Copyright

This book is a work of non-fiction based on the author’s experiences. In order to protect privacy, names, identifying characteristics, dialogue and details have been changed or reconstructed.

HarperElement

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperElement 2020

FIRST EDITION

© Casey Watson 2020

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

Cover image © Nicole Wells/Arcangel Images (posed by model)

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Casey Watson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

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Source ISBN: 9780008375577

Ebook Edition © May 2020 ISBN: 9780008375621

Version: 2020-03-24

Contents

1  Cover

2  Title Page

3  Copyright

4  Contents

5  Chapter 17

6 Chapter 18

7 Chapter 19

8 Chapter 20

9 Chapter 21

10 Chapter 22

11  Epilogue

12  A note on twenty-eight-day placements

13  Support

14  Also by Casey Watson

15  Moving Memoirs eNewsletter

16  About the Publisher

LandmarksCoverFrontmatterBackmatter

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Chapter 17

I had never seen Harley so animated and determined. I jumped to my feet. ‘What do you mean, love? Who will kill who? I don’t understand.’

Two lobster-pink spots glowed bright on Harley’s cheeks. ‘Millie!’ she said. ‘You know – Millie. My sister! Zar, her so-called boyfriend, will kill her. I know he will! We have to find her!’

I gently took the phone from her hands, expecting to see some sort of threatening message on the screen, but there was just a number at the top of a recent calls list.

‘So, Millie has phoned you?’ I asked her. ‘Is this her number, love?’

‘No!’ Harley snapped, her voice getting more agitated by the second. ‘It must be Zar’s number. Zar! Her bastard boyfriend! She was trying to speak to me, I know she was! I heard her voice! And he must have stopped her. And now nothing. It’s going straight to voicemail. Because he knows it’s me now, doesn’t he? We have to find her! Not just stand here doing nothing!’ she finished.

Bastard boyfriend? Mike stood up too. ‘Okay, okay, let’s dial everything down a bit, okay? Harley, take a deep breath and calm down a bit, then tell us what’s happened, why you think she’s in danger, so that we can try to understand what’s been happening, okay? And maybe help get to the bottom of it. Plan?’

For a moment I thought she might lash out at one or other of us, grab the phone out of my hand and make a bolt from the house, but though she was clearly as taut and as stretched out as a tightrope, her shoulders dropped a little and I could see she was thinking. Whatever had happened, she needed us on side right now.

‘I do want to tell you,’ she said, in a whisper. ‘I’ve wanted to tell you for such a long time. But I was scared, and – oh, God, please, we need to find her. He’ll kill her.’

‘Come on, love,’ I said, touching her lightly on the arm. However natural and instinctive it felt to try and comfort her, I knew better than to put my arm around her. ‘Come and sit down, try and tell us all about it.’

To my relief she let me lead her to the sofa. Straight away, though, she lowered her head into her hands and started rocking back and forth, moaning, ‘Nooo! Oh no, oh no, oh no!’

I sat close beside her. I still didn’t want to touch her, but I did want her to know that I was there for her. As was Mike, who squatted down on the carpet in front of her. ‘Deep breath,’ he said. ‘Now, what’s been going on?’

She raised her head then. ‘I don’t know. I just know it was her. I heard her voice, I know I did—’

‘And what did she say?’

‘Just “Harley”. Just, “Harley is that you? Are you there?” Then a noise and her saying no. Then a bang, then a sound like – like she was struggling. And I know it was him—’

‘Zar?’

‘Of course, Zar! Who else? He’ll have taken the phone off her. We have to find her or he’ll kill her, because he’ll know she’s called me. And that I’ll tell. Don’t you see?’

‘Not quite,’ Mike admitted. ‘Tell what, Harley? What do you need to tell us?’

‘Everything! God, I should have realised. I’m so stupid!’ She looked at each of us in turn. ‘Please, can’t we just call the police? I’m not joking, I’m serious. It’s his phone, I know it is. That’s why he’s not answering anymore, why it’s going to voicemail.’

‘And does the voicemail say it’s him?’

