Page 8 of Then She Vanished

The woman pushed her glasses up her nose. ‘Let me check our system.’ She tapped a few keys on her computer while gently biting her bottom lip. ‘It appears to belong to Calvin Harris. Address, 17 Bolton Avenue.’

‘Did he come in on Saturday and check out some books? Can I see his details?’

The woman turned her screen around and Gina scrolled to his personal details at the top. Calvin Harris was in his late seventies, so he couldn’t be their John Doe.

‘Do you want me to print out everything from his account?’

Gina nodded. ‘That would be really helpful, thank you. What’s your name, by the way?’

‘Selma Allcock.’ She pointed to her name badge. ‘Might take a while to print this lot out. Looks like it goes back twenty years. That’s not to say the account isn’t older, we just had a different system then.’ The librarian paused.

‘What is it?’ Gina asked.

‘It seems he comes in for books aimed at children and teens. I guess people like reading what they like reading. I love theGoosebumpsseries.’ She shrugged.

‘Do you have CCTV?’

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Can we see your CCTV for Saturday?’

‘You want to see Calvin Harris?’ She glanced back at the screen. ‘I can see that he took those books out using our manual system over there at twelve minutes past eleven in the morning.’ She nodded towards the counter containing a computer and adrop-off box for returns. ‘Bear with me.’ Selma hurried over to another computer and began clicking away. ‘Here he is.’

Gina and Jacob walked around and leaned over the screen to take a look. She could see it was their dead man – he was even wearing the same shirt – but one thing was for sure, he was not Calvin Harris.

Another woman walked in and placed her bag down before staring at Gina. ‘Selma, what’s going on?’

Selma looked up. ‘One of our users has been found dead. Rona, you were working on Saturday, weren’t you?’

‘Yes, and I recognise that creep.’

FIVE

GIRL

I can smell the lilies and the poppies. It’s summer, and I’m lying in a field of long grass that is tickling my legs, my shoulders and the back of my neck. A butterfly lands on my face and I can’t help but smile. It’s a red admiral; I remember seeing one once and thinking it was the most beautiful creature ever. I painted a picture of it in watercolours and stuck it to my bedroom wall. My art teacher tells me I’m talented and that I could make it as an artist one day. That is all I want, but I dare not tell my parents, not yet. I think Mr Preston will put in a good word for me at parents’ evening; he said he’d tell my parents how talented I am and that I should pursue art.

I swallow as I think of my friends, remembering our fallout. It was silly really. I wasn’t even in the school play, I just painted the backdrops, but I let them down. I shouldn’t have offered to help backstage. Firstly, I have zero organisational skills. Secondly, I’m clumsy. Thirdly, I’m easily distracted. I was meant to bring the giant toadstool onto centre stage for the final act, but I carried the vine-covered chair on instead. Then my bestie forgot her lines and the next person didn’t come on. Another kid came on in his place and delivered the last line, ruining the whole plot and the final act. Everyoneawkwardly bowed to the crowd as a few random claps filled the auditorium.

It was all my fault.

Maybe I’m meant to be here alone right now. Maybe this is where I get to think about what I ruined and how, when I get home, I can make it up to them.

‘Hello, little caterpillar,’ I say, as I laugh at its many legs and hairy body. I don’t like the green ones or the ones without hair, but I like the furry ones.

It passes fast, too fast for a caterpillar. It’s getting away and I can’t reach it anymore.

‘Come back. I don’t want to be on my own.’

It’s lonely here, and it was lonely yesterday, too.

I smell the almost sheer, cupcake-patterned scarf wrapped around me, and there is a hint of perfume on it. I hug it closely. All I want is for someone to talk to.

I shiver.

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts: slobbering dog kisses, cat meows, chocolate pie, bubble baths, new make-up, the sound of my mum’s cheesy eighties pop music and my dad’s face when I tell him I’ll play chess with him.

That’s when I hear the clunking of the metal door above.

---