?’

Dallin said, ‘I sent you an email, Rose. Did you get it?’

I rolled my eyes. ‘What on earth made you think that was the best way to get in touch with me?’

‘I don’t know. Everyone does everything by email.’ Dallin raised his hands in weak apology. ‘I figured it might be a bit much for me to call you out of the blue.’

‘But turning up on my doorstep, that’s fine?’

Cora set down her mug. ‘I’m sorry. I had no idea … I thought you’d invited us here. I wouldn’t have … I’m sorry.’ She picked up her bag from the chair when she’d left it.

‘Wait. Cora, wait.’ Dallin intercepted her before she could walk out. ‘It’s okay. Rosie, it’s alright that we’re here, yeah? I’m sorry you didn’t get my message. But we’ve both come a long way. You need to hear what Cora’s got to say.’