Page 101 of The Vanishing Place
“I suggested to Anya,” said June, stirring a pot on the stove, “that you might take her to the beach today. Then perhaps we could do some painting.”
—
For the next four nights, Effie went to bed by herself, and every morning she woke up alone. But at some point between dusk and dawn, Anya crept in with her. Effie would stir and pull an extra blanket over the two of them, cocooning them together, before drifting back to sleep. Then, when the morning light roused Effie’s eyes, Anya would be gone.
Each day after breakfast, they did something outside—the park, or the beach, or trips to the café. Effie had decided against bushwalks. Anya was talking more—nothing about the past, but she was talking, and she was adapting to her new surroundings. TV was still a hard no, as were certain books, and Anya refused to speak to anyone except June and Effie. Blair got the odd wave on WhatsApp. But phones were a tricky subject, like tiny TVs, Anya said.
“You’re her new safe place,” Blair said. “And right now, she’s trying to work out what that means.”
The locals were whispering less too. Blair had convinced Effie to give them something. “Just a morsel, to satisfy their cavernous appetites.”
“It doesn’t have to be entirely accurate.” She’d winked. “Loose facts. Let them do the rest.”
So June had spread the word—a ten-minute task in a small town—and it was now accepted that Effie had left the bush as an older teenager, wanting to see more of the world, and she’d gone to live with a family friend in Scotland. Effie had lost contact with her family when she left. And Anya—the mirror image of a young Effie—was her niece.
In the afternoons, Effie and June set up a school in June’s living room—writing and maths and art projects. Anya was ahead of her age in reading and writing, and she’d clearly had basic instruction in maths.
Their routine continued for the next week, just the beach and books and small steps. There were no mentions of the hut or Fouror Tia. And Anya started to settle, the internal itch in her seeming to ease. The locals continued to speculate, imagining wild stories about the voiceless redheaded girl. But quickly their whispers turned to smiles, and smiles turned to hellos, and suddenly, it felt like the town was healing them, protecting their two lost bush children.
Lewis was kept busy fielding calls from reporters and conspiracy theorists. There was nothing new from Morrow, he said, not that Effie was really speaking to him, just the essentials about the girl. The prints on the knife were confirmed as Anya’s, and the official cause of death was signed off as poisoning by tutu shoots. Morrow was still waiting on DNA, but she wasn’t expecting anything.
Open and shut.
Effie lay in bed, trying not to think about Lewis. About the boy who’d saved her. And the man who flinched at the touch of her. She turned to the curtains, the thin material failing to mask the approaching morning, and she thrust her legs out, needing to stretch.
“Shit.” Effie pulled her legs back.
The child sat up, startled.Kicked.
“I’m sorry,” Anya muttered, her eyes wide and green and apologetic. “I’m sorry.” Then she scurried to the foot of the mattress.
“No.” Effie placed a hand on the bed next to the girl. “It was my fault. Please. Don’t leave. You just gave me a fright.”
Anya hesitated, the duvet pulled around her like a wall, and she flicked her gaze from Effie to the door.
“I like that you’re here.” Effie smiled. “I like that you stayed.”
There was a moment of silence before the girl spoke.
“You talk in your sleep,” she said.
“No, I don’t,” Effie retorted. Too forceful.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” Anya lowered her eyes and pulled at the duvet.
“Is that why you never stay…Why you always leave before I wake up?”
“Is Dinah your friend?” Anya asked after a while.
“Sorry?” Effie stiffened, betrayed by her own fogged mind. “Who?”
“You were shouting for her.”
Blood pounded in Effie’s stomach. “I don’t know.”
The name scraped at the back of her head, grazing a memory. It tingled at the nape of her neck—scratch, scratch—carving a word into wood.
Dinah.
