N.D. GOMES graduated from the University of Stirling with a BA in Media & Journalism Studies, and went on to receive her Master’s degree in Education in the US She currently works in a public school system to increase educational opportunities for students with special needs. Prior, N.D. Gomes wrote for the London-based online student political magazine, deAlign and stage-managed student plays at the Lee Strasberg Theatre Institute in New York City where she attended for two years. Her first novel, Dear Charlie, was published in 2016, followed by Blackbird in 2017.

This book is for my sister, Olivia.

Your strength and grace amaze me.

BLACKBIRD PLAYLIST

SYML – ‘WHERE’S MY LOVE’

BON IVER – ‘SKINNY LOVE’

AMBER RUN – ‘I FOUND’

DERMOT KENNEDY – ‘AFTER RAIN’

JOHNNY CASH – ‘HURT’

KALEO – ‘ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS’

SYML – ‘BETTER’

DERMOT KENNEDY – ‘SHELTER’

LILY ALLEN – ‘SOMEWHERE ONLY WE KNEW’

BELLE AND SEBASTIAN – ‘THE FOX IN THE SNOW’

BON IVER – ‘HOLOCENE’

SEAFRET – ‘OCEANS’

SIA – ‘BIRD SET FREE’

Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Prologue: 31.12.2015

Chapter One: 02.01.2016 (morning)

Chapter Two: 02.01.2016 (afternoon)

Chapter Three: 03.01.2016

Chapter Four: 04.01.2016

Chapter Five: 24.10.2015

Chapter Six: 04.01.2016

Chapter Seven: 05.01.2016

Chapter Eight: 06.01.2016

Chapter Nine: 07.01.2016

Chapter Ten: 08.01.2016

Chapter Eleven: 10.01.2016

Chapter Twelve: 10.01.2016

Chapter Thirteen: 11.01.2016

Chapter Fourteen: 12.01.2016

Chapter Fifteen: 12.01.2016

Chapter Sixteen: 13.01.2016

Chapter Seventeen: 14.01.2016

Chapter Eighteen: 14.01.2016

Chapter Nineteen: 15.01.2016

Chapter Twenty: 17.01.2016

Chapter Twenty-One: 19.01.2016

Chapter Twenty-Two: 20.01.2016

Chapter Twenty-Three: 21.01.2016

Chapter Twenty-Four: 22.01.2016

Chapter Twenty-Five: 30.12.2015

Chapter Twenty-Six: 23.01.2016

Chapter Twenty-Seven: 24.01.2016

Chapter Twenty-Eight: 24.01.2016

Chapter Twenty-Nine: 24.01.2016

Chapter Thirty: 31.12.2015

Chapter Thirty-One: 28.01.2016

Author Acknowledgements

Extract

Copyright

Prologue: 31.12.2015

Thirty-first of December. The end of 2015. That was the night that five thousand blackbirds dropped dead from the sky just before midnight in Beebe, small-town America. Witnesses recalled a dark blanket descending upon the town just moments before the state of Arkansas was propelled into the year 2016. The blanket turned out to be a sheath of dead feathers and battered bodies.

A local preacher blamed it on us – on the evils of modern society. He said the deaths were symbolic of our sins, and that this was only the beginning of the consequences that would follow. Maybe the sudden unexplained death of a species representing freedom and hope really did indicate an ominous future for us all. My science teacher thinks the birds just flew into a jet engine, or that they died because of fireworks.

The southern states in the US went crazy. Locals stocked up on bottled water, first-aid kits and weapons. Some even fled their homes. News reporters broadcasted hysteria-inducing specials on this apocalyptic warning. It happened right in front of me, on my TV screen. I watched it all unfold from my living room in Orkney, like some late-night television drama. But it wasn’t. It was real, and it was scary.

I studied the behaviour of the common blackbird in a Life Science class once. I wrote a paper about the history of the species and how they symbolize hope in some European cultures. Many believe birds are the epitome of freedom. Their ability to spread their wings and migrate to a better place during the darker months is something we all envy. If my sister could fly, she’d fly far away from here, and never come back. But she can’t fly. And I’m happy about that.

