Constructing a Character Through Absence

As a writer, one of the narrative choices I’m proudest of in Adjacent is also one that invites the greatest challenge:

You, the reader, never meet Brooklyn Nicholson.

Brooke doesn’t have a single line of dialogue in the present tense. She doesn’t narrate any of the chapters. The reader doesn’t see her take action, or even make any decisions; she has already gone missing by the time the story begins. Everything we learn about her—every detail, every impression, every contradiction—comes solely from the people left behind.

This was a decision that I made deliberately.

Brooke’s absence doesn’t just drive the plot; it defines the novel’s emotional terrain. She is a haunting presence throughout the narrative, lingering in the Nicholsons’ home, in the conversations her loved ones can’t finish, the truths they can’t face. Her image, memory, and meaning are all filtered through a number of emotions experienced by her family and friends: grief, guilt, admiration, resentment…

In this way, Brooke becomes unknowable.

The structure of Adjacent forces you, the reader, into the same position as the characters. With each page, you are trying to piece together who Brooke really was from a mosaic of perspectives, each one fractured and unreliable. The only way that you can learn more about her as a character is by trusting the other characters’  memories.

For example, let’s take a look at Liz’s perspective of her youngest daughter.

Through Liz’s eyes, Brooke was the perfect daughter. She refuses to imagine that Brooke had anything to hide, unlike her eldest daughter, Allie. To Liz, Brooke is an idealised version of obedience, giftedness, and purity. But this vision blinds her—both to who Brooke was becoming and to her daughter’s ability to lie, rebel, or even fall in love.

Allie’s perspective of Brooke also begins to falter throughout Adjacent; she had spent so long viewing herself as the black sheep of the family that she cannot process the idea that Brooke might have potentially followed in her footsteps… or at very least, strayed from her pedestal. None of this information fits into the way that she has always viewed her younger sister.

Then there’s Hayden, whose perception of Brooke is potentially the most emotionally charged. Brooke was her best friend. Her person. When she claims at the start of the book that she and Brooke are no longer friends, and tries to project that she doesn’t care about her, we soon figure out for ourselves that this isn’t true: the pain in that denial is louder than the words themselves.

Hayden wants Brooke to be the villain in her story because that’s easier than facing the truth: sometimes, people change.

And that can hurt.

The character that the reader may relate to the most, in this instance, is Lucy. She never met Brooke, and therefore, she is learning about this 15-year-old girl alongside the reader, gathering information about her in real time.

She never knew Brooke on a personal level, so she must make her own mind up based on what she learns from other characters… just like you.

As I wrote Adjacent, I was fascinated by the idea that a character could be so central, so essential to everyone’s lives, and yet never be fully known—not to the characters, and not to the reader. You, as the reader, become an investigator, not just of the crime but of Brooke’s identity. But instead of finding answers, you are left with contradictions.

And that’s intentional.

You see, Brooke is a mirror: what each character sees in her tells us more about them than about her. Liz sees a good girl with a promising future, making her family proud. Allie sees a child who somehow grew up without her even noticing. Hayden sees someone who betrayed her by ‘trying to be someone else’. The police see a missing teenager.

And you, the reader?

You, alongside Lucy, must figure it out for yourself, wading through the endless information to create a semi-fleshed version of the girl who went missing in September 1994.

Brooke is more than just an unseen character—she is a symbol of perception itself. She challenges the idea that we can ever truly know another person, no matter how close we consider ourselves to be with them.

Brooke’s disappearance doesn’t just spark the plot; it destabilises reality for everyone and anyone who ever thought they understood her, forcing them to consider possibilities that would never have crossed their mind prior to her disappearance. That gap between what the characters believe and what actually happened is where Brooke exists now—in uncertainty.

And, well… that’s kinda the whole point.

Brooke is the character that we never meet. She is the girl we only know through others, the girl who haunts the story—not through paranormal means, but psychologically. Because Brooke’s disappearance reshapes everyone who ever knew her… or, at least, everyone who thought they did.

Ultimately, it all comes down to this:

How can Brooke’s loved ones find her if they never really knew who she was in the first place?

– K x