I Dare You
I Dare You
Sam Carrington
AN INNOCENT GAME. A SHOCKING CRIME. A COMMUNITY FULL OF SECRETS. Mapledon, 1989Two little girls were out playing a game of dares. Only one returned home. The ten-year-old told police what she saw: village loner Bill ‘Creepy’ Cawley dragged her friend into his truck and disappeared. No body was found, but her testimony sent Cawley to prison for murder. An open and shut case, the right man behind bars. The village could sleep safe once again. Now…Anna thought she had left Mapledon and her nightmares behind but a distraught phone call brings her back to face her past. 30 years ago, someone lied. 30 years ago, the man convicted wasn’t the only guilty party. Now he’s out of prison and looking for revenge. The question is, who will he start with? Praise for Sam Carrington ‘Engrossing psychological suspense … it had me hooked!’ Emma Curtis, bestselling author of The Night You Left ‘Expertly written … with plentiful twists and unforgettable characters. ’ Caroline Mitchell, bestselling author of Silent Victim and The Secret Child ‘A pacy read, packed with surprises. Will keep you on your toes. ’ Jane Corry, bestselling author of I Looked Away and My Husband’s Wife
I DARE YOU
Sam Carrington
Copyright (#u851671db-40b3-55d4-bb96-d23c5449d902)
Published by AVON
A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Copyright © Sam Carrington 2019
Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com (http://www.Shutterstock.com)
Sam Carrington asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008331375
Ebook Edition © December 2019 ISBN: 9780008331382
Version: 2019-10-18
PRAISE FOR SAM CARRINGTON (#u851671db-40b3-55d4-bb96-d23c5449d902)
‘Sam Carrington has done it again. One Little Lie is a twisty, gripping read. I loved it.’
Cass Green, bestselling author of In a Cottage In a Wood
‘Expertly written … with plentiful twists and unforgettable characters. An insightful and unnerving read.’
Caroline Mitchell, bestselling author of Silent Victim
‘A kick-ass page turner … I was knocked senseless by the awesome twist.’
John Marrs, #1 bestselling author of The One
‘I LOVED Bad Sister. Tense, convincing and complex, it kept me guessing (wrongly!)’
Caz Frear, bestselling author of Sweet Little Lies
‘This book is not only gripping, but it explores the mother/daughter relationship perfectly, and ends with a gasp-out-loud twist’
Closer
‘I devoured this story in one sitting!’
Louise Jensen, bestselling author of The Sister
‘How do you support victims of crime when you live with unresolved mysteries of your own? Psychologist Connie Summers is a fascinatingly flesh-and-blood guide through this twisty thriller.’
Louise Candlish, Sunday Times bestselling author of Our House
‘Keeps you guessing right to the end’
Sue Fortin, author of Schoolgirl Missing
‘I read One Little Lie in one greedy gulp. A compelling thriller about the dark side of maternal instinct and love – I couldn’t put it down!’
Isabel Ashdown, author of Beautiful Liars
‘A gripping read which moved at a head-spinning pace … I simply couldn’t put this book down until I reached the dramatic and devastating conclusion.’
Claire Allan, USA Today bestselling author of Her Name Was Rose
‘I was fascinated by the cleverly written threads linking the psychologist, police, criminal and victim. Utterly original and thought provoking … This cries out to be made into a TV series.’
Amanda Robson, Sunday Times bestselling author of Guilt
‘Engrossing psychological suspense about the effect of a murder on the mother of a teenage killer. Sam Carrington had me hooked!’
Emma Curtis, bestselling author of One Little Mistake
Dedication (#u851671db-40b3-55d4-bb96-d23c5449d902)
For Doug
Chill out. You’ll live longer.
Epigraph (#u851671db-40b3-55d4-bb96-d23c5449d902)
Ginger, Ginger broke a winder
Hit the winder – crack!
The baker came out to give ’im a clout
And landed on his back
– 19th-century British nursery rhyme which is believed to have given rise to the childhood prank game Knock, Knock, Ginger (also known as Knock Down, Ginger and other regional variations)
Contents
Cover (#ucf29cafb-2271-51f7-a6b3-68f69be04efb)
Title Page (#u868eab9e-1937-55c7-bfbf-d6894c4d6b81)
Copyright
Praise for Sam Carrington
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue: 1989
Chapter One: 2019: Anna
Chapter Two: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Three: 1989: Bovey Police Station, outskirts of Mapledon
Chapter Four: 2019: Anna
Chapter Five: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Six: 1989: Bovey Police Station
Chapter Seven: 2019: Anna
Chapter Eight: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Nine: 1989: Bovey Police Station
Chapter Ten: 2019: Anna
Chapter Eleven: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Twelve: 1989: Brook Cottage Store, Mapledon
Chapter Thirteen: 2019: Anna
Chapter Fourteen: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Fifteen: 1989: Mapledon
Chapter Sixteen: 2019: Anna
Chapter Seventeen: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Eighteen: 1989: Mapledon
Chapter Nineteen: 2019: Anna
Chapter Twenty: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Twenty-One: 1989: Blackstone Close
Chapter Twenty-Two: 2019: Anna
Chapter Twenty-Three: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Twenty-Four: 1989: Fisher residence
Chapter Twenty-Five: 2019: Anna
Chapter Twenty-Six: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Twenty-Seven: 1989: Hayes residence
Chapter Twenty-Eight: 2019: Anna
Chapter Twenty-Nine: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Thirty: 1989: Blackstone Close
Chapter Thirty-One: 2019: Anna
Chapter Thirty-Two: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Thirty-Three: 1989: Mapledon Church
Chapter Thirty-Four: 2019: Anna
Chapter Thirty-Five: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Thirty-Six: 1989: Blackstone Close
Chapter Thirty-Seven: 2019: Anna
Chapter Thirty-Eight: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Thirty-Nine: 1989: Blackstone Close
Chapter Forty: 2019: Anna
Chapter Forty-One: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Forty-Two: 1989: Mapledon Churchyard
Chapter Forty-Three: 2019: Anna
Chapter Forty-Four: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Forty-Five: 1989: Fisher residence
Chapter Forty-Six: 2019: Anna
Chapter Forty-Seven: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Forty-Eight: 1989: Mapledon Park
Chapter Forty-Nine: 2019: Anna
Chapter Fifty: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Fifty-One: 1989: Brook Cottage Store
Chapter Fifty-Two: 2019: Anna
Chapter Fifty-Three: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Fifty-Four: 1989: Mapledon Primary School
Chapter Fifty-Five: 2019: Anna
Chapter Fifty-Six: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Fifty-Seven: 1989: Mapledon
Chapter Fifty-Eight: 2019: Anna
Chapter Fifty-Nine: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Sixty: 1989: The Plough, Mapledon
Chapter Sixty-One: 2019: Anna
Chapter Sixty-Two: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Sixty-Three: 1989: Hayes residence
Chapter Sixty-Four: 2019: Anna
Chapter Sixty-Five: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Sixty-Six: 1989: Fisher residence
Chapter Sixty-Seven: 2019: Anna
Chapter Sixty-Eight: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Sixty-Nine: 1989: Brook Cottage Store
Chapter Seventy: 2019: Anna
Chapter Seventy-One: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Seventy-Two: 1989: Mapledon Church
Chapter Seventy-Three: 2019: Anna
Chapter Seventy-Four: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Seventy-Five: 1989: Inside Billy’s truck
Chapter Seventy-Six: 2019: Anna
Chapter Seventy-Seven: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Seventy-Eight: 1989: Fisher residence
Chapter Seventy-Nine: 2019: Anna
Chapter Eighty: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Eighty-One: 1989: Fisher residence
Chapter Eighty-Two: 2019: Anna
Chapter Eighty-Three: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Eighty-Four: 1989: The Mapledon Meeting
Chapter Eighty-Five: 2019: Anna
Chapter Eighty-Six: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Eighty-Seven: 1989: En route to Bovey Police Station
Chapter Eighty-Eight: 2019: Anna
Chapter Eighty-Nine: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Ninety: 2019: Eric
Chapter Ninety-One: 2019: Anna
Chapter Ninety-Two: 1989: A roadside in Mapledon
Chapter Ninety-Three: 1989: Fisher residence
Chapter Ninety-Four: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Ninety-Five: 2019: Anna
Chapter Ninety-Six: 1989: Outskirts of Mapledon
Chapter Ninety-Seven: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Ninety-Eight: 2019: Eric
Chapter Ninety-Nine: 2019: Anna
Chapter One Hundred: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter One Hundred and One: 2019: Eric
Chapter One Hundred and Two: 2019: Anna
Chapter One Hundred and Three: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter One Hundred and Four: 1989: Bella
Chapter One Hundred and Five: 2019: Anna
Epilogue: 2019: Mapledon Church
Acknowledgements
Keep Reading …
About the Author
By the Same Author
About the Publisher
Prologue (#u851671db-40b3-55d4-bb96-d23c5449d902)
1989 (#u851671db-40b3-55d4-bb96-d23c5449d902)
‘Go on, Bella – do it now!’ the girl hissed. She slapped both hands over her mouth to prevent her near-hysterical laughter carrying across the man’s garden and alerting him to their presence.
Bella whipped her head around, her golden hair sweeping across her back like a closing curtain, and looked at her friend. ‘I don’t want to.’ Her voice was a broken whisper as tears threatened.
‘Don’t be a baby all your life. It’s just a silly game. He can’t even see you, I promise.’ The girl dared to edge out slightly from her hiding place behind the metal dustbin at the front of the garden, out of direct eye-line of the kitchen window.
The one he was at.
Bella followed her friend’s gaze. The man, his upper body filling the frame, stared out – his eyes like black slits, lost beneath bushy eyebrows.
The girl shrank down lower still. Bella knew her friend didn’t want to be the one caught out. She’d done her dare yesterday and succeeded. It was Bella’s turn now.
‘This is a stupid game,’ Bella said, moving forwards, her shoulders slumped, until she reached the bungalow. She pushed herself flat against the wall; the hard-stippled surface dug into the backs of her bare legs. She stood stock-still – only her eyes moved as she sought out her friend. She glared at her, silently begging to be let off the dare.
‘Creepy Cawley, Creepy Cawley,’ the other girl chanted, her tone hushed but loud enough to send chills down Bella’s spine; her legs began to shake, her fear visible. She wished she’d worn her corduroy trousers now, not the stupid cotton shorts again. It’s just a game, no need to be scared. But, despite trying to calm herself, her mum’s words of warning rang in her ears: You must never go near Mr Cawley. Ever.Do you understand? She’d said the police had been called lots of times because of kids trespassing on his property, annoying him. Terrorising him. Those were the words her mum had used. Bella closed her eyes tight, remembering how her mum had put one hand on her hip, holding the finger of her other hand out, wagging it like a metronome as she spoke in a stern voice: ‘It’s important you listen, Bella. To every word I say.’
Her mum said that one day someone would get hurt.
Bella didn’t want that day to be today, or for her to be the someone getting hurt.
‘You’re almost there! Go on!’
‘But it’s notnice.’ Bella’s voice susurrated through her gritted teeth.
‘Don’t be a chicken. I won’t play with you anymore if you don’t do it.’
Bella’s eyes, glassy with tears, travelled to the door. It was only a few feet away. But it seemed like the longest journey she would ever make.
Taking a deep breath, she lunged and ran, crashing against the door accidentally as her legs turned to jelly. In her fright, she almost bolted without completing the dare, but with her friend’s high-pitched screech hurtling across the garden, shouting, ‘Knock on the door, idiot!’ Bella did as she was told.
Two hard knocks later, her knuckles stinging, she was done.
The two girls ran – squealing with a mixture of exhilaration and terror – out of Creepy Cawley’s garden, out of the cul-de-sac and into the road leading back to their street.
Billy Cawley smiled as he watched their retreat.
They’d be back.
And next time he’d be ready.
Next time, he’d live up to his nickname and give them a real reason to scream.
Chapter One (#u851671db-40b3-55d4-bb96-d23c5449d902)
2019 (#u851671db-40b3-55d4-bb96-d23c5449d902)
Anna (#u851671db-40b3-55d4-bb96-d23c5449d902)
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?’
‘You’re going to be late – I’ll tell you about it tonight.’
She hated herself, lying like that. She should just tell him the truth. Maybe she would later – instead of spinning him a story, she’d sit him down, open up. Finally. He would either accept that she hadn’t been able to talk about it before now, or not. It’d be better to have difficult discussions now, rather than have something come out at a later date and make him even more upset with her for hiding her past.
Dom is a good man. Dom will understand.
Feeling lighter now she’d made the decision to disclose everything later, Lizzie shot up from the bed and launched herself at Dom. He let out a surge of air as she jumped at him, wrapping her legs around his middle.
‘Steady on, girl. You’re not as light as you used to be,’ he said, staggering backwards.
‘Oh, get away with you.’
She kissed him as he pulled her in even tighter, pushing himself into her. He groaned.
‘Now, that would make me really late,’ he whispered. ‘Love you.’
‘And I love you,’ she said, lowering herself from him. ‘See you tonight, babe.’
The silence in the room once Dom left crushed her. She wouldn’t be working today.
Lizzie had to do something constructive; something to release the tension building in her gut. She needed to know where William Cawley was.
She had to find him, before he found her.
Chapter Six (#ulink_e6f179ab-edbb-5295-be15-417e0c412694)
1989 (#ulink_e6f179ab-edbb-5295-be15-417e0c412694)
Bovey Police Station (#ulink_e6f179ab-edbb-5295-be15-417e0c412694)
Friday 21st July
‘So, missy, your mum tells me you saw something that might help us?’
The girl stared down at her trembling hands. She didn’t want to be in the dimly lit, stuffy station, she wanted to be back in her bedroom among her wall-to-wall posters of New Kids on The Block, singing along to her favourite songs on the stereo and dancing. She loved making up dance routines in her bedroom. It was what she’d wanted to do instead of going out. She should never have agreed to play that stupid game again – she should’ve listened to her mother.
