Page 15 of The Altar Girls

How to answer that question? ‘Drink up. I’ll make toast.’ At least there was bread, because Martina had got a few things in Centra last night on her way over. Milk, bread and biscuits.

‘I’m not hungry, but Harper will have some.’

As the woman fluttered out in her long faux-silk kimono to fetch the three-year-old, Martina searched the kitchen for cereal. There must be a box of Coco Pops or Cheerios somewhere. Kids loved that kind of stuff in the morning. Opening and closing cupboard doors, she was astounded by the lack of normal food. Herbal this, healthy that. Maybe if she adopted this lifestyle she might lose a few pounds around her waist, even though she was glad of the extra padding in the cold weather.

When Zara returned leading Harper by the hand, Martina smiled at the child, who sucked her thumb and hid behind her mother’s flowing robe.

‘What would you like to eat, sweetie?’ she asked.

‘She’ll have toast,’ Zara replied.

‘Where do you keep the butter?’ Martina opened the refrigerator.

‘We don’t use butter. Too many additives. I see you bought sliced white bread, but we eat homemade wholemeal or wholewheat. I make my own, though obviously I didn’t get round to it yesterday.’ Zara pulled out a chair for the child to sit at the table.

Martina slipped two slices into the toaster. ‘Did you sleep okay, Harper?’

Silence.

‘Can you watch her for a few minutes?’ Zara said. ‘I need to brush my teeth.’

‘Sure thing. Take your time.’

Once they were alone, Martina sat beside the little girl. Her hair was matted and in need of a wash. She reached out, took the child’s cold hand in hers.

‘Do you miss your sister?’

A nod.

‘Do you know where she might be?’

A shake of her head.

‘Does Willow play with you?’

A nod.

Time to ask a question that required more than a nod or shake.

‘When did you last see your sister?’

A one-shoulder shrug. Could the kid even talk?

Martina heard the toaster pop but was reluctant to move away from the mute child. She put a finger under her chin and raised the little face, trying to force Harper to look at her. Harper kept her eyes downturned and bit her lip. Her whole body trembled. Shit.

‘Sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ll get your toast, okay?’ She squeezed Harper’s hand sympathetically.

The doorbell chimed.

The child pulled away and folded her hands under her legs. Before Martina went to open the door, she rubbed her little shoulder, and Harper almost jumped out of her skin. What the hell? She looked into the girl’s eyes and stepped back at the sight of fear couched in the little dark orbs.

Martina sat in the car outside the station in silence. Detective Sam McKeown had picked her up from Zara Devine’s house. She was waiting for him to tell her whatever it was that had made him put his hand on her arm, stalling her from leaving the car, making her wait. She was unsettled by Harper’s reluctance to speak and could still see the fear that had clouded the child’s face at the sound of the doorbell.

‘It’s looking like more snow, don’t you think?’ she said at last, because he didn’t seem in any rush to talk. ‘Met Éireann is giving another weather warning.’

‘I’m sorry, Martina. Honestly, I’m ashamed of the way I treated you.’

‘Pull the other one.’ She sighed and clenched her hands so tightly her knuckles seemed about to rip through the skin. She’d had enough of McKeown and his sincere apologies. ‘I’m not interested. Go home to your wife, Sam. I’m sure Melissa would like to have you close by, with the children being so young and all. Get a transfer back to Athlone. God knows no one wants you around here.’

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