Local Girl Missing: A Novel

By Claire Douglas

Someone knows where she is…

The old Victorian pier was a thing of beauty until it was allowed to decay. It was where the youth of Oldcliffe-on-Sea would go to hang out. It’s also where twenty-one-year-old Sophie Collier disappeared eighteen years ago.
 
Francesca Howe, known as Frankie, was Sophie’s best friend, and even now she is haunted by the mystery of what happened to her. When Frankie gets a call from Sophie’s brother, Daniel, informing her that human remains have been found washed up nearby, she immediately wonders if it could be Sophie, and returns to her old hometown to try and find closure. Now an editor at a local newspaper, Daniel believes that Sophie was terrified of someone and that her death was the result of foul play rather than “death by misadventure,” as the police claim.

Daniel arranges a holiday rental for Frankie that overlooks the pier where Sophie disappeared. In the middle of winter and out of season, Frankie feels isolated and unnerved, especially when she is out on the pier late one night and catches a glimpse of a woman who looks like Sophie. Is the pier really haunted, as they joked all those years ago? Could she really be seeing her friend’s ghost? And what actually happened to her best friend all those years ago?

Harrowing, electrifying, and thoroughly compelling, Local Girl Missing showcases once again bestselling author Claire Douglas’ extraordinary storytelling talent.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins
• Release date: Jul 4, 2017
• ISBN: 9780062661166

Claire Douglas

Claire Douglas is the Sunday Times number one bestselling author of eight stand alone novels: The Sisters, Local Girl Missing, Last Seen Alive, Do Not Disturb, Then She Vanishes, and Just Like The Other Girls, The Couple at No. 9, and The Girls Who Disappeared. Her books have sold over a million copies in the UK and have been published worldwide. The Couple At No 9 was an Amazon number-one bestseller, a number three Sunday Times bestseller, and most recently hit number one on Germany's Der Spiegel paperback bestsellers chart. The Girls Who Disappeared was a Richard and Judy book club pick for Autumn 2022 and was an instant number-one Sunday Times bestseller. Her books have sold over a million copies in the UK and have been published worldwide.

Book preview

Thursday

1

Frankie

February 2016

It’s a dreary afternoon, just after lunch, when I finally find out that you’re dead.

My mobile vibrates with an unrecognised number and I pick it up, distracted by the mountain of paperwork I’m immersed in.

‘Is this Francesca Howe?’ A male voice burns a hole in my memory. His warm, country timbre doesn’t belong in my office on the top floor of my parents’ hotel, with its minimalist furniture and views of the Gherkin. It belongs in the past; to our hometown in Somerset where seagulls squawk at dawn, waves crash against the pier and the smell of fish and chips permeates the air.

‘Daniel?’ It comes out as a croak and I grip the edge of the desk with my free hand as if to anchor myself to this room, to the present, so that I don’t go spinning head first into the past.

There can only be one reason why he’s calling me now, after all these years.

It means there is news. About you.

‘Long time,’ he says, awkwardly.

How did he get my number? My legs are as weak as a new foal’s as I stand up and stagger over to the rain-splattered window that overlooks the city. I can feel the air filling up my lungs, hear my ragged breathing.

‘Is this about Sophie?’

‘Yes. She’s been found.’

My mouth fills with saliva. ‘Is she . . . is she alive?’

A beat of silence. ‘No. They’ve found something . . .’

His voice cracks and I try to picture what he looks like now, your big brother. Back then he was tall and skinny, permanently dressed in black with matching hair and a long pale face. Unhealthy looking, like a vampire in a teen film. I can tell he’s struggling to retain his composure. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him cry; not when you first went missing, not even when the police decided to give up the search after days of trawling the undergrowth and sending boats out to sea, or when the public lost interest after one of your navy blue Adidas trainers was found at the edge of the deserted pier and it was assumed you had fallen into the Bristol Channel and been swept away by the tide. When everyone apart from us began to forget all about you, Sophie Rose Collier, the sometimes shy, often funny, twenty-one-year-old girl from Oldcliffe-on-Sea who disappeared from a club late one night. The girl who cried at the old BT adverts on the TV, who fancied Jarvis Cocker, who couldn’t open a packet of biscuits without scoffing them all.

Daniel clears his throat. ‘Some remains have been found, washed up in Brean. Some of it . . .’ He pauses. ‘Well, it fits. It’s her, Frankie, I know it.’ It feels strange to hear him call me Frankie. You always called me Frankie too. I haven’t been ‘Frankie’ for years.

I try not to imagine what part of you they’ve discovered amongst the debris on the shores of Brean Sands. I hate to think of you that way.

You are dead. It’s a fact. You are no longer just missing, I can’t delude myself into believing that you’ve lost your memory and are living it up somewhere, maybe Australia, or more likely Thailand. We always wanted to travel. Do you remember our plans to go backpacking around South-east Asia? You hated the cold winter months. We would spend hours dreaming about escaping the biting winds that whistled through the town, shaking the bare branches of the trees and throwing sand in our paths so that we could feel the grit of it between our teeth. Oldcliffe out of season was grey and depressing without the tourists to add the much-needed hustle and bustle.

