There should have been more. At a rate of one a day there should have been a lot more.

But one a day wasn’t enough to quiet the voices in his head. Not nearly enough. Two muted them; three turned them into background noise.

For a while. And then the volume slowly turned up again.

Sometimes the voices blamed him. Told him he was useless. He should have protected her, taken her to Anne’s house, made sure she got there safely.

Sometimes it was Sandra’s voice saying those things. Even though she’d never said it in real life, she probably thought it. She must do. He did, after all.

Other times it was Maggie’s voice. That was when it was the worst. That was when he took more of the pills, took as many as he needed to quiet her voice.

Hi, Dad. Door slamming. What’s for tea? Can I have a lift to Kevin’s house?

Can I have a lift to Anne’s house?

And he’d turn and look but she wouldn’t be there and it would all come back. The loss, the pain, the terror.

And she would speak again.

Help me, Daddy. Why can’t you help me? Why can’t you find me? I’m your daughter? Why can’t you find me?

And he would clap his hands to his head and try to shake the voices loose but it was impossible. There were reminders of her everywhere. Her bedroom door was closed; Martin didn’t want to see inside it, didn’t want to be slapped in the face with a reminder of the fact she was gone, but he was anyway, she was everywhere in the house. It wasn’t the objects, the photos of her, the shoes she had left on the mat in the hall and her coats in the closet, ready for her return, it wasn’t the things themselves which bothered him.

They were just objects. They could be ignored or hidden or put away.

It was the memories that haunted him, and they were everywhere.

When he went up the stairs he saw her sitting on the top step, back to the wall, phone to her ear. When he sat in the armchair he saw her lying on the couch, feet dangling over one arm, a hole in the toe of her socks. When he switched on the hallway light he remembered installing the dimmer switch with her, watching as she screwed the wires into place, her tongue between her teeth as she concentrated.

The house was full of her, but she was nowhere to be found.

And so he would take a pill, or two.

Or three.