скачать книгу бесплатно
Friday 12th July
Anna replaced the receiver, forcibly tucked her hair behind her ears, and walked out of the secretary’s office without conversation. It wasn’t the first time her mother had phoned her at work, but it was one of the more worrying calls. She was determined not to pander to her, though – she’d responded to Muriel’s demands to leave right away by pointing out she had a responsibility for the children and it was only another hour until the bell. Then she would begin the journey down to Mapledon.
To the house where she grew up.
The one she’d longed to leave way before she had the means to do so.
‘Mrs Denver, Charlie is throwing the papier-mâché gloop everywhere!’
The shrill whine of the child brought Anna out of her thoughts.
‘He is going to have to clear up the mess he’s made, then, isn’t he?’ She placed her hand on the seven-year-old’s shoulders and guided her back to the classroom. Leaving her class unattended, even for a matter of minutes, was never a good idea – and especially on the final day of the term when all the children were hyped up ready for the summer break. ‘A spirited bunch’ was how the head teacher described them. Anna, whilst agreeing, also thought a few of them were just plain naughty. She’d never have allowed Carrie to act up like that – she expected more from her daughter – whether as a result of teaching other people’s children and witnessing their sometimes unruly behaviour, or as a result of her own strict upbringing, she couldn’t ascertain. It was a case of the chicken or the egg.
Having finally paired all the children with their respective adults, Anna flitted around the classroom clearing away the activities, tutting at the globs of slushy, sticky newspaper remnants now clinging to the tables like shit to a blanket. As she picked at some of the hardened paper, Muriel’s words played out in her head.
Something’s wrong, Anna. Something is very wrong.
Anna had sighed at her mother’s words, wondering what melodrama was about to unfold. But her gut had twisted as Muriel carried on with her story.
Now, washing and drying her hands with the small, rough towel, Anna decided she’d have to ring James and get him to have Carrie for the night despite it not being his turn. The journey to Mapledon would only take two hours or so from Bristol, but she didn’t want to take Carrie there – didn’t want her dragged into whatever was going on. If anything. Her mother could be over-reacting. When Anna was growing up that’d been her MO – even before Anna’s father had left and then more so when old-age shenanigans took over. But just in case, it would be better to go alone.
Grabbing her bag, she shouted goodbye to the remaining teachers, swept out of the building and climbed into her car. Her blue Escort spluttered into life and she drove out of the school gate. With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she turned right, joining the traffic that would take her to the M5.
Her mother’s words continued to repeat themselves inside her mind as she drove:
There was such a racket at the front of the house, it scared me half to death. When I mustered the courage to go out there, I found it.
Found what, Mum?
The doll’s head. Hammered to my front door.
Chapter Two (#ulink_c24ffdf9-b0ab-5b33-917a-c2b423d1efec)
2019 (#ulink_c24ffdf9-b0ab-5b33-917a-c2b423d1efec)
Lizzie (#ulink_c24ffdf9-b0ab-5b33-917a-c2b423d1efec)
The envelope, its corner peeping out from within the clump of mail she’d shoved behind the purple key pot – the one neither of them actually used for their keys, preferring instead to spend stressful minutes searching for the last place they’d flung them – glared at her like an accusation. Lizzie snatched it up, then slammed it down on the counter, taking a step back as though it were a dangerous object about to inflict harm.
Something told her it would do her harm. Its content, anyway. Mentally, not physically. She knew physical pain, had endured years of it growing up in various care homes. She could cope with that; was hardened to it. Her mental well-being had never caught up, though. That was still fragile, like butterfly wings – delicate, prone to breaking. She had to guard herself from outside factors.
Guard herself from the words the envelope held within.
She’d ignored it for as long as possible. Hidden it from Dom. Tried to forget about it. She should’ve ripped it up and binned it. Why hadn’t she? Sleep had been impossible, her thoughts, her imagination, keeping her awake hour after hour. She knew this had to be done.
Taking the envelope once again, she stared at the postmark. At the logo. It was definitely from the solicitor.
It’d happened thirty years ago. Lizzie had only been eight years old, but some memories never faded. Some intensified with age. There was much she didn’t remember – but those gaps had often been filled in for her by the people in the children’s home. Carers, teachers, the other kids – they’d all had something to say about it.
