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‘The police will be able to keep an eye on things. On him. He’ll be on a life licence. Something like this would put him straight back to prison.’
‘Or, it could stir up a hornet’s nest,’ Muriel said, her face stony.
That was the problem with small villages. Anna had always sensed it growing up, but now it was even more apparent. One event could cause a ripple effect – what should be contained within a family unit suddenly became the business of every person in the village. Everyone had something to say; some advice to give, solutions to problems to offer. Whether wanted or not. If word got out that Muriel thought the children of Mapledon were responsible for the macabre doll’s head, then she was right – accusations would fly, uptight members of the community would be up in arms. The local council would probably seek to lay down a curfew – the teenagers would rebel. The situation would likely worsen. And then Muriel would become the sole focus of attention. But then, maybe she had already.
Why had she been targeted?
If it really was him, then this was just the start. Anna remembered that at the time every villager had been horrified at what had happened. Everyone had named Billy Cawley.
‘I think I’ll get some fresh air, Mum.’ Anna couldn’t sit inside the house waiting for the next ‘gift’ to be delivered to Muriel’s door. It might be that others had received something similar. A walk around the village might well give her an opportunity to find out if anything else was amiss in Mapledon.
Muriel squinted at Anna. ‘I – I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Not on your own.’
She tried to ignore her mother’s deepening frown as she bent to kiss the top of her head. ‘Mum. It’s daylight. I’m a grown woman – I’ll be fine!’
‘I didn’t ask you to come here on a mission to track down the culprit, Anna. I just wanted you here to be with me.’
‘I can’t stay cooped up. And I’m not tracking anyone down, I’m going for a walk.’
Muriel sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. ‘Don’t be long, then.’
Taking in her mother’s anxious expression, she realised Muriel’s concern was not entirely for Anna. It was for herself. She didn’t want to be alone in the house, just in case.
‘I won’t be. And I’ve got my mobile. Call me immediately if …’ Anna trailed off.
‘You get a full signal here?’ Muriel straightened in her chair, her tone panicked.
‘Well, not full, no,’ Anna said. She couldn’t very well lie. She’d assumed there would be areas where the signal dipped, became non-existent even. It was a small village in a valley on the outskirts of Dartmoor; it was to be expected. ‘But I’ll never be far away, will I? God, it’ll only take fifteen minutes to walk an entire circuit of this place.’
‘It took less time than that for someone to abduct Jonie Hayes,’ she said bluntly.
Anna ignored the comment and left, grabbing a hoody from the hall bannister despite the warmth of the day. With the hood up, she’d maybe remain anonymous as she walked through the village. Taking a right at the end of Muriel’s road, Anna headed down Fore Street. The only houses – three cottages in a row – were situated just before the road ended and joined what was the main road of Mapledon: the one that led to the church. No one was about. The cottages appeared normal as she passed. But then, had there been anything hammered to their doors, no doubt it’d been removed by now. Anna wasn’t really expecting to see anything remotely strange: no doll’s heads. Not really. But still, she looked. Or, maybe she was hoping to see something. She could take some comfort then; there’d be a shared fear, rather than an isolated one.
As she ambled up towards the church, passing other equally unremarkable homes along Bridge Street, Anna found herself at the entrance to one of the cul-de-sacs that ran off it. Blackstone Close. Curiosity made her turn into it and begin walking to the end.
She stopped outside the final bungalow. The paint was peeling, the plaster crumbling. The garden was overgrown. Even in daylight there was something sinister about it. There’d been calls from angry, grieving villagers for it to be demolished afterwards. But the formidable local councillors had come up against more red tape than they could cut through. So, it had stood. Empty for thirty years. Like some strange kind of mausoleum.
Anna couldn’t help but wonder about the man who lived there.
Would he really come back?
Was he inside it now?
Her heart jolted at the thought. She wanted to turn and walk away, but her feet remained planted. She took her hands from her hoody pockets and reached out slowly towards the wall. A voice made her snatch it away again.
‘Hi, Bella. I thought you might come calling now.’