I finger the collar of my shirt away from my throat. I can’t breathe. Through my partially open door I can see Nell tapping away at her computer, her red hair piled on top of her head in an intricate bun.

I move back to my desk, slumping onto the swivel chair, the phone hot against my ear. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, almost to myself.

‘It’s OK, Frankie.’ I can hear the whistle of wind in the background, the whoosh of tyres parting puddles, the indecipherable chatter of passers-by. ‘It’s not like we didn’t expect it. Prepared ourselves for it.’ What city or town is he calling me from? Where did your big brother end up? ‘Her remains need to be formally identified. Things are difficult because of how long’ – he takes a deep breath – ‘because of how long she’s been in the water. But they are hoping by the middle of next week.’

‘Do the police . . .’ I swallow down bile. ‘Can they tell how she died?’

‘Frankie, it’s impossible to tell by now, and because there was no body there’s never been an inquest. Everyone just assumed that she was drunk, that she fell into the sea, that she shouldn’t have been on that pier. You know the score.’ A note of anger creeps into his voice. ‘But I don’t believe it. I think someone knows more about that night, Frankie. I think someone knows what happened to my sister.’

My fingers itch to pull at my hair. Instead I move a paper-weight around my desk, straighten a framed photograph of me astride a pony with my father standing proudly beside me, a territorial smile on his face. I was always Francesca to him. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘The night she disappeared, she was afraid. She said somebody was out to get her.’

Blood rushes to my ears. I grip the phone tighter. ‘What? You never mentioned that before.’

‘I told the police at the time but they dismissed it. She was jittery, paranoid. I assumed she’d taken a dodgy tab – you know how many drugs were flying about the place at the time. But Sophie would never have taken drugs. I know that. I’ve always known it deep down. She was a good girl. The best.’ His voice catches.

He doesn’t know about the time we both took speed at Ashton Court Festival, does he, Soph? You made me promise not to tell him as we sat there watching Dodgy, talking nineteen to the dozen and getting more and more paranoid with every passing minute.

I close my eyes, remembering that last night. You were standing in the corner of The Basement watching everyone jumping up and down to ‘Born Slippy’. The date is etched in my memory: Saturday, 6 September 1997. I was on the other side of the dance floor chatting to the DJ but when I looked back through the fug of smoke that constantly hung in the air, you had disappeared, vanished in the throng. You hadn’t looked scared, or particularly worried. If there had been a problem you would have confided in me. Wouldn’t you?

I was your best friend. We told each other everything.

‘Will you help me, Frankie?’ Daniel says, his voice suddenly urgent. ‘I need to find out what happened to her. Someone knows more than they’re letting on. The pier –’

‘The pier was rotten, dangerous, closed to the public . . .’

‘I know. But that didn’t stop us all going there, did it? I just can’t believe she went by herself. There must have been someone with her that night . . .’

I can hear the desperation in his voice and my heart goes out to him. It’s been difficult for me over the years not to constantly relive that night. But for your brother, it must have been unbearable at times. All those unanswered questions swirling around in his mind, keeping him awake at night, preventing him from moving on with his life.

‘People don’t want to talk to me about it. But you, Franks . . . you could get them talking.’

Of course he’s going to do this for you. Always the protective big brother. I’d expect nothing less.

‘I don’t know. I’ve never been back, not since we moved to London . . .’ The thought fills me with dread. Throughout my adolescent years I longed to escape the claustrophobic seaside town we grew up in, where, more often than not, three generations of the same family lived and you were thought of as odd if you had aspirations to leave.

The town where a dark secret of the past is never forgotten.

Or forgiven.

‘Please, Frankie. For old times’ sake. She was your best friend. You knew all the same people, ran with the same crowd. Don’t you want to know what happened to her?’

‘Of course I do,’ I say. Could I really return after eighteen years? I’d vowed never to set foot in that town again. But what choice did I have? I suppress a resigned sigh. ‘When do you want me to come back?’

I shoulder on my red wool coat and inform Nell in my most crisp, convincing voice that I’m not feeling well and need to go home. She stares at me in wide-eyed shock because I’m never ill. But I ignore her looks of concern and head out of the office, scurrying through the rain as fast as I can in my too-high heels and tight pencil skirt, to hail a cab. My head is still reeling as I sink into the back seat, the leather cold against my calves as we head to Islington.

The finality of your death suddenly hits me.

It’s over.

And then I recall the phone conversation with Daniel and his calm insistence that I return to Oldcliffe to help him excavate the past and I suppress a shudder.

It’s never going to be over.

I remember when I first saw you, Soph. It was September 1983 and we were seven. It was your first day at our primary school and you stood in front of the class with our teacher, Mrs Draper, and you looked so forlorn, so lost, with your lank hair and blue National Health glasses. Your not-quite-white socks fell down your skinny legs so that they pooled around your ankles. You had a grubby-looking plaster covering one of your knobbly knees and the hem of your green school skirt was coming down. When Mrs Draper asked for someone to volunteer to be your buddy, my hand shot straight up. You looked like you needed a friend.

