pushed open, presumably by Jackson. It moved in and out of focus round Charlie’s room. To the window, the strewn bed, the half-open wardrobe, the sheep clock. I forced myself to stay calm as Iwatched the familiar objects slide past, looming in and out of focus, all the things that I’d been sifting through so recently: the towels, the flung clothes, the CDs, the pieces of paper, the ointments and lotions, the…
‘There,’ said Renata.
The nightshirt, held in a blurred freeze-frame. It lay on the floor. I could even half make out what was written across it, and supply the rest: ‘Please do not sell this woman anything.’ I’d bought it for her last summer. She’d worn it the night before last. The camcorder moved on.
‘Go back,’ I said, in little more than a gasp.
‘Hang on, look,’ said Renata, pressed against me behind Jackson.
The camera swung over something pink and Jackson pressed pause. Out of focus, and only half in view, but indisputably Charlie’s makeup bag.
‘We looked for the washbag as well, and the purse, but there’s nothing else. We’ve gone through all of it,’ said Jackson.
‘Several times,’ said Renata. ‘It doesn’t mean they weren’t there, just that Jackson didn’t film them. Lucky he didn’t delete it all, wasn’t it? And I could easily not have noticed. It was the nightshirt that did it.’
‘Go back a bit,’ I said. ‘Yes, stop there.’
The sheep clock told me it was 11.17, and the small screen on the camcorder had the time in the bottom corner, as well: 11.17. It must have been just when the first guests were about to show up. I pressed my fists into my eyeballs and tried to think, but what I was thinking made no sense.
The things that had gone missing and that showed me Charlie had run away were there when I came back fromRick and Karen’s. So she’d taken them afterwards. Was that it? She’d sneaked into the house when I was there, already worrying about her, phoning her mobile, pestering her friends. But when? How had I not seen her, or someone not seen her? Unless, I thought wildly, she’d climbed into her room through the window, in which case she would have had help. Jay, I thought. I’d seen him going up the stairs. Or Ashleigh. Or someone I didn’t know about yet because, after all, I hadn’t known about Jay. Images and ideas poured through my skull, and I tried to separate them out and consider them rationally.
Charlie had returned to fetch her clothes after 11.17. That changed the timings. She hadn’t come straight back after her paper round, while I was still out and the house was empty, to pick up the things she needed. She had come back a couple of hours later, when the party she’d organized was starting or under way, when we were soon to go to the airport. And what had she been doing in the gap between her paper round and then?
‘Nina?’
‘Yes?’ I was startled. I had forgotten that Renata and Jackson were there, waiting for me to speak.
‘It’s very odd, isn’t it?’
‘Jackson, did you move anything in Charlie’s room when you went in there?’
‘No.’
‘Think carefully.’
‘It’s not my fault.’
‘Of course not.’
‘I didn’t touch anything. I just went in for a minute and then went out again, honestly.’
I ran up the stairs, two at a time, and into Charlie’s room.
I had to see for myself. It looked the same as in Jackson’s film, except that in the film the nightshirt and makeup bag were there and now they were gone. Restlessly, I walked round the room, touching the shelves and the bed, as if to convince myself they were real. I pulled open the top drawer of the chest next to Charlie’s bed. Everything I saw felt like a jab of memory. A few foreign coins she had kept, a broken wristwatch she had never thrown away, a daisy chain of coloured paperclips, a complicated penknife that contained tweezers, several blades, a toothpick. There was the container of antibiotics for her impetigo. I picked it
‘There,’ said Renata.
The nightshirt, held in a blurred freeze-frame. It lay on the floor. I could even half make out what was written across it, and supply the rest: ‘Please do not sell this woman anything.’ I’d bought it for her last summer. She’d worn it the night before last. The camcorder moved on.
‘Go back,’ I said, in little more than a gasp.
‘Hang on, look,’ said Renata, pressed against me behind Jackson.
The camera swung over something pink and Jackson pressed pause. Out of focus, and only half in view, but indisputably Charlie’s makeup bag.
‘We looked for the washbag as well, and the purse, but there’s nothing else. We’ve gone through all of it,’ said Jackson.
‘Several times,’ said Renata. ‘It doesn’t mean they weren’t there, just that Jackson didn’t film them. Lucky he didn’t delete it all, wasn’t it? And I could easily not have noticed. It was the nightshirt that did it.’
‘Go back a bit,’ I said. ‘Yes, stop there.’
The sheep clock told me it was 11.17, and the small screen on the camcorder had the time in the bottom corner, as well: 11.17. It must have been just when the first guests were about to show up. I pressed my fists into my eyeballs and tried to think, but what I was thinking made no sense.
The things that had gone missing and that showed me Charlie had run away were there when I came back fromRick and Karen’s. So she’d taken them afterwards. Was that it? She’d sneaked into the house when I was there, already worrying about her, phoning her mobile, pestering her friends. But when? How had I not seen her, or someone not seen her? Unless, I thought wildly, she’d climbed into her room through the window, in which case she would have had help. Jay, I thought. I’d seen him going up the stairs. Or Ashleigh. Or someone I didn’t know about yet because, after all, I hadn’t known about Jay. Images and ideas poured through my skull, and I tried to separate them out and consider them rationally.
Charlie had returned to fetch her clothes after 11.17. That changed the timings. She hadn’t come straight back after her paper round, while I was still out and the house was empty, to pick up the things she needed. She had come back a couple of hours later, when the party she’d organized was starting or under way, when we were soon to go to the airport. And what had she been doing in the gap between her paper round and then?
‘Nina?’
‘Yes?’ I was startled. I had forgotten that Renata and Jackson were there, waiting for me to speak.
‘It’s very odd, isn’t it?’
‘Jackson, did you move anything in Charlie’s room when you went in there?’
‘No.’
‘Think carefully.’
‘It’s not my fault.’
‘Of course not.’
‘I didn’t touch anything. I just went in for a minute and then went out again, honestly.’
I ran up the stairs, two at a time, and into Charlie’s room.
I had to see for myself. It looked the same as in Jackson’s film, except that in the film the nightshirt and makeup bag were there and now they were gone. Restlessly, I walked round the room, touching the shelves and the bed, as if to convince myself they were real. I pulled open the top drawer of the chest next to Charlie’s bed. Everything I saw felt like a jab of memory. A few foreign coins she had kept, a broken wristwatch she had never thrown away, a daisy chain of coloured paperclips, a complicated penknife that contained tweezers, several blades, a toothpick. There was the container of antibiotics for her impetigo. I picked it
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