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Chapter Twenty-Three (#ulink_0199595d-524c-5af4-80d9-f17f00330af9)
2019 (#ulink_0199595d-524c-5af4-80d9-f17f00330af9)
Lizzie (#ulink_0199595d-524c-5af4-80d9-f17f00330af9)
So much for Anna having a ‘story’, Lizzie thought as she strode back to her car, her mind whirring. Visiting her mother who had dementia. Sentimental, and not exactly what Lizzie had been hoping to learn. Lizzie had failed to get Anna’s surname – or her mother’s name – no information regarding any recent events in this godforsaken village. She was no closer to finding out if he might be here. But, thanks to her new friend, she did now have a place to stay. Lizzie had finally got a mobile signal as she approached the top of the hill and booked herself into Bulleigh Barton for three nights. She reasoned that if she hadn’t found what she was looking for within that time, then she never would.
A couple of people had openly stared at her as she’d stood punching the number of the B&B into her phone outside the shop. She’d been tempted to strike up a conversation but had ultimately chickened out, the thought of the questions they’d ask her putting her off. Before talking to anyone else, she required a night to prepare. She may have already said too much to Anna, who might well go straight home to her mother and repeat everything she’d said. Thinking about it, there was a strong possibility that by tomorrow the whole village would know her name. Had she been too quick to introduce herself? Giving her full name had been a mistake. Anna hadn’t been that naive. But, she realised, if someone googled her, they were only likely to find articles she’d written, nothing about her past.
A journalist in Mapledon, though. How welcome would that be?
After sitting in her car contemplating for a good ten minutes, Lizzie reversed and instead of driving back down the main road leading out of Mapledon, she turned into the one that Anna had walked her down moments before. She pulled up outside the primary school, her heart fluttering furiously. A stream of disjointed memories had slammed into her brain from nowhere when she and Anna had walked past it. It had shocked her. So much so she’d felt debilitated; unable to move. These were things she knew she had to face if she were to have any chance of shaking off her past once and for all.
Lizzie put the car in gear and moved off again. She had an urge to see the bungalow – it couldn’t be too hard to find in such a small village and she had recognised the school, so maybe other places would be familiar as well. A tiredness swept over her, though, so she decided it would be a task best left to tomorrow. Because if he had come back, then going there would be too much to handle in one day. To face him would take far more strength than she currently had. She’d rather know what she was likely to come up against, be better equipped. Her plan to get information from the villagers was the one she should follow to limit the hurt, the pain she would undoubtedly feel all over again.
As Anna had said, Bulleigh Barton was on the edge of Mapledon, barely half a mile outside, situated down a narrow lane and reached via a long driveway. As soon as Lizzie stepped out of her car she immediately felt calmer, more awake and far less anxious than she’d been in the village. It was as though the air was purer, less toxic. She was greeted warmly by the owner, Gwen – a bubbly woman of around fifty with a soft, Irish lilt. Lizzie was offered tea and biscuits and then shown to her room, which had a luxurious double bed, a homely feel and overlooked the fields. It seemed, at least here, strangers were welcome. But maybe it was because Gwen had been an outsider herself once.
‘This is perfect, thank you, Gwen,’ Lizzie said, smiling.
‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your stay better, won’t you? You’re my only guest at the moment.’
‘Will do,’ Lizzie said, her attention out the window at the cows in a neighbouring field. It was a far cry from built-up Abbingsworth. ‘Oh, actually – do you have Wi-Fi here?’
For a horrible moment, as she caught the blank look on Gwen’s face, she thought she was going to say no. But, with a wink, Gwen said: ‘Yes – we’re out in the sticks and signal isn’t always grand, but we are in touch with the twenty-first century.’
Lizzie laughed. ‘Great, that’s good to know.’
