Page 77 of Every Christmas Eve
‘Ava!’ I call out, treading carefully along the slippery boardwalk, but my voice goes nowhere. The air is damp. It catches my breath as the smell of burning peat fills my nostrils from chimney pots in the distance. It’s already gone five o’clock, so the dark clouds and the mist in the air make it hard to see the spire on Church Island, never mind help me to find a runaway child.
My stomach clenches. I say a prayer as I leave the boardwalk and walk towards the woods, using the torch on myphone as I approach, though it doesn’t make much difference in the murky light. My gut knows that Ava won’t have ventured too far, nor would she want to feel scared, but I keep on walking, something telling me to do so.
‘Ava!’ I call again. ‘Ava, darling, are you out here? Can you hear me?’
My phone bleeps as a text message arrives. It’s Cordelia. I stop in my tracks, my fingers shaking as I open the message after wiping raindrops off my screen.
She isn’t in the village. I’ve checked everywhere. Oh Lou, this is so frightening.
I double-check to see if there’s an update from Ben, but no. There’s nothing.
I close my eyes and do my best to think straight. A twelve-year-old girl, confused and angry at her father, overwhelmed with feelings of guilt, fear and longing, a little girl who only wants to be loved. Where would she go? How much does she know about Lough Beg? What did I know when I was her age? Where might I have run to?
I have an idea. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth a check.
I start walking again. My pace quickens so much I’m almost jogging, until I slip and fall, catching my hand on a sharp bramble.
‘Ouch!’
I clamber back to my feet and brush the dead leaves from my legs, allowing myself a moment to get my breath back. I see a dog walker in the distance, someone out for a rainy walk completely oblivious to the terror I’m feeling as the clock ticksaway. No word from Ben. No word from Tilda or Uncle Eric either, who are keeping watch at the house.
I can’t see the hut in the distance, but I head right towards it, only because I know what I’m looking for. It’s so well camouflaged, nestled in nature and almost invisible to a casual observer in daylight, never mind the dark of winter. Hundreds and hundreds of people will have passed through this dense woodland patch, never noticing the result of hours of labour by a group of young teenagers in the nineties who longed for a hideaway from the big bad world.
We called it the Shepherd’s Mud Hut, even though there was more chance of seeing cattle round here than sheep back then. Some said it had been built by the British army years ago for shelter, but I knew different.
I straighten myself up and take a deep breath, but this time I don’t call her by name.
Instead, I go to the entrance of the man-made shelter, twigs snapping under my feet and the wind whipping up a storm, though it doesn’t mask the sobbing sound from inside.
I crouch down, holding on to the sodden, weathered wood while doing my best to avoid jagged nails above me. I peer through the branches.
And then I see her.
‘Oh, Ava!’
She is a tiny and pitiful sight, tucked up against the far wall of the grubby hut. She doesn’t look at me, nor does she answer at first.
‘Ava, darling, it’s Lou,’ I say softly. ‘Are you OK? I’ve been looking for you. We all have.’
She still doesn’t look at me directly, but I can see her deep brown eyes, so full of fear.
‘What time is it?’ she asks me, sniffling as she speaks. ‘Is my dad really mad? I heard what he said to Uncle Eric about you. And then when I saw you arrive at Ballyheaney I couldn’t stay there, so I ran, but I’m sorry, Lou. I’m scared and I’m sorry.’
I crawl in beside her, hoping that if I stay calm then she will too. The hut smells of damp earth and pine, and the ground is not as dry as it used to be in here. It’s covered in soggy leaves and mossy branches. A couple of sun-faded beer cans are neatly stacked in the corner, telling me Ava isn’t the only one to have found my once-secret hiding place.
‘He isn’t mad at you, honey. He’s very worried, so why don’t I tell him I’ve found you, eh?’ I say to her. I sit down on the damp ground, trying to stay composed as I find her dad’s number on my phone. ‘Everything’s going to be fine, Ava. You’ve nothing to worry about.’
I call Ben rather than message him, knowing he’ll want to hear her voice to reassure him.
‘I’ve found her,’ I tell him, smiling at her in a bid to ease the fear in her eyes. ‘Yes, yes, she’s absolutely fine. She’s safe, she’s dry, and she’s OK. I’ll bring her home straight away. You go inside and get warmed up and we’ll be right there.’
Ava reaches for my phone, so I give it to her, noticing how shaky, bright red and bitterly cold her hands are. I take off my coat and tuck it around her shoulders. My coat maybe dripping wet on the outside, but inside it’s cosy, soft and warm.
She doesn’t object.
‘I’m so sorry, Dad,’ she tells him, her little voice all aquiver. ‘I’m sorry for worrying you. I thought you were mad with me, so I ran. I know it was stupid. I’m sorry.’
I can hear Ben’s voice, but I can’t make out what he is saying so I close my eyes, savouring the relief I feel inside while knowing it’s not even a patch on what he’s going through.