The house seems unusually cavernous and tidy as I let myself in, as if I’m seeing it through new eyes, through your eyes. What would you think now? Would you look at my three-storey townhouse and say I’ve done well for myself? Or would you tease me in that way you always used to, with that sardonic smile on your face that was so like Daniel’s, and tell me I’m still a daddy’s girl?

I pause in front of the hallway mirror and a professional thirty-nine-year-old woman stares back at me. My hair is still dark and glossy with no hint of grey, thanks to my hair-dresser, and I have a few fine lines around my green eyes. Would you think I look old? You probably would. Ageing is something you’ll never have to worry about. You’ll always be fixed in time as young and fresh-faced. Forever twenty-one.

I turn away from my reflection. I need to start packing. I run upstairs to my bedroom. Daniel has already organised a place for me to stay. A friend of his owns a holiday apartment and, as it’s February and out of season, I can have it at a discounted rate. I’ll drive down in the morning.

I need to be doing something constructive. I pull my Louis Vuitton holdall from the top of the wardrobe and leave it open on the bed. Questions speed through my mind like galloping racehorses. How many days should I pack for? How long is this going to take? Then a new thought hits me: how am I going to explain all this to Mike?

I’m in the basement kitchen frantically peeling and chopping when I hear Mike call out a hello. He fitted this kitchen for me last year as a favour, before we got together, although I knew him before that, when he helped renovate the new hotel. Solid and strapping, with sandy hair and a strong jaw, I’d been instantly attracted to him, despite us having nothing in common. Now the white glossiness of the units and the thick Corian worktops remind me of us: they all look so clean and new on the outside, but on the inside the hinges are loose and there is a crack in one of the cabinets.

The radio is turned up loud and I allow Rachmaninov to wash over me, to soothe my frayed nerves. A large glass of Merlot is also helping. I’ve already put two washes on, packed for tomorrow and made a start on the stew for dinner. Mike looks puzzled, not only to find me home – I’m usually in the office until late – but to find me cooking.

‘Are you OK, Fran?’

Fran. Much more grown up than ‘Frankie’ or ‘Franks’. It conjures up someone sophisticated, someone mature, someone far removed from the Frankie of my past.

‘Are you crying?’

‘It’s just the onions,’ I lie, wiping my hands on my apron and going over to him. I reach up and kiss his still-tanned cheek, enjoying the roughness of the bristles on his chin. He smells dusty, of bricks and concrete.

He pushes me gently away from him. ‘I’m filthy, I need a shower.’ He sidesteps me and leaves the room. A few minutes later I can hear the gush of the water overhead.

Over dinner I tell him about you.

‘I’ve never heard you mention her before,’ he says through a mouthful of beef and carrots. It’s true that I’ve never told anyone about you, Soph. Not Mike, my work colleagues, the few friends I allow myself, not even my ex-husband. We were – are – so intrinsically linked that to talk of you would be to acknowledge the old me. I needed to make a fresh start, to wipe the slate clean. It was the only way I could cope with what happened.

I take a large gulp of wine. ‘She was my best friend growing up,’ I say, as I place the glass on the table with an unsteady hand. I pick up my fork and prod at a potato so that it sinks further into the gravy. ‘We were so close, joined at the hip as my mother used to say. But Sophie went missing nearly nineteen years ago. I found out today that her body – or rather, remains – have been recovered.’ I put my fork down. I have no appetite.

‘After all this time? What a shitter.’ He shakes his head as if contemplating how much of ‘a shitter’ it really is, and I can’t read what’s going on behind those pale eyes. I think, I hope, he’s going to ask me about you; how we met, how long we knew each other, what you were like, but he doesn’t. He’ll never know that when we were nine we made up a dance routine to Madonna’s ‘True Blue’; that you were the first person I told after I kissed Simon Parker behind the bike sheds when I was thirteen; that you poured your heart out to me about missing the dad you could barely remember; that once I made you laugh so much when you were sitting on my shoulders that you peed down my neck. Instead I swallow these little truths of our friendship down with my red wine while Mike resumes eating, methodically chewing the beef, around and around in his mouth like a cement mixer.

I have the sudden urge to throw my drink in his face, just to provoke a reaction. My friend Polly always says that Mike is so laid back he’s horizontal. A cliché perhaps, but it’s true. I don’t think he’s being cruel, he just lacks the emotional capacity to cope with me – or rather, with my issues.

I wonder if it’s occurred to him yet that our relationship isn’t working. I regret asking him to move in, but he caught me at a weak moment and I felt sorry for him, I suppose, living in that run-down house in Holloway with students half his age. And then, three weeks ago, just as I was about to sit down with him to talk, I received the call from Mum about Dad’s stroke. I should have taken my dad’s advice. He always warned me to be careful asking guys to move in, telling me that it’s hard to get rid of them once you’ve invited them to share your home, your life, that you become intricately bound, financially and emotionally, like two threads tied in a knot. I haven’t got the energy now to extricate myself from this relationship, to pick apart that knot. I get up from the table and scrape my food into the bin.

I tell Mike my plans as we get ready for bed.

‘Sophie’s brother, Daniel, is organising an apartment for me to stay in. A holiday let,’ I say as I step out of my skirt and throw it over the back of the bedroom chair.