A sour taste filled Lizzie’s mouth as saliva flooded it.
She had to face this.
Tearing open the envelope before she could change her mind again, she pulled the crisp, white, headed paper from it.
Dear Mrs Brenfield,
As per your request, I write to inform you that Mr William Cawley is to be released from HMP Baymead, Devon, on the 9th July 2019.
Lizzie’s vision blurred, her grip loosened. Before she could read on, the paper fell to the ground.
Creepy Cawley had been released from his thirty-year sentence three days ago.
He was a free man.
Chapter Three (#ulink_0cdcc752-fb0b-540f-8169-30477b7595d3)
1989 (#ulink_0cdcc752-fb0b-540f-8169-30477b7595d3)
Bovey Police Station, outskirts of Mapledon (#ulink_0cdcc752-fb0b-540f-8169-30477b7595d3)
Friday 21st July – 36 hours after the incident
Shock covered her face with a white mask. She didn’t remember how she’d come to be there, standing alongside her mother, whose long, thin arm formed a tight band around her shoulders. Protective, yet angry at the same time.
‘I’d told her. Told them. Warned them.’ Her mother’s voice was clipped, spoken in such a way as to make her seem out of breath. Maybe she was in shock, too.
‘I’m sure you did what you could,’ police officer Vern said. ‘As a parent myself, I know how difficult it is to keep your eyes on your children all the time. You have to give them some freedom, and as you say, it’s a small village – you don’t expect something like this to happen.’
‘No. No, you don’t,’ she agreed, her head shaking from side to side.
‘I’m sorry to have to keep you, I know you’d like to get your daughter back home, but I do need to speak with her. Try to get a fuller picture – a timeframe of events. It’s crucial we don’t waste any more time … You understand, don’t you?’
Her mother looked down at her as the officer spoke. A tingling feeling spread through her, reaching her fingertips, making them feel as though they were on fire. There was something in the tone of the policeman’s voice – a hidden meaning she couldn’t grasp. But by the look on her mother’s face, she knew it was bad. It was all bad. And now she’d have to tell them what had happened. What she’d caused to happen.
It was all her fault. She’d get the blame for it all.
Chapter Four (#ulink_f95bcafb-81b5-5f70-9b86-ac1b2dd75ae6)
2019 (#ulink_f95bcafb-81b5-5f70-9b86-ac1b2dd75ae6)
Anna (#ulink_f95bcafb-81b5-5f70-9b86-ac1b2dd75ae6)
Friday 12th July
The sign, greying with age and rusted at the edges, came into view and Anna’s hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles blanching.
MAPLEDON.
Even before she turned off the main road she could feel her world shrinking. The village had been all-consuming when she’d lived there – everyone had known everyone else, everyone attended the same events, frequented the same – and only – pub; all her friends’ parents lived in each other’s pockets, socialising together, some even working together. There were no secrets in Mapledon. No chances to mess up without someone knowing. No opportunities to play outside the rules.
She didn’t suppose it’d got any better in her absence.
As she took the right turn at the old tollhouse, the road narrowed. Anna tugged the steering wheel, pulling the car over abruptly. The light was fading more quickly now, the sun dipping behind the dark granite rock of Haytor on nearby Dartmoor. It was still warm, or maybe it was Anna’s anxiety heating her blood. She wound the window down, breathing in slowly and deeply. It even smelled the same. That couldn’t be possible, she knew – but it transported her back to her childhood. Back to the memories Mapledon held; the ghosts she’d left behind. With a deep sigh, Anna shook off the feeling and tried to gain control. She should get to her mother’s house before dark – before the ghosts came.
Shifting the gear into first, she set off again, heeding the twenty-mile-an-hour speed limit through the village. That was something new, at least. Second right, next left … She swallowed hard as she reached the turning to her mother’s road. Slowly, she drove in. Her heart banged. There it was. The 1960s magnolia-coloured, end terraced house she’d grown up in. She hadn’t visited the house since she’d left twenty years ago. She hadn’t even stepped foot in the village since she escaped its clutches. All contact with her mother had been through telephone calls and in person with her mother’s biannual trips to Anna’s house in Bristol.