She’d listened to her about going to the police, though. She owed it to her mum to do as she was told now. Even if it was too late. ‘You have to do it for your friend,’ she’d said over and over. ‘You need to do it for her.’
‘Yes …’ Her voice shook. She turned her pale face towards her mum, who gave an encouraging smile and a nudge with her elbow. ‘I saw …’
‘Take your time,’ the officer said. His wide eyes told her that he didn’t mean it. He was leaning forward, waiting like an impatient child who wanted their Christmas gift, and wanted it now. She took a deep breath and said the words in her head first; she wanted to get them right. Then she spoke out loud. ‘I saw him lift her up, into the truck. And then he got in too and screeched off down the road – the one going out of Mapledon. She … she shouldn’t have got in.’ The tears strangled her voice box and the words were high-pitched. ‘I don’t know why she got in. I don’t know why she left me.’
Chapter Seven (#ulink_92afcedb-d325-5be5-bde3-2da171259072)
2019 (#ulink_92afcedb-d325-5be5-bde3-2da171259072)
Anna (#ulink_92afcedb-d325-5be5-bde3-2da171259072)
Saturday 13th July
In keeping with the rest of the house, outside and in, Anna’s old bedroom had also remained unchanged. It was as though she’d stepped into a time warp and it unnerved her – especially in the dark shadows her old Pierrot lamp cast. The ancient springs in the single mattress did little to help: digging into her hip bones if she lay on her side; displacing her spine if she lay on her back. She hadn’t settled for hours. Now, as her body refused to bounce youth-like from the bed, she thought it went some way to explaining why her back was so prone to aches and pains now, as an adult. How had she ever put up with this? The floor would’ve given better comfort.
Not stopping to inspect any of her childhood belongings, Anna stretched – her spine giving a loud, satisfying crack – and gingerly made her way downstairs to the kitchen fridge. She needed coffee. Her stomach contracted as she sniffed the milk. She pulled the carton away from her nose with such force some of the putrid contents spilled over.
‘Oh, my God!’ She went quickly to the sink and turned on the tap. With her forearm pressed against her nostrils, she watched as the sour, lumpy liquid glugged down the plughole. Looking at the now empty carton she noted the use-by date was four days ago.
‘Mum, your milk is off!’ Anna shouted. She checked the fridge for fresh milk, but there was none. There wasn’t much of anything. She slammed the fridge door. No coffee to bring her to life first thing was tantamount to hell and she’d never make it through the day. The next hour even. Especially here.
‘Oh, sorry, love.’ Muriel came into the kitchen, her slippers scuffing over the lino. ‘Forgot to get a new carton.’
‘Forgot? But it’s been out of date for days – haven’t you been having cereal, or drinks?’
‘Oh, I just hadn’t got around to getting to the shop, been using the tin of Marvel I had in the cupboard for cups of tea.’
‘You’ve been using powdered milk instead of getting fresh? When did you last use Marvel? I didn’t even know they still made it.’
‘Don’t be silly, dear, of course they do.’
Anna was half-tempted to check the cupboard, see if the tin was also out of date, but was afraid she’d find that it was a decade out, not just days.
‘I’ll take you up the shop, then.’
‘Oh, you don’t need me, do you? You remember where it is, surely?’ Muriel slumped down onto the chair at the dining table.
‘You all right, Mum? You don’t look like you’ve slept.’
‘I look like this every morning. You wouldn’t know, would you?’
Anna let the comment slide; she couldn’t exactly argue otherwise.
‘Do you want to make me a list?’ Anna offered. It occurred to her that her mum might not be taking good enough care of herself – or certainly not eating well, going by her gaunt appearance. Guilt tugged at her conscience; she’d always assumed Muriel was okay living alone in Mapledon – she’d kept it together well after Anna’s father upped and left when she was just eleven. She was fit and healthy, had good friends. But Anna now wondered if that was what she’d wanted to think. It was easier to believe than the alternative. Anything to avoid coming back to this village.
‘Yes, that would be good, thank you.’ Muriel’s voice lifted; her face brightened.
‘When did you go out last?’ Anna frowned. Her mother’s reaction to her offer to go to the shop for her seemed far too enthusiastic. The doll’s head on the door was only yesterday – had other things been going on prior to that to cause her to fear leaving the house?
Muriel waved an arm dismissively. ‘Oh, I can’t remember – only a couple of days ago. Now, the notepad is in the top drawer of the dresser, love.’ Muriel pointed towards the lounge.
‘Right,’ Anna said.
While in the drawer retrieving the notepad, Anna had a rummage. She wasn’t sure what she was even looking for, but she had a niggling feeling. It was filled with old utility bills – thankfully none were red – and old letters. She picked up one of the yellowing envelopes. Black scrawling handwriting covered the front with little room left for the stamp. She squinted, trying to make out the postmark and date.
‘Got it?’ Muriel appeared in the doorway, her voice making Anna jump. She dropped the letter back in the drawer and slid it shut.
‘Yep. Got a pen?’ Anna straightened, hoping her mother hadn’t spotted her nosing through the drawer. Going back into the kitchen she gave Muriel the pad and waited for her to write the list. Her mum’s hands were shaky, the writing spiky and jagged. When she finished, Anna read it through to make sure she could decipher it.
‘Here you go.’ Muriel pushed a small, purple felt purse into Anna’s hand. ‘The cash is in there. Should be enough. Get yourself what you need too, won’t you?’
Anna squeezed the childish-looking purse. It didn’t feel very full. She swallowed down another surge of guilt, avoiding direct eye contact with her mother. For years she’d stayed away from here. From her mum. She’d had her reasons, but now she questioned them.
Sitting in the car, Anna checked the purse. A single five-pound note. The list Muriel had written would cost at least twenty; maybe her mind wasn’t as sharp as it once had been. She hoped it wasn’t anything serious, like dementia. It’s not like Anna would’ve noticed the early warning signs. She’d have to talk to Muriel’s neighbours, see if they had any concerns.
Before setting off, Anna made a phone call.
‘Hey, darling girl. Sorry not to have made it home last night. You okay at your dad’s?’
‘Why are you staying with Nanna? Are you coming home now?’ Her voice quivered.
This, together with Carrie’s avoidance of the question, made Anna’s heart beat harder. James was a good dad, she had never doubted that, but she knew Carrie got anxious when there was a change in her routine. She’d got used to staying with her dad every other weekend, knew what to expect and when. Clearly, she didn’t care for this current disruption.
‘Nanna’s not feeling too good at the moment and needs a little bit of help. I’m going to stay the weekend, but don’t worry – try and enjoy the time with Daddy. What have you two got planned?’
There was a small sigh, then some rustling.
‘Hi, Anna.’
James had obviously been in earshot and taken over the call.
‘Is she all right? She sounds upset with me.’
‘She’s fine, really. You know what she’s like. I’ve got the cinema booked for later – she’ll forget about you abandoning her then.’
‘Really? God, James, you know I wouldn’t have asked you to have her unless it was important!’
‘Yeah, sorry. I know. Anyway, what was so urgent you had to actually go to Mapledon? Didn’t think anything would drag you back there.’
‘I’m not sure what’s going on, actually. I think Mum might be going a bit senile.’
‘Oh, fantastic. Are you sure? What makes you think that?’
‘A few things, but I haven’t got time to talk now really. I have to go to the shop. Look, I think I’m going to be here all weekend. Are you happy to keep Carrie?’
‘Of course. No problem. Stay as long as you need.’
‘Thanks, James. I appreciate it. Not that I want to be here for a second longer than absolutely necessary.’
‘No, I don’t suppose you do.’ There was a pause before he added, ‘Take care there, Anna.’
Coldness spread its icy branches inside her; his words triggering old anxiety, old memories. The ones she didn’t want to let in.
Keeping her gaze forward, Anna walked into Brook Cottage Store – Mapledon’s only shop. Immediately, she was transported back to her childhood. How on earth had it stayed virtually the same for all these years? Anna walked past the pick-and-mix shelves – memories of filling a brown paper bag with penny sweets sweeping through her mind – and headed for the fridges. She quickly moved along the aisles, cramming stuff in her basket as she went. She didn’t want to be in the shop for too long. The longer she was there, the more likely someone might recognise her; stop her and ask unwanted questions.
Anna heard more voices now, the shop suddenly filling up. She checked her phone for the time. Nine a.m. Damn, she hadn’t timed her visit well – the villagers of Mapledon were beginning their day. After checking her mother’s list one last time, Anna popped in a jar of coffee and headed for the checkout. There were two counters with tills. That was different. Back when she was a child, there’d been just the one till and the owner of the shop, Nell Andrews, was always the one behind it. Now it seemed she’d upgraded, although it appeared only the one till was currently in use. Anna assumed Nell must’ve retired. That was something at least. The person serving was probably younger, new. Wouldn’t know who Anna was.
There were several people ahead of her in the queue. Sweat formed on her upper lip. Be quick, hurry up. She tried to keep her head lowered, avoiding eye contact with anyone else. She might well know these people, but she wasn’t interested in them, their lives – wasn’t interested in ‘catching up’ with any of their news. She could hear the low murmur of conversation in front of her. Two women in the line were turned towards each other, baskets touching as they spoke. Anna could hear their supposed hushed chatter.
‘Can you believe it? I never thought I’d see the day.’
‘Everyone is horrified, Ali. The whole village is in shock.’
Anna turned her head, one ear towards the gossiping couple.
‘Her poor mother, though. How the hell must she feel?’
Anna’s heart hammered against her ribs, a sudden sensation of falling overcoming her. She popped her basket on the floor and put her hand on the bread stand to steady herself.
‘Oh, I know. I really feel for them. But surely he won’t come back here?’
‘I don’t think the villagers would allow it. And anyway, there’s nothing for him here.’
‘But what if we see him? Can you imagine if he were to walk into this shop now, or he moved back into that bungalow? It has been standing empty all these years.’
The queue surged forwards and the women stopped talking as they were served. Anna’s saliva had dried, her mouth moistureless. The women could be talking about anyone. Twenty years of things Anna had no clue about had gone on in this village. The likelihood they were talking about that particular event was slim, she convinced herself.
Until she reached the till.
At the side of the counter was the newspaper rack. The same position it had always been. Her eyes were drawn to the headline of the Herald Express.
MAPLEDON MURDERER RELEASED.
The noises in the shop faded. All Anna could see was the newspaper, the bold capital letters boring into her brain.
‘Everyone’s up in arms about it. The whole village.’ A male voice finally penetrated her thoughts.
‘When?’ Anna’s single word was strangled with fear.
‘Four days ago,’ the man said, taking the items from Anna’s basket and scanning them. ‘No one’s spotted him, yet. Mind you, I guess no one knows what he looks like now. But he wouldn’t dare come back here. Mum said he’d be a fool to. She wouldn’t serve him, she said.’
Anna didn’t respond at first, her thoughts crashing against each other, tumbling in her head. She fumbled in her purse and paid for the shopping with her debit card. Looking properly at the man behind the counter, she realised he was Nell Andrews’ son, Robert – his hair had receded, and his face was thinner than she remembered.
‘Has your mum retired?’ Anna asked, not because she was interested, more because she wanted to take a minute or two to recover before attempting to walk out of the shop.
‘God, no. She’ll be here until the end of time. I’ve just been covering – she’s a bit under the weather at the moment. She’ll be back!’ The man gave a wide grin. Anna assumed he hadn’t recognised her and was grateful for this good fortune – a ‘wow, it’s been years’ conversation wasn’t one she wanted now. Or ever. She thanked him and left, his words echoing in her mind: ‘Four days ago. No one’s spotted him yet.’
Four days ago. The same period of time her mother hadn’t left the house.
The vision of Muriel’s front door swam in front of her eyes.
And the doll’s head hammered to it, its relevance now achingly obvious.
Chapter Eight (#ulink_1972f195-759d-599b-a85d-1012e639d48a)
2019 (#ulink_1972f195-759d-599b-a85d-1012e639d48a)
Lizzie (#ulink_1972f195-759d-599b-a85d-1012e639d48a)
All her good intentions of sitting Dom down, telling him about her past, went out of the window with one phone call. Now it would have to wait.
Lizzie shoved her hastily packed bag into the boot of her Vauxhall. She was due to upgrade her poor car, had saved for the last three years, but hadn’t quite been able to part ways with her trusty old friend yet. They’d done a lot of travelling together – she knew every inch of this car, knew how to handle it. Trusted it, despite its obvious failings: the driver’s side window didn’t go fully up or down, had been stuck in a halfway limbo for about a year; the wheel trims had long since been ripped off, and the bumper was practically held on with luck. Dom chided her, begged her to get it seen to, but it wasn’t high on her list of priorities – as far as she was concerned the faults were purely aesthetic. Knowing she was likely to change the car anyway, she’d said it was pointless spending money on it. Then she’d kept stalling on actually looking for a better one.
Some things were hard to let go of.
With an open packet of rhubarb and custard sweets on the passenger seat within easy reach, her travel mug with coffee in the cup holder and the radio on, Lizzie set off. She hoped the butterflies currently swarming her stomach would abate once she pulled onto the motorway. But then, there was a strong chance they might stay with her until this ‘job’ was over.
Singing along to James Blunt’s ‘You’re Beautiful’ as loudly as she could bear, Lizzie attempted to focus on the road instead of her destination – and what she’d find there. Who she’d find there. Within twenty minutes she’d joined the M5 motorway traffic. Now all she had to do was follow the signs to Devon.
Chapter Nine (#ulink_49684e45-de24-521f-93d5-ed8b73d91702)
1989 (#ulink_49684e45-de24-521f-93d5-ed8b73d91702)
Bovey Police Station (#ulink_49684e45-de24-521f-93d5-ed8b73d91702)
Friday 21st July
‘Now, this is important. Tell me exactly what you saw.’
