5

Cara

DCI Upton and DI Brown came over this morning as soon as Mum called in about the diary.

“Did you read it?” Upton asked, expertly raising an eyebrow. I met her eyes, managed not to blink.

“No, of course not. It’s private.”

Next to me, Mum’s bangles chimed as she shuffled in her seat. She knows me better, of course, knows I’m lying. It seems to me that anyone who says they didn’t read the diary of a kidnapped person is untrustworthy or stupid, or most likely both. Incredibly, Upton seemed to swallow my lie. I tried not to think about the carefully photocopied diary under my bed in case she could read the truth in my face as she told me again how much I’m helping Grace by helping the police. I’d been too upset to read it properly and what if Grace had left a hint or a clue that the police, not knowing her, would miss? I wanted to go back when my head was clearer.

I’d cried quietly in my room for hours after I read the diary. There were seventy-three entries in total, each one full of Grace’s sweetness. Taking a lock of hair from the salon was the naughtiest thing she’d done, for God’s sake. She had more to be miserable about than anyone I’ve ever known—stuck in her chair at home most of the time, a dead brother, and an actually crazy dad. God, it used to make me depressed just thinking about her life—which is why I avoided it as much as possible. But in the diary Grace focused on the good: the support they received, the fun she and Meg had, the love between them. I feel tears start to burn behind my eyes and I don’t want Upton to see so I blink them away.

The police officer on duty at our front door tips his hat at Upton and Brown as they leave. There are only a handful of news vans left now outside number 52; it looks strangely sparse.

Mum closes the door quietly behind them and slowly turns towards me.

“You know Jane gave me a number for a counselor, a woman who’s specially trained in working with victims of trauma.”

Is that what she thinks I am now? A victim?

“I know, Mum, you said, I just don’t want to right now, OK?”

Mum looks at me like I’m something she just can’t understand.

“It’s free, Car, for as long as you need.”

“Yeah, you said that as well.”

Mum’s brow crumples, so I move in for a hug. Her hair is crisp with chemicals against my face, her body taut as a wire, and I know mine must feel the same. I wonder which one of us will snap first. When we pull away, she wipes the tip of her finger under her eyes, frowns at the smudge her tears have left.

“Oh for God’s sake, I must remember to bring that waterproof mascara back from the salon today.”