Her mother had never argued when Anna had politely declined each of her invitations over the years. Never questioned why. She guessed Muriel knew without having to ask. Anna’s strained relationship with her mum had begun the day her father had walked out on them for another woman. Anna had always considered herself a daddy’s girl, so she was devastated when he left. She’d blamed everyone over the years: her mother, him, and even herself. But the full weight of her anger and bitterness had often been aimed at her mother – after all, she was the only one present and Anna believed Muriel had been the one to drive the poor man into someone else’s arms in the first place.
But he’d left Anna, too. For that she’d blamed him. He’d moved to the other end of the UK – Scotland, the farthest he could get – and had broken off all contact: not a phone call, not a letter. He’d abandoned his only daughter because of something her mother had done. That was unforgivable.
Anna pulled the key from the ignition and, with a dragging sensation in her stomach, got out of the car.
‘Bloody hell.’ Anna sucked in a lungful of air. Why hadn’t her mother removed the thing from the front door? It set a chill in motion, starting deep inside her belly and radiating outwards. And something else too – just outside her grasp. She imagined the attention Muriel would’ve got from the neighbours – she’d have revelled in that, no doubt. Approaching the front step, Anna couldn’t peel her eyes away from the gruesome head pinned like a horror-film prop on the door. Her mother would’ve left it there so that Anna could get the full effect.
She had to admit, seeing it for herself did add the extra fright factor. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she may well have dismissed Muriel’s hysteria out of hand. Rather than pass the macabre doll’s head, Anna retreated and made her way to the back door instead. Nothing about the house seemed to have changed – the gravel in the small square of garden to the side of the shed remained, the shed itself was clearly the original – the stained-red wood now flaky, splintered and pale from the years of battering rain and hot summers; the greenhouse, now with a few broken panes, had survived. The garden ornaments looked as though they were positioned in the exact same places as when she’d left.
Time had stood still here.
‘Anna! Why are you sneaking around the back? For God’s sake, child, you nearly gave me a heart attack … I thought someone had come for me …’ Muriel’s breaths were rapid; one bony hand was held to her chest.
‘Hi, Mum. Sorry, I just couldn’t—’
‘No, no,’ her mother interrupted. ‘See what I mean, then? I’m not over-reacting, am I?’
‘It appears not.’ Anna approached her mother and gave her a brief hug, kissing her cheek, which was icy cold, like she was dead already. After stepping inside, she closed the back door and turned to face her mother. ‘So. What did the police say?’
Muriel dropped her gaze. ‘I’m not bothering them with this,’ she said curtly.
‘But it’s weird, and maybe even threatening. Why would you call me in a panic but not inform the police?’ Anna could feel the annoyance flowing through her body. She’d only been in the house for thirty seconds and already she was losing her patience. She shouldn’t have come back here.
‘It’ll be kids, won’t it? Nothing better to do with their time. Nothing changes there, does it?’
‘You seriously think kids hammered a head to your door? Why would they?’
‘Things have moved on from the simple knocking on the door and running away game, Anna.’ Her cool, blue-grey eyes penetrated Anna’s, sending a shiver trickling down her spine like cold water from a shower.
‘Kids or not, you have to call the police.’
‘No, no.’ Her mother placed a hand on Anna’s arm. ‘I think it’s best to ignore it. They’ll get bored, move on elsewhere. It’s just a game to them.’
‘If it’s just a game, why were you so scared when you rang me?’
‘A shock, that’s all. When it first happened I reacted badly. I called before I had time to think about it. Silly prank, that’s all.’
‘But two minutes ago you said “I’m not over-reacting, am I?” And coupled with me almost giving you a heart attack and you saying “I thought someone had come for me” – I’m going out on a limb here and guessing that you’re really freaked out by this and don’t think it’s just a silly game!’
‘You know how it is – now you’re here, I suddenly feel daft. It doesn’t seem half as scary as earlier. Living alone, it does things to you, love. Makes you see things that aren’t there.’
Anna felt even less convinced by this. ‘But the head is there. Plain as day. You’re not seeing things.’