She sat on her hands. They’d begun trembling when the policeman had first started asking questions; now, after what felt like hours, he was still asking her stuff and a funny tingling had filled her belly. Why did she need to go over this? She’d told him again and again. Maybe he didn’t believe her. She’d have to say it in a stronger voice.
‘The truck stopped in front of where we were walking—’
‘Which was Elmore Road,’ he interrupted.
‘Yes, I thi— I mean, yes. It was.’ She mustn’t say ‘think’; it seemed to make her mum and the policeman a bit jumpy. ‘I held back and was going to turn around and take the cut-through to go to the park instead, but before I realised, she’d gone.’
‘Gone to the truck?’
‘Yes. I don’t know why she did that. Why she left me.’ Her eyes stung with fresh tears.
‘And what did this truck look like?’
She was somewhat relieved at being asked this; at least it was a different question to the other ones he’d been constantly getting her to repeat.
‘It was a red one,’ she said with conviction. ‘Dad says those types of trucks are called pickups because they have all that open space at the back to put things in.’
‘And what else? Was there anything else about it you can remember?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She felt confident about this now. ‘It had a yellow stripe all the way across the side. And as it pulled off, it turned so it almost went past me. I couldn’t move. I was scared he was coming for me too.’
‘But he didn’t try and take you?’
‘No, I don’t think so. The truck slowed down, but it didn’t stop. But I did see something weird.’
The policeman sat forward in his chair, his round, ruddy face lighting up. ‘Yes? What was that?’
‘I could see something stuck on the front, on the bit that those red noses for cars go for Comic Relief.’
‘The grille,’ the policeman said as he scribbled in his notebook. ‘But it wasn’t a red nose?’
‘No. I could see a face. It was a doll’s head. Just its head.’
Chapter Ten (#ulink_6d685cf6-8848-5015-b1aa-1c0df6bfee46)
2019 (#ulink_6d685cf6-8848-5015-b1aa-1c0df6bfee46)
Anna (#ulink_6d685cf6-8848-5015-b1aa-1c0df6bfee46)
Saturday 13th July
Pulling up outside her mother’s house again, Anna noted the doll’s head had finally been removed – holes from the nails the only sign something had been there; the only indication she hadn’t imagined it. She wished that had been the case. Because the alternative was far more disturbing.
Anna cautiously entered the house and rested the bag of groceries on the kitchen worktop. She didn’t speak to Muriel; for the moment she was rehearsing the possible permutations of the conversation she needed to have with her mum in her head. It was a difficult subject to broach, and it required thought. The weighing up of the consequences of opening Pandora’s box weren’t only for her mother’s benefit, she too had to be careful. Years’ worth of self-preservation could easily be unravelled with a single poorly worded question.
As Anna slowly stored each item from the carrier bag into the cupboards and fridge, memories forced their way into her consciousness. She squeezed her eyes up tight, an attempt to prevent the images taking root. As she opened them again, she turned to where her mum was sitting. Muriel was staring at her.
‘You heard then,’ Muriel said, her eyes wide, unblinking. ‘The gossips at the shop, no doubt.’ There was a flatness to her tone; resignation.
At least Anna was let off the hook of being the first one to mention it, the first to dredge up the past.
‘Yes. I heard. It was on the front of the paper too.’ She was going to ask if that’s why her mum had immediately called her, as soon as she heard the news. But she hoped, by not embellishing, that Muriel would carry on the conversation without the need for Anna to intervene with questions. Possibly the wrong questions – those that would hurt and upset, rather than those that would help tease out her fears. Although Anna wasn’t sure she was the right one to be doing that, or, in fact, whether she could offer any real support at all. Because her mum’s fears were more than likely the same as her own. How helpful could she be if she was scared shitless too?
‘It could still be a coincidence, or kids thinking it’s funny?’ Muriel said.
‘Yes, it could.’ Anna tried to feel encouraged. ‘Obviously everyone knows the tale – I expect it’s been told to all the children as a warning over the years. Some teenagers are bound to have thought it was funny to pull this kind of prank. Yes, you’re right. Probably harmless fun.’ A false lightness attached itself to her words. It could be kids, it really could.
‘That’s what I was hoping. Of course, that isn’t what I thought when I first saw it. But I talked myself down, eventually. And once you got here, I felt a bit better about it.’
‘Okay then. Look, it’s not ideal that he’s out, but like Robert said, why would he dare come back here?’
‘Nell’s son Robert?’
‘Yes, he was the one who served me.’
‘No Nell this morning, then?’
‘Ill apparently. He said she’d been feeling under the weather.’
Her mother’s gaze turned to the window as she gave a hmmm sound.
‘You think she’s also worried?’
‘What?’ Muriel’s attention snapped back to Anna. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t seen anyone since I heard.’
‘Who told you, then?’
Muriel heaved herself up from the chair and wandered into the living room.
‘Mum?’
‘I got a call, don’t know who it was from.’
‘Really? Well, when?’
‘Four days ago. The day he was released supposedly.’
‘Was it him?’
‘No. No, dear, I think it was probably a journalist or some such person. Anyway, doesn’t matter. It’s how we deal with it, how we move on from here, knowing. Knowing that man is free. Free to do what he bloody well pleases. Can’t believe they let the monster out, can you?’
‘Unfortunately, life rarely means life, Mum. I guess he did his time.’ Anna shrugged. ‘It’s not like they ever found a body even, is it?’
And that had always been the issue; the underlying question the family and villagers had wanted answered.
Where hadhe hidden her body?
Chapter Eleven (#ulink_681dfe7d-0edc-5bc6-ba05-6aaa7d54dc78)
2019 (#ulink_681dfe7d-0edc-5bc6-ba05-6aaa7d54dc78)
Lizzie (#ulink_681dfe7d-0edc-5bc6-ba05-6aaa7d54dc78)
She’d needed the satnav to reach Mapledon. It wasn’t where she remembered it, but that was to be expected; she’d only been a child when she was taken from the village. It was situated south of Dartmoor – with its imposing granite rocks and sprawling moorland – and tucked away in a valley ten miles from the nearest town. What felt like hours of winding lanes, long hills and dense woodlands had passed before she’d finally come to a wider road leading to a sign stating she’d reached Mapledon.
Years of living in other parts of the country had diluted what memories of the place she’d had. Now, driving at a snail’s pace through the centre of the small village, passing a spattering of old thatched-roof cottages, then a few larger, more modern houses, Lizzie’s heart rate soared. So far she hadn’t recognised anything. It wasn’t lack of familiarity that was causing her adrenaline to shoot through her veins, though. It was the thought of what went on here. It was being back. If Dom had known any of her history, he’d have stopped her from leaving. But he didn’t know. Her childhood secrets were hers alone. Well, almost.
There were some other people who knew.
Would they still be here, living in Mapledon?
Would he be here, waiting?
The reason she’d driven all this way was to find out, but now she was here the urge to turn around and leave, go back to her life in Abbingsworth, was so strong she could feel the pull. She should allow herself to be snatched from this place again – she didn’t belong here.
Her foot remained on the accelerator. There was still a part of her – the part that had been in the shadow for years – which couldn’t succumb to the pull. That side of her had to keep going regardless.
Thirty years. She cursed loudly. ‘Fuck this place. It doesn’t define me. That man does not define me.’ She slammed her hands on the steering wheel, an action supporting her determination as she headed to the top of the hill. To the church. It was the first place she decided she’d go – the only landmark she could see. With luck the vicar might be there – he’d know what was going on in his parish. He’d be the best person to start with.
She could do this.
She had to close the book on William Cawley.
Chapter Twelve (#ulink_d1ea2c91-5f92-581e-8ed7-4adda2518b9f)
1989 (#ulink_d1ea2c91-5f92-581e-8ed7-4adda2518b9f)
Brook Cottage Store, Mapledon (#ulink_d1ea2c91-5f92-581e-8ed7-4adda2518b9f)
Thursday 20th July – the day after
Fears grow for missing child
Despite an extensive search of Mapledon and the surrounding area by police and over thirty local villagers, ten-year-old Jonie Hayes has still not been found. She has been missing for almost twenty-four hours and police say they are concerned for her safety. An appeal is due to be launched by Devon and Cornwall Police later today.
‘Such terrible news. I still can’t believe a little ’un could just disappear like that. Not here,’ Nell said, packing the tins into Mrs Percy’s shopping bag on the store counter.
‘We’re in shock. The whole village is.’
‘Well, almost the whole village,’ Muriel said, pushing forward in the queue to interject, her voice lowered conspiratorially.
‘Are you thinking what I am? About … you know who?’ Nell asked. A few other customers joined the women, even though they weren’t in the queue themselves.
‘Well, you can’t help but consider it, can you? I mean, after what happened to his little girl …’ Muriel raised one eyebrow in a high arc and stood back a little from the gathering villagers. ‘I’m just saying – I mean he wasn’t even out last night helping search for Jonie with all the others, was he? Wouldn’t surprise me if he had something to do with it, is all.’ She tilted her chin up.
‘We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. It’s not helpful, Muriel.’ A voice came from behind her, causing her to start. Muriel spun around to face Reverend Farnley.
‘I’m not one to do that, Reverend.’ She kept her gaze steady. ‘Have you seen him over the last few days?’
‘Muriel. Please. Gossip is a tool of the devil. Be careful, now.’
‘It’s not gossip if it’s true, Reverend. And I didn’t even mention his name, but you knew who we were referring to …’ Muriel pursed her lips.
‘Now I think of it, I haven’t seen him, you’re right,’ Nell piped up in Muriel’s defence, before the red-faced vicar could respond. ‘Whilst it’s not helpful to gossip, it would be wrong to dismiss something that might actually be key. A little girl’s life is at stake, after all.’
‘There’s no evidence to suggest she’s been taken, ladies, or that her life is in danger; she could merely be lost,’ Reverend Farnley said. ‘Anyway, I’m sure the police have a good handle on things. We should leave them to their job. But we can pray for young Jonie’s safe return – put our faith in the Lord.’
Muriel turned away from the Reverend, directing the rolling of her eyes and small shake of her head to Nell and the remaining group of women. She’d been brought up to be God-fearing; however, some situations required a helping hand from those on earth. In Muriel’s opinion, God could only do so much and putting all your faith in Him was a mistake. Surely, He’d want His children to sort their own mess out occasionally.
After a few polite statements the conversation turned to the Mapledon Meeting and Reverend Farnley took his leave. Muriel and Nell took turns to head the monthly get-together, the venue alternating between their houses. It normally took place on the last Thursday of each month; however, they’d brought it forward this time – both having agreed it was somewhat of an ‘emergency meeting’. A small, select group of female villagers attended, usually twelve, but sometimes more if there was something pressing to discuss. Like now. Admittedly, this was one of the most pressing topics that had ever faced the group – although there’d been other challenging ones, Jonie Hayes’ disappearance was the worst. The mothers of the group in particular were very concerned and would need support and reassurance.
‘See you at seven-thirty sharp, Nell. I’ll make sure I put out extra nibbles – it’s going to be a busy one.’
Chapter Thirteen (#ulink_eb2b700a-be01-592f-9c26-e545f0754c03)
2019 (#ulink_eb2b700a-be01-592f-9c26-e545f0754c03)
Anna (#ulink_eb2b700a-be01-592f-9c26-e545f0754c03)
Saturday 13th July
‘Hiding in here, worrying, isn’t very productive.’ Anna lowered the curtain, moving away from the lounge window to face Muriel. Since her disclosure she’d been quiet, barely speaking. Instead, she’d watched daytime TV, a blank look plastered on her face. Anna knew if she couldn’t put her mother’s mind at ease – if she couldn’t confidently tell her that the doll’s head was nothing to do with Billy Cawley – this would drag on; hang over their heads for the foreseeable future. Anna did not want to spend more time in Mapledon. Maybe she’d have to persuade her mum to move nearer to her and Carrie in Bristol.
‘What do you propose I do? March around the village accusing the local kids of trespass, criminal damage?’
‘Well, no. Although going to the police with your suspicions would be a start.’
‘I told you, Anna – I’m not going to the police.’ She looked past Anna, into the distance. ‘That’ll make matters worse.’
‘For who? The kids? That’s the idea, Mum. And if it isn’t the kids …’
‘It’ll be him,’ Muriel said.
‘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.
Of course, they would end up there, though. They usually did – even during term-time. Now they’d broken up from school, she knew it’d be where Jonie would want to go for the next six weeks. Jonie put up her usual convincing argument so they’d do what she wanted them to do. Said that it was more fun to goad Creepy Cawley than to waste the summer staying in playing stupid Barbieor watching TV. Bella had failed to impress her friend with her entertainment ideas. She’d wanted to make up some dance routines – ones like they’d been doing in PE at school. Miss Hanson had told Bella that she had “flair”, whatever that meant. But she knew it was good. She didn’t receive many compliments, so this was something she’d taken on board and wanted to build on during the holiday. She, Bella, was actually good at something.
‘Come on, then. I’ve found a way through the back of the close, so he won’t see us coming,’ Jonie said, her eyes wide with excitement. Bella forced a smile. She didn’t get why Jonie thought it was so thrilling to knock on someone’s door and run away. It was childish. And pretty stupid. She couldn’t tell Jonie that, though.
A few minutes later, they were squeezing through a small gap at the bottom of some bushes at the back of Blackstone Close. Jonie got through first and helped drag Bella through. The twigs scraped at her bare legs.
‘Ouch! Mind.’
‘Shh, Bella. Someone will hear us.’ Jonie looked down at Bella’s legs and tutted.
Bella rubbed at them. If she ripped her shorts, her mum would be mad. She hoped they wouldn’t go back through the bushes when they were done.
They crouched down, across from the bungalow.
‘What are we waiting for?’ Bella asked, wishing she were anywhere but there.
‘Well, we need to make sure he isn’t watching before we go in, don’t we?’ Jonie shook her head. She had a way of making Bella feel stupid, shutting down anything she said immediately.
