I Dare You

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Anna (#ulink_acadc5e9-7df1-58f8-a215-0d0eaf5e0ea5)

Sunday 14th July

Anna wanted to go back home. She’d only agreed to stay the weekend out of a sense of duty; there’d been no plan to stay beyond Sunday. But now, with the latest development, she wondered how she could merely up and leave Muriel alone to face whatever danger was lurking. If it was danger that she’d be facing. Anna’s optimism it was only a prank had taken a battering after the fake blood, doll’s arm and the message contained within it, but there was a sliver of hope remaining.

She couldn’t very well leave her mother now. What kind of daughter would that make her?

Anna called James, explaining briefly what was going on.

‘Why don’t you get Muriel to pack a suitcase and you bring her back to Bristol? At least then you’ll be out of harm’s way and after a week or so maybe it’ll all have blown over. Or they’ll be targeting someone else.’

‘Yes, getting her away from here would be one option.’ Anna chewed a fingernail while mulling it over.

‘And you’ve called the police, I take it?’

‘Not yet, no. Mum’s keen not to involve them at the moment, until we know more. She doesn’t want to make the situation worse, especially if it’s just kids.’

‘Would kids be taking it this far, though, Anna? Look, come back here with Muriel. Carrie would enjoy spending some of the holidays with her Nanna, and you wouldn’t have to feel guilty about being away from her. It makes sense.’

It did make sense. It was the niggling feeling creeping beneath her skin that prevented her from immediately packing and getting out of there with Muriel in tow. She couldn’t pinpoint why, but she felt she had to stay, find out who was doing it. More importantly, she wanted to know why.

‘I can’t explain, James, but I think I have to stay for a bit longer. Put Carrie on. I’ll talk to her, tell her I need to be with Nanna for longer. She’ll understand.’

‘She probably won’t …’ he said. Anna heard rustling as James walked around the house to give the phone to Carrie. Anna tensed. It was a conversation she knew would upset them both. She had to try and make it sound like it was an exciting opportunity for her to be with her dad. Anna would have to make it up to her.

After some coaxing, a bit of bribery and assurances that Anna loved her, Carrie finally seemed placated and Anna went back inside to her mother.

‘I’ve spoken to James, Mum. I’m staying for a few more days.’

‘Oh, that’s good, love. Thank you.’ Her mind was elsewhere, Anna sensed.

‘I meant to say as well, Auntie Tina is popping in at ten-ish.’

‘What?’ Muriel shot Anna a quizzical glance. ‘What do you mean, popping in? How do you know this?’

‘Didn’t I mention yesterday that I’d seen her?’ Anna felt disingenuous, knowing full well she hadn’t uttered a word about it.

‘No. You most certainly did not!’

Anna was shocked at her tone. Had things really become that bad between them?

‘Sorry, I bumped into her while I was walking around the village. She asked after you, and me, of course. She mentioned getting together, so I invited her for a coffee and catch-up.’ Anna paused. ‘I assumed it would be okay?’

Muriel chewed on her lower lip, saying nothing.

‘Mum?’

Muriel shook her head and tutted. ‘You should’ve checked with me first, Anna. I don’t want to see her.’

‘Why not? What on earth happened between you two?’

‘It’s water under the bridge, dear. It’ll do no good dredging up the past.’

‘We don’t need to. I think she just wants to talk about now – how you are, probably what I’ve been doing.’ Even as she was saying it, Anna got an uneasy feeling. Auntie Tina hadn’t seemed as though she’d really be interested to hear about Anna’s life. Yesterday, she’d come across as bitter that Anna had been the one to live at all. The visit was looking like a potential disaster. She wished she could take the invite back now.

‘I doubt Tina will be wanting to talk about the future.’

‘When did you last speak to her though? Maybe she’s moved on.’

‘She never moved on, Anna. From the day Jonie went missing, Tina changed. She’s not who you knew when you were growing up. We lost our connection, really, when we lost Jonie. From that moment on I think she began to resent me, although she seemingly tried to hide it, keeping it all in for a while. But it must’ve deepened over the months and it came to a head a few years later. It erupted then, causing her to despise me, you – everyone who continued with their life unaltered—’

‘God, no one was left unaltered, Mum. Surely she knows that.’

‘No one suffered like Tina suffered – she made sure everyone knew that. Not even Mark, God rest his soul.’ Muriel made a sign of the cross before carrying on. ‘His grief wasn’t as great, his loss not as profound. No one could understand, no one could truly know what Tina had been through, continued to go through. She looked for that girl night after night, for years. It destroyed her.’ Tears shone on Muriel’s dry, crinkly cheeks. ‘It ripped her marriage apart, something Mark didn’t recover from, and it eventually destroyed our friendship too. Even the village never felt the same again. Not safe. It never really recovered.’

‘Did you ever tell Tina this? Like you’ve just told me?’

‘Of course. But it didn’t help. She never forgave me, you see.’

‘For what?’

‘For it being Jonie and not you.’ Muriel looked into Anna’s eyes. For a split second, all Anna saw was pain. But something else was hidden there too. Guilt? Surely the person who’d delivered the bloody message couldn’t be alluding to Muriel having blood on her hands?