He’s sitting up in bed, his muscly, almost hairless, chest bare. I still fancy him, I still care about him, I just know our relationship isn’t leading anywhere.

‘At such short notice?’ He raises a bushy eyebrow, watching me as I unbutton my shirt.

I shrug. ‘It’s out of season, and you know how I feel about hotels.’ After spending most days working in one, the last place I want to stay is in a hotel or guest house. It needs to be self-catering and self-contained, away from others.

‘Why now? You said she’s been missing for eighteen years. Why wait until now to find out what happened?’

I feel the prickles of irritation crawling up my spine. How can he not see that your remains being found is a game-changer?

‘Because now we know for definite that she’s dead,’ I snap.

He looks taken aback. ‘I’ve never been to Oldcliffe-on-Sea,’ he muses, picking at a non-existent spot on his upper arm. If he’s hinting to accompany me I ignore it.

‘You’re not missing much.’ I pull a silk camisole over my head. There is no way I want him to come with me. I need some breathing space.

‘It must have been fun growing up by the seaside.’

I smile stiffly, trying not to shudder at the memory of growing up in that pastel-pink monstrosity overlooking the sea. Thank goodness Dad had the sense and money to sell up and buy a place in London before the property boom. I tug back the duvet and slide into bed next to him.

‘So, how long will you be gone?’ He pulls me close, nuzzling my neck.

‘Not long,’ I say, switching off the lamp. ‘I’m hoping just a few days. I can’t leave the hotels for too long, not now that Dad’s . . .’ I swallow. I still can’t bring myself to say the words. My dad, always so strapping, so capable, now reduced to a shadow of his former self as he lies, day after day, in that hospital bed, unable to speak, hardly able to move. It still feels too recent, too raw. I inch away, feigning tiredness, and turn my back.

I lie still, waiting until I hear his rhythmic snores, his limbs heavy against mine, before grabbing my dressing gown from the back of the door and tiptoeing downstairs to sit at the kitchen table in the dark. I pour myself another glass of red wine. The smell of beef stew still lingers in the air. The little red light on the dishwasher flashes and beeps to let me know it’s completed its cycle. It sounds strangely alien in the dark empty room.

I’ve tried so hard over the years to keep my life in order, to be successful, to move on, to not think about you every day. It’s as though I’ve been cocooned inside a ball of wool, but now that wool has started to unravel, and when it does I’ll be laid bare for all the world to see.

Jason. His name pops into my head, unbidden.

I take a large slug of wine but it doesn’t stop my heart palpitating. Because the truth is bound to come out, Soph, and with it the dark secret we kept back then; the one thing we could never tell anyone else. Ever.

2

Sophie

Thursday, 26 June 1997

It’s late as I write this. I doubt it will make much sense, I’m a tad wasted. But I have to scribble it down now so that I don’t forget it in the morning.

Frankie’s back!

I saw her tonight. She was standing at the bar in Mojo’s, flanked by two guys I didn’t recognise (one of whom was totally lush – just saying!). She had her back to me but I knew straight away it was her. I’d know that hair anywhere. It still hung in a perfect dark, glossy sheet. Doll’s hair, that’s what it’s always reminded me of. The thick, luscious hair of a china doll. She was wearing a camel-coloured fake fur coat (at least, I hope it was fake) and long, black knee-high boots and as I watched her through the crowds I felt that familiar twist of envy in my gut because she’s even more bloody beautiful than I’d remembered. I immediately felt under-dressed and dowdy in my jeans and Adidas trainers (although they’re new, the navy blue Gazelle ones that I’ve wanted for ages!).

Then she turned, her eyes locked with mine and her face broke out into a huge grin. She excused herself from the honeys she was with and parted the crowd towards me like a glamorous film star from the 1960s. Francesca Howe. Frankie. My best friend. And instantly everyone else seemed to fade into the background, as if they were all in black and white and she was in colour.

‘Sophie! Oh my God, I can’t believe it! How are you?’ she shrieked, jumping up and down and waving her arms about excitedly. I think she was pissed, although it was only 8.30 p.m. She never could take her drink. She pulled me into a fierce embrace, engulfing me in the heady cloud of YSL Paris, her signature scent even when we were at school. My nose was pressed into the shoulder of her vintage fur coat. It smelt musty, of mothballs and second-hand shops.

She pulled me away from her so she could survey me, holding me at arm’s length. ‘Wow, you look so different. Truly amazing,’ she said and I know she was taking in my highlights, my eyebrow wax, my contact lenses. ‘And look how tall you are! I feel so short,’ she laughed. I didn’t want to admit to her that I felt hefty compared to her delicate petite-ness. She’s as tiny as Kylie Minogue but with huge boobs. I always was jealous of her chest at school. I’m still ironing-board flat.

‘What has it been?’ She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow while contemplating how many years must have passed since she left our school. I remember exactly. It was 1993, four years ago. ‘That long?’ she said when I told her.