‘Yes, course,’ Bella said, as though she knew that.
Bella stared at Creepy Cawley’s bungalow, silently praying he wasn’t in. But his truck was in the driveway, so he probably was. Her stomach churned, a thousand butterflies flitting around inside it. Her legs began to cramp in their crouching position. She was too afraid to tell Jonie; she’d have to put up with the pain.
‘So weird, isn’t it – having all those bits of dolls everywhere?’
It was weird. But then, that was why he’d got the nickname Creepy Cawley. That, and the way he looked: his straggly long hair, dirty clothes, dead-looking black eyes that stared right through you. Bella shuddered.
‘Yeah, why doesn’t he tidy it all up?’
‘Mum says it’s because he’s lost everything. She says he can’t be bothered with himself, or the bungalow, anymore.’
‘My mum said it was because he was a pee-da-something. That he lured kids there and did bad stuff to them.’ Bella swallowed hard. ‘Which is why we shouldn’t be here, Jonie. It’s dangerous.’ She’d said it in no more than a whisper – not wanting to go against what Jonie wanted. But she had to say something. She didn’t want to do this.
‘Nah – your mum doesn’t know what she’s talking about. It’s not dangerous. It’s funny! Everyone does it. I heard Adam telling Nicky at school that him and John had knocked on his door dozens of times, and the worst that happened is Creepy Cawley chased them.’
‘Oh.’ Bella thought that was bad. Adam and John were quick, Bella was not – she always came last in the sprint races at school. What if he chased after them and caught them? What then?
‘Right, I think it’s clear. Let’s go.’ Jonie was up and running across to the bungalow.
Bella watched as Jonie ducked behind the dustbin just inside Creepy Cawley’s driveway. She frantically waved an arm towards Bella.
If she thought this was it – the only time they’d do this – she’d feel a bit better. She’d even be okay about it if they actually knocked on someone else’s door for a change. But Jonie had already told her they’d have to come again tomorrow, so they both had a turn at knocking on his door. It was only fair, Jonie had said.
Being Jonie’s friend was hard work, Bella thought, before taking a deep breath and following – just as she always did.
Chapter Nineteen (#ulink_1011e152-ca3e-5cf2-a910-27c7b0ace9c1)
2019 (#ulink_1011e152-ca3e-5cf2-a910-27c7b0ace9c1)
Anna (#ulink_1011e152-ca3e-5cf2-a910-27c7b0ace9c1)
Saturday 13th July
The two of them fell into an awkward silence, both standing motionless outside Billy Cawley’s run-down bungalow, neither looking the other in the eye. Anna lowered her chin, balling her hands up inside her hoody pockets. They’d all been so close, once. Muriel and Tina were best friends – they’d both been young mothers, as were their mothers before them, so they had a lot in common. That’s why Anna had always called her ‘Auntie’ Tina. It was a thing they did back then – the mothers’ good friends were always known to their kids’ friends as Auntie. It was inevitable Anna and Jonie would also be best friends. Obvious to the mothers, anyway. In reality, they weren’t destined to be close. They’d been too different: the balance was never right. But as their parents spent so much time together, they’d both taken it as something that just had to be.
‘I haven’t seen Muriel out and about in a while. She well?’ Tina broke the silence first.
Anna gave a shrug. ‘She’s okay, I guess.’ She didn’t want to give anything away – not just yet. Anna needed to delve a bit more before mentioning the doll’s head and Muriel’s strange behaviour since. She wondered if Tina and Muriel still spoke. After Jonie went missing their relationship had faltered – so her mum had told her once after one too many sherries. Muriel had never talked about what happened, how things had been in Mapledon afterwards, and Anna had never wanted to bring it up herself, so the memories faded. The aftermath had been bad, affecting the whole community – she knew that – but couldn’t recall any specific repercussions.
But she knew everythinghad changed when Jonie Hayes was taken.
‘Maybe we should all get together for a coffee while you’re here?’ Tina said.
Anna raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t been expecting that. Tina’s sudden invite felt forced, like it’d been offered out of necessity. Tina wanted something, she could tell. Had she also been targeted with a doll’s head on her door and now wanted, or needed, to talk to her old friend about it? They might not be close anymore, but maybe their shared past – the inexplicable thing that had happened – was more than enough to break down the barriers that had been built during the subsequent years.
‘Yeah, sure. Pop over tomorrow morning. If you aren’t going to church that is. Mum will be thrilled to see you,’ Anna said, although her sentiments may well have been exaggerated. Who knew if Muriel would be thrilled? God only knew what had been going on here over the years Anna had been away.
Tina snorted. ‘I don’t go to church anymore, haven’t done since …’ She shook her head. ‘There is no God. I’ll be over at ten.’ Tina gave a curt nod and walked off, back down the cul-de-sac. Anna watched her disappear around the corner before returning her attention to the bungalow. There was a reason Tina wanted to have this ‘get-together’ – the obvious one being Billy Cawley’s release. But a prickling on the back of Anna’s neck told her there was more to it than that.
Reassured for the moment that Billy Cawley had not returned to live in the bungalow in Blackstone Close, Anna turned her back on it and walked on. She wished she’d turned her back on it thirty years ago, too. Before the chain reaction of events following that game had become fatal. It seemed Anna’s life had been filled with what ifs and if onlys.
The church came into sight almost immediately once she’d joined the main street – its limestone-rendered tower visible through the trees. She’d walk as far as the church, checking the outside of every house as she went, then return to her mum’s via the road that branched off to the left, near the village hall. That way, she’d have done a circuit of Mapledon. Her hopes of finding something ‘out of place’ were fading, though. It might be that a more direct approach would be necessary – asking outright if anyone had experienced something out of the ordinary over the past few days. Anna thought Robert, at Brook Cottage Store, might be a good person to ask. For now, she’d continue the walk. If nothing else, it was keeping her out of her mother’s hair for a bit longer.
As Anna reached the top of the village and approached the church, she spotted a woman coming out of the wooden-gated entrance. She didn’t recognise her, although she didn’t look much different in age to Anna. Someone she went to school with? She kept her attention on the figure for a few seconds too long, garnering a strange look in response.
‘Hi,’ Anna said, deciding it would make the moment less awkward now she’d been caught staring.
‘All right?’ The woman gave a quick, tight smile, hesitating at the church gate as though she didn’t know quite what to do. Anna took her indecision and obvious discomfort as a sign of guilt. Had she stolen something from the church? Maybe she wasn’t from around here at all, was some kind of chancer. Anna took a few steps towards her. The woman didn’t have anything with her, not even a bag. Her T-shirt was tight-fitting – so no stolen goods could be squirrelled away beneath it. She had various tattoos on both arms, a piercing under her bottom lip. As she looked at her face, Anna noted her eyes were red as though she’d been crying, and she suddenly felt appalled at herself for jumping to conclusions. Clearly she was upset – had probably just visited a grave.
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to stare – just thought I recognised you,’ Anna lied.
‘No. I doubt that,’ the woman said. She made no attempt to move past Anna. She took it as a signal to continue.
‘Not many people come to Mapledon,’ Anna said. ‘Not if they want to leave again.’ She gave a laugh, hoping this woman would take her comment as the joke she intended. Well, an almost-joke. There might well be a grain of truth in her statement.
The woman smiled – it appeared to be a genuine one. ‘Yeah, I heard that about this place.’ She reached a hand forwards. ‘Lizzie Brenfield,’ she said.
‘Well, hello, Lizzie.’ Anna took her hand, shaking it gently before releasing it. ‘I’m Anna. I’m the one that got away.’ She smiled before adding, ‘Although I appear to have been dragged back.’
Lizzie cocked her head to one side. ‘Well, that makes two of us.’
Chapter Twenty (#ulink_3a6a4190-1e09-502c-b81c-7684e3f2b078)
2019 (#ulink_3a6a4190-1e09-502c-b81c-7684e3f2b078)
Lizzie (#ulink_3a6a4190-1e09-502c-b81c-7684e3f2b078)
The Lord moveth in mysterious ways, Lizzie thought as she took a step back from Anna to make a quick appraisal of the situation. A moment ago she’d believed her trip here would ultimately be fruitless, but now it seemed she’d been thrown a lifeline. Whoever Anna was, whatever her reason for being here, she too appeared to have a similar feeling about Mapledon. Lizzie’s journalistic mind kicked in. There could even be a story here. One that wasn’t hers.
‘You from here originally then, Anna?’ Lizzie wondered why she hadn’t offered up her surname. She’d have to work a little harder.
‘Yep. For my sins.’
Lizzie arched one eyebrow. Interesting phrasing. She tried to think quickly. She didn’t want to waste this opportunity to find out more about Mapledon’s current goings-on, but then she also didn’t want to launch into a million questions and frighten Anna off.
‘Mapledon doesn’t appear to be high on either of our “best places to visit in Devon list” by the sounds of things.’
‘God, no!’ Anna said loudly. Lizzie observed Anna’s quick glance towards the church and subsequent sign of the cross, which she jabbed out over her chest.
‘Don’t worry,’ Lizzie whispered, leaning forwards, ‘I don’t think He heard you.’
‘You never can be too careful though, eh?’
Lizzie felt an immediate bond with Anna – as though they had something in common: a shared history. Maybe they did.
‘No, you can’t. Especially here in Mapledon,’ Lizzie said, nudging Anna with her elbow. She meant it in jest, but her voice hadn’t received that message. ‘Just joking,’ she added quickly.
‘Actually, Lizzie, you’re not far from the truth. Want to walk with me? Or do you have to be somewhere else?’
Lizzie sensed Anna wanted to be away from the church, away from the possibility of being overheard before talking more. This was good news – it meant she knew something, and more importantly, wanted to tell her about it. Perhaps her luck was about to turn.
Chapter Twenty-One (#ulink_46cb08c6-c2bd-5bfd-9d5a-96db2d8f7565)
1989 (#ulink_46cb08c6-c2bd-5bfd-9d5a-96db2d8f7565)
Blackstone Close (#ulink_46cb08c6-c2bd-5bfd-9d5a-96db2d8f7565)
Monday 17th July – 2 days before
When would the little shits let him be?
Billy Cawley saw the shadows, heard the scurrying of feet and the giggles just moments before the banging on the front door. He was tired. So bloody tired of it all. He’d lost count of how many months he’d been hounded by the kids.
Kids. Part of him wanted to let it go – they didn’t know any better. But he couldn’t. They should know better. Their parents should be teaching them better. Did they even know where their bratty children were? What they were up to? And the people of Mapledon had dared to give him a hard time about his parenting. Fucking cheek. They all needed to be taught a lesson. He’d begun chasing the kids out of the cul-de-sac – running after them, shouting like a madman. He’d almost got hold of one lad just last week, but now that he wasn’t keeping himself as fit, having given up on the gym after … Well, after life had turned to total shit, he didn’t have the stamina.
Christ – twenty-five years old and already being outrun by kids. Mind you, not only didn’t he have the body or fitness of a twenty-five-year-old, he didn’t have the face of one either. That was evident when he overheard the taunts, the whispers and nicknames whenever he ventured out of his comfort zone of the bungalow – ‘Old Man Cawley’, ‘Creepy Cawley’ and the like. He had had worse nicknames though – some of the more cruel, unfounded things people said really boiled his piss. But he no longer had the motivation, the desire to look good or worry unduly about what the folk of Mapledon said about him. There was no one to impress now. Not now they’d taken everything from him.
A loud crash at the kitchen window startled him.
‘Bastards!’ He rushed to the door, flinging it open in time to see two boys hare down the road. He’d never catch up with them. Billy strode outside, stepping over all the crap in his garden. He kicked a doll’s head hard, sending it flying through the air. It landed by his truck, then rolled awkwardly behind the back tyre. He walked around to the kitchen window, and on inspection of the ground he found a large stone. He picked it up; it was pretty weighty – he was amazed it hadn’t gone right through the glass. None of the kids had done more than play Knock, Knock, Ginger before. It seemed they were getting braver.
Maybe it was time for him to do the same.
Chapter Twenty-Two (#ulink_d11e10b4-30ec-5f67-8f07-ab39bc9d3f9d)
2019 (#ulink_d11e10b4-30ec-5f67-8f07-ab39bc9d3f9d)
Anna (#ulink_d11e10b4-30ec-5f67-8f07-ab39bc9d3f9d)
Saturday 13th July
She was taking a leap of faith. Anna had no clue who Lizzie was, what she wanted – but, like her, she’d come to Mapledon for a reason. Anna wanted to ask so many questions, but also wanted to tread with caution. She needed to get Lizzie away from the church: she didn’t want to be seen by any nosy villagers. Being back in this place was bad enough, being recognised even worse – but to also be caught talking to an outsider – well, that would be punishable by death. Despite knowing that to be an exaggeration, Anna did know it was the one thing the tight-knit villagers of Mapledon feared the most. Although, at this point, just because Anna didn’t recognise the woman, or her name, it didn’t mean she didn’t have family ties here, so perhaps she was being too quick to label her as an outsider. The irony that she was acting just like a Mapledon villager herself wasn’t lost.
Only one way of finding out.
‘So, Lizzie – you visiting family too?’ Anna turned to face Lizzie as they walked, wanting to gauge her reaction.
‘Kinda, yes. No. Well, maybe …’ Lizzie stuttered.
That solved that, then. Anna inwardly sighed. How could she proceed from there?
Anna guided Lizzie around the corner of Edgelands Lane, the small primary school coming into sight. Lizzie stopped walking, appearing to freeze to the spot.
‘What’s the matter?’ Anna asked.
‘Nothing, sorry.’ She began walking again, her head bowed. ‘Why did you say Mapledon had dragged you back, Anna?’
