N.D. Gomes - Blackbird

I remember that the older policeman wasn’t looking at them. He was watching me. And he had this look on his face that I couldn’t figure out – pity? Sadness? Indifference?

Either way, I will never forget his face. Or my mother’s when they told her that she needed to wait twenty-four hours before it can become an official missing persons case. Both will haunt me forever. I felt confused at first, like I had heard him wrong. ‘Missing persons case.’

I thought it was my sister playing jokes as she usually did. But then I saw the policeman’s face, and I knew it was true. Then I felt like all of the air had been violently sucked out of my body and I couldn’t breathe. It’s a strange feeling when someone tells you the person you love most in the world has vanished. It’s like you’ve been stripped from your body, and you’re floating above watching everything happen. Because you never think it will happen to you – that it is happening to you.

Being Orcadian, you are somewhat sheltered from that world. The world where evil is normal. Our island is small. Too small. Everyone knows everyone. But that is what’s so hard to understand. Someone must know where she is. Someone must know something.

She’s just staying over at a friend’s. That’s it. She’ll be back tomorrow.

Right?

What if she’s not back tomorrow? Or the next day? What then?

These police officers don’t know her. They don’t know anything about her so how are they going to find her?

I know her. She’s my sister. I know her.

She just turned eighteen years old on her last birthday.

Her name is Olivia.

She’s finishing school this year and is going to move to London. She’s looking forward to beginning her life. She wants to be a dancer with the Royal Ballet Company in London. And she will be, everyone says she dances beautifully. I love to watch her perform. She’s mesmerizing. She looks so free – like a blackbird.

Olivia.

Where are you?

‘What time did you last see your sister on the night of the thirty-first?’

The room is cold, dimly lit, in the police station in Stenness near the Barnhouse Settlement. I pull my sleeves down over my hands and tuck them between my legs. How long have I been here? Is it still morning? Why am I here? I don’t know anything. I can’t share anything. I’m as in the dark as them.

I can feel my eyelids twitching, but I can’t stop it. I try opening them a little wider.

‘Alexandra?’

‘Alex.’

‘Alex, what time did you last see your sister on the night of the thirty-first?’ The police officer shifts in his seat like he’s uncomfortable, but his eyes never leave my face. Maybe he’s the reason my eyes are twitching. I remember him from yesterday. I remember the expression on his face.

‘Detective Birkens, is it?’ I cautiously ask.

‘Detective Inspector Birkens. I’ll be leading the investigation into your sister’s whereabouts. We met yesterday, very briefly.’

‘I remember.’

‘Sorry I had to get you up so early today.’

My body weighs heavily in the chair beneath me. My eyelids are starting to drop. It really is cold in here. There’s a breeze coming in from somewhere. The detective doesn’t seem to notice. What is the difference between a policeman and a detective anyway? Should I ask him?

‘Are you OK? Do you want anything to drink – water, tea, a Coke?’

No, I just want to go home.

The door clicks open and the younger policeman from yesterday steps into the room. He closes the door behind him, and leans against the wall by the doorframe. Now he’s watching me too. Everyone is.

‘Where are my mum and dad?’ I eventually ask.

‘They’re in the next room. They’re talking to another police officer.’

‘Why are we here?’

‘Because it’s been over twenty-four hours since Olivia was initially reported missing, so it’s now treated as a missing persons case.’

‘Case?’

‘It’s just a formality,’ smiles the younger policeman.

The detective inspector turns to him then looks back at me. ‘So back to Hogmanay evening,’ he says.

‘We ate dinner together.’

‘What time was this?’

‘Around half past five–’

‘Who’s we?’

‘Me, Olivia, Mum and Dad.’

This chair is really uncomfortable. I arch my back for some relief then try to settle back into the frame. There needs to be a cushion or something on the base.

I want to go home.

‘How would you describe the atmosphere at dinner?’ he says, looking up from his notepad.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Was there tension?’

‘Tension between who?’

‘Between her and your father, or between her and your mother . . . or between you and her?’

‘We didn’t fight, if that’s what you mean.’

‘And your parents?’

‘No, nothing like that. Dinner was normal. We ate at the dining table, talked about normal stuff – work, school, friends, then she went upstairs to shower and get dressed; while Mum and I washed up and dried the dishes.’

We always ate together on Hogmanay evening, even if everyone had plans. We sat down together for one last time before the old year ended and a new one began. That time was special to us. This year, Olivia helped cook a roast with my dad. She chopped the potatoes and carrots, while my dad made a glaze and tied the meat together with twine. I don’t know why he did that. But it tasted good in the end.

My sister and my dad are really close. They enjoyed cooking together, while I preferred to set the table. They go for walks together while I stayed home.

They watched movies on the sofa together, while I read in my bedroom. My dad was devastated when Olivia told him she was moving to London, like he was losing his best friend. I was still going to be here. But that didn’t seem to be enough for him.

‘And where was your father during this?’

‘He was upstairs in the bedroom or his work study, I think.’

‘Did your parents go out on Hogmanay?’

‘They went to the Legion for their annual dinner and dance. They go every year.’

‘What time did they leave the house?’

‘After Olivia left. Maybe around quarter to seven?’

‘Olivia went straight to Emily Morrison’s house?’

‘That’s what she said she was going to do.’ My throat feels warm, the words hot in my mouth. Does he know I’m lying?

He looks at me for a moment too long, like he knows.

‘And your parents?’

‘Yes?’

‘When did you see them next?’

‘At home, the next morning.’

‘And you?’

‘I was at home. Olivia and I were supposed to watch a movie together around ten . . . after she got back from Emily’s. We were going to ring in the New Year together this year. I’d bought –’

‘Ten, you said?’

‘– Popcorn.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing, never mind. Yes, ten.’

He scribbles in his notepad then looks up at me again.

‘Did you see the headline about the blackbirds?’ I ask, feeling my palms start to sweat.

‘No.’ He clears his throat and slides the notebook on the table in front of him. ‘And what did you do at home before ten?’

‘Before?’ Oh no. ‘I told you, I just stayed in,’ I say, fidgeting with the bottom of my shirt. I loop the fabric around my finger, feel it stretch beyond its limits.

‘Alone?’

Why is he asking me all these questions?

‘Yes, alone.’

‘Alex.’

‘What?’

‘You wouldn’t be the only fifteen-year-old who drank alcohol on Hogmanay with their friends while their parents were out the house.’