Chapter Twenty-Four (#ulink_87ed15bf-a8be-51e7-90ce-1dc4e6b82ec7)
1989 (#ulink_87ed15bf-a8be-51e7-90ce-1dc4e6b82ec7)
Fisher residence (#ulink_87ed15bf-a8be-51e7-90ce-1dc4e6b82ec7)
Friday 14th July – 5 days before
Bella was sitting at the halfway point on the stairs, her left ear turned towards the closed sitting-room door, but annoyingly she couldn’t make out what they were saying. She’d been sent to bed an hour ago, the same time as her dad had left for the pub. But the muffled voices – punctured every now and then with loud laughter – had risen through the floorboards making sleep impossible. Her mum’s friends often came round for ‘drinkies’, as she called it, and at times the whole house was filled with women for the stupid Mapledon Meetings. But they were always on a Thursday night. Bella thought all of it was just an excuse for them to gossip and get drunk. The mornings after these get-togethers and meetings, Bella always noticed her mother wasn’t herself, telling Bella she ‘felt delicate’ and that she couldn’t cope with any of Bella’s ‘nonsense’. Dad would whisper ‘hangover’ in Bella’s ear before leaving for work, or golf. She didn’t know what it meant exactly, but eventually realised it just meant her mother had a headache and wasn’t to be disturbed.
As her mum was drinking now, with Mrs Andrews and Auntie Tina, Bella knew tomorrow morning would be one of those times she’d have to keep her distance and let her mother be; she’d have another headache to get over. Disappointment raged through her. She’d wanted to get out of the village, maybe visit Bovey Tracey and go to some shops with her mum – have lunch in a café. Anything to take her away from the dullest place on earth. Anything to take her away from the stupid Knock, Knock games Jonie would make her play. She hated her mum sometimes.
Just as boredom was about to make her creep back to her room, Bella heard Mrs Andrews’ voice more clearly. She must be right by the door. Bella ducked back a little from the open stairwell just in case she was coming out; she didn’t want to be spotted and yelled at for eavesdropping.
‘No one knows what he’s capable of. No one knows him at all, not even where he came from. Just wish he wasn’t here. I really thought he’d leave after his kid was taken.’
Bella heard murmurings, and what sounded like a disagreement, and thought she made out the words ‘obviously wasn’t enough’, before hearing Mrs Andrews’ voice clearly again.
‘Anyway, I’ll make sure it’s on the agenda for the next meeting, even if you’re not bothered, Tina. Sorry I can’t stay for another—’
The lounge door swung open and Bella jumped up, moving swiftly towards her bedroom only moments before the women appeared. That’d been a close one. Bella listened as her mum and Mrs Andrews said goodbye and gave each other a kiss before the front door banged closed. The voices in the lounge became softer. Bella got back into bed. She guessed who they were talking about; he was all anyone seemed to talk about in this village. Bella wondered why he stayed too – she couldn’t understand why anyone would want to be part of this place, let alone if everyone was rude and horrible to you.
What on earth had he done to make them so nasty?
Chapter Twenty-Five (#ulink_a3d9bfc3-47ff-5e1a-b545-87be81e00517)
2019 (#ulink_a3d9bfc3-47ff-5e1a-b545-87be81e00517)
Anna (#ulink_a3d9bfc3-47ff-5e1a-b545-87be81e00517)
Sunday 14th July
At first, Anna assumed the banging on the door was Auntie Tina, but as she lifted her head from the pillow and checked the time on her mobile, she saw it was only six a.m. Who would visit at this hour on a Sunday? Then she heard quick footsteps promptly followed by a scream.
What the fuck? She launched herself from the bed, crashing against the doorframe in her rush to get out the bedroom.
‘Mum, Mum! What is it?’ Anna tore down the stairs, her pulse pounding in her neck almost as loud as her feet were on the treads.
Red liquid, from what appeared to be a burst plastic bag, pooled on the doormat.
‘Is it real? Is it real blood, Anna?’ Her mum was backing away as she repeated the words over and over.