‘It was only a turn of phrase, I guess. I just meant that it’d taken years to escape it – and its small-village mentality – and I never had the inclination to return once I’d left. But, with my mother still living here, well, it’s like I can’t quite rid myself of the place yet. While I still have her, I suppose it was inevitable that one day I’d need to come back here. And it seems yesterday was that day.’
‘Is she ill, your mother?’
‘I think she’s showing some early signs of dementia.’ Anna was surprised at herself for telling Lizzie. But then she always had found it easier to talk to someone outside of the family, someone who didn’t know the people involved; couldn’t judge.
‘Ah. I’m sorry. It’s a terrible thing watching the person you love become less like the person you’ve known all your life, I’m sure. Nice that you’re here for her though. Are you the only child?’
‘Yep. It’s all on me. My mum and dad separated years ago, so Mum only has her neighbours and the other villagers to look out for her. You never really prepare yourself for a parent to deteriorate, to die – do you?’ Anna gave a half-smile. Lizzie’s skin had paled, and immediately Anna realised she’d put her foot in it. Shit. Lizzie had been coming out of the churchyard – what was the betting she’d been visiting the grave of one of her parents? Maybe even both. That would explain her odd ‘kinda, yes, no,’ response when she’d asked if she was visiting family. ‘I’m sorry, Lizzie – I …’ she faltered.
‘It’s fine. Really. And no, you’re right, you don’t prepare yourself – even in later years.’ Lizzie dropped her gaze. ‘But you especially don’t prepare when you’re just seven years old when it happens. How could a child ever envisage something happening to her parents?’
Oh, God. Anna flinched. ‘How terrible,’ she said, now wishing she hadn’t begun this line of conversation. Anna had never been very good with other people’s grief, and today she’d overdosed on it. As much as she wanted to move the conversation on to a brighter topic, she knew she’d opened this poor woman’s wound now, so had no option but to watch the blood flow out. ‘What happened?’
Anna’s question was met with silence. They carried on walking, side by side – Anna led them past Major’s Farm and along Langway Road, making sure to give a passing glance to each property, checking if anything unusual adorned their doors. They were almost at the turn that would take Anna back home when Lizzie finally spoke again.
‘Cancer,’ she said. ‘My mother died of cervical cancer. She was only twenty-four.’
‘I’m so sorry, Lizzie. That’s shocking. It must’ve turned your world upside down.’ Anna truly felt terrible for this woman – to have had such a young mother, then lose her. Her life must’ve changed dramatically afterwards. No doubt Lizzie had a long, probably painful story to tell, but Anna realised they were getting closer to Muriel’s road now and she didn’t really want to invite a stranger in. ‘Er … I’m going to have to head back, actually. Mum will be anxious – I’ve been longer than I thought.’
‘’Course. Sure.’ Lizzie looked around her, like she was lost. Of course. She’d dragged the poor woman quite a way from where her car was parked, through winding lanes. She was probably wondering how to get back to it.
‘If you go left here it’ll take you back onto the main road of Mapledon, then hook another left, back up the hill.’ Anna smiled.
‘Good, thanks. Oh, Anna – er … I have no place to stay, actually … so …’
‘Oh.’ Anna panicked for a moment, thinking Lizzie was angling to stay with her. Surely she wouldn’t ask that of someone she’d just met? She hesitated before remembering the B&B on the edge of Mapledon. ‘Have you checked out Bulleigh Barton? It’s a beautiful place, rolling hillsides, quiet. I almost checked in myself rather than stay at my mother’s! There’s a leaflet for it in the shop window. It’ll have their phone number – you’ll see it when you head up the hill.’
‘Great. I’d kinda left without any plan, really. And this didn’t appear to be a place where I could get a cheap Airbnb deal,’ Lizzie said.
‘No, I guess it doesn’t. There’s literally just that one place within ten miles, I think. Not many visitors to Mapledon …’
‘Not if they want to leave again, right?’ Lizzie said, unsmiling. The intensity in her eyes made Anna shiver.
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)
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.’
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Sam Carrington
AN INNOCENT GAME. A SHOCKING CRIME. A COMMUNITY FULL OF SECRETS. Mapledon, 1989Two little girls were out playing a game of dares. Only one returned home. The ten-year-old told police what she saw: village loner Bill ‘Creepy’ Cawley dragged her friend into his truck and disappeared. No body was found, but her testimony sent Cawley to prison for murder. An open and shut case, the right man behind bars. The village could sleep safe once again. Now…Anna thought she had left Mapledon and her nightmares behind but a distraught phone call brings her back to face her past. 30 years ago, someone lied. 30 years ago, the man convicted wasn’t the only guilty party. Now he’s out of prison and looking for revenge. The question is, who will he start with? Praise for Sam Carrington ‘Engrossing psychological suspense … it had me hooked!’ Emma Curtis, bestselling author of The Night You Left ‘Expertly written … with plentiful twists and unforgettable characters. ’ Caroline Mitchell, bestselling author of Silent Victim and The Secret Child ‘A pacy read, packed with surprises. Will keep you on your toes. ’ Jane Corry, bestselling author of I Looked Away and My Husband’s Wife
I DARE YOU
Sam Carrington
Copyright (#u851671db-40b3-55d4-bb96-d23c5449d902)
Published by AVON
A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Copyright © Sam Carrington 2019
Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com (http://www.Shutterstock.com)
Sam Carrington asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008331375
Ebook Edition © December 2019 ISBN: 9780008331382
Version: 2019-10-18
PRAISE FOR SAM CARRINGTON (#u851671db-40b3-55d4-bb96-d23c5449d902)
‘Sam Carrington has done it again. One Little Lie is a twisty, gripping read. I loved it.’
Cass Green, bestselling author of In a Cottage In a Wood
‘Expertly written … with plentiful twists and unforgettable characters. An insightful and unnerving read.’
Caroline Mitchell, bestselling author of Silent Victim
‘A kick-ass page turner … I was knocked senseless by the awesome twist.’
John Marrs, #1 bestselling author of The One
‘I LOVED Bad Sister. Tense, convincing and complex, it kept me guessing (wrongly!)’
Caz Frear, bestselling author of Sweet Little Lies
‘This book is not only gripping, but it explores the mother/daughter relationship perfectly, and ends with a gasp-out-loud twist’
Closer
‘I devoured this story in one sitting!’
Louise Jensen, bestselling author of The Sister
‘How do you support victims of crime when you live with unresolved mysteries of your own? Psychologist Connie Summers is a fascinatingly flesh-and-blood guide through this twisty thriller.’
Louise Candlish, Sunday Times bestselling author of Our House
‘Keeps you guessing right to the end’
Sue Fortin, author of Schoolgirl Missing
‘I read One Little Lie in one greedy gulp. A compelling thriller about the dark side of maternal instinct and love – I couldn’t put it down!’
Isabel Ashdown, author of Beautiful Liars
‘A gripping read which moved at a head-spinning pace … I simply couldn’t put this book down until I reached the dramatic and devastating conclusion.’
Claire Allan, USA Today bestselling author of Her Name Was Rose
‘I was fascinated by the cleverly written threads linking the psychologist, police, criminal and victim. Utterly original and thought provoking … This cries out to be made into a TV series.’
Amanda Robson, Sunday Times bestselling author of Guilt
‘Engrossing psychological suspense about the effect of a murder on the mother of a teenage killer. Sam Carrington had me hooked!’
Emma Curtis, bestselling author of One Little Mistake
Dedication (#u851671db-40b3-55d4-bb96-d23c5449d902)
For Doug
Chill out. You’ll live longer.
Epigraph (#u851671db-40b3-55d4-bb96-d23c5449d902)
Ginger, Ginger broke a winder
Hit the winder – crack!
The baker came out to give ’im a clout
And landed on his back
– 19th-century British nursery rhyme which is believed to have given rise to the childhood prank game Knock, Knock, Ginger (also known as Knock Down, Ginger and other regional variations)
Contents
Cover (#ucf29cafb-2271-51f7-a6b3-68f69be04efb)
Title Page (#u868eab9e-1937-55c7-bfbf-d6894c4d6b81)
Copyright
Praise for Sam Carrington
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue: 1989
Chapter One: 2019: Anna
Chapter Two: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Three: 1989: Bovey Police Station, outskirts of Mapledon
Chapter Four: 2019: Anna
Chapter Five: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Six: 1989: Bovey Police Station
Chapter Seven: 2019: Anna
Chapter Eight: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Nine: 1989: Bovey Police Station
Chapter Ten: 2019: Anna
Chapter Eleven: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Twelve: 1989: Brook Cottage Store, Mapledon
Chapter Thirteen: 2019: Anna
Chapter Fourteen: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Fifteen: 1989: Mapledon
Chapter Sixteen: 2019: Anna
Chapter Seventeen: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Eighteen: 1989: Mapledon
Chapter Nineteen: 2019: Anna
Chapter Twenty: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Twenty-One: 1989: Blackstone Close
Chapter Twenty-Two: 2019: Anna
Chapter Twenty-Three: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Twenty-Four: 1989: Fisher residence
Chapter Twenty-Five: 2019: Anna
Chapter Twenty-Six: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Twenty-Seven: 1989: Hayes residence
Chapter Twenty-Eight: 2019: Anna
Chapter Twenty-Nine: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Thirty: 1989: Blackstone Close
Chapter Thirty-One: 2019: Anna
Chapter Thirty-Two: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Thirty-Three: 1989: Mapledon Church
Chapter Thirty-Four: 2019: Anna
Chapter Thirty-Five: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Thirty-Six: 1989: Blackstone Close
Chapter Thirty-Seven: 2019: Anna
Chapter Thirty-Eight: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Thirty-Nine: 1989: Blackstone Close
Chapter Forty: 2019: Anna
Chapter Forty-One: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Forty-Two: 1989: Mapledon Churchyard
Chapter Forty-Three: 2019: Anna
Chapter Forty-Four: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Forty-Five: 1989: Fisher residence
Chapter Forty-Six: 2019: Anna
Chapter Forty-Seven: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Forty-Eight: 1989: Mapledon Park
Chapter Forty-Nine: 2019: Anna
Chapter Fifty: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Fifty-One: 1989: Brook Cottage Store
Chapter Fifty-Two: 2019: Anna
Chapter Fifty-Three: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Fifty-Four: 1989: Mapledon Primary School
Chapter Fifty-Five: 2019: Anna
Chapter Fifty-Six: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Fifty-Seven: 1989: Mapledon
Chapter Fifty-Eight: 2019: Anna
Chapter Fifty-Nine: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Sixty: 1989: The Plough, Mapledon
Chapter Sixty-One: 2019: Anna
Chapter Sixty-Two: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Sixty-Three: 1989: Hayes residence
Chapter Sixty-Four: 2019: Anna
Chapter Sixty-Five: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Sixty-Six: 1989: Fisher residence
Chapter Sixty-Seven: 2019: Anna
Chapter Sixty-Eight: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Sixty-Nine: 1989: Brook Cottage Store
Chapter Seventy: 2019: Anna
Chapter Seventy-One: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Seventy-Two: 1989: Mapledon Church
Chapter Seventy-Three: 2019: Anna
Chapter Seventy-Four: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Seventy-Five: 1989: Inside Billy’s truck
Chapter Seventy-Six: 2019: Anna
Chapter Seventy-Seven: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Seventy-Eight: 1989: Fisher residence
Chapter Seventy-Nine: 2019: Anna
Chapter Eighty: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Eighty-One: 1989: Fisher residence
Chapter Eighty-Two: 2019: Anna
Chapter Eighty-Three: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Eighty-Four: 1989: The Mapledon Meeting
Chapter Eighty-Five: 2019: Anna
Chapter Eighty-Six: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Eighty-Seven: 1989: En route to Bovey Police Station
Chapter Eighty-Eight: 2019: Anna
Chapter Eighty-Nine: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Ninety: 2019: Eric
Chapter Ninety-One: 2019: Anna
Chapter Ninety-Two: 1989: A roadside in Mapledon
Chapter Ninety-Three: 1989: Fisher residence
Chapter Ninety-Four: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Ninety-Five: 2019: Anna
Chapter Ninety-Six: 1989: Outskirts of Mapledon
Chapter Ninety-Seven: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter Ninety-Eight: 2019: Eric
Chapter Ninety-Nine: 2019: Anna
Chapter One Hundred: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter One Hundred and One: 2019: Eric
Chapter One Hundred and Two: 2019: Anna
Chapter One Hundred and Three: 2019: Lizzie
Chapter One Hundred and Four: 1989: Bella
Chapter One Hundred and Five: 2019: Anna
Epilogue: 2019: Mapledon Church
Acknowledgements
Keep Reading …
About the Author
By the Same Author
About the Publisher
Prologue (#u851671db-40b3-55d4-bb96-d23c5449d902)
1989 (#u851671db-40b3-55d4-bb96-d23c5449d902)
‘Go on, Bella – do it now!’ the girl hissed. She slapped both hands over her mouth to prevent her near-hysterical laughter carrying across the man’s garden and alerting him to their presence.
Bella whipped her head around, her golden hair sweeping across her back like a closing curtain, and looked at her friend. ‘I don’t want to.’ Her voice was a broken whisper as tears threatened.
‘Don’t be a baby all your life. It’s just a silly game. He can’t even see you, I promise.’ The girl dared to edge out slightly from her hiding place behind the metal dustbin at the front of the garden, out of direct eye-line of the kitchen window.
The one he was at.
Bella followed her friend’s gaze. The man, his upper body filling the frame, stared out – his eyes like black slits, lost beneath bushy eyebrows.
The girl shrank down lower still. Bella knew her friend didn’t want to be the one caught out. She’d done her dare yesterday and succeeded. It was Bella’s turn now.
‘This is a stupid game,’ Bella said, moving forwards, her shoulders slumped, until she reached the bungalow. She pushed herself flat against the wall; the hard-stippled surface dug into the backs of her bare legs. She stood stock-still – only her eyes moved as she sought out her friend. She glared at her, silently begging to be let off the dare.
