Page 3 of The Tapes
Instinctively, I want to ask Dad about the tape. About Mum being murdered or missing, about not thinking she’s a good person. Did she really think that?
I always knew she was…different.
I want to ask Dad about it. But a moment after thinking it, the memory dawns that he’s no longer around to answer.
It hasn’t sunk in yet. Dad and I would talk a couple of times a week and he was always there for the little pieces of handyman stuff. When I needed shelving for the spare room, Dad put them in.
‘…I need you to know that I love you.’
I try to remember the last time Mum actually said that to me but it’s blank.
As I rewind and listen to the first part again, I wonder whether Dad ever listened to these. Chances are he simply piled the box in among the rest of his stuff he wouldn’t throw out.
There’s no date on the tape, though a clear difference in Mum’s voice between the two timelines. When I’m a toddler,she’d have been in her early to mid-twenties; though it’s hard to know about the second. There’s a slight croak, and her tone is definitely deeper. If it was recorded at around the time she disappeared, she’d have been close to fifty.
‘…I need you to know that I love you.’
There’s an ache in my side that wasn’t there before. I rewind to listen again, knowing I need to get on with what I was supposed to be doing. There’s nobody to ask about any of this, so what am I supposed to do with it?
Except, before I can press play, my phone begins to ring. ‘Faith’ is on the screen. I almost hang up by accident because my daughternevercalls. I’m lucky if she replies to texts.
‘Hello?’ I say, somehow still expecting it to be someone else.
‘Mum?’ There’s a quiver of worry in her voice.
‘I’m here.’
‘Can you come? I need you.’
THREE
I can’t remember the last time my daughter said she needed me, if she ever has. I nearly forget to lock Dad’s garage as I barrel out of his house, then I realise I’ve left my car keys inside and have to dart back to grab them.
Faith said she was at her friend Shannon’s. She had started to add something when a muffled voice I couldn’t make out said something to her. She said she had to go – and that was it. Click.I need you.
Town is a blur, except for the obligatory traffic lights that always seem to be on red. Buildings soon become countryside, with the narrow, crumbling roads, tall hedges, and distant fields. The houses are no longer in rows; instead separated by large plots and ploughed pastures. I’m on autopilot, thoughts of Dad’s garage and Mum’s voice replaced by the very present worry that Faith needs me to such a degree that she actually asked.
And she called me, not her father. Maybe a tiny part of me is glad about that.
I try calling my daughter from the car but it rings off.
Another shiver takes me as I round a bend to see a pair of police cars parked half on the verge. I pull in behind one, and almost fall out of the car as I head for the gate of Shannon’shouse. A uniformed officer is standing tall in front of a sign that says ‘Collins Farm’. When he spots me, he holds out an arm to block the way.
‘You can’t come this way,’ he says.
I point past him, towards the house. ‘My daughter’s in there. She called me.’
He pauses a moment, slightly raising an eyebrow and not appearing convinced.
‘What’s going on?’ I add.
He chews the inside of his mouth for a moment, before unclipping a radio from his belt. Before he gets a chance to do anything more, there’s a sharp call of ‘Mum!’ from behind him. Faith has emerged from the front door, Shannon at her side.
Thank God.
The two teenage girls beckon me towards them and, as the officer turns between us, he sighs silently to himself, before opening the gate.
I meet my daughter halfway along the path. My instinct is to hug her tight but she’s not that sort of person.