‘I – I’m not sure, Mum.’ Avoiding the mess, Anna unlocked the front door, yanking it open quickly, hoping to catch the culprits red-handed. Literally. She peered out. No one was in sight, but as she drew her head back, she saw what had been hammered to the door. She didn’t want to worry her mother further, but she couldn’t exactly hide it either.
‘What is it this time?’ Muriel asked. Anna looked at her, taking in the frail woman whose shoulders were hunched in fear. This wasn’t on. Someone was taking joy in terrorising a vulnerable woman and it angered her. This felt different from a kid’s game. Personal.
‘It’s a doll’s arm,’ Anna said.
‘This is ridiculous. Stupid kids – bags of blood shoved through the letterbox, things hammered to the door – what do they think they’re playing at?’
‘Mum, listen,’ Anna said as she stepped back inside, over the red-stained mat. ‘It’s six in the morning – on a Sunday. How many kids do you know who’d be up this early? I don’t think it’s kids, I really don’t.’
‘So you think it’s him?’
‘I’m not saying that either. I mean, why would he? To what end? And why you? I haven’t heard of anyone else receiving these doll’s parts, have you?’
‘No, no. But the timing …’ Muriel carried on mumbling to herself, her thumbnail rammed in her mouth making the words indecipherable.
Yes, the timing was odd, she had to admit that; these things happening literally days after Billy Cawley’s release surely couldn’t be coincidental.
‘Look, you go get a bucket of warm, soapy water and I’ll take this outside.’ Anna pointed to the doormat. ‘See if I can salvage it.’ Opening the door, then lifting both ends of the mat together in attempt to prevent the liquid running off the edges, Anna shuffled outside. It was runny, not gloopy or sticky-looking, so she was hopeful it wasn’t real blood. She carefully walked with it down the side of the house to the back garden and laid it down on the lawn. Then she tilted it to let the liquid drain off. She watched as the red mess trickled into the green grass, staining it. Some had got on her hand; she wiped it in the grass too, but a pinky tinge remained. It was dye. Possibly just food colouring. She deposited the now-empty plastic bag in the wheelie bin as she went back to the front door and pulled at the doll’s arm. The nail had been driven through the upper part of the plastic arm. She had to twist it several times before it loosened. She pulled at it harder. It gave a pop as it came away and Anna stumbled backwards with the arm in her hand. The nail must’ve been hammered in with some force.
Anna turned the arm over in her hands, then frowned. There was something inside it, stuffed in the hollow. The opening was too small to get her fingers inside. She ran into the kitchen, almost knocking Muriel over, the water slopping out of the bucket she was carrying.
‘Anna! Be careful,’ she scolded, putting it down on the floor.
‘Sorry,’ Anna said. With the arm held on the worktop, she poked a metal skewer inside. After a few failed attempts at grabbing it, Anna finally pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper. Under her mother’s watchful, and – she sensed – fearful gaze, Anna unravelled the paper, revealing bold red lettering.
SOMEONE HAS BLOOD ON THEIR HANDS
Anna and Muriel exchanged uneasy glances.
What was that supposed to mean?
Chapter Twenty-Six (#ulink_30e1784c-4064-5cb4-a0f5-57769e84e6c7)
2019 (#ulink_30e1784c-4064-5cb4-a0f5-57769e84e6c7)
Lizzie (#ulink_30e1784c-4064-5cb4-a0f5-57769e84e6c7)
Lizzie hadn’t attempted sleep until gone three a.m. After eating the meal provided by Gwen, she’d soaked in the beautiful claw-footed bathtub. Then, wrapped in the fluffy white bathrobe that had been hanging on the back of the door, she’d sat at the desk overlooking the garden and set about researching Mapledon and some of its residents. She’d found nothing on Anna. There was plenty of information about William Cawley, though: news articles about his conviction and the fact he’d put in a late plea bargain to the charge of the abduction and murder of Jonie Hayes, other articles about the evidence found in his truck, and the devastation felt within the ‘small, tight-knit community of Mapledon’.