The great Emily Dickinson once said so eloquently, ‘Hope is the thing with feathers.’

31 December 2015.

That was also the last night I saw my sister alive.

I lost everything that night.

And I haven’t been the same since. We all haven’t.

We used to spend every New Year’s Eve together, just the two of us. But then we began to drift slowly apart, the years driving us into adolescence and indifference. For years, we battled our way back to how we used to be, and we were there. We had made it. We were close once again, finding ourselves back where we started, just the two of us. We needed nothing else, no one else. We weren’t just sisters. We were best friends.

31 December 2015.

We were supposed to spend this one together. It was special for us. I’d picked a movie, bought popcorn – the kind you microwave in a paper bag until it puffs and expands. She’d gone out to see her friends but she’d planned to be back for ten o’clock.

I waited for her. Until half past, until eleven, and even until midnight. I waited in the living room where I could see and hear the front door. The DVD box sat on the floor by the TV unopened. The bag of popcorn lay beside it.

I waited.

But she never came back.

She still hasn’t come back.

My name is Alex. I am fifteen years old, and I don’t know where my sister is.

Or if she will ever come back.

All I know is that my sister was last seen sometime before 10 p.m. on New Year’s Eve two miles from where I stood, watching footage of the birds falling from the sky on our small TV screen in our small living room in a small house on a small island, too far from reality.

They say you can sense when someone you love is in pain or has died. But I feel nothing. So she can’t be hurt or dead, right? Even that night, I didn’t feel any different going to bed, and I didn’t even worry when Dad said she hadn’t come home that night. I assumed she had stayed over at a friend’s house. I figured she had lost track of time, but my parents were worried. I told them not to be and that she’d be back later that day. I was wrong. She didn’t come back. She still hasn’t come home.

After they called the police, it was in the local papers that very evening – ‘Local Girl Missing’. She wasn’t missing. She had just forgotten to call, or something. Missing sounds like she’s dead. Who called the newspaper? How do they know things before we do?

I remember the doorbell ringing, and walking slowly to answer it. I remember turning the knob and pulling the door open, expecting to see my sister’s smiling face. But it wasn’t her. It was two policemen. One was older, scruffy-looking. He was the one that was clutching a small spiral-bound notepad in his hands. But it was the younger one who took my parents’ statement.

I watched as my mother put her hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs as she and my dad spoke softly to them. They told the officers that my sister had gone to a party with her friends and not come home. They told them they were worried about her. They told them they were scared. They hadn’t told me that. They had told me that there was nothing to worry about, that she’d come home. But now they’re lying. Or did they lie to me?

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?

Chapter One: 02.01.2016 (morning)

‘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.’

‘I didn’t do that.’ I shrug, glancing up at the door. Is he sure they can’t hear us?

He leans back in his chair and crosses his leg over his knee. He’s waiting for me to say something, waiting for me to confess all my sins. ‘I’m not going to arrest you for lying to your parents.’

‘OK fine, I wasn’t alone all night. Andy and Siobhan came by.’

‘What time?’

‘After everyone had left, so around seven.’

‘And what did you do?’

‘We watched telly until around half-past nine or quarter to ten.’

He doesn’t believe me. He knows I’m lying. I’m going to get in trouble and be grounded for the next ten years of my life.

‘I’m not here to arrest you for underage drinking. I’m just trying to get an idea of where everyone is when Olivia goes missing. Whatever you say won’t get back to your mum and dad. Understand?’

I nod, and relax my shoulders. ‘Exactly what you said – we drank alcohol while my parents were out of the house.’

‘Who brought the alcohol?’

‘Nobody. My dad has a stash of beers in the garage. He wouldn’t notice any were missing, and if he did he would never ask me because then he would know that I know that he drinks beer in the garage when Mum isn’t looking.’