She’d left at the end of Year 12. Her parents pulled her out of our under-achieving sixth form to send her to a posh boarding school in Bristol to finish her A-levels. We’d promised to keep in touch, and we did for a while, but then her trips home became less and less frequent. In the end I worried that my letters would seem boringly provincial and inane compared to the exciting life she was living with the Millicents and Jemimas of this world away in a big city like Bristol. How could the housing estate I lived on (still live on now that I’m back from uni) with Mum and Daniel compare to that? Eventually the correspondence petered out and I didn’t see her again until we left school. We hung out a few times that summer but things were a bit strained between us when I got into Warwick and Frankie had to go through clearing. She didn’t say it, of course, but I knew she was thinking it should have been the other way around, what with her private education. Whereas I was the first person in my family to even go to university.

I expected to see Frankie in the holidays, but she hardly came back home. I bumped into her mum once in Safeway and she told me Frankie and some ‘wealthy pals from her course’ had rented a house where they could live all year round and not just in term time. Maria had looked annoyed about it and made reference to it being Frankie’s father’s idea and how he was always spoiling her. I never blamed Frankie for staying away, not really. If I’d had somewhere else to go in the holidays I wouldn’t have come back here either.

Sometimes I wondered if she stayed away because coming back was too painful. It reminded her – I reminded her – of what happened with Jason when we were sixteen. Our friendship had never been quite the same after that summer. We’d always been able to talk about anything and yet we were suddenly unable to talk about him, because just mentioning his name would voice the awful thing that we had done.

‘So how was Warwick?’ she added. ‘You always were the brainy one. You did English Lit., didn’t you? Like you always wanted.’

I nodded. I was beginning to feel embarrassed by her attention. That was the thing about Frankie. She always had this innate way of making you feel like you’re the most important person in her world. ‘What about you?’

She waved a hand at me. Her nail varnish was a pale blue, like a corpse. ‘I got into Cardiff in the end. Did Business Studies.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s what my dad wanted me to do.’

‘That’s great,’ I said, but thinking how boring. ‘Are you staying for the summer?’

She looped her arm through mine. ‘I am. Dad wants me to have a career in hotel management.’ She threw her head back and laughed. ‘As if. What about you?’ Her voice sounded posher than it once had, more clipped, as if her boarding school had filed down all those harsh West Country Rs.

‘I don’t know. I’m applying for jobs. I’d like to get into publishing.’ I didn’t want to tell her of the doubt that gnawed away at me late at night, that I’d never find a decent job, that I’d be stuck in Oldcliffe like my mum and brother for the rest of my life working in that greasy kiosk near the beach with pervy Stan, despite my ‘good brain’.

That wouldn’t happen to Frankie. I might have done better in my exams, gone to a highly regarded university, but that didn’t mean anything. Not when your parents were well off and threw money at you like Frankie’s parents did. Those three years in Warwickshire might have been the only chance I had to get out of this town.

‘Aw, I’ve missed you, Soph,’ she said, suddenly serious while she appraised me fondly. ‘It wasn’t the same – school without you.’

I agreed with her. The weight of her absence bore more heavily on me than I cared to remember. She was my first best friend. My only best friend.

She frogmarched me to the bar, pulled out a wad of cash and ordered two Diamond Whites. Then we spent the next hour talking non-stop about those missing years; the music we liked, the bands we were into. Typically we have the same taste. And as we chatted, the last three years fell away and it was as though I’d seen her only yesterday. She told me about this new club called The Basement that’s opened up in the high street and plays indie music, promising me that we would go together and, before I knew it, the staff

Reviews for Local Girl Missing

[nicx27 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Francesca Howe receives a phone call regarding her old childhood friend, Sophie Collier. Sophie went missing almost twenty years earlier in the seaside town where they both lived. Now, when a body turns up, it seems like it's time for Francesca to go back and try to find out what happened all those years ago.This is a very good psychological thriller. Claire Douglas ramps up the tension and makes it all feel rather claustrophobic. The story moves at a fast pace and alternates between Francesca in the present and Sophie in 1997 and this works well as a device to reveal the story and the twist towards the end.I thought this was a great read and one I raced through.

[welsh_eileen2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A darkly written thriller, with well drawn characters.20 years ago, Sophie goes missing from Oldecliffe on Sea and later her body is recovered at Brean just up the coast.Her best friend, Fran, returns to the seaside town to identify the body and to try and discover what happened and to get some answers.With chapters written in the first person, alternating between Sophie and Fran's life, this story gripped me to the end.I was given a digital copy of this book by the publisher Penguin / Michael Joseph via Netgalley in return for an honest unbiased review.

[tina1969_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Frances Howe gets a call from Daniel, brother of her best friend Sophie. Sophie had disappeared and now a body has washed a shore. Daniel needs Frankie's help to find out the truth about Sophie.What I like about this type of book is that from the first page I am drawn in and instantly want to know what has happened. I know straight away that there is something bad as Frankie is reluctant to go back to her childhood home and had to face the past. The majority of the story was quite good. There is a slow tension building around Frankie as she uncovers the circumstances surrounding Sophie. Several characters could be in the frame and I did keep changing my mind of who it could be. I did think at times was I reading a ghost story as Frankie experiences some ghostly goings on but all does come clear.Sophie was my favourite character and the reader meets her through her diary entries. Her own story is compelling and I really wanted to see what was going to happen next with her.The ending I didn't like and felt it let the book down. The first twist at the end was ok but then what followed was flawed. I can't say why I feel this as it would give away too much, but felt that it was unnecessary. Overall the book was an ok thriller. Some chills along the way but the ending for me let it down. The first twist was enough.Thank you to Penguin UK, Michael Joseph via Netgalley for the opportunity to read this book for review.

