Elizabeth Is Missing by Emma Healey Page A

“I’ve had to tell him about it often enough. Was getting to be a health hazard.”
    I stop myself from rolling my eyes. What an exaggeration. Elizabeth’s a bit untidy, that’s all. It’s the collecting, the china, the hoping for a fortune. But tidy people like to tell untidy people off. Peggy at the charity shop is like that, muttering to herself if you leave the price tags in a tangle.
    “So he’s finally got round to doing something, and I’m glad. Cleared quite a lot of things out, far as I could tell.”
    “What’s he taken?” I say. “Elizabeth needs her things.”
    “I can’t know that, really, can I?” She lets the dog lead her towards the road.
    I follow on my side of the fence. Elizabeth’s side. “But you didn’t see Elizabeth?” I say, my voice rising. “When Peter was getting rid of things. You didn’t see her?”
    The dog strains at the lead and points his nose at the house opposite. I turn, too, and, yes, that’s where the bacon smell is coming from. Not Elizabeth’s.
    The woman opens her car door and shoos the dog in. “No. I didn’t see Elizabeth. But then I never do, except when Peter takes her out. I must admit I wasn’t sure about him before, but now he really seems to be looking after her properly. A good boy, isn’t he?”
    I look away. I don’t think Peter is good at all. “But she isn’t in and I haven’t heard from her . . .”
    “Must be with Peter then.”
    I bite my lip. That doesn’t sound right.
    “I’ve got his number if you want it,” the woman says, struggling to make the dog sit. “If you’re worried, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you calling him.”
    “Please.”
    She slams the car door, making the dog whine, and goes back into her house. The dog and I stare at each other through the car window; the shaggy hair above his eyes gives him a puzzled frown, as if he’s thinking: What am I doing in here when you’re out there? I have an urge to let him out and take him home. Could I do it before the woman comes back? No, she’s already returning, with a slip of paper.
    “Tell Peter I send my best,” she says as she hands it to me over the fence. “If you remember.”
    I feel myself flush again and stand outside the house for a while after she’s driven off, trying to think of something else to look for, something to prove that I’m not a silly old woman. The slip of paper flutters about in my hand. I find I’m missing the dog. If only I could get my hands on a bloodhound. Then we could follow Elizabeth’s scent trail. In the meantime perhaps I should put a note through Elizabeth’s door. Just to say I’ve been. Just to say I was looking for her, in case she comes back. Dad did that for Sukey.
    None of us had seen her since the night of the fish and chips, and before a fortnight was up we knew there was something wrong.
    Sukey always came to us for at least one meal a week, and sometimes Frank would come, too, bringing extra food, or things he knew Ma would find it hard to get hold of, like soap or matches. He did lots of people favours and seemed to be able to get extra things, including servicemen’s rations—tiny tins of butter, cheese, or jam. Ma would use those things first so that Dad didn’t see the tins. She didn’t want to break the law, but she couldn’t turn down extra food. Not when it was so scarce. “And your dad can keep his conscience,” Ma would say, “because it’s not him has to queue for two hours and then make three meals a day out of a slice of ham and half a tomato.” So I never said anything. And neither did Douglas, though he would narrow his eyes at Ma exclaiming over the things and packing them away.
    There was no one in when Dad stopped at Sukey’s house on the way home from work, and no one in the week after. Ma went round a few mornings, too, and looked for Sukey at the shops in town, but she never saw her. It didn’t make any sense to us. One minute everything was fine, and the next she’d vanished.