Chapter Fourteen (#ulink_b47a4a7e-b998-5767-921b-9ec6bedfa5c0)
2019 (#ulink_b47a4a7e-b998-5767-921b-9ec6bedfa5c0)
Lizzie (#ulink_b47a4a7e-b998-5767-921b-9ec6bedfa5c0)
Lizzie was parked just outside the church gate, eyes fixed on the entrance, her resolve wavering. There were no regular services on a Saturday – she hadn’t given that a thought when she’d decided the church was the best place to start. Perhaps the vicar would still be inside, though. There might’ve been a wedding. Or a funeral. Doubtful, though. Surely her luck wouldn’t be that great. If she didn’t brave it, get out the damn car and take a look, she’d never know. But a sudden fear that her faith in the vicar was misplaced – that he’d be unable to help her at all – caused her to hesitate. It was unlikely to be the same vicar as thirty years ago, and certain events tended to cause a tight community such as Mapledon to clam up, to decide it was too hideous, too abominable to ever speak of again. A new vicar might not have any knowledge of what had happened. And Lizzie couldn’t remember the name of the original one. Couldn’t remember many names at all.
Just the three.
She unconsciously pulled at her hair, collecting several short, black strands in her palm whilst berating herself for not having spent some time researching before jumping in her car and setting off. That was a mistake. Local vicar aside, who would she approach to answer her questions? She brushed the hair into the footwell and sighed, the sound loud in the quiet car. Maybe the how was something she should’ve also given more thought to. Lizzie hadn’t considered what effect her presence in Mapledon would have. She could be a “nobody” – her name was different now, after all – but that in itself wouldn’t help her. She doubted Mapledon had many random visitors. A stranger in the fold would spark interest, prompt caution. A closing of the ranks.
Outsiders are not to be trusted.
They wouldn’t knowingly divulge anything to an outsider. But, equally, she couldn’t tell anyone who she really was, either; who she used to be. She had the sinking feeling her trip here would be a waste of time. Where was she even going to stay? She was in the middle of nowhere and it didn’t seem as if Airbnb was an option. She really hadn’t thought this through.
Just drive back home, back to safety. Back to Dom.
Lizzie watched as two women emerged from the church gate, one holding a pair of shears. They’d likely been tending to a grave. A pain gripped her stomach. She pushed her hands into it, clutching at the skin with her fingertips, and closed her eyes. A vision of a woman swam inside the darkness: a blurry-edged picture void of facial features. Because she couldn’t remember any. Tears slipped over her cheeks and ran under her chin.
Her mother was buried in this graveyard.
Or, so she’d been told – she’d never seen for herself. A long-suppressed anger began to bubble. The details surrounding Rosie’s death were vague in Lizzie’s mind, what happened afterwards patchy at best. She just knew she’d experienced a lot of rage back then – an emotion she’d been unable to channel appropriately. Something she still struggled with if she ever came up against the red flags.
Maybe now was the time to change that.
Perhaps the need for change was what had drawn her back to Mapledon.
Chapter Fifteen (#ulink_ac4ff8e4-e20e-512a-84f2-2f2952f946f2)
1989 (#ulink_ac4ff8e4-e20e-512a-84f2-2f2952f946f2)
Mapledon (#ulink_ac4ff8e4-e20e-512a-84f2-2f2952f946f2)
Wednesday 19th July – the day of, 8.25 p.m.
In the humid summer evening, circles of lights darted over grass, whizzed over hillsides, flitted under bushes and dotted the darkening sky – like a frenzied firefly dance. But the display didn’t come from a swarm of fireflies, it came from the illumination of dozens of torchlights.
‘Jonie! Joniiiieee!’
Jonie’s name was called again and again, each time more frantic. Desperate. One voice could be heard above others, its pitch ripping through the night, tearing through the eardrums of the volunteers, the police.
Tina Hayes’ legs were weakening; her voice was not. Sheer adrenaline kept her powering forwards, her desire to find her daughter overtaking her need to slow down, rest.
‘Tina?’ Pat Vern ran up to her, putting a sweaty hand on her arm to stop her marching on. ‘I’m not sure … it’s a good idea … for you to be here.’ The police officer panted, his shallow breaths diminishing his ability to form a full sentence.