[indygo88 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Francesca ("Frankie") has spent the last several years creating a new life for herself in London. After the mysterious disappearance of her best friend Sophie back in their seaside hometown 18 years previously, she is making a name for herself in the hotel business in the big city. But when Sophie's older brother Daniel calls with news that some remains have washed up on shore which are suspected to be Sophie's, Frankie returns to Oldcliffe-on-Sea in the hopes of finding some answers with Daniel's urging.I typically like stories such as these -- those with a mysterious past that gradually reveal secrets to the reader. But I found myself picking this one apart and being critical throughout my reading. The story alternates between present-day Frankie's story and supposed journal entries from Sophie back in the weeks and days before her disappearance. On the surface, I enjoyed the basic story line. However, there were too many things I didn't like about this one for it to rank higher for me. The writing itself bothered me. It was often overly dramatic and too cliche'd. It felt as though the author were trying too hard and it was obvious. No 21-year-old young woman would realistically write in her journal the way these journal entries were written. The novel seemed too drawn-out and featured a largely dislikeable main character. And during the latter portion of the book, the plot began to just get ridiculous and unrealistic. There were some interesting aspects to the plot in this one, but they weren't enough to salvage this one for me.

[techeditor_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

LOCAL GIRL MISSING has all the right ingredients for a great mystery. More than one mystery is going on simultaneously. Each mystery presents many possibilities and keeps the reader guessing. Although the reader might guess the end before the end, it won't be a sure thing because of so many alternatives.In spite of all the right ingredients, though, it isn't a satisfying mystery for this reader. The story is questionable in several places.Frankie goes back to the town she grew up in to investigate the death of Sofie, who had been Frankie's best friend when she lived there, at the request of Sofie's brother, Daniel. Sofie had died 18 years ago, and the police just now found a foot wearing what may be Sofie's tennis shoe. This suddenly makes Daniel believe she was murdered.That is the first questionable area. If I were Frankie, I'd ask Daniel, why now after 18 years does he think this can be investigated as a murder. It wouldn't have convinced me to go back there.I also have a few other questions, such as why did Sofie not tell Leon what she morally should have told him? But they would be spoilers. And I don't do that.The point is, though, this wouldn't have happened except on paper. Frankie wouldn't have gone back to that town, and Sophie would be with Leon in England.I won an ARC of LOCAL GIRL MISSING through librarything.com.

[twink_2 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It's no surprise that psychological suspense if one of my favourite genres! So Local Girl Missing by Claire Douglas sounded like it was perfect for my next hammock read!Frankie Howe left the village of Oldcliffe-on-Sea almost twenty years ago. That's when her best friend Sophie disappeared, with no trace ever found. But with the news of a body located that may be her, she reluctantly heads back at the request of Sophie's brother.Oh, Frankie is a mercurial, unreliable (and unlikable) narrator. Are her memories accurate or has time blurred the sharp edges? Frankie often (and rapidly) changes her opinion on people and events in present day. We learn about her take on the past through her internal conversations with the long gone Sophie. "Because the truth is bound to come out, Soph, and with it the dark secret we kept back then; the one thing we could never tell anyone else. Ever." But Sophie also has a voice - through her journal entries from 1997 we see what happened from her point of view.The supporting characters are also hard to gauge - they seem to have their own agendas and their view of the past is again different from Frankie's. I did find I grew a bit tired of Frankie's back and forth after a bit as I found it somewhat repetitive - perhaps this could have been shortened up a bit. Douglas drops hints as the book progresses that had me guessing at what some of that dark past might be. I was partially right, but not completely. Douglas drops a nice little twist in at the end. Local Girl Missing is perfect reading for the beach bag.

[mckait · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Local Girl Missing: A Novel by Claire Douglas would have made a good novella. Instead, it was like traipsing through the movie Groundhog Day with a theme of a dead boy and a missing, now presumed dead, girl. Frankie was Sophie's best friend. Frankie's dad owned a hotel on the picturesque shore where they both lived. Sophie's brother Daniel had a crush on Frankie, who was a bit of a snob even as a teenager. A failing that Sophie was willing to overlook. One day, many years after Sophie disappeared, Frankie received a call from Daniel, saying that apparently, Sophie's death had been confirmed. She was no longer missing, remains had been found that would prove that she was dead. Would Frankie come. She did go back to her old hometown. She found that Daniel and others who grew up with her had returned to Oldcliff. She was surprised to see them, as they had left not long after Sophie disappeared, for various reasons, among other things, they grew up and moved on. This is when things began to get repetitive. I think that a good third of this book could have been removed from the middle, and no one would have missed a single thing. It was a challenge to read it all the way through. Sadly, it was a good story, bone made less interesting by unsubstantial length.