‘Creepy Cawley, Creepy Cawley,’ the other girl chanted, her tone hushed but loud enough to send chills down Bella’s spine; her legs began to shake, her fear visible. She wished she’d worn her corduroy trousers now, not the stupid cotton shorts again. It’s just a game, no need to be scared. But, despite trying to calm herself, her mum’s words of warning rang in her ears: You must never go near Mr Cawley. Ever.Do you understand? She’d said the police had been called lots of times because of kids trespassing on his property, annoying him. Terrorising him. Those were the words her mum had used. Bella closed her eyes tight, remembering how her mum had put one hand on her hip, holding the finger of her other hand out, wagging it like a metronome as she spoke in a stern voice: ‘It’s important you listen, Bella. To every word I say.’
Her mum said that one day someone would get hurt.
Bella didn’t want that day to be today, or for her to be the someone getting hurt.
‘You’re almost there! Go on!’
‘But it’s notnice.’ Bella’s voice susurrated through her gritted teeth.
‘Don’t be a chicken. I won’t play with you anymore if you don’t do it.’
Bella’s eyes, glassy with tears, travelled to the door. It was only a few feet away. But it seemed like the longest journey she would ever make.
Taking a deep breath, she lunged and ran, crashing against the door accidentally as her legs turned to jelly. In her fright, she almost bolted without completing the dare, but with her friend’s high-pitched screech hurtling across the garden, shouting, ‘Knock on the door, idiot!’ Bella did as she was told.
Two hard knocks later, her knuckles stinging, she was done.
The two girls ran – squealing with a mixture of exhilaration and terror – out of Creepy Cawley’s garden, out of the cul-de-sac and into the road leading back to their street.
Billy Cawley smiled as he watched their retreat.
They’d be back.
And next time he’d be ready.
Next time, he’d live up to his nickname and give them a real reason to scream.
Chapter One (#u851671db-40b3-55d4-bb96-d23c5449d902)
2019 (#u851671db-40b3-55d4-bb96-d23c5449d902)
Anna (#u851671db-40b3-55d4-bb96-d23c5449d902)
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?’
‘You’re going to be late – I’ll tell you about it tonight.’
She hated herself, lying like that. She should just tell him the truth. Maybe she would later – instead of spinning him a story, she’d sit him down, open up. Finally. He would either accept that she hadn’t been able to talk about it before now, or not. It’d be better to have difficult discussions now, rather than have something come out at a later date and make him even more upset with her for hiding her past.
Dom is a good man. Dom will understand.
Feeling lighter now she’d made the decision to disclose everything later, Lizzie shot up from the bed and launched herself at Dom. He let out a surge of air as she jumped at him, wrapping her legs around his middle.
‘Steady on, girl. You’re not as light as you used to be,’ he said, staggering backwards.
‘Oh, get away with you.’
She kissed him as he pulled her in even tighter, pushing himself into her. He groaned.
‘Now, that would make me really late,’ he whispered. ‘Love you.’
‘And I love you,’ she said, lowering herself from him. ‘See you tonight, babe.’
The silence in the room once Dom left crushed her. She wouldn’t be working today.
Lizzie had to do something constructive; something to release the tension building in her gut. She needed to know where William Cawley was.
She had to find him, before he found her.
Chapter Six (#ulink_e6f179ab-edbb-5295-be15-417e0c412694)
1989 (#ulink_e6f179ab-edbb-5295-be15-417e0c412694)
Bovey Police Station (#ulink_e6f179ab-edbb-5295-be15-417e0c412694)
Friday 21st July
‘So, missy, your mum tells me you saw something that might help us?’
The girl stared down at her trembling hands. She didn’t want to be in the dimly lit, stuffy station, she wanted to be back in her bedroom among her wall-to-wall posters of New Kids on The Block, singing along to her favourite songs on the stereo and dancing. She loved making up dance routines in her bedroom. It was what she’d wanted to do instead of going out. She should never have agreed to play that stupid game again – she should’ve listened to her mother.
She’d listened to her about going to the police, though. She owed it to her mum to do as she was told now. Even if it was too late. ‘You have to do it for your friend,’ she’d said over and over. ‘You need to do it for her.’
‘Yes …’ Her voice shook. She turned her pale face towards her mum, who gave an encouraging smile and a nudge with her elbow. ‘I saw …’
‘Take your time,’ the officer said. His wide eyes told her that he didn’t mean it. He was leaning forward, waiting like an impatient child who wanted their Christmas gift, and wanted it now. She took a deep breath and said the words in her head first; she wanted to get them right. Then she spoke out loud. ‘I saw him lift her up, into the truck. And then he got in too and screeched off down the road – the one going out of Mapledon. She … she shouldn’t have got in.’ The tears strangled her voice box and the words were high-pitched. ‘I don’t know why she got in. I don’t know why she left me.’
Chapter Seven (#ulink_92afcedb-d325-5be5-bde3-2da171259072)
2019 (#ulink_92afcedb-d325-5be5-bde3-2da171259072)
Anna (#ulink_92afcedb-d325-5be5-bde3-2da171259072)
Saturday 13th July
In keeping with the rest of the house, outside and in, Anna’s old bedroom had also remained unchanged. It was as though she’d stepped into a time warp and it unnerved her – especially in the dark shadows her old Pierrot lamp cast. The ancient springs in the single mattress did little to help: digging into her hip bones if she lay on her side; displacing her spine if she lay on her back. She hadn’t settled for hours. Now, as her body refused to bounce youth-like from the bed, she thought it went some way to explaining why her back was so prone to aches and pains now, as an adult. How had she ever put up with this? The floor would’ve given better comfort.
Not stopping to inspect any of her childhood belongings, Anna stretched – her spine giving a loud, satisfying crack – and gingerly made her way downstairs to the kitchen fridge. She needed coffee. Her stomach contracted as she sniffed the milk. She pulled the carton away from her nose with such force some of the putrid contents spilled over.
‘Oh, my God!’ She went quickly to the sink and turned on the tap. With her forearm pressed against her nostrils, she watched as the sour, lumpy liquid glugged down the plughole. Looking at the now empty carton she noted the use-by date was four days ago.
‘Mum, your milk is off!’ Anna shouted. She checked the fridge for fresh milk, but there was none. There wasn’t much of anything. She slammed the fridge door. No coffee to bring her to life first thing was tantamount to hell and she’d never make it through the day. The next hour even. Especially here.
‘Oh, sorry, love.’ Muriel came into the kitchen, her slippers scuffing over the lino. ‘Forgot to get a new carton.’
‘Forgot? But it’s been out of date for days – haven’t you been having cereal, or drinks?’
‘Oh, I just hadn’t got around to getting to the shop, been using the tin of Marvel I had in the cupboard for cups of tea.’
‘You’ve been using powdered milk instead of getting fresh? When did you last use Marvel? I didn’t even know they still made it.’
‘Don’t be silly, dear, of course they do.’
Anna was half-tempted to check the cupboard, see if the tin was also out of date, but was afraid she’d find that it was a decade out, not just days.
‘I’ll take you up the shop, then.’
‘Oh, you don’t need me, do you? You remember where it is, surely?’ Muriel slumped down onto the chair at the dining table.
‘You all right, Mum? You don’t look like you’ve slept.’
‘I look like this every morning. You wouldn’t know, would you?’
Anna let the comment slide; she couldn’t exactly argue otherwise.
‘Do you want to make me a list?’ Anna offered. It occurred to her that her mum might not be taking good enough care of herself – or certainly not eating well, going by her gaunt appearance. Guilt tugged at her conscience; she’d always assumed Muriel was okay living alone in Mapledon – she’d kept it together well after Anna’s father upped and left when she was just eleven. She was fit and healthy, had good friends. But Anna now wondered if that was what she’d wanted to think. It was easier to believe than the alternative. Anything to avoid coming back to this village.
‘Yes, that would be good, thank you.’ Muriel’s voice lifted; her face brightened.
‘When did you go out last?’ Anna frowned. Her mother’s reaction to her offer to go to the shop for her seemed far too enthusiastic. The doll’s head on the door was only yesterday – had other things been going on prior to that to cause her to fear leaving the house?
Muriel waved an arm dismissively. ‘Oh, I can’t remember – only a couple of days ago. Now, the notepad is in the top drawer of the dresser, love.’ Muriel pointed towards the lounge.
‘Right,’ Anna said.
While in the drawer retrieving the notepad, Anna had a rummage. She wasn’t sure what she was even looking for, but she had a niggling feeling. It was filled with old utility bills – thankfully none were red – and old letters. She picked up one of the yellowing envelopes. Black scrawling handwriting covered the front with little room left for the stamp. She squinted, trying to make out the postmark and date.
‘Got it?’ Muriel appeared in the doorway, her voice making Anna jump. She dropped the letter back in the drawer and slid it shut.
‘Yep. Got a pen?’ Anna straightened, hoping her mother hadn’t spotted her nosing through the drawer. Going back into the kitchen she gave Muriel the pad and waited for her to write the list. Her mum’s hands were shaky, the writing spiky and jagged. When she finished, Anna read it through to make sure she could decipher it.
‘Here you go.’ Muriel pushed a small, purple felt purse into Anna’s hand. ‘The cash is in there. Should be enough. Get yourself what you need too, won’t you?’
Anna squeezed the childish-looking purse. It didn’t feel very full. She swallowed down another surge of guilt, avoiding direct eye contact with her mother. For years she’d stayed away from here. From her mum. She’d had her reasons, but now she questioned them.
Sitting in the car, Anna checked the purse. A single five-pound note. The list Muriel had written would cost at least twenty; maybe her mind wasn’t as sharp as it once had been. She hoped it wasn’t anything serious, like dementia. It’s not like Anna would’ve noticed the early warning signs. She’d have to talk to Muriel’s neighbours, see if they had any concerns.
Before setting off, Anna made a phone call.
‘Hey, darling girl. Sorry not to have made it home last night. You okay at your dad’s?’
‘Why are you staying with Nanna? Are you coming home now?’ Her voice quivered.
This, together with Carrie’s avoidance of the question, made Anna’s heart beat harder. James was a good dad, she had never doubted that, but she knew Carrie got anxious when there was a change in her routine. She’d got used to staying with her dad every other weekend, knew what to expect and when. Clearly, she didn’t care for this current disruption.
‘Nanna’s not feeling too good at the moment and needs a little bit of help. I’m going to stay the weekend, but don’t worry – try and enjoy the time with Daddy. What have you two got planned?’
There was a small sigh, then some rustling.
‘Hi, Anna.’
James had obviously been in earshot and taken over the call.
‘Is she all right? She sounds upset with me.’
‘She’s fine, really. You know what she’s like. I’ve got the cinema booked for later – she’ll forget about you abandoning her then.’
‘Really? God, James, you know I wouldn’t have asked you to have her unless it was important!’
‘Yeah, sorry. I know. Anyway, what was so urgent you had to actually go to Mapledon? Didn’t think anything would drag you back there.’
‘I’m not sure what’s going on, actually. I think Mum might be going a bit senile.’
‘Oh, fantastic. Are you sure? What makes you think that?’
‘A few things, but I haven’t got time to talk now really. I have to go to the shop. Look, I think I’m going to be here all weekend. Are you happy to keep Carrie?’
‘Of course. No problem. Stay as long as you need.’
‘Thanks, James. I appreciate it. Not that I want to be here for a second longer than absolutely necessary.’
‘No, I don’t suppose you do.’ There was a pause before he added, ‘Take care there, Anna.’
Coldness spread its icy branches inside her; his words triggering old anxiety, old memories. The ones she didn’t want to let in.
Keeping her gaze forward, Anna walked into Brook Cottage Store – Mapledon’s only shop. Immediately, she was transported back to her childhood. How on earth had it stayed virtually the same for all these years? Anna walked past the pick-and-mix shelves – memories of filling a brown paper bag with penny sweets sweeping through her mind – and headed for the fridges. She quickly moved along the aisles, cramming stuff in her basket as she went. She didn’t want to be in the shop for too long. The longer she was there, the more likely someone might recognise her; stop her and ask unwanted questions.
Anna heard more voices now, the shop suddenly filling up. She checked her phone for the time. Nine a.m. Damn, she hadn’t timed her visit well – the villagers of Mapledon were beginning their day. After checking her mother’s list one last time, Anna popped in a jar of coffee and headed for the checkout. There were two counters with tills. That was different. Back when she was a child, there’d been just the one till and the owner of the shop, Nell Andrews, was always the one behind it. Now it seemed she’d upgraded, although it appeared only the one till was currently in use. Anna assumed Nell must’ve retired. That was something at least. The person serving was probably younger, new. Wouldn’t know who Anna was.
There were several people ahead of her in the queue. Sweat formed on her upper lip. Be quick, hurry up. She tried to keep her head lowered, avoiding eye contact with anyone else. She might well know these people, but she wasn’t interested in them, their lives – wasn’t interested in ‘catching up’ with any of their news. She could hear the low murmur of conversation in front of her. Two women in the line were turned towards each other, baskets touching as they spoke. Anna could hear their supposed hushed chatter.
‘Can you believe it? I never thought I’d see the day.’
‘Everyone is horrified, Ali. The whole village is in shock.’
Anna turned her head, one ear towards the gossiping couple.
‘Her poor mother, though. How the hell must she feel?’
Anna’s heart hammered against her ribs, a sudden sensation of falling overcoming her. She popped her basket on the floor and put her hand on the bread stand to steady herself.
‘Oh, I know. I really feel for them. But surely he won’t come back here?’
‘I don’t think the villagers would allow it. And anyway, there’s nothing for him here.’
‘But what if we see him? Can you imagine if he were to walk into this shop now, or he moved back into that bungalow? It has been standing empty all these years.’
The queue surged forwards and the women stopped talking as they were served. Anna’s saliva had dried, her mouth moistureless. The women could be talking about anyone. Twenty years of things Anna had no clue about had gone on in this village. The likelihood they were talking about that particular event was slim, she convinced herself.