‘No, of course not. He’s not stupid.’ She leapt up again then. ‘Please, we have to make them find her. They can do that. They have his number now, so surely they can do that?’

‘Not as easily as all that,’ Mike said, ‘Not without a little more to go on. Do you know where they are? Where they’re living, or anything?’

‘And are you sure, love?’ I added. ‘What makes you think Zar will hurt her? From what I’ve heard—’

There were tears running down her face now and she was wringing her hands; pulling one against the other as if trying to tug them from their wrists. ‘Because I never told! Because nobody knows!’ She was screeching now. ‘Because he’s a monster!’

‘Okay,’ I said, standing up again, catching Mike’s eye. There was something chillingly credible about all this. ‘There’s clearly lots you need to tell us, but first, we need a plan to help Millie, don’t we?’

Harley nodded, a big emphatic up-and-down movement. ‘And I will tell, I promise. I will now. I’ll tell everything. Even if it means Mum does get into trouble. If he hurts Millie, I will never forgive myself. I’ll—’

‘Okay, okay,’ I said, trying to digest what she was saying. I will tell. So oddly childlike. So resolute. So scared. ‘First things first, yes. Let’s start with the details you know. You say you don’t know where they are?’ She shook her head. ‘So, might anyone else know? Your mum, perhaps? A friend?’

‘The kebab shop. His family. Someone must know where they’re living. And Tessa might know something, mightn’t she?’

Tessa Halliday, I thought wryly, who had actually met Zar and could not have sung his praises any more highly. But perhaps she would have. Because Harley didn’t tell.

But tell what? I mentally rifled through my personal catalogue of misdemeanours. This child had been found on a bridge, intent on suicide. I could come up with all sorts but one thing seemed sure: that it was unlikely to be anything minor.

‘Okay,’ I said, glancing at the clock. Not too late yet. ‘First off, I think I should call Tessa. And while I’m doing that, I think we could all use a coffee.’

Mike unbent and stretched. ‘Okay, I’ll do the honours. And Harley,’ he added gently, ‘we’ve got this, okay?’

I wasn’t on the phone to Tessa for long. I’d anticipated a lot of humming and hawing and ‘let’s take a formal statement from her first’ – which I’d planned to argue against vociferously. I’d retreated into the conservatory to make the call for that very reason. But I think she realised that I was not okay with any ‘leave it with me’ stuff and that my instinct was sound, that it was serious. That I was serious. In truth, I had no idea if Harley’s sister was in any danger, but even if she wasn’t, this was a major breakthrough moment, and though I’d never play fast and loose with the emergency services, what we had here was the potential to ‘unlock’ this desperate child, the positives of which could potentially far outweigh the negatives – the very worst of which could be her succeeding in killing herself.

And to do that, we needed to show Harley unequivocally that we did take her seriously, that Zar could well be a monster and that we’d do all we could to locate Millie.

And Tessa came good. Yes, she did know a little about Zar’s family and she was confident Harley’s mum might be able to add some detail too. ‘And I’ll call the police,’ she said. ‘You concentrate on Harley. Plus, it might help move things on a little quicker.’ Which was a big plus, because we really didn’t have a great deal to go on and despite Harley’s confidence that the mobile phone number could locate Zar, I wasn’t quite as confident; with mobile privacy laws being what they were, I wasn’t sure that it would be much use at all. But what did I know? I’d only just worked out how to create something called an ‘Instagram Story’ – technology was doubtless light years ahead of me. But Tessa’s family knowledge was another string to our bow. If Zar hadn’t gone completely off-grid – and my hunch was he wouldn’t have – we seemed to have a good chance of locating them. I truly hoped so.

I rang off, promising to let her know if Harley came up with anything else that might be useful, and returned to the living room, where Harley was huddled now, at the far end of the sofa, clutching a mug of coffee to her chest and looking like a ghost.

Mike handed me my coffee and I went over to sit down beside her. It struck me that this was the first time since she’d been with us that she’d actually sat on our sofa.

‘Right,’ I said, ‘they are on to it. And they are confident they can find her. And while they do what they need to do, it’s important that we know what we are dealing with. So, sweetie, what is it you need to tell?’

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