‘Yes, the doll’s head is there, I know. It’s more that I see meanings that aren’t there – like I attach significance to something trivial, assume things, that kind of thing. Overthink everything these days. It’s my age, I expect.’ Muriel gave a lopsided smile, her entire face crinkling like tissue paper. Time hadn’t been kind to her mother. ‘Let’s have a tipple. I assume you’re staying the night, aren’t you?’
God. No. She most certainly wasn’t intending to. ‘Oh, erm … I only asked James to have Carrie for the evening,’ she lied. ‘I was going to drive back home later.’
‘Please stay, Anna. You haven’t been back in so long and I need you now. One night won’t kill you.’
It might.
Guilt surged through her. If she stayed tonight, there was a strong chance she’d be talked into staying the whole weekend – God forbid, even longer now that school had broken up for the summer holiday. James would jump at the opportunity to spend extra time with Carrie. The divorce had hit him hard, but it was the restricted time with Carrie that really hurt him. Her mother didn’t have to know that, though. ‘I’ll call James, see what he can do. But I can’t promise anything, Mum.’
Muriel’s face relaxed as she took two glasses from the display cabinet and poured a large glug of sherry into each one – she knew full well she was going to get what she wanted.
She always did.
Chapter Five (#ulink_87d64428-2743-5a1f-9e40-122acb1bdb99)
2019 (#ulink_87d64428-2743-5a1f-9e40-122acb1bdb99)
Lizzie (#ulink_87d64428-2743-5a1f-9e40-122acb1bdb99)
Saturday 13th July
She hadn’t slept well, the night passing slowly as images of her childhood filled the hours which sleep should have. Lizzie had spent the bulk of her life trying not to remember her upbringing. Trying to bury it along with who she used to be. She wasn’t that girl anymore, but she knew it was just beneath the surface, lying dormant. She’d worked hard to keep this other self hidden. And up until the opening of the letter yesterday, she’d succeeded.
‘You were restless last night,’ Dom said as he appeared in the bedroom doorway, his toothbrush vibrating in his mouth, white foam escaping onto his chin.
‘Sorry, did I keep you awake?’ Lizzie asked. He disappeared again, and she heard him spitting in the sink, then the tap running. He returned, his face now free from white paste.
‘It doesn’t matter. Not like I don’t keep you up with my snoring is it?’ He smiled and walked over to the bed. ‘I guess it’s payback.’ He placed his hands on Lizzie’s shoulders and pushed her back onto the mattress, straddling her. He lifted her top and traced his tongue along her ribcage, around the edges of her dragonfly tattoo. She wasn’t in the mood, but it wasn’t Dom’s fault. She gave a playful squeal and wriggled beneath his body.
Lizzie hadn’t believed her luck when Dom had asked her out. Continued to disbelieve it as the years went on, but not only had he stayed with her, he’d asked her to marry him too. Despite Lizzie’s insistence she didn’t want children, he’d wanted to be with her. Told her he was going to spend his life with her – until they got old and died. Lifelong love, commitment, loyalty – they were alien concepts to Lizzie. The fact Dom promised all these things both thrilled and scared her. Why would he – should he – be any different to the others? But here they were, seventeen years later, still happy and in love.
She didn’t want anything to change that. Least of all the one person who’d messed up her life over thirty years ago.
And she couldn’t help but wonder how Dom would react if he found out about her past; the fact she’d kept things from him for all that time. Marriage is based on trust; secrecy is the enemy. She remembered those words as though he’d spoken them moments ago – they’d both repeated that mantra for the first few years, the rest of the time it was just something they’d assumed. Dom would feel betrayed if he knew.
‘Come on, you’ll be late for work.’ Lizzie pushed him away.
‘Okay.’ A flicker of concern crossed his face. ‘Anything on your mind?’ Dom tucked his shirt back into his suit trousers and straightened his tie. ‘Tough job coming up?’
‘No. Well, actually yes.’ There it was. Her get-out clause – she could say it was work-related. ‘I’ve got to cover a story – not one I’m keen on doing if I’m honest.’
‘Can’t another journo do it?’
‘In theory, yes. But I haven’t had much on lately – being freelance you kinda have to take what you can.’
‘What is it?’
