Blood Loss by Kerena Swan (brene brown rising strong .txt) 📗

look into abandoned vehicles in the area and check with local taxi services. I’m not sure about him flying as there’s no passport, although he wouldn’t need one for a UK flight. He seems to have taken pains to conceal his identity but, as I said before, let’s not assume.’

‘Maybe the killer took his ID, boss.’

‘That’s possible, Cheryl. I want you to look at missing persons’ records nationwide. We’re looking for men between their late twenties and early thirties who’ve been reported missing in the last few days. If we don’t get an ID today, I want you to look again tomorrow and the day after. He’d booked the cabin for a week and wasn’t due to leave until yesterday, so it’s possible that he’s only just being missed. Let me know who reports him missing – a wife or whoever – as soon as possible.’

Chapter 6

The Following June | Jenna

Dad used to tell me off when I skidded to a halt and left bare patches on the gravel drive but I’m too desperate to get to Mum to care about that now. I don’t even bother locking the car but run through the wrought iron gate to the garden at the side of the house and burst into the utility room. Grace is pacing in the kitchen beyond it, pulling her cardigan sleeves over her hands. Her hair is sticking up and her eyes are wide with worry. I’m so used to seeing the sensible Grace, with her neat brown hair, plain clothes, and calm approach to life that it’s a shock to see her so agitated. ‘What happened?’ I ask her.

‘Fiona was watering the houseplants when I heard a clatter. I came to see if she was okay and she was lying unconscious on the floor.’ Grace points towards my feet. ‘I wasn’t sure if she’d fallen and knocked herself out or if she’d fainted. She came round as I was fetching my phone to call an ambulance and insisted I shouldn’t bother because it was only the heat that had made her dizzy.’

Mum isn’t the sort of woman to make a fuss over anything but she’d had another dizzy turn a few days ago and blamed that one on the heat too.

‘I rang Lucy and she said I should help Fiona into bed for a rest. I thought she’d refuse but she surprised me. She’s been asleep for an hour but I keep checking on her and she seems to be breathing okay.’’

Since Dad died six months ago, Mum seems to have had very little appetite and perhaps she’s let herself get rundown. ‘Do you think she’s eating enough?’ I ask.

‘She rarely eats all the lunch I prepare and she’s always working at her laptop.’ Grace replies then pauses, looking a little awkward. ‘Will you be okay now? I really need to get to another job.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you. Thanks so much for helping.’

She picks up her sensible-looking bag then heads for the door, saying, ‘I’ll ring later to see how she is. See you tomorrow.’

There’s no reply when I tap on Mum’s bedroom door so I tip-toe in. It’s a large room with the high vaulted ceiling Mum and Dad craved when they bought this barn fifteen years ago and converted it into a magnificent family home. The curtains shut out most of the bright sunshine but the room is suffused with a warm glow and smells of the rose-scented diffuser. Mum’s lying on her side, her eyes tight shut and her breathing even. I’ll give her another half-hour then wake her up with a cup of tea.

As I leave the room my attention is caught by a photo of Mum and Dad in woolly hats, ski masks pulled up onto their heads, their cheeks touching and huge smiles on their faces. My throat tightens and I blink away the ready tears.

God, I miss Dad, the man who taught me to ride my bike without stabilizers, made me learn to tie my own shoelaces and always pushed me to do better. I don’t dwell on the scenes where he shouted at me for not doing my homework, grounded me for staying late at a boyfriend’s house or confiscated my phone when I got poor grades. I know now he just wanted the best for me and I feel sad that I wasn’t as clever as Lucy and able to achieve more.

I touch his photo with a fingertip. ‘I’m sorry.’ I whisper to him. ‘I should have tried harder.’

Now I’ll never hear him utter the words, ‘I’m proud of you, Jenna.’

I turn at the rustle of cotton bedding behind me.

‘Jenna? Did you say something?’ Mum asks.

‘How do you feel? You gave Grace quite a fright.’

‘I just felt a bit light-headed. I skipped breakfast and hadn’t got around to having lunch.’

She sits up and swings her legs over the side of the bed. She’s a good-looking woman and her sleek blonde hair falls into its customary neatness, but for the first time I realise how much she’s aged lately. Her complexion resembles the skin on a cold latte coffee. It even has a strange hue to it.

‘You really must eat more, Mum. I know you haven’t had much of an appetite lately but you need to look after yourself. I bet you’ve been working all hours as well.’ Mum is a part-time University lecturer in business economics and often spends all her free time marking assignments and planning lectures.

‘I haven’t done much lately,’ she says. ‘I can’t find the motivation I once had.’

Mum and Dad were always the golden couple, the envy of friends and acquaintances. Driven, intelligent and successful. Very successful. Lucy’s a lot like them, but somehow those genes must have been used up on her because I don’t possess any of those qualities. My feet are firmly planted in the “work-to-live” camp whereas the rest of my family are definitely of the “live-to-work” ethos. At least they were.

I’m not so sure