The coffees came, jarring Siobhan back to the present. She waited until the waiter had gone, off to fetch the businessman’s bill.
‘So tell me what’s happened,’ she said.
John Jardine poured a sachet of sugar into his cup and started stirring. ‘Ishbel left school last year. We wanted her to go to college, get some kind of qualification. But she had her heart set on hairdressing.’
‘Of course, you need a qualification to do that, too,’ his wife interrupted. ‘She’s going part-time to the college in Livingston.’
Siobhan just nodded.
‘Well, she was until she disappeared,’ John Jardine stated quietly.
‘When was this?’
‘A week ago today.’
‘She just upped and went?’
‘We thought she’d gone to work as usual — she’s at the salon on Main Street. But they phoned to see if she was sick. Some of her clothes had gone, enough to fill a backpack. Money, cards, mobile...’
‘We’ve tried phoning it umpteen times,’ his wife added, ‘but it’s always switched off.’
‘Have you spoken to anyone apart from me?’ Siobhan asked, lifting her cup to her lips.
‘Everyone we could think of — her pals, old school-friends, the girls she worked with.’
‘College?’
Alice Jardine nodded. ‘They’ve not seen her either.’
‘We went to the police station in Livingston,’ John Jardine said. He was still stirring the contents of his cup, showed no inclination to drink it. ‘They said she’s eighteen, so she’s not breaking the law. Packed a bag, so it’s not like she was abducted.’
‘That’s true, I’m afraid.’ There was more Siobhan could have added: that she saw runaways all the time; that if she herself lived in Banehall, maybe she would run away, too... ‘There hadn’t been any fights at home?’
Mr Jardine shook his head. ‘She was saving for a flat... already making lists of the stuff she’d buy for it.’
‘Any boyfriends?’
‘There was one until a couple of months back. The split was...’ Mr Jardine couldn’t find the word he was looking for. ‘They were still friends.’
‘It was amicable?’ Siobhan suggested. He smiled and nodded: she’d found his word for him.
‘We just want to know what’s going on,’ Alice Jardine said.
‘I’m sure you do, and there are people who can help... agencies who look out for people like Ishbel who’ve left home for whatever reason.’ Siobhan realised that the words were coming too easily: she’d said them so many times to anxious parents. Alice was looking to her husband.
‘Tell her what Susie told you,’ she said.
He nodded, finally placing the spoon back on its saucer. ‘Susie works with Ishbel at the salon. She told me she’d seen Ishbel getting into a flash car... she thought it might be a BMW or something.’
‘When was this?’
‘A couple of times... the car was always parked a bit further down the street. Older guy driving.’ He paused. ‘Well, my age at least.’
‘Did Susie ask Ishbel who he was?’
He nodded. ‘But Ishbel wouldn’t say.’
‘So maybe she’s gone to stay with this friend of hers.’ Siobhan had finished her coffee but didn’t want another.
‘But why not tell us?’ Alice asked plaintively.
‘I’m not sure I can help you answer that.’
‘Susie mentioned something else,’ John Jardine said, lowering his voice still further. ‘She said this man... she told us he looked a bit shady.’
‘Shady?’
‘What she actually said was, he looked like a pimp.’ He glanced up at Siobhan. ‘You know, like off the films and TV: sunglasses and a leather jacket... flash car.’
‘I’m not sure that gets us any further,’ Siobhan said, immediately regretting the use of ‘us’, tying her to their cause.
‘Ishbel’s a real beauty,’ Alice said. ‘You know that yourself. Why would she just run off like that without telling us? Why did she keep this man a secret from us?’ She shook her head slowly. ‘No, there’s got to be more to it.’
Silence fell on the table for a few moments. The businessman’s phone was ringing again as the waiter held the door open for him. The waiter even gave a little bow: either the man was a regular, or a decent tip had changed hands. Now there were only three customers left in the place, not the most thrilling prospect.
‘I can’t see any way of helping you,’ Siobhan told the Jardines. ‘You know I would if I could...’
John Jardine had taken his wife’s hand. ‘You were very good to us, Siobhan. Sympathetic and all that. We appreciated it at the time, and so did Ishbel... That’s why we thought of you.’ He fixed her with his milky eyes. ‘We’ve already lost Tracy. Ishbel’s all we’ve got left.’
‘Look...’ Siobhan took a deep breath. ‘I can maybe put her name into circulation, see if she turns up anywhere.’
His face softened. ‘That’d be great.’
‘“Great” is an exaggeration, but I’ll do what I can.’ She saw that Alice Jardine was about to reach out for her hand again, so started to rise from the table, checking her watch as if she had some pressing appointment awaiting her at the station. The waiter came over, John Jardine insisting on paying. As they finally made to leave, the waiter was nowhere to be seen. Siobhan pulled open the door.
‘Sometimes people just need a bit of time to themselves. You’re sure she hadn’t been having any problems?’
Husband and wife looked at one another. It was Alice who spoke up. ‘He’s out, you know. Back in Banehall, bold as brass. Maybe that’s got something to do with it.’
‘Who?’
‘Cruikshank. Three years, that’s all he served. I saw him one day when I was at the shops. I had to go down a side street so I could throw up.’
‘Did you speak to him?’
‘I wouldn’t even spit on him.’
Siobhan looked to John Jardine, but he was shaking his head.
‘I’d kill him,’ he said. ‘If I ever met him, I’d have to kill him.’
‘Careful who you say that to, Mr Jardine.’ Siobhan thought for a moment. ‘Ishbel knew this? Knew he was out, I mean?’
‘Whole town knew. And you know what it’s like: hairdressers are first with the gossip.’
Siobhan nodded slowly. ‘Well... like I said, I’ll make a few phone calls. A photo of Ishbel might help.’
Mrs Jardine dug in her handbag and brought out a folded sheet of paper. It was a picture blown up on to a sheet of A4 paper, printed from a computer. Ishbel on a sofa, a drink in her hand, cheeks ruddy with alcohol.
‘That’s Susie from the salon next to her,’ Alice Jardine said. ‘John took it at a party we had three weeks ago. It was my birthday.’
Siobhan nodded. Ishbel had changed since she’d last seen her: allowed her hair to grow and dyed it blonde. More make-up, too, and a hardening around the eyes, despite the grin. The hint of a double chin developing. The hair was centre-parted. It took Siobhan a second to realise who she reminded her of. It was Tracy: the long blonde hair, that parting, the blue eyeliner.
She looked just like her dead sister.
‘Thanks,’ she said, placing the photo in her pocket.
Siobhan checked that they were still at the same telephone number. John Jardine nodded. ‘We moved one street away, but didn’t need to change numbers.’
Of course they’d moved. How could they have gone on living in that house, the house where Tracy had taken the overdose? Fifteen Ishbel had been when she’d found the lifeless body. The sister she’d doted on, idolised. Her role model.
‘I’ll be in touch then,’ Siobhan said, turning and walking away.