The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox by Maggie O'Farrell Page B

it for clues.
    'Hospital,' Iris is saying, to the remarkably unhelpful woman at Directory Enquiries. 'Cauldstone Hospital, I think. Or "Psychiatric Hospital"? Try "psychiatric"...No? Have you tried just "Cauldstone"?...No, one word ... Yes. C-A ... No. D. For – for "damn"...Yes, I'll hold.'
    Esme has abandoned the seatbelt and has pressed the hazard light button on the dashboard. The car is filled with a noise like crickets. This seems to delight Esme, who smiles, presses it again, switching it off, waits a moment, then switches it on again.
    'Really?' Iris says. 'Well, could you try just "hospital"?...No, not any hospital. I need this one, specifically. Yes.' Iris feels incredibly hot. She is regretting the jumper under her coat. She reaches out and covers the hazard button with one hand. 'Could you please not do that?' she says to Esme, then has to say, 'No, no, I didn't mean you,' to the Directory Enquiries woman who, magically, has managed to locate the whereabouts of Cauldstone on her system and is asking
Iris if she wants Admissions, Outpatients, General Enquiries or Daycare.
    'General Enquiries,' Iris says, sitting up, enlivened now. This nightmare is nearly at an end. She will ask Cauldstone where she should take Esme next or, failing that, return her to them. Quite simple. She has more than done her duty. She hears the connection, a ringing and then a list of options. She presses a button, listens, presses another, listens again and, as she is listening, she realises that Esme has opened the door and is getting out of the car.
    'Wait!' Iris shrieks. 'Where are you going?'
    She shoves at her own door and stumbles from the car, still holding the phone to her ear – it seems to be saying something about how the offices are now shut, how the opening hours are between nine a.m. and five p.m. and that she must call back within those hours or leave a message after the tone.
    Esme is walking speedily along the pavement, her head tipped back to look up. She stops at a pedestrian crossing, which is beeping, the green man flashing on and off, and stoops to peer at it.
    'I'm in the Grassmarket with Es – with Euphemia Lennox,' Iris is saying in as calm and assertive a voice as she can muster while sprinting along a pavement. 'The hostel you sent us to is simply not satisfactory. She couldn't stay there. The place is completely unsuitable and full of – of—She can't stay there. I know this is my fault because I discharged her but,' she says, as she catches up with Esme, grabbing a
fistful of her coat, 'I'd like someone to call me, please, as I'm bringing her back. Right now. Thank you. Goodbye.'
    Iris hangs up, out of breath. 'Esme,' she says, 'get back in the car.'
    They drive away from the Grassmarket, south, away from the centre, grinding their way through the rush-hour traffic. Esme sits in her seat, turning her head to see things as they pass: a churchyard, a man walking a dog, a supermarket, a woman with a pram, a cinema with a queue outside.
    As Iris turns the car into the driveway for the hospital, Esme's head snaps round to look at her. 'This is—' She stops. 'This is Cauldstone.'
    Iris swallows. 'Yes. I know. I ... You couldn't stay at that hostel, you see,' she begins, 'so we—'
    'But I thought I was leaving,' Esme says. 'You said I was leaving.'
    Iris parks the car, pulls on the handbrake. She has to resist the urge to press her forehead against the steering-wheel. She imagines it would feel cool and smooth against her skin. 'I know I did. And you will. The problem is that—'
    'You said.' Esme shuts her eyes, screws them up tight, bowing her head. 'You promised,' she says, almost inaudibly and, with her hands, she is crushing the material of her dress.
     
    She won't get out. She will not. She will sit here, in this seat, in this car, and they'll have to drag her, like last time.
She breathes in and she breathes out and she listens to the shushing noise of it. But the girl walks round the front of the car,