Lizzie struggled to read them. It was too close – too raw, even now. But she knew she had to. She’d compartmentalised all of it for years, pretending it had happened to other people – people she didn’t know or care about. If she tried hard enough, she could detach herself again now, read it all as an outsider, someone with no involvement or investment.
Having had a stern word with herself, she’d continued scouring the articles for names and had noted down those that appeared most frequently: Tina Hayes, obviously as she was the mother of the victim; a source close to the family, Nell Andrews; family friend Muriel Fisher and local vicar, Reverend Christopher Farnley. She’d also been surprised to learn that a key piece of evidence was from a witness to the abduction – Jonie Hayes’ ten-year-old friend, named only as ‘Girl B’ for legal reasons. She hadn’t remembered this. But then, she’d avoided this kind of search before, not feeling the need or desire to delve into the past.
Now, having woken with a headache and dry mouth, Lizzie reluctantly peeled herself from the comfortable double bed, stumbled to the tea tray on the unit in the corner and popped the kettle on. The names from the articles still swirled in her mind. Muriel Fisher’s had come as no surprise. Hers was one Lizzie did remember. And once she’d seen Reverend Farnley’s name, that too had sparked recall. But Nell Andrews wasn’t one she remembered. The problem was that Lizzie could never be sure if any of the memories she recalled were truly her memories, or ones she’d taken on and remembered from what other people had told her over the years. She wondered if she’d ever really know which were hers.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Lizzie called Dom. He’d only sent one text yesterday to which she’d replied a brief ‘all’s fine’, and she got the impression he was pissed off. She had upped and left at short notice. While he did understand her job might take her somewhere abruptly, usually she’d have at least spoken to him before leaving rather than merely leaving a brief note.
‘Hey, babe – so sorry for leaving in a rush.’ She got her apology in quickly, before he’d even said hello.
‘Well, I was disappointed when I got home to find you gone, and without a call, or even a text …’ His voice was distant, and it immediately set Lizzie on edge. She hated to think she’d upset him; hated the thought he was mad at her even more.
‘I know, I know. I didn’t have much time, sorry – once the decision was made, I didn’t want to hang around—’
‘Really, Lizzie? You took a few minutes at least to find the paper and write a note, but didn’t have time to hit your speed dial and call me? You know there’s a little button on your phone that means you can be hands free and everything, so you could have packed your bag whilst speaking to me or even called from the car.’ Sarcasm dripped from his words. Lizzie had no argument, so she said nothing. The silence stretched. She heard him sigh.
‘So, what was so urgent you had to rush off without so much as a by-your-leave?’
Lizzie took a moment to consider her choice of words. If she’d managed to carry out her plan to come clean about everything, Dom would now have been in possession of the facts and she wouldn’t feel the need to play this down. Or lie. But she hadn’t, and now – over the phone – was definitely not the right time.
‘It was a breaking news story, time-sensitive, and it sounded …’ She hesitated. ‘Beefy. I wanted it, that’s all, so had to rush to get here. It’s near Dartmoor, in Devon—’
‘Bloody hell, that’s a long way away – why on earth do you want to cover a story there?’
She felt she owed him some element of truth here. She took a deep breath.
‘Because once, a really long time ago … I lived here.’ Before Dom could question her on this statement, she added, ‘I can’t remember any of it, I was only little and it was for a very brief time. But it intrigued me enough to make me want to come back and look into it.’
Even to her, it sounded weak. But Dom didn’t press further, just asked exactly where she was. Lizzie gave him the name of the B&B and after a few minutes of general chat, she hung up.
After breakfast she was going to drive back into Mapledon and go to Brook Cottage Store to buy a few items. Stranger or not, if she wanted to make any headway, she had to speak to other villagers. She’d ask about Muriel Fisher – she might get away with saying she was a friend of the family. It was risky though, as, if she gave her name as Lizzie Brenfield – as she’d done to Anna yesterday – and they then spoke to Muriel, she would immediately say Lizzie was an imposter, a liar.
