Read Online Elizabeth Is Missing by Emma Healey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Emma Healey
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“Yer?”
The head was shaggy and a bad smell came from the dark corridor, souring the scent of the laundry.
Dad cleared his throat. “I was hoping you might . . . I wanted to ask . . .” He paused, took a breath. Moss was growing along the brick by the door frame and I curled my fingernails into its soft dampness.
“I’m looking for Susan Palmer. I mean”—Dad shook his head—“Susan Gerrard. She lives at number twenty-three. Have you seen her?”
“Never seen her.” The head shook its unwashed hair. “What—gone missing, has she?”
Dad nodded.
“What’s it to you?”
“She’s my daughter,” Dad said.
“Oh, right. Well, Frank’s at twenty-three, and she’s all right if she’s with him, I should think.”
“He’s not there, either.”
“There you are then. Taken her off somewhere.” A smile appeared under the hair; there were gaps in the teeth and a tongue was rubbed into each space.
Dad cleared his throat again. “She would have told us. I mean, they’re married,” he said. “She would have said if she were going off with him.”
“Oh, they’re married?” He sounded disappointed. “Then I couldn’t speculate, I’m afraid.”
We tried the next house along. While Dad knocked, I leant over the string that had replaced the railings and looked at the rubbish that had collected below street level. The old man at that address hadn’t seen Sukey, either, but he knew Frank.
“Lots of women going off now,” he said. “Seen it in the papers. Don’t seem to like it when their husbands come home, and so they’re off to London or some other ungodly place. Frank’s a good’un, she should be happy with him. He moved my sister down from Coventry, didn’t ask a penny. Said he had another job and could put her things in with it. My sister wouldn’t have been one to leave her husband, if she’d ever had one, that much I can tell you.”
Dad carried on down the street. I stood and watched him make his way to the end of the road. The sky was grey and the red of the bricks dulled, but it wasn’t cold.
“No one’s seen anything,” Dad said, coming back to me. “Or they’re not saying if they have. ‘Careless talk’ and all that. You’d think the war was still on. Shall we go home?”
I thought about the dress pattern that Sukey had started for me. I could picture it spread out on my bedroom floor. I couldn’t help thinking that she would walk in any minute and pick up the scissors. I hadn’t touched it since she’d cut out the sleeves, and I couldn’t bear the idea of going back to look at it.
“Let me knock at one,” I said and stepped up to a thickly painted door. The blue paint had run and then set in drips as if it were rain, and I traced the bumps as I waited for an answer. “I’m looking for my sister, Sukey,” I blurted out when the door opened. “She lived just down there. I don’t know what’s happened to her. She didn’t say she was moving away, and I can’t find her now. There’s no one at her house. Have you seen her? She’s got a comb like this.”
I was close to crying, felt embarrassed and childish, and wished I hadn’t knocked on the door at all. The woman, wearing a hairnet and standing just inside the door frame, looked quickly along the street.
“How many doors’ve you knocked on then?” she asked.
“I don’t know, maybe ten. No one’s seen her.” I breathed against the tears.
The woman shot another look towards Sukey’s house. “What number was your sister at?”
“Twenty-three.”
She nodded. “No, they wouldn’t have said, prob’ly. Look, I don’t know where they went—I wasn’t sure they’d gone, to be honest—but they had some trouble, I know that much. All sorts in and out of that house. And one night she runs out screaming.” She paused to let me gasp. “But it was quiet the next day and I sees her in the street, right as rain. So . . .”
“When was that?” Dad said, coming to stand behind me.
The
The head was shaggy and a bad smell came from the dark corridor, souring the scent of the laundry.
Dad cleared his throat. “I was hoping you might . . . I wanted to ask . . .” He paused, took a breath. Moss was growing along the brick by the door frame and I curled my fingernails into its soft dampness.
“I’m looking for Susan Palmer. I mean”—Dad shook his head—“Susan Gerrard. She lives at number twenty-three. Have you seen her?”
“Never seen her.” The head shook its unwashed hair. “What—gone missing, has she?”
Dad nodded.
“What’s it to you?”
“She’s my daughter,” Dad said.
“Oh, right. Well, Frank’s at twenty-three, and she’s all right if she’s with him, I should think.”
“He’s not there, either.”
“There you are then. Taken her off somewhere.” A smile appeared under the hair; there were gaps in the teeth and a tongue was rubbed into each space.
Dad cleared his throat again. “She would have told us. I mean, they’re married,” he said. “She would have said if she were going off with him.”
“Oh, they’re married?” He sounded disappointed. “Then I couldn’t speculate, I’m afraid.”
We tried the next house along. While Dad knocked, I leant over the string that had replaced the railings and looked at the rubbish that had collected below street level. The old man at that address hadn’t seen Sukey, either, but he knew Frank.
“Lots of women going off now,” he said. “Seen it in the papers. Don’t seem to like it when their husbands come home, and so they’re off to London or some other ungodly place. Frank’s a good’un, she should be happy with him. He moved my sister down from Coventry, didn’t ask a penny. Said he had another job and could put her things in with it. My sister wouldn’t have been one to leave her husband, if she’d ever had one, that much I can tell you.”
Dad carried on down the street. I stood and watched him make his way to the end of the road. The sky was grey and the red of the bricks dulled, but it wasn’t cold.
“No one’s seen anything,” Dad said, coming back to me. “Or they’re not saying if they have. ‘Careless talk’ and all that. You’d think the war was still on. Shall we go home?”
I thought about the dress pattern that Sukey had started for me. I could picture it spread out on my bedroom floor. I couldn’t help thinking that she would walk in any minute and pick up the scissors. I hadn’t touched it since she’d cut out the sleeves, and I couldn’t bear the idea of going back to look at it.
“Let me knock at one,” I said and stepped up to a thickly painted door. The blue paint had run and then set in drips as if it were rain, and I traced the bumps as I waited for an answer. “I’m looking for my sister, Sukey,” I blurted out when the door opened. “She lived just down there. I don’t know what’s happened to her. She didn’t say she was moving away, and I can’t find her now. There’s no one at her house. Have you seen her? She’s got a comb like this.”
I was close to crying, felt embarrassed and childish, and wished I hadn’t knocked on the door at all. The woman, wearing a hairnet and standing just inside the door frame, looked quickly along the street.
“How many doors’ve you knocked on then?” she asked.
“I don’t know, maybe ten. No one’s seen her.” I breathed against the tears.
The woman shot another look towards Sukey’s house. “What number was your sister at?”
“Twenty-three.”
She nodded. “No, they wouldn’t have said, prob’ly. Look, I don’t know where they went—I wasn’t sure they’d gone, to be honest—but they had some trouble, I know that much. All sorts in and out of that house. And one night she runs out screaming.” She paused to let me gasp. “But it was quiet the next day and I sees her in the street, right as rain. So . . .”
“When was that?” Dad said, coming to stand behind me.
The
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