She’s loved by all who meet her. But someone wants her gone . . .

Read an extract from Has Anyone Seen Charlotte Salter? by Nicci French …

ABOUT THE BOOK

1990

When beautiful and vivacious Charlotte Salter fails to turn up to her husband Alec’s 50th birthday party, her kids are worried, but Alec is not. As the days pass and there’s still no word from Charlie, her daughter, Etty, and her sons, Niall, Paul and Ollie, all struggle to come to terms with her disappearance.
How can anyone just vanish without a trace?
Left with no answers and in limbo, the Salter children try and go on with their lives, all the while thinking that their mother’s killer is potentially very close to home.

Now

After years away, Etty returns home to the small East Anglian village where she grew up to help move her father into a care home. Now in his eighties, Alec has dementia and often mistakes his daughter for her mother.
Etty is a changed woman from the trouble-free girl she was when Charlie was still around. All the Salter children have spent decades running and hiding from their mother’s disappearance.
But when their childhood friends, Greg and Morgen Ackerley, decide to do a podcast about Charlotte’s disappearance, it seems like the town’s buried secrets – and the Salters’ – might finally come to light.

After all this time, will they finally find out what really happened to Charlotte Salter?

……………………………………

Two

She smelled the reek of weed and then recognised Ollie, of course, among the group and then saw that Morgan was once more with him.She bumped against Greg, who murmured something unintelligible.The back exit of the barn was like the grim underside of the party. People were doing things in the dark they couldn’t do inside. Etty saw a couple against the wall to the side, entangled in each other. She felt a stab of resentment. Apparently 15-year-olds were all right if they weren’t his sister. She recognised the glassy expression of the very drunk and the sweaty pallor of someone who had just vomited or was just about to vomit. She murmured something unintelligible back to him and moved quickly away from him.

Someone had lit a fire in a brazier outside. As she moved towards its flickering light, she heard a familiar raised voice. Her father was jabbing the narrow chest of Victor Pearce. He was the owner of the village café and he was Charlie’s friend, not Alec’s. She made the scones and chocolate-and-walnut cake that were always on the counter, and sometimes Etty worked there on a Saturday. He was shorter than Alec and slight. His hair was tied back in a knot and he wore a tie-dyed T-shirt and velvet trousers.

‘Hey, cool it,’ he was saying as he inched backwards.

Etty touched her father’s shoulder and he looked round at her.

‘I called the police.’

Alec’s face was blank as he stared at her but somehow it set her heart thudding furiously.

‘And why did you do that?’ His voice was suddenly quite pleasant.

‘Nobody else was doing anything.’

‘Nothing’s happened. She just hasn’t bothered to turn up to my fiftieth birthday party.’

‘They’re sending someone to our house in about half an hour.’

His face was still expressionless, but Etty could feel his anger. He moved away from Victor Pearce, spun around and walked back into the barn. He disappeared into the crowd. After a moment the music suddenly stopped. The dancing faltered and there was a sudden silence.

Etty couldn’t see her father but she could hear his voice, announcing that the party was over.

‘At least, it is for the Salter family. Thanks for coming and all that. Turn off the lights when you leave.’

‘You can’t drive,’ said Ollie to his father. ‘Not after all you’ve drunk.

‘And you can? After smoking whatever it is you’ve been smoking?’

‘I wasn’t planning to drive.’

His hair, the same rich chestnut-brown as Etty’s, was long; Alec said it made him look even more like a sissy.

Alec yanked open the door of his car.

‘Get in.’

‘No way.’

‘Suit yourself. Etty?’

She thought of the other party. People would be dancing, drinking, making out. She pushed her hands deep into her pockets.

‘I’ll walk back with Ollie.’

‘Where’s Paul then?’

‘He’s already at home,’ said Etty. ‘And Niall’s going to come in his car.’

‘Right. Just me then. Enjoy your walk.’

He climbed into the car, pulled the door shut and turned on the ignition. Ollie and Etty watched the car speeding up the track, its red taillights disappearing into the night.

It was only a 15-minute walk, but the rain was turning to a soft sleet that the wind flung into their faces.

They didn’t say anything as they reached the main road just before it crossed the river, trudged past the phone booth, the bus stop where Etty got the bus to school in Hemingford every day and where a group of young teenagers were drinking from cans, past the new estate with its row of identical bungalows, and into the winding roads of Glensted, with its red-bricked, gabled houses. Christmas trees sparkled through windows. There was a reek of wood fires.