‘What would you have me do, Pat? Stay at home like the good little woman, waiting to see if someone else finds her?’ Tina put her hands on the tops of her thighs, taking the moment to catch her breath, allowing the blood to flow through her limbs again. ‘Is that what you’d do if it were Daisy?’
Pat, recovered now from the acute exertion, couldn’t argue with her. He never had been able to put up a fight where Tina Hayes was concerned.
‘I know. I know you think you should be doing everything to find her, and I understand, I really do. But what if she …’ He paused. What he was thinking was: what if you’re the one to find her and she’s dead? He couldn’t bear that. The last image she’d have of her only daughter would be a horrifying one – one she’d never rid herself of. But why was he thinking that at all – why would she be dead? This was Mapledon for Christ’s sake. He’d been on the force ten years and nothing remotely bad had ever happened here, so this would end happily, he was sure.
Only he wasn’t.
His gut was telling him something else – something evil – was at play. He didn’t know why, but he felt it. He realised Tina was waiting for him to finish his sentence, impatiently stepping from one foot to the other as she stared at him, her eyes wide and red-rimmed. He pulled himself together. ‘What if Jonie goes home – who’s going to be there if everyone is outside searching?’
‘Do you think she’ll turn up at home, Pat, as though nothing has happened – like she’d just lost track of the time? Come on. We both know she didn’t just forget the time. Her friends are all home, we’ve checked. So, it’s not as though she’d been having too much fun or gone off with one of them somewhere and wandered too far out of Mapledon. She’s not a dumb kid, Pat.’
‘I know she’s not dumb.’ Pat dropped his gaze to his shoes. Now wasn’t the time to mention what he’d heard about Jonie. ‘Okay, come on. Let’s press on. I don’t want to waste any more time – it’s going to be too dark to continue in an hour or so.’
‘You might think so,’ Tina said sharply, shaking her head. ‘But I’ll be out here looking all night if I have to. Every night. I won’t stop until I find her.’
And she strode off.
Chapter Sixteen (#ulink_53478551-bd50-5eef-8637-cae85e45229a)
2019 (#ulink_53478551-bd50-5eef-8637-cae85e45229a)
Anna (#ulink_53478551-bd50-5eef-8637-cae85e45229a)
Saturday 13th July
Anna froze; the voice – soft, haunted – causing her heart to stutter.
If people had called her Bella afterwards, she’d ignored them. And, through her own choice, no one had called her that since she’d left Mapledon. She couldn’t bear to hear it, didn’t like to recall the memories associated with it. The last time her friend uttered it. Hearing it now transported her back to a time and place she never wanted to be reminded of.
‘Creepy Cawley, Creepy Cawley …’
The hushed whisper, the goading chant, filled her skull. She shook her head, trying to shake the ghostly voice from it. But as much as she wanted to run, not look back, this was one villager she couldn’t ignore. She turned around.
‘Hello, Auntie Tina,’ she said. ‘I go by Anna these days.’
Tina’s face flinched, her chin tilting up. ‘Right, sure. Annabella was always a mouthful, and Anna is more grown up than Bella. Lovely that you were able to do that – grow up, I mean.’ The words, edged with an iciness, made Anna shiver. She couldn’t blame her for her cutting tone.
Anna opened her mouth but closed it again. For the moment, she couldn’t think of a single thing Tina would want to hear. She fleetingly considered giving her a hug, but the years that had passed created a gulf between them; what had happened thirty years ago ensured the chasm was too wide to bridge with such an action. Tina was about five years younger than Muriel, but if Anna had thought the years had been unkind to her mum, they’d been downright cruel to Auntie Tina – her wrinkled skin had a grey hue to it, her dyed blonde hair was thin and patchy, making her eyes seem pale, almost albino.
Anna gazed back towards Billy Cawley’s old bungalow, the memory of the game Knock, Knock, Ginger making her skin crawl. They’d been having innocent fun, hadn’t they? Being here now, she could envisage the two of them like she was seeing the imprints of their younger selves. Ghostly figures. She’d not allowed herself to think about Jonie for a really long time before today. But she knew, despite not consciously remembering her, what had happened that sunny afternoon was part of her. Had affected her more than she’d ever cared to admit to. Now, facing Tina, everything rose to the surface. Tears slid down her face.