‘She doesn’t like him drinking?’

‘She put him on a diet earlier this year. He has diabetes.’

He nods, and writes something down on his notepad. I lean my body a little to the left to try and see what he’s writing but then he scoops up the cover and places it over the pad.

‘And how many beers did you have?’

‘Just one –’

He raises his eyebrows and looks at me, waiting.

‘OK, more than that. Maybe three.’

‘Last question.’

Thank god. ‘OK.’

‘If your sister was upset about something – and I’m not saying she is – where would she go?’

‘You mean, like a secret hiding place? You think she’s hiding somewhere?’

‘Maybe.’

‘She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t want to scare us like that.’

‘Even if she was upset, maybe even scared?’

Why would my sister be scared? Was she in trouble and she never told me? Who’s scaring her?

‘Her boyfriend’s house –’

‘James MacIntosh, right?’

‘Yes. Her friend Emily’s, the dance studio where she takes classes – they have an open studio in the afternoons when anyone can go – the library, the Ring –’

‘– of Brodgar?’ asks the younger policeman.

‘She likes that, especially around sunrise, before the tourists come, of course,’ I smile.

‘Of course,’ he says.

Birkens is writing in his pad again. His hand must be sore from all the writing. ‘Sunrise? That’s early.’

‘She always wakes up earlier. She doesn’t like to sleep late. Not like me. I can sleep all day. Olivia likes to go for a walk in the mornings.’

‘Where?’

‘Down to the Ring, along the loch, through the woods by Binscarth Farm – there’s a little trail there. My dad sometimes goes with her, you should ask him.’

‘I’ll do that.’ He rises from the chair, pushing it back gently on the wooden floor. ‘Thank you, Alex. Your mum and dad are waiting outside.’

As he starts towards the door, I call after him. ‘Will Olivia be in trouble when she comes home?’

He doesn’t turn for a while, just looks straight ahead towards the other policeman or maybe beyond him. Slowly he turns to face me and has a forced smile on his face. ‘No, she won’t be in any trouble.’ He gestures towards the closed door.

When I leave the conference room, Mum and Dad are waiting for me in the lobby of the station. They both stand up when I come out.

‘Everything OK?’ Mum asks, as she gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. She hates seeing me with my hair across my face. She likes it up off my face, in a bun or a French braid like Olivia’s.

‘What did they ask you?’ says Dad, as he digs his car keys out from his jeans pocket.

‘Just about Hogmanay night.’

‘Well, let’s get home,’ my mum says, as she wraps her arm around me and nudges me towards the exit.

Walking over, I grab the knob but don’t turn it. I have to ask them something, and I have to see their faces when I ask it. ‘She’s just staying at a friend’s, right? We’ll find her?’

My mum nods but my dad doesn’t say anything. He’s not looking at me so I wait for him to say the words.

‘Yeah, sure. We’ll find her,’ he eventually says.

When we reach the house, my dad drops us at the front door. He tells us to go inside and lock the door. He’s going to get some posters printed with my sister’s face on them.

She’s going to be so embarrassed when she comes back.

Scooping up the phone directory, my mum disappears into the living room to start calling people. I think she’s called everyone by now.

No one’s seen Olivia.

No one knows where she is.

The house seems bigger to me now for some reason. And colder. A shiver shoots up my spine, and I hug myself to keep warm. I shuffle over to the wood burner and load some logs into the furnace. Lighter in hand, I search around for some newspaper to scrunch up. Sliding a paper out from under the TV remote, I kneel back down in front of the furnace and begin ripping pages off. I make only three paper strips to burn with the logs when something catches my eye. Lifting the paper up to my eyes, my sister’s name stares back at me. There she is.

Underneath her name is one word, in bold capitals: MISSING. That’s all she is now. Missing. She’s the missing girl from the Orkneys. The missing persons case that’s rocked this small community. That’s what the paper is saying.

Olivia.

Where are you?

Come home before this gets any worse.

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