Etty was trying to feel irritated with Charlie for ruining the beginning of her holidays, but she couldn’t push away the rising anxiety and would have run if she’d been alone. She strode along with Ollie ambling in her wake, her heavy shoes clattering on the pavements. The town dwindled to a few houses, then they were at the small, disused petrol station and the cluster of mobile
homes that stood empty for most of the year. From here, they could see the outline of the farmhouse, with squares of light from the downstairs windows.

Paul opened the door, standing like a cut-out figure in its rectangle of yellow. His eyes were the colour of walnuts. His hair, the same rich chestnut-brown as Etty’s, was long; Alec said it made him look even more like a sissy. Behind him in the hall, the Salter Christmas tree was a splash of gaudy colour. Charlie didn’t believe in tasteful decoration. She had hung the branches with red, gold and purple baubles, strings of lights and silver tinsel. Presents were already heaped underneath it including, Etty saw, a small square one with a ribbon tied around it, meant for her.

‘No sign of her?’ asked Etty.

Paul shook his head.

They went into the house, taking off their wet jackets. Ollie bent down and pulled off his sodden trainers and then his socks, saving himself from toppling by a hand on the banister. His feet looked very pink and, when he stood up again, Etty saw how large his pupils were. Etty’s hair dripped down her neck and her cheeks stung from the cold.

‘I called the police,’ she said to Paul. ‘Was it stupid of me?’

She wanted him to say yes.

‘No.’

The door to the living room on their left opened and Alec came out, a full glass of whisky in his hand.

‘A thoroughly memorable fiftieth birthday,’ he said.

‘Thank you all.’

Headlights were coming up the drive. There were two cars: Niall’s old Honda and, behind him, a police car.

‘I’m pretty wasted,’ said Ollie in a carrying whisper, and gave a small, scared giggle. ‘Do you think
he’ll notice?’

‘Shut up,’ said Paul. ‘This isn’t about you.’

When Niall came in, Etty felt relieved. With his brown and reproachful eyes and his fair skin that
flushed up when he was embarrassed or annoyed, he was reassuringly down-to-earth and literal and it seemed unimaginable that anything awful had happened to Charlie when he was in the room.

The police officer looked no older than Ollie, and he reminded Etty of some of the boys in her class, awkward in their height and bulk. His body strained uncomfortably against the uniform and he kept easing a finger inside his collar. He came in smiling, and he didn’t stop smiling. Even when he was trying to look serious the grin broke through, creasing his broad, boyish face.

‘Geoffrey Bealing,’ he said, bobbing his head to them each in turn.

They led him through into the living room, where he sat on the armchair with a broken spring. Etty and Niall sat opposite him on the sofa, Paul took the little chair, and Ollie propped himself up by the fireplace, where cold ash lay in a heap. The heating hadn’t been turned on and the room felt spiritless and grim.

Alec remained in the doorway, holding his glass which was almost empty.

‘You’re concerned about your wife?’ Bealing said to Alec.

‘No.’
Bealing shifted awkwardly in his seat.

Etty jumped up from the sofa and stood in front of him, her fists bunched.

‘She’s gone missing,’ she said, her voice pitched high. ‘We don’t know where she is. You have to find her.’

‘It’s only been a few hours,’ said Niall.

Bealing looked from one face to another. His gaze came to rest on Alec.

‘Is it unusual for your wife to go walkabout?’

‘Walkabout,’ said Ollie. ‘For fuck’s sake.’

‘Stop it, Oliver,’ said Alec. He turned to the police officer and spoke in a soothing tone. ‘Not at all. My wife is an impulsive woman. She will be back soon.’

‘How do you know that?’ asked Etty. ‘Did she tell you?’

‘I know because I know Charlie.’

Bealing struggled to his feet.

‘As you say, sir, it’s only been a few hours. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. If she hasn’t come back in 24 hours, then contact us.’

‘I’m sorry you were called out. I apologise on behalf of my daughter. She’s only 15.’

‘Don’t treat me like a baby. Something’s happened to her. She might have fallen. She might have . . .’

She didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Read an interview with writing due Nicci French

Follow Nicci French on X / Twitter