Until she reached the till.
At the side of the counter was the newspaper rack. The same position it had always been. Her eyes were drawn to the headline of the Herald Express.
MAPLEDON MURDERER RELEASED.
The noises in the shop faded. All Anna could see was the newspaper, the bold capital letters boring into her brain.
‘Everyone’s up in arms about it. The whole village.’ A male voice finally penetrated her thoughts.
‘When?’ Anna’s single word was strangled with fear.
‘Four days ago,’ the man said, taking the items from Anna’s basket and scanning them. ‘No one’s spotted him, yet. Mind you, I guess no one knows what he looks like now. But he wouldn’t dare come back here. Mum said he’d be a fool to. She wouldn’t serve him, she said.’
Anna didn’t respond at first, her thoughts crashing against each other, tumbling in her head. She fumbled in her purse and paid for the shopping with her debit card. Looking properly at the man behind the counter, she realised he was Nell Andrews’ son, Robert – his hair had receded, and his face was thinner than she remembered.
‘Has your mum retired?’ Anna asked, not because she was interested, more because she wanted to take a minute or two to recover before attempting to walk out of the shop.
‘God, no. She’ll be here until the end of time. I’ve just been covering – she’s a bit under the weather at the moment. She’ll be back!’ The man gave a wide grin. Anna assumed he hadn’t recognised her and was grateful for this good fortune – a ‘wow, it’s been years’ conversation wasn’t one she wanted now. Or ever. She thanked him and left, his words echoing in her mind: ‘Four days ago. No one’s spotted him yet.’
Four days ago. The same period of time her mother hadn’t left the house.
The vision of Muriel’s front door swam in front of her eyes.
And the doll’s head hammered to it, its relevance now achingly obvious.
Chapter Eight (#ulink_1972f195-759d-599b-a85d-1012e639d48a)
2019 (#ulink_1972f195-759d-599b-a85d-1012e639d48a)
Lizzie (#ulink_1972f195-759d-599b-a85d-1012e639d48a)
All her good intentions of sitting Dom down, telling him about her past, went out of the window with one phone call. Now it would have to wait.
Lizzie shoved her hastily packed bag into the boot of her Vauxhall. She was due to upgrade her poor car, had saved for the last three years, but hadn’t quite been able to part ways with her trusty old friend yet. They’d done a lot of travelling together – she knew every inch of this car, knew how to handle it. Trusted it, despite its obvious failings: the driver’s side window didn’t go fully up or down, had been stuck in a halfway limbo for about a year; the wheel trims had long since been ripped off, and the bumper was practically held on with luck. Dom chided her, begged her to get it seen to, but it wasn’t high on her list of priorities – as far as she was concerned the faults were purely aesthetic. Knowing she was likely to change the car anyway, she’d said it was pointless spending money on it. Then she’d kept stalling on actually looking for a better one.
Some things were hard to let go of.
With an open packet of rhubarb and custard sweets on the passenger seat within easy reach, her travel mug with coffee in the cup holder and the radio on, Lizzie set off. She hoped the butterflies currently swarming her stomach would abate once she pulled onto the motorway. But then, there was a strong chance they might stay with her until this ‘job’ was over.
Singing along to James Blunt’s ‘You’re Beautiful’ as loudly as she could bear, Lizzie attempted to focus on the road instead of her destination – and what she’d find there. Who she’d find there. Within twenty minutes she’d joined the M5 motorway traffic. Now all she had to do was follow the signs to Devon.
Chapter Nine (#ulink_49684e45-de24-521f-93d5-ed8b73d91702)
1989 (#ulink_49684e45-de24-521f-93d5-ed8b73d91702)
Bovey Police Station (#ulink_49684e45-de24-521f-93d5-ed8b73d91702)
Friday 21st July
‘Now, this is important. Tell me exactly what you saw.’
She sat on her hands. They’d begun trembling when the policeman had first started asking questions; now, after what felt like hours, he was still asking her stuff and a funny tingling had filled her belly. Why did she need to go over this? She’d told him again and again. Maybe he didn’t believe her. She’d have to say it in a stronger voice.
‘The truck stopped in front of where we were walking—’
‘Which was Elmore Road,’ he interrupted.
‘Yes, I thi— I mean, yes. It was.’ She mustn’t say ‘think’; it seemed to make her mum and the policeman a bit jumpy. ‘I held back and was going to turn around and take the cut-through to go to the park instead, but before I realised, she’d gone.’
‘Gone to the truck?’
‘Yes. I don’t know why she did that. Why she left me.’ Her eyes stung with fresh tears.
‘And what did this truck look like?’
She was somewhat relieved at being asked this; at least it was a different question to the other ones he’d been constantly getting her to repeat.
‘It was a red one,’ she said with conviction. ‘Dad says those types of trucks are called pickups because they have all that open space at the back to put things in.’
‘And what else? Was there anything else about it you can remember?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She felt confident about this now. ‘It had a yellow stripe all the way across the side. And as it pulled off, it turned so it almost went past me. I couldn’t move. I was scared he was coming for me too.’
‘But he didn’t try and take you?’
‘No, I don’t think so. The truck slowed down, but it didn’t stop. But I did see something weird.’
The policeman sat forward in his chair, his round, ruddy face lighting up. ‘Yes? What was that?’
‘I could see something stuck on the front, on the bit that those red noses for cars go for Comic Relief.’
‘The grille,’ the policeman said as he scribbled in his notebook. ‘But it wasn’t a red nose?’
‘No. I could see a face. It was a doll’s head. Just its head.’
Chapter Ten (#ulink_6d685cf6-8848-5015-b1aa-1c0df6bfee46)
2019 (#ulink_6d685cf6-8848-5015-b1aa-1c0df6bfee46)
Anna (#ulink_6d685cf6-8848-5015-b1aa-1c0df6bfee46)
Saturday 13th July
Pulling up outside her mother’s house again, Anna noted the doll’s head had finally been removed – holes from the nails the only sign something had been there; the only indication she hadn’t imagined it. She wished that had been the case. Because the alternative was far more disturbing.
Anna cautiously entered the house and rested the bag of groceries on the kitchen worktop. She didn’t speak to Muriel; for the moment she was rehearsing the possible permutations of the conversation she needed to have with her mum in her head. It was a difficult subject to broach, and it required thought. The weighing up of the consequences of opening Pandora’s box weren’t only for her mother’s benefit, she too had to be careful. Years’ worth of self-preservation could easily be unravelled with a single poorly worded question.
As Anna slowly stored each item from the carrier bag into the cupboards and fridge, memories forced their way into her consciousness. She squeezed her eyes up tight, an attempt to prevent the images taking root. As she opened them again, she turned to where her mum was sitting. Muriel was staring at her.
‘You heard then,’ Muriel said, her eyes wide, unblinking. ‘The gossips at the shop, no doubt.’ There was a flatness to her tone; resignation.
At least Anna was let off the hook of being the first one to mention it, the first to dredge up the past.
‘Yes. I heard. It was on the front of the paper too.’ She was going to ask if that’s why her mum had immediately called her, as soon as she heard the news. But she hoped, by not embellishing, that Muriel would carry on the conversation without the need for Anna to intervene with questions. Possibly the wrong questions – those that would hurt and upset, rather than those that would help tease out her fears. Although Anna wasn’t sure she was the right one to be doing that, or, in fact, whether she could offer any real support at all. Because her mum’s fears were more than likely the same as her own. How helpful could she be if she was scared shitless too?
‘It could still be a coincidence, or kids thinking it’s funny?’ Muriel said.
‘Yes, it could.’ Anna tried to feel encouraged. ‘Obviously everyone knows the tale – I expect it’s been told to all the children as a warning over the years. Some teenagers are bound to have thought it was funny to pull this kind of prank. Yes, you’re right. Probably harmless fun.’ A false lightness attached itself to her words. It could be kids, it really could.
‘That’s what I was hoping. Of course, that isn’t what I thought when I first saw it. But I talked myself down, eventually. And once you got here, I felt a bit better about it.’
‘Okay then. Look, it’s not ideal that he’s out, but like Robert said, why would he dare come back here?’
‘Nell’s son Robert?’
‘Yes, he was the one who served me.’
‘No Nell this morning, then?’
‘Ill apparently. He said she’d been feeling under the weather.’
Her mother’s gaze turned to the window as she gave a hmmm sound.
‘You think she’s also worried?’
‘What?’ Muriel’s attention snapped back to Anna. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t seen anyone since I heard.’
‘Who told you, then?’
Muriel heaved herself up from the chair and wandered into the living room.
‘Mum?’
‘I got a call, don’t know who it was from.’
‘Really? Well, when?’
‘Four days ago. The day he was released supposedly.’
‘Was it him?’
‘No. No, dear, I think it was probably a journalist or some such person. Anyway, doesn’t matter. It’s how we deal with it, how we move on from here, knowing. Knowing that man is free. Free to do what he bloody well pleases. Can’t believe they let the monster out, can you?’
‘Unfortunately, life rarely means life, Mum. I guess he did his time.’ Anna shrugged. ‘It’s not like they ever found a body even, is it?’
And that had always been the issue; the underlying question the family and villagers had wanted answered.
Where hadhe hidden her body?
Chapter Eleven (#ulink_681dfe7d-0edc-5bc6-ba05-6aaa7d54dc78)
2019 (#ulink_681dfe7d-0edc-5bc6-ba05-6aaa7d54dc78)
Lizzie (#ulink_681dfe7d-0edc-5bc6-ba05-6aaa7d54dc78)
She’d needed the satnav to reach Mapledon. It wasn’t where she remembered it, but that was to be expected; she’d only been a child when she was taken from the village. It was situated south of Dartmoor – with its imposing granite rocks and sprawling moorland – and tucked away in a valley ten miles from the nearest town. What felt like hours of winding lanes, long hills and dense woodlands had passed before she’d finally come to a wider road leading to a sign stating she’d reached Mapledon.
Years of living in other parts of the country had diluted what memories of the place she’d had. Now, driving at a snail’s pace through the centre of the small village, passing a spattering of old thatched-roof cottages, then a few larger, more modern houses, Lizzie’s heart rate soared. So far she hadn’t recognised anything. It wasn’t lack of familiarity that was causing her adrenaline to shoot through her veins, though. It was the thought of what went on here. It was being back. If Dom had known any of her history, he’d have stopped her from leaving. But he didn’t know. Her childhood secrets were hers alone. Well, almost.
There were some other people who knew.
Would they still be here, living in Mapledon?
Would he be here, waiting?
The reason she’d driven all this way was to find out, but now she was here the urge to turn around and leave, go back to her life in Abbingsworth, was so strong she could feel the pull. She should allow herself to be snatched from this place again – she didn’t belong here.
Her foot remained on the accelerator. There was still a part of her – the part that had been in the shadow for years – which couldn’t succumb to the pull. That side of her had to keep going regardless.
Thirty years. She cursed loudly. ‘Fuck this place. It doesn’t define me. That man does not define me.’ She slammed her hands on the steering wheel, an action supporting her determination as she headed to the top of the hill. To the church. It was the first place she decided she’d go – the only landmark she could see. With luck the vicar might be there – he’d know what was going on in his parish. He’d be the best person to start with.
She could do this.
She had to close the book on William Cawley.
Chapter Twelve (#ulink_d1ea2c91-5f92-581e-8ed7-4adda2518b9f)
1989 (#ulink_d1ea2c91-5f92-581e-8ed7-4adda2518b9f)
Brook Cottage Store, Mapledon (#ulink_d1ea2c91-5f92-581e-8ed7-4adda2518b9f)
Thursday 20th July – the day after
Fears grow for missing child
Despite an extensive search of Mapledon and the surrounding area by police and over thirty local villagers, ten-year-old Jonie Hayes has still not been found. She has been missing for almost twenty-four hours and police say they are concerned for her safety. An appeal is due to be launched by Devon and Cornwall Police later today.
‘Such terrible news. I still can’t believe a little ’un could just disappear like that. Not here,’ Nell said, packing the tins into Mrs Percy’s shopping bag on the store counter.
‘We’re in shock. The whole village is.’
‘Well, almost the whole village,’ Muriel said, pushing forward in the queue to interject, her voice lowered conspiratorially.
‘Are you thinking what I am? About … you know who?’ Nell asked. A few other customers joined the women, even though they weren’t in the queue themselves.
‘Well, you can’t help but consider it, can you? I mean, after what happened to his little girl …’ Muriel raised one eyebrow in a high arc and stood back a little from the gathering villagers. ‘I’m just saying – I mean he wasn’t even out last night helping search for Jonie with all the others, was he? Wouldn’t surprise me if he had something to do with it, is all.’ She tilted her chin up.
‘We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. It’s not helpful, Muriel.’ A voice came from behind her, causing her to start. Muriel spun around to face Reverend Farnley.
‘I’m not one to do that, Reverend.’ She kept her gaze steady. ‘Have you seen him over the last few days?’
‘Muriel. Please. Gossip is a tool of the devil. Be careful, now.’
‘It’s not gossip if it’s true, Reverend. And I didn’t even mention his name, but you knew who we were referring to …’ Muriel pursed her lips.
‘Now I think of it, I haven’t seen him, you’re right,’ Nell piped up in Muriel’s defence, before the red-faced vicar could respond. ‘Whilst it’s not helpful to gossip, it would be wrong to dismiss something that might actually be key. A little girl’s life is at stake, after all.’
‘There’s no evidence to suggest she’s been taken, ladies, or that her life is in danger; she could merely be lost,’ Reverend Farnley said. ‘Anyway, I’m sure the police have a good handle on things. We should leave them to their job. But we can pray for young Jonie’s safe return – put our faith in the Lord.’