[sharn_3 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

3.5 starsThey had me going for a bit. I will say that I should've known. A mystery revolving a young girl (Sophie) missing, presumed dead after 18 yes (I think it was). When a foot washes up on shore, still in its shoe, Sophie's brother, Daniel contacts her best friend, Frankie, to come back and try to find out who killed her.Many twists and turns.

[pdebolt_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

This book was a challenge to finish. My interest gradually waned due to the tedious repetitions and a plot that needed some serious tightening. It did pick up speed toward the end, but by then I'd begun to lose interest in the mystery surrounding Sophie's death.Francesca returns to the town where she grew up with her best friend, Sophie, when Daniel, Sophie's older brother, calls with the news that Sophie's remains have been found after twenty years. The book is told in alternating chapters between Frankie in the present and Sophie in the past. My thanks to LibraryThing and to the publisher for this ARC.

[boudicca123 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The ruin of an old Victorian pier holds a few secrets and it's also the place where Sophie, Frankie's best friend disappeared 17 years ago. Frankie unwillingly returns home from London to help Daniel finally find out what really did happen to his sister all those years ago. The story was implausible but I enjoyed it! I loved the cover, the style of writing and descriptions of a seaside town out of season. A good bit of escapism which kept my attention from start to finish.

[miss.mesmerized · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Eine unheimliche Entdeckung führt Francesca, genannt Frankie, aus London zurück in ihre Heimatstadt Oldcliffe-on-Sea in Cornwall: offenbar wurden die Reste einer Frauenleiche an Land gespült und Daniel vermutet, dass es seine Schwester Sophie war, Frankie ehemals beste Freundin, die 18 Jahre zuvor spurlos verschwunden ist. Er bittet Frankie zurückzukehren und mit ihm gemeinsam die Leiche zu identifizieren. Widerwillig reist sie zurück, keine guten Erinnerungen hat sie an die Stadt und das trübe kalte Wetter empfängt sie passend zu ihrer Stimmung. Der Aufenthalt wird nicht einfach werden, mit jeder Begegnung alter Bekannter kommen mehr Dinge in Frankies Bewusstsein zurück, die sie fast zwei Jahrzehnte verdrängt hatte. Aber sie und Daniel müssen endlich herausfinden, was damals mit Sophie geschah und dafür auch unangenehme Gespräche führen. Doch schon kurz nach der Ankunft beschleicht Frankie das ungute Gefühlt, dass irgendetwas nicht stimmt und sie verfolgt und bedrängt wird.Claire Douglas Thriller spielt mit dem Leser, indem wesentliche Informationslücken erst nach und nach geschlossen werden. „Niemand sagt die ganze Wahrheit“ lautet der deutsche Untertitel, der sehr passend gewählt wurde. Das verzögernde Moment ist es, das die Spannung aufrechterhält. Passend dazu wird abwechselnd zur Handlung um Frankie eine zweite Geschichte erzählt: die von Sophie, 18 Jahre zuvor. Zunächst hat es den Anschein, als wenn man die typische Protagonistin hätte, der jemand Böses will. Man fühlt mit Frankie, die in einer anonymen Ferienwohnung unterkommt, in der seltsame Dinge vor sich gehen, die sie mehr und mehr verängstigen. Komische Geräusche werden ergänzt durch direkte Drohungen, eine seltsame Nachbarin tut ihr Weiteres, um den Aufenthalt möglichst unangenehm zu gestalten. Allerdings zeigen sich auch bald Risse in der glatten Fassade. Das darunterliegende Bild setzt sich aus immer weiteren Mosaiksteinchen zusammen, bis es am Ende etwas gänzlich anderes präsentiert, als man erwartet hatte. Die Grundidee des Thrillers ist recht gelungen, auch die Anlage der Protagonistin kann überzeugen. Allerdings fand ich die Handlung ab einem gewissen Punkt doch leider sehr vorhersehbar, was die Spannung etwas hat leiden lassen. Auch das Ende oder der eigentliche Ausgangspunkt konnte mich nur bedingt überzeugen. Der Schreibstil und die Konstruktion des Romans erzeugen jedoch den notwendigen Reiz, dass man als Leser das Buch nicht aus der Hand legen mag, da man unbedingt herausfinden möchte, was genau mit den Mädchen geschah.

[mrsmommybooknerd7 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book was fantastic. Creepy and moving and spell binding. Such a great book to snuggle up into this fall...to get lost in and get moved by. It was paced wonderfully and kept me fully engaged, as I had a hard time putting it down. I highly recommend this book.