Chapter Twenty-Nine (#ulink_87a85c28-1d0d-5f96-8c39-0d904d9d7951)

2019 (#ulink_87a85c28-1d0d-5f96-8c39-0d904d9d7951)

Lizzie (#ulink_87a85c28-1d0d-5f96-8c39-0d904d9d7951)

Brook Cottage Store looked like one of those shops that simply didn’t exist in the twenty-first century. Lizzie had a sense of déjà vu when she walked through the door and a bell rang out – the gentle tinkling sound touching a memory. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to capture it. She’d been inside the store before, she felt sure. But of course, she was bound to have been – it was the only shop in Mapledon now, so it must’ve been the only one when she lived here.

Grabbing a wire basket, Lizzie began to walk up the first aisle. As she cast her gaze about her, she wondered if she’d be stared at, or even approached by curious shoppers. But, she realised, there were currently only two other customers, and one person working the till. It was Sunday morning, so she didn’t expect it was going to be teeming with villagers. Even driving up the main street she’d been surprised at how dead it was; she’d only seen one older man walking a dog.

Thinking about the likely demographic of the village, she concluded it would be the older folk up and about now, coming to the store to collect their Sunday papers – unless of course there were kids doing the paper delivery rounds. But it was the older residents she was hoping to see anyway; they’d be the ones most likely to remember what happened here, and to know about any new developments since Billy Cawley’s release. Though, they’d probably be the same people who would close ranks and refuse to speak to her about any of it. Her best hope was overhearing local gossip. And she was in a prime place for that.

She thought about the guy working the till. If he worked here full-time, he’d be privy to all the chatter, all the gossip. Shop workers often were – they were the next best thing to hairdressers in that respect. Lizzie carried on browsing the products on the shelf, deciding as she went that if she didn’t hear any interesting snippets of information, she’d try her luck with the till guy. She could turn on the charm when she needed to. She could get him talking. It was her job, after all.

Lizzie felt his eyes on her before she turned and saw that he was, indeed, watching her. She’d been so long browsing she’d obviously caught his attention, and now he maybe thought she was a shoplifter. She smiled and then placed another random item in the basket before ambling around the end of the next aisle. She almost said something, but one of the two other people in the shop approached the till and so she bit her tongue. She hovered within earshot.

Please, please, have a gossip.

Lizzie gave an audible sigh when the people at the till lowered their voices to such a level she couldn’t make out any of their conversation. It’s like they knew what she was there for. Frustration bubbled inside her. She’d have to think of a way in, something to pique the man’s interest to enable her to ask a few questions without ringing alarm bells. She waited for the customers to leave, then slammed her basket on the counter.

‘Makes such a change to have the time to peruse what your lovely shop has to offer. There aren’t any shops like this one where I live now – I do miss this village,’ Lizzie said. It garnered a frown from the man. She could almost see the cogs working overtime trying to place her.

‘Oh? You used to live here? I don’t …’ He shook his head, giving a cautious smile.

‘Years ago now, you wouldn’t recognise me – I don’t recognise you either.’ Lizzie took a carrier and began putting the items in after he’d slowly scanned them.

‘So, who do you belong to?’ He said it in a light-hearted way, but Lizzie sensed the undercurrent of uneasiness. Like immediately he hadn’t believed her. She had to be careful now, although at this point there was little to lose. Should she drop Anna’s name, even though she didn’t know her surname, or who she belonged to? She could play it relatively safe and mention Muriel Fisher instead. At least she had the full name and knew she’d been a villager back then. She’d checked death records and hadn’t found an entry, so she assumed she was still alive. And as Anna had jokingly said yesterday, people didn’t often leave Mapledon, so it was a good bet she still lived here. She couldn’t remember, or didn’t know, if she had siblings, though. She wondered if she could get away with saying she was a niece. Sod it, she had to try something.

‘No one anymore, my own parents are gone, sadly – but I do have a cousin here. I’m making a fleeting visit before I go abroad to work.’ Lizzie inwardly cringed – she didn’t know where that came from, she hadn’t planned to say cousin, she’d meant to just say aunt. She moved on, quickly changing it in the hope he hadn’t taken it in. ‘My aunt is getting on a bit now. Muriel – do you know her?’

She’d done it now. No backtracking would change it.

‘Oh, of course! Everyone knows Muriel. She’s a good friend of my mum’s. They’ve been friends for donkey’s years, and her daughter is roughly my age so we kinda grew up together in Mapledon.’

Lizzie smiled, but not wishing to get caught out by not knowing the daughter’s name, carried on without comment. ‘Yes, so anyway, being back here is a bit odd, really.’ Lizzie lowered her head, watching his expression through her fringe. ‘You know, the timing and all.’ She hoped that would be enough to elicit a remark from him. Unfortunately, he simply said ‘hmmm’ and continued scanning.

She changed tack. ‘I’ve never forgotten that poor girl. I’ve found myself wondering what happened to her over the years. This village holds such sad memories.’ She swiped at a pretend tear.

‘I know, same.’ He moved his hand towards her, but withdrew it again before touching her. ‘I’m sorry. It’s a difficult time for so many of us. It’s all people are talking to me about and to be honest, it’s getting me down now. I’m hearing the same things over and over from different people. It’s so draining.’