‘Don’t. Don’t cry. Tears won’t help anyone,’ Tina said.
She’d created a shell, one that had hardened over time. They all had.
‘Sorry.’ Anna brushed the tears away with her fingertips. One word, weighted with guilt, years in the making. Not once had she uttered that word when it happened.
It wasn’t her fault, after all.
But Tina thinks it was.
‘Why are you back?’
Instinct told Anna not to mention the doll’s head.
‘Came to see Mum.’
‘Never bothered before.’
‘No, well – being the anniversary year …’ Anna felt herself cringe; she dropped her gaze.
‘So, you thought you’d come back to where it all began?’ Tina swept an arm out in front of her, indicating the bungalow. ‘Got a guilty conscience?’
And there it was. Thirty years on, the man responsible having served time in prison, and still Anna was getting the blame. Well, she wasn’t that little girl anymore: the meek, mild-mannered pushover Bella. She was Anna, and she’d had to work hard to overcome her weaknesses; she’d worked hard to heal the mental scars left behind.
‘No,’ she said firmly, shaking her head. ‘Have you?’
Chapter Seventeen (#ulink_b05c1754-c046-5b6f-b4ed-c0beab524dcd)
2019 (#ulink_b05c1754-c046-5b6f-b4ed-c0beab524dcd)
Lizzie (#ulink_b05c1754-c046-5b6f-b4ed-c0beab524dcd)
She didn’t know where to begin looking for the grave, or even if she should. Voluntarily opening old wounds probably wasn’t wise. But then, coming here seeking him out wasn’t a wise decision either. Yet, here she was. Facing her demons.
As she slowly lifted the metal latch and stepped through the wooden gate into the church grounds, Lizzie shivered. It’d only been a gentle breeze brushing against her skin – a warm one at that – but it had triggered hundreds of goose bumps to appear on her pale, freckly arms. It was like a ghost had touched her. Walking briskly to the church door, Lizzie put all thoughts of ghosts to the back of her mind. The door creaked loudly as she opened it. Inside was silent. Cool. Empty, as far as she could tell. Flowers adorned the ends of each pew and at the altar stood a huge display of white lilies, daisies and aster – all left over from a wedding, she presumed.
A stray memory came to her. She’d been inside this church before. Sunday school – she remembered being at a small table at the back, sitting with other children. She’d gone a few times, but then something had happened; there’d been a reason she stopped attending. But what was it? She filed the memory away with all the other half-formed, blurry memories of her early childhood.
There was no sign of a vicar. Lizzie ducked outside again and wandered to the far side of the graveyard; she’d work her way backwards to the entrance. It wasn’t a huge area – the village had always been small. Many of the headstones were old and tilting, the writing faded. It shouldn’t take too long to find Rosie’s. She read the names of those she could decipher as she moved around. None of them caused a memory to stir. Until one; the name on it making Lizzie’s blood chill in her veins.
Jonie Hayes.
One of the three names she did remember.
She hurried on past it, not wishing to linger. Not wanting to ‘go there’ yet. It was too early – she wasn’t ready. One step at a time.
The air seemed to still as she approached the grey, granite headstone that bore her mother’s name. Lizzie crouched beside her mum, eyes tightly squeezed, trying desperately to remember something. Anything about her mother. Nothing came to her. It could be because she was trying to force it – if she relaxed, didn’t try so hard, something might come.
For the moment, she could only recall a snippet of one memory.
The day her mum gave her Polly.
Chapter Eighteen (#ulink_2af260e7-20f0-5d61-9ffd-14a2a10ee7b1)
1989 (#ulink_2af260e7-20f0-5d61-9ffd-14a2a10ee7b1)
Mapledon (#ulink_2af260e7-20f0-5d61-9ffd-14a2a10ee7b1)
Tuesday 18th July – the day before
‘Be back for lunch, Bella. And no going near Blackstone Close, you hear me?’
Her mother’s shrill voice followed Bella out of the house. She called back over her shoulder, ‘No, Mum. I won’t!’ rolling her eyes towards Jonie to prove she thought her mother’s warning was something she found annoying. She didn’t. She really wanted to do as her mum told her – going to Blackstone Close made her skin creep.
