He nodded, placing a large hand on my shoulder, his voice softening. ‘Of course I know who you are. I was sorry to read about your daughter in the paper. Edie, is it?’
‘That’s right.’
‘So. How can I help?’
‘I want to know what your car was doing at the churchyard the night Edie disappeared.’
His face fell but his expression was hard to read. Disappointment? Fear? He crossed his arms in front of his chest. ‘You know I’ve already spoken to Tony about this.’
‘Well, now you can talk to me.’
‘I don’t think that’s wise.’
‘I’m not giving you a fucking choice!’ I shouted, my voice shaking with the force of it. I was suddenly furious with him, his calmness, that reasonable tilt of the head, the sympathy in his voice, oversweet. I was furious with Tony for telling me that goodwill is a currency and that Edward Thorn had a surfeit of it. I was angry with Edie and myself and with this stupid town for swallowing her up. My fists were tight, arms stiff and thrumming with tension. Edward didn’t raise his voice or step away from me. He simply lowered the lid of the boot so I could see there was someone standing behind it, car door open. He must have climbed out while we were talking. William Thorn, the boy I’d found on the couch with Edie. His eyes were wide in the gathering dark. His school uniform hung off his skinny frame, his bag slung over one shoulder giving him a strange, lopsided look. His mouth was hanging open in shock.
‘Dad?’
‘It’s all right, William,’ Edward told him without taking his eyes off me. ‘Go inside and help your brother.’
He didn’t move.
‘What’s going on? Why is she here?’ His voice cracked as if he might be about to cry. Good, I thought.
‘She’s upset, William. As she should be.’
Was that a slight? I couldn’t tell. I took a big, deliberate step closer to Edward, head tilted so I could look him in the eye. I heard William behind him, saying, Dad, Dad, again and again, but Edward stood very still, watching me.
‘Why were you there at the churchyard? That’s all I want to know. You can tell me, and I’ll leave you alone.’
‘I’ve already spoken to the police and I don’t have anything further to say to you.’ His voice was still gentle, as if he was talking me down from a ledge. ‘Please, Mrs Hudson, go home. Get some rest.’
A door at the front of the house opened and an oblong of warm orange light spilt out on to the drive. I saw a woman emerge holding something in her hands. She wasn’t looking at us, not really, and it was only as she drew closer that I realised what she was carrying. It was a carved pumpkin, lit from the inside with a candle. She looked up, smile fading as she took in the scene, her words falling away as if cut by a blade.
‘Look at what we did this aftern— Edward? What’s going on?’
‘It’s all right, Mimi love. Mrs Hudson just came to ask me about Edie. Take William inside.’
Mimi didn’t look as if she knew what to do with herself. She lowered the pumpkin to the ground and stared at me with large, worried eyes. She looked almost leporine in the half-light. A prey animal. There was something else too, wasn’t there? She was afraid. But of who? Me? Or Edward?
‘Mimi – now, please!’ Edward said shortly, and I saw her taking William by the arm and moving him towards the house, the two of them looking back at us over their shoulders until they were safely inside. The pumpkin sat on the drive, casting a strange, strobing aura.
‘I understand the worry and upset this has caused you. But as I said, I’ve spoken with my friends at the station and if they have any concerns with any part of my statement I trust they will get back to me. They seem to be of the mind that your daughter ran away. I must say, from what I’ve heard about Edie, I agree with them.’
I was wrong-footed. I reached out and gripped his arm. ‘What do you mean? What have you heard about her? Edward?’
He peeled my hand away firmly, taking a deliberate step away from me.
‘You should go,’ he said, lifting the sign he’d pulled from the boot and tucking it under his arm. ‘This place will be overrun with kids in a minute. You’re in no state to see them.’
I stared after him as he walked away, his shadow long in the light coming through the open doorway. Inside I could imagine the warmth of their comfortable home, the security of it, the way love can knit a family together, and something inside me worked itself loose. I felt like I might start to cry and never stop so I turned and ran back to my car, standing beside it with my head bowed and my shoulders shaking, taking big, whooping breaths.
‘Trick or treat!’ a voice shouted behind me.
I turned around and there was a little vampire there, dressed in a frilly shirt with his hair parted to the side, slick with gel. He was smiling, his little round face pressed with talc to give it a chalky, post-death whiteness. Two runnels of blood dripped down from the corners of his mouth, which was lifted in a grin. I stared at him until someone – his mother, presumably, dressed in regular clothes but with a witch’s hat on in a nod to the season – scooped him up and walked him away towards a bigger group of kids gathering at the top of the road, looking back at me over her shoulder with a furrowed brow. There were already a few groups milling about as the darkness crowded in, a lot of shrieking and laughter, a bright high howl as a werewolf ran past, little bucket dangling at its side. Halloween. Nearly a whole month without Edie. My knees felt watery. I managed to open the car door and sit on the seat before I fell down. She’d called me. I’d heard her voice. She was out there somewhere. I looked through the windscreen as a clatter of noisy children ran past, witches and warlocks and dread vampires, all in their black finery like miniature versions of the Rattlesnakes. I watched as they approached the house to my left, the one with pumpkins cut out from orange crêpe paper strung in the trees. I heard the chorus of their voices, almost singsong, ‘Trick or Tre-eat!’, and I had an idea.
I pulled all the junk from my car boot on to the ground before I found what I was searching for. An old dust sheet, put inside when I was decorating back in February. Edie had kicked a hole in the wall of the stairs as big as a fist and I’d filled it in that same weekend. I couldn’t even remember what she’d been mad about now. It was just one of those things, those moods, fraught with violence. I pulled it out and gave it a shake, using my lit cigarette to burn two small holes into the white fabric. When I pulled it over my head I had to adjust it carefully so I could see. I could smell my own ragged breath blasted back at me; nicotine and something sour, like spoiled milk. Maybe Edward was right; maybe I was in no fit state.
I watched as the groups wove among each other along the street, joining and detaching like shoals. I hung at the back of the biggest one, trying to shrink myself beneath the sheet, hoping no-one would turn around and say, ‘Who the hell are you?’ But nobody did. I felt a tug as some little girl grabbed my dust sheet and pulled at it, but she laughed and spirited herself away and I managed to gather it back over myself before I was revealed. As we approached Thorn House, I experienced a moment of apprehension. What if Edward doesn’t answer the door? What will you do then? Take a hostage? You’ll get yourself arrested. Think, Samantha. Go home. Don’t do this. Don’t.