Part 9 (1/2)

She picked up a handful of pictures and began leafing through. There were a great many of her mother and herself, at various stages through their lives. She smiled to see herself as a chubby toddler, her face smeared with ice cream, and then years later waving to the camera from a carousel at a fairground.

There were several pictures of her parents' wedding day. Tanya put them all to one side. She scowled when she came across photos of Fabian and Warwick, immediately tossing them back into the box. Soon she fell into a routine of filing each picture into categories, and only then did she notice a significant majority in one particular area: herself. For the first time, she realised that she couldn't remember ever seeing a picture of herself on display at her grandmother's house. None of them had ever been framed and mounted on the wall in the sitting room alongside Fabian's or her mother's. They were all here, in a box that had been hidden away in a musty old cupboard.

An hour later the carpet was strewn with photographs. Tanya found herself distracted each time she came across one of the many photographs of her grandfather, who had died before she was born. He looked a happy, jolly man with twinkling eyes, and Tanya wished again that she had had a chance to know him.

She sighed and picked up the next dog-eared picture, disinterested until she realised that it was of her grandmother, taken when she was not much older than Tanya was now. But then Tanya began to frown. Florence was not alone in the photograph. The sepia picture was of two girls, standing side by side in front of the gate in the back garden. A young Florence smiled into the camera, happy and carefree. Next to her stood a strikingly pretty girl of about the same age with long black hair. Tanya stared into her dark eyes and recognised her immediately. She flipped the photograph over. Something was written on the back.

Florence and Morwenna aged fourteen.

Her heart began to pound and her breathing became shallow. There was no mistaking it. The girl in the photograph was the same girl that she and Fabian had seen in Hangman's Wood the day they were lost. It didn't make sense.

The girl in the forest was Morwenna Bloom . . . her grandmother's childhood best friend who had been missing for more than fifty years.

Tanya scrambled to the door, sliding on the piles of photographs scattered everywhere. She ran downstairs and outside into the back garden. The night air was warm and balmy, yet her teeth had begun to chatter.

'Fabian! Are you out here?'

For a few seconds she heard nothing, then there was a faint rustle from the oak tree.

'Fabian!' she called, louder this time. 'I need to speak to you.'

'So now you want to talk!' crowed Fabian, popping his head out from the branches. 'I thought you preferred talking to yourself?'

'I'm serious! This is serious!'

The urgency in her voice told Fabian she was not messing around. He climbed down lazily, by which time Tanya was s.h.i.+vering uncontrollably.

'What is it?' he asked.

Wordlessly, she handed him the photograph.

'So? It's Florence . . . only less wrinkly.'

'Not her. The other one,' said Tanya.

Fabian's face went white. 'The girl . . . that girl . . . in the woods . . . but we spoke to her . . .'

'There's more.' Tanya s.n.a.t.c.hed the photograph and pointed to the name on the back. 'It's her. The missing girl.'

'It can't be,' said Fabian. 'It was fifty years ago. It's impossible. There must be some logical explanation.'

They stared at the photograph. There was no doubt in Tanya's mind that the girl standing with her grandmother was the same girl they had seen in the woods, and the expression on Fabian's face told her he was just as convinced as she.

Fabian looked troubled. 'There's . . . there's something I have to tell you.'

'What?' she asked weakly.

'Fabian!' Warwick's voice echoed in the hallway.

'Not here,' Fabian said. 'Meet me on the second-floor landing in half an hour.'

10.

HE NEXT THIRTY MINUTES SEEMED the longest of Tanya's life. After Fabian left to find his father, she slipped the photograph into her pocket and walked to the stairs in a detached, trance-like state, feeling as if she were trapped in a dream that she couldn't wake from. Only it wasn't a dream. It was real and it was scaring her.

Her mind was racing. Who was Morwenna Bloom? What had really happened to her that night in the woods? And what else did Fabian know about her disappearance?

As she crept up the stairs she heard her grandmother cough over the sound of the television in the living room. She went to her room and sat in silence, the time crawling immensely. After twenty minutes had elapsed, the floorboards outside her door creaked as someone stepped over them. Tanya edged towards the door and listened. There was nothing. No footsteps, no voices. Opening the door just a tiny crack, she peered out onto the empty landing.

'Fabian?'

Only silence answered her. She slipped out of the room, deciding to head up to the second floor. Fabian should be along any minute soon.

All was quiet on the second floor of the house, though this did nothing to quell her nerves. She made her way to the darkened alcove with the tapestry concealing the servants' staircase and sat down, waiting.

Seconds after she had sunk into the chair, a door flew open at the other end of the landing. Slow, unsteady footsteps came padding in her direction. She did not have to see the person to know it was Amos; the laboured breathing that grew louder with every step confirmed it was him. She watched from the alcove as the old man's elongated shadow stretched before her, edging forward until his stooped frame came into view.

She was not prepared for the sight of him. Since the last time she had seen him he seemed to have aged more than a decade. His face was sunken, his cheeks hollow and his body wizened. He had several days' worth of grey stubble and many years' worth of scraggy white hair. He moved with difficulty, his mad eyes fixed and staring. He did not see Tanya, motionless in the shadows. She did not even realise she had been holding her breath until he pa.s.sed her, slamming the bathroom door, and it was then the thought occurred to her how odd it was for someone so frail-looking to have so much pent up aggression.

'Tanya! Over here,' came Fabian's voice.

Tanya eased herself out of the chair cautiously, hardly daring to move.

'Where are you?'

'Over here, quickly!'

His voice was coming from a gloomy corridor just beyond the bathroom. Hastily, Tanya tiptoed past, knowing that any second Amos could open the door and see her. She found Fabian waiting anxiously behind a door adjacent to the bathroom.

'In here,' he said, opening the door wider for her to step through. He closed it just as the toilet in the bathroom flushed.

'Why are we standing in the dark?' Tanya asked, her eyes flitting about nervously.

'Quiet,' Fabian whispered. They listened to the floorboards creaking as Amos went back to his room. Once Tanya's eyes adjusted to the darkness, she glanced about the room. It had not been used in some time. There was no carpet or curtains and the light bulb was bare. The only furniture was a rickety bed and a crooked old wardrobe with one door.

'Why are we in the dark?' Tanya repeated, still s.h.i.+vering slightly. She could not seem to get warm.

'Because we're not supposed to be up here,' said Fabian. 'If I put the light on it could be seen from under the door or through the window.' He sat down on the floor, motioning for Tanya to do the same.

'What's going on?' she said.

Fabian closed his eyes tightly. 'The newspaper cutting you found what exactly did it say?'

'I told you,' said Tanya.

'Tell me again.'