Muriel turned away from the Reverend, directing the rolling of her eyes and small shake of her head to Nell and the remaining group of women. She’d been brought up to be God-fearing; however, some situations required a helping hand from those on earth. In Muriel’s opinion, God could only do so much and putting all your faith in Him was a mistake. Surely, He’d want His children to sort their own mess out occasionally.
After a few polite statements the conversation turned to the Mapledon Meeting and Reverend Farnley took his leave. Muriel and Nell took turns to head the monthly get-together, the venue alternating between their houses. It normally took place on the last Thursday of each month; however, they’d brought it forward this time – both having agreed it was somewhat of an ‘emergency meeting’. A small, select group of female villagers attended, usually twelve, but sometimes more if there was something pressing to discuss. Like now. Admittedly, this was one of the most pressing topics that had ever faced the group – although there’d been other challenging ones, Jonie Hayes’ disappearance was the worst. The mothers of the group in particular were very concerned and would need support and reassurance.
‘See you at seven-thirty sharp, Nell. I’ll make sure I put out extra nibbles – it’s going to be a busy one.’
Chapter Thirteen (#ulink_eb2b700a-be01-592f-9c26-e545f0754c03)
2019 (#ulink_eb2b700a-be01-592f-9c26-e545f0754c03)
Anna (#ulink_eb2b700a-be01-592f-9c26-e545f0754c03)
Saturday 13th July
‘Hiding in here, worrying, isn’t very productive.’ Anna lowered the curtain, moving away from the lounge window to face Muriel. Since her disclosure she’d been quiet, barely speaking. Instead, she’d watched daytime TV, a blank look plastered on her face. Anna knew if she couldn’t put her mother’s mind at ease – if she couldn’t confidently tell her that the doll’s head was nothing to do with Billy Cawley – this would drag on; hang over their heads for the foreseeable future. Anna did not want to spend more time in Mapledon. Maybe she’d have to persuade her mum to move nearer to her and Carrie in Bristol.
‘What do you propose I do? March around the village accusing the local kids of trespass, criminal damage?’
‘Well, no. Although going to the police with your suspicions would be a start.’
‘I told you, Anna – I’m not going to the police.’ She looked past Anna, into the distance. ‘That’ll make matters worse.’
‘For who? The kids? That’s the idea, Mum. And if it isn’t the kids …’
‘It’ll be him,’ Muriel said.
‘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.
Of course, they would end up there, though. They usually did – even during term-time. Now they’d broken up from school, she knew it’d be where Jonie would want to go for the next six weeks. Jonie put up her usual convincing argument so they’d do what she wanted them to do. Said that it was more fun to goad Creepy Cawley than to waste the summer staying in playing stupid Barbieor watching TV. Bella had failed to impress her friend with her entertainment ideas. She’d wanted to make up some dance routines – ones like they’d been doing in PE at school. Miss Hanson had told Bella that she had “flair”, whatever that meant. But she knew it was good. She didn’t receive many compliments, so this was something she’d taken on board and wanted to build on during the holiday. She, Bella, was actually good at something.
‘Come on, then. I’ve found a way through the back of the close, so he won’t see us coming,’ Jonie said, her eyes wide with excitement. Bella forced a smile. She didn’t get why Jonie thought it was so thrilling to knock on someone’s door and run away. It was childish. And pretty stupid. She couldn’t tell Jonie that, though.
A few minutes later, they were squeezing through a small gap at the bottom of some bushes at the back of Blackstone Close. Jonie got through first and helped drag Bella through. The twigs scraped at her bare legs.
‘Ouch! Mind.’
‘Shh, Bella. Someone will hear us.’ Jonie looked down at Bella’s legs and tutted.
Bella rubbed at them. If she ripped her shorts, her mum would be mad. She hoped they wouldn’t go back through the bushes when they were done.
They crouched down, across from the bungalow.
‘What are we waiting for?’ Bella asked, wishing she were anywhere but there.
‘Well, we need to make sure he isn’t watching before we go in, don’t we?’ Jonie shook her head. She had a way of making Bella feel stupid, shutting down anything she said immediately.
‘Yes, course,’ Bella said, as though she knew that.
Bella stared at Creepy Cawley’s bungalow, silently praying he wasn’t in. But his truck was in the driveway, so he probably was. Her stomach churned, a thousand butterflies flitting around inside it. Her legs began to cramp in their crouching position. She was too afraid to tell Jonie; she’d have to put up with the pain.
‘So weird, isn’t it – having all those bits of dolls everywhere?’
It was weird. But then, that was why he’d got the nickname Creepy Cawley. That, and the way he looked: his straggly long hair, dirty clothes, dead-looking black eyes that stared right through you. Bella shuddered.
‘Yeah, why doesn’t he tidy it all up?’
‘Mum says it’s because he’s lost everything. She says he can’t be bothered with himself, or the bungalow, anymore.’
‘My mum said it was because he was a pee-da-something. That he lured kids there and did bad stuff to them.’ Bella swallowed hard. ‘Which is why we shouldn’t be here, Jonie. It’s dangerous.’ She’d said it in no more than a whisper – not wanting to go against what Jonie wanted. But she had to say something. She didn’t want to do this.
‘Nah – your mum doesn’t know what she’s talking about. It’s not dangerous. It’s funny! Everyone does it. I heard Adam telling Nicky at school that him and John had knocked on his door dozens of times, and the worst that happened is Creepy Cawley chased them.’
‘Oh.’ Bella thought that was bad. Adam and John were quick, Bella was not – she always came last in the sprint races at school. What if he chased after them and caught them? What then?
‘Right, I think it’s clear. Let’s go.’ Jonie was up and running across to the bungalow.
Bella watched as Jonie ducked behind the dustbin just inside Creepy Cawley’s driveway. She frantically waved an arm towards Bella.
If she thought this was it – the only time they’d do this – she’d feel a bit better. She’d even be okay about it if they actually knocked on someone else’s door for a change. But Jonie had already told her they’d have to come again tomorrow, so they both had a turn at knocking on his door. It was only fair, Jonie had said.
Being Jonie’s friend was hard work, Bella thought, before taking a deep breath and following – just as she always did.
Chapter Nineteen (#ulink_1011e152-ca3e-5cf2-a910-27c7b0ace9c1)
2019 (#ulink_1011e152-ca3e-5cf2-a910-27c7b0ace9c1)
Anna (#ulink_1011e152-ca3e-5cf2-a910-27c7b0ace9c1)
Saturday 13th July
The two of them fell into an awkward silence, both standing motionless outside Billy Cawley’s run-down bungalow, neither looking the other in the eye. Anna lowered her chin, balling her hands up inside her hoody pockets. They’d all been so close, once. Muriel and Tina were best friends – they’d both been young mothers, as were their mothers before them, so they had a lot in common. That’s why Anna had always called her ‘Auntie’ Tina. It was a thing they did back then – the mothers’ good friends were always known to their kids’ friends as Auntie. It was inevitable Anna and Jonie would also be best friends. Obvious to the mothers, anyway. In reality, they weren’t destined to be close. They’d been too different: the balance was never right. But as their parents spent so much time together, they’d both taken it as something that just had to be.
‘I haven’t seen Muriel out and about in a while. She well?’ Tina broke the silence first.
Anna gave a shrug. ‘She’s okay, I guess.’ She didn’t want to give anything away – not just yet. Anna needed to delve a bit more before mentioning the doll’s head and Muriel’s strange behaviour since. She wondered if Tina and Muriel still spoke. After Jonie went missing their relationship had faltered – so her mum had told her once after one too many sherries. Muriel had never talked about what happened, how things had been in Mapledon afterwards, and Anna had never wanted to bring it up herself, so the memories faded. The aftermath had been bad, affecting the whole community – she knew that – but couldn’t recall any specific repercussions.
But she knew everythinghad changed when Jonie Hayes was taken.
‘Maybe we should all get together for a coffee while you’re here?’ Tina said.
Anna raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t been expecting that. Tina’s sudden invite felt forced, like it’d been offered out of necessity. Tina wanted something, she could tell. Had she also been targeted with a doll’s head on her door and now wanted, or needed, to talk to her old friend about it? They might not be close anymore, but maybe their shared past – the inexplicable thing that had happened – was more than enough to break down the barriers that had been built during the subsequent years.
‘Yeah, sure. Pop over tomorrow morning. If you aren’t going to church that is. Mum will be thrilled to see you,’ Anna said, although her sentiments may well have been exaggerated. Who knew if Muriel would be thrilled? God only knew what had been going on here over the years Anna had been away.
Tina snorted. ‘I don’t go to church anymore, haven’t done since …’ She shook her head. ‘There is no God. I’ll be over at ten.’ Tina gave a curt nod and walked off, back down the cul-de-sac. Anna watched her disappear around the corner before returning her attention to the bungalow. There was a reason Tina wanted to have this ‘get-together’ – the obvious one being Billy Cawley’s release. But a prickling on the back of Anna’s neck told her there was more to it than that.
Reassured for the moment that Billy Cawley had not returned to live in the bungalow in Blackstone Close, Anna turned her back on it and walked on. She wished she’d turned her back on it thirty years ago, too. Before the chain reaction of events following that game had become fatal. It seemed Anna’s life had been filled with what ifs and if onlys.
The church came into sight almost immediately once she’d joined the main street – its limestone-rendered tower visible through the trees. She’d walk as far as the church, checking the outside of every house as she went, then return to her mum’s via the road that branched off to the left, near the village hall. That way, she’d have done a circuit of Mapledon. Her hopes of finding something ‘out of place’ were fading, though. It might be that a more direct approach would be necessary – asking outright if anyone had experienced something out of the ordinary over the past few days. Anna thought Robert, at Brook Cottage Store, might be a good person to ask. For now, she’d continue the walk. If nothing else, it was keeping her out of her mother’s hair for a bit longer.
As Anna reached the top of the village and approached the church, she spotted a woman coming out of the wooden-gated entrance. She didn’t recognise her, although she didn’t look much different in age to Anna. Someone she went to school with? She kept her attention on the figure for a few seconds too long, garnering a strange look in response.
‘Hi,’ Anna said, deciding it would make the moment less awkward now she’d been caught staring.
‘All right?’ The woman gave a quick, tight smile, hesitating at the church gate as though she didn’t know quite what to do. Anna took her indecision and obvious discomfort as a sign of guilt. Had she stolen something from the church? Maybe she wasn’t from around here at all, was some kind of chancer. Anna took a few steps towards her. The woman didn’t have anything with her, not even a bag. Her T-shirt was tight-fitting – so no stolen goods could be squirrelled away beneath it. She had various tattoos on both arms, a piercing under her bottom lip. As she looked at her face, Anna noted her eyes were red as though she’d been crying, and she suddenly felt appalled at herself for jumping to conclusions. Clearly she was upset – had probably just visited a grave.
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to stare – just thought I recognised you,’ Anna lied.
‘No. I doubt that,’ the woman said. She made no attempt to move past Anna. She took it as a signal to continue.
‘Not many people come to Mapledon,’ Anna said. ‘Not if they want to leave again.’ She gave a laugh, hoping this woman would take her comment as the joke she intended. Well, an almost-joke. There might well be a grain of truth in her statement.
The woman smiled – it appeared to be a genuine one. ‘Yeah, I heard that about this place.’ She reached a hand forwards. ‘Lizzie Brenfield,’ she said.
‘Well, hello, Lizzie.’ Anna took her hand, shaking it gently before releasing it. ‘I’m Anna. I’m the one that got away.’ She smiled before adding, ‘Although I appear to have been dragged back.’
Lizzie cocked her head to one side. ‘Well, that makes two of us.’
Chapter Twenty (#ulink_3a6a4190-1e09-502c-b81c-7684e3f2b078)
2019 (#ulink_3a6a4190-1e09-502c-b81c-7684e3f2b078)
Lizzie (#ulink_3a6a4190-1e09-502c-b81c-7684e3f2b078)
The Lord moveth in mysterious ways, Lizzie thought as she took a step back from Anna to make a quick appraisal of the situation. A moment ago she’d believed her trip here would ultimately be fruitless, but now it seemed she’d been thrown a lifeline. Whoever Anna was, whatever her reason for being here, she too appeared to have a similar feeling about Mapledon. Lizzie’s journalistic mind kicked in. There could even be a story here. One that wasn’t hers.
‘You from here originally then, Anna?’ Lizzie wondered why she hadn’t offered up her surname. She’d have to work a little harder.
‘Yep. For my sins.’
Lizzie arched one eyebrow. Interesting phrasing. She tried to think quickly. She didn’t want to waste this opportunity to find out more about Mapledon’s current goings-on, but then she also didn’t want to launch into a million questions and frighten Anna off.
‘Mapledon doesn’t appear to be high on either of our “best places to visit in Devon list” by the sounds of things.’
‘God, no!’ Anna said loudly. Lizzie observed Anna’s quick glance towards the church and subsequent sign of the cross, which she jabbed out over her chest.
‘Don’t worry,’ Lizzie whispered, leaning forwards, ‘I don’t think He heard you.’
‘You never can be too careful though, eh?’
Lizzie felt an immediate bond with Anna – as though they had something in common: a shared history. Maybe they did.
‘No, you can’t. Especially here in Mapledon,’ Lizzie said, nudging Anna with her elbow. She meant it in jest, but her voice hadn’t received that message. ‘Just joking,’ she added quickly.
‘Actually, Lizzie, you’re not far from the truth. Want to walk with me? Or do you have to be somewhere else?’
Lizzie sensed Anna wanted to be away from the church, away from the possibility of being overheard before talking more. This was good news – it meant she knew something, and more importantly, wanted to tell her about it. Perhaps her luck was about to turn.
Chapter Twenty-One (#ulink_46cb08c6-c2bd-5bfd-9d5a-96db2d8f7565)
1989 (#ulink_46cb08c6-c2bd-5bfd-9d5a-96db2d8f7565)
Blackstone Close (#ulink_46cb08c6-c2bd-5bfd-9d5a-96db2d8f7565)
Monday 17th July – 2 days before