On the other hand, giving her real name would only open a big-arsed can of worms …
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#ulink_4ccf591c-f808-5b37-8337-6416857804bf)
1989 (#ulink_4ccf591c-f808-5b37-8337-6416857804bf)
Hayes residence (#ulink_4ccf591c-f808-5b37-8337-6416857804bf)
Wednesday 12th July – 1 week before
Auntie Tina made the best banana cake. It was one of the highlights of going over to Jonie’s after school.
‘You’re lucky there’s still some left – Miss Gannet Guts over there had almost half of it for breakfast!’ Tina said.
Bella laughed as she shovelled the slab of cake into her mouth, causing her to cough and send crumbs flying, making them all laugh harder.
‘Careful, don’t choke. How would I explain that to your mum?’
Jonie gave Bella a hard slap on the back even though she wasn’t coughing anymore. She moved away from her, saying she was fine. There had been no need for that. Bella thought it was just an excuse to whack her. She thought Auntie Tina noticed too, because she stopped laughing and stood in between them both, draping one arm over each of their shoulders.
‘You looking forward to the school holidays?’ Tina asked in a falsely bright way.
‘Um, hell yeah,’ Jonie said.
‘Watch your language,’ Tina said. But Jonie just rolled her eyes.
‘I’m not that bothered, really.’ Bella’s words drew a shocked glance from Tina and Jonie.
‘What? Are you for real?’ Jonie’s frown made her eyes go dark.
‘I don’t mind school – I like learning stuff.’
‘You’re such a square, Bella!’
‘No she isn’t, Jonie – don’t say things like that.’ Auntie Tina gave Bella a big smile. ‘It’s good to want to learn. Don’t let anyone put you off, love. Knowledge is power,’ she said, adding more quietly as she released her arms from them, ‘and your ticket out of this place.’
Before Bella could ask what she meant, the back door opened and a man’s head popped around.
‘Hello, ladies. How are you all on this fine afternoon?’
The girls giggled, as did Tina. ‘We’re good, Pat – what brings you here?’
Bella watched as the policeman emerged from behind the door, closed it and wiped his feet on the doormat. Everyone knew Officer Vern. He ‘kept an eye’ on Mapledon because he had lived in the village all his life; the place was too small to have its own police station. Bella thought it must be a boring job because nothing interesting ever happened. It seemed the most he’d ever had to do was tell kids off. And if she heard her dad say: ‘In my day, coppers could give you a clip around the ear and you’d behave yourself,’ one more time she’d puke.
As he leant back against the kitchen sink, she noted his tummy bulged slightly over the top of his black trousers. Bella concluded he hadn’t ever run after any baddies; he didn’t look like he got much exercise at all. He smiled, then glanced at Auntie Tina; he hadn’t answered her question, but he seemed to be waiting for something.
‘Girls, why don’t you both go and watch some TV, or play outside for a bit?’ Tina said, her smile vanishing.
Jonie grabbed Bella’s arm. ‘Come on, let’s go have some fun. See you later, Mum.’
Bella eyed Auntie Tina as she was being dragged out the back door. She thought she looked worried. What did the policeman want? Her tummy lurched. What if it was to do with Creepy Cawley? Had he called the police about the Knock, Knock games the kids were always playing? She’d only been to his bungalow a few times after school with Jonie, but if he’d seen them, would he have known who they were? Her mum would kill her if she found out they’d been ‘terrorising’ him.
Bella wished she could hear what was being said in Auntie Tina’s kitchen right now …
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#ulink_acadc5e9-7df1-58f8-a215-0d0eaf5e0ea5)
2019 (#ulink_acadc5e9-7df1-58f8-a215-0d0eaf5e0ea5)
