A Trio of Sophies by Eileen Merriman

Author:Eileen Merriman [Merriman, Eileen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780143774099
Publisher: Penguin Random House New Zealand
Published: 2013-04-08T00:00:00+00:00

DAY 28

Today is the fourth Friday since Sophie A went missing. Of course that’s what occupies my mind most of the time at the moment, along with the twisting-burning feeling in my gut.

Today, though, being the twenty-seventh of July, is also a pretty horrible day for my mother. Exactly one year ago, her father — my grandfather — died.

Mum didn’t know whether or not she should go to the funeral. He’d disowned her, as had the rest of her family. In the end she didn’t go, but she says she’s felt awful about it ever since.

‘It’s not your fault, though,’ I said over dinner tonight. We were eating macaroni cheese, which I made because I know it’s Mum’s comfort food. ‘He was the one who said he never wanted to see you again.’

‘I know.’ Mum gulped on her glass of wine. Normally we can’t afford wine, but she’d won the bottle in a pub raffle last week, along with a meat pack that would keep us going for a few weeks. ‘But it’s like I can’t close a chapter on my life. It sounds weird, but if you don’t get to say goodbye, then it can be hard to believe they’re gone.’

I sipped on my own small glass of wine, which Mum had let me have. If only she knew how much I used to drink with James.

‘What if you go and visit his grave?’ I asked.

‘Maybe.’ Mum drained the rest of her wine and stared out at our darkened back yard. ‘Fancy a trip to Taupo?’

‘Sure,’ I said, although the thought of going to visit the grave of my dead granddad wasn’t exactly my idea of fun.

My mother pushed her plate away. ‘Maybe over the summer. We could stay in a campground, it’d be cheaper.’

‘Sure,’ I repeated, but I wasn’t thinking about my bastard grandfather anymore. I was thinking about Sophie A’s parents, and how they were going batshit crazy trying to find her. I guess finding her dead is probably better than not finding her at all.

Mum gave me an odd look. ‘I could have sworn there was half a glass of wine sitting by your plate before.’

‘It wasn’t that much,’ I lied. Truth was, I could have done with getting really, really wasted right then, but it wasn’t the kind of thing I wanted to do in front of my mother.

Anyway, where did that get me last time? I just had a monster hangover, and that was barely over before I got really sick.

Perhaps that was nature’s way of punishing me for what I didn’t do.

Is that a crime? Not doing something?

Oh, come on, Sophie, are you really so stupid that you don’t know the answer to that question?

Shut up, shut up.

‘Are you all right?’ Mum asked when we were doing the dishes — probably because every time she said something to me all she got was a monosyllabic answer.

‘Sure,’ I said, yet again. By then I think Mum had figured out sure meant no. I didn’t want to talk about Sophie A, though, not when that was all anyone had been talking about for weeks.

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