[gpangel_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Local Girl Missing by Claire Douglas is a 2017 Harper publication. Eerie and tense-Sophie and Frankie were best friends during their teenage years, until romantic entanglements came between them, but they eventually reconciled, and were trying to resume their friendship, but, one night, Sophie disappeared from the old Victorian, 'Oldcliffe-on-the-Sea', pier. Her body was never recovered…. Until now. When Frankie gets the call from Sophie’s brother, Daniel, that his sister's remains have been found, he asks Frankie to come home and help him find out what happened to her all those years ago. But, once Frankie arrives, settling into the often frigid apartment overlooking the same pier from which Sophie vanished, she begins to imagine she sees Sophie’s ghost. As she and Daniel begin to dig into the past, Frankie finds herself the recipient of chilling notes, often pushed under her apartment door, taunting and threatening her. Old friends and enemies all contribute a piece of the puzzle, and revelations mount and motives become highly suspect. I never knew who just who to believe or trust in this novel. The story shifts gear several times before the conclusion. That and the dual time line kept me off guard, so that I was never able to find a balance. I have waited nearly a week to write this review, because I’m still trying to formulate my thoughts on this book. On one hand the atmosphere is very creepy, with a possible supernatural element, and the uneasiness settled in for the duration, increasing as the story developed. On the other hand, I had a hard time with the final twist, finding it a little far fetched, even though I did appreciate the irony of the situation. The only other downside was just a coincidence. I’d just finished reading a book with a similar set up, so I considered putting this one aside for a while because of that, but then the story veered away from that theme and took on a whole new set of connotations, so I decided to stick with it. Although there were a few small blips, at the end of the day, the book provided a few good chills, was cleverly paced, with plenty of atmosphere and twists, and a surprise ending. So, after thinking it over, and waffling back and forth, a little, I think this one deserves four stars.

[jfe16 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Eighteen years ago, twenty-one year old Sophie Collier disappeared from the old Victorian pier at Oldcliffe-on-the-Sea. To this day, her best friend Francesca Howe remains haunted by her disappearance. So when human remains wash up by the old pier, Frankie returns home in search of answers.Sophie’s brother, Daniel, now an editor for the local newspaper, doesn’t believe the “death by misadventure” finding reached by the local police who investigated his sister’s disappearance. He is convinced that Sophie’s death was the result of foul play, caused by someone who terrified her.Frankie, seeing the pier from her window, remembers how the young people who hung out there used to say it was haunted. When she catches a glimpse of a woman out on the pier, she wonders if it could possibly be the ghost of her friend. What exactly happened all those years ago? And why is Frankie so disturbed?Alternating narratives offer readers a perspective between Sophie’s past and Frankie’s present, slowly revealing their complicated friendship, the secrets they shared, the secrets they kept from each other. As the story unfolds, however, readers may find themselves doubting the narrator’s reliability.With strong, well-developed characters, and a twisty plot filled with unexpected revelations, readers will find this suspenseful psychological thriller difficult to set aside before turning the final page. I received a free copy of this book through the LibraryThing Early Readers program

[tymfos · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I received an advance reviewers copy of this book from the publisher in return for an honest review.Years ago, Frankie and Sophie were best friends. Somehow, Sophie disappeared. People think she probably fell off the old pier, an unsafe structure where the teens would "hang out" and where one of her shoes was found lodged between the boards.Now her other shoe, with foot, has washed up and been identified, and Sophie's brother Dan insists that Frankie come back and try to find out what happend. How having the remains of a foot makes it possible to find anything out now, that they couldn't find out closer to the time when Sophie disappeared, is hard to fathom. But Dan has his reasons . . .Frankie is lodged in an apartment on the edge town, overlooking the fateful Old Pier. The vibe is spooky. The efforts to find out what happened seem pretty futile. They talk to people, and talk to them again. Someone is leaving nasty notes for Frankie. Frankie and Sophie had a secret, long ago, and Frankie fears that someone knows. Somewhere along the line the reader starts to get an inkling that there is more to this situation than meets the eye.This book annoyed me from the frist, because the character Frankie narrates her part of the story as though she is telling the story to dead Sophie. Throughout the book, this "telling it to Sophie" gimmick would jar me. The other part of the narration is Sophie's own story, telling what happened so many years ago. The impression I had (later confirmed) was that this was Sophie's diary or journal from the days before she diasppeared.For most of the book, I forced myself to continue because it was an Early Reviewer book. I liked the creepy vibe, but hated the gimmick of "telling it to Sophie." Toward the end of the book, I became more engaged. and the ending kind of made it worth my while to have read the book -- and I think I understood the logic of why the author used the narration style she did. But I find it very hard to recommend this book.

[bookczuk · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

An advanced reader copy of this came my way about a month after the book came out. I put aside two other books to read it, since this had come courtesy of Library Thing's Early Reader program and it was a new release. I know there are reviews out there from people who loved it-- that's a bit of a stretch for me, to say love, or to go beyond the 3/5 stars rating I gave it. Some points intending to create tension seemed beleaguered to me as some of the twists and turns seemed telegraphed. But still, it was better than some I've read and a worthy effort for a first novel. (Would someone tell me why there are so many books with 'girl" in the title? Almost as many as the something-or-other's wife or daughter.) tags: 2017-read, advanced-reader-copy, early-review-librarything, everyone-else-liked-it, first-novel-or-book, ok-but-not-great, read, suspense-thriller-mystery

[julyso · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Frankie and Sophie were best friends from when they were youngsters. Sophie mysteriously disappears when she is eighteen years old from the old pier. Her body was never found and neither was the reason for her death. Recently, a foot was washed up on the beach and the case is being looked into again. Frankie returns home to help solve the mystery.I just didn’t connect with this story. I was not sure what was happening and who was who. It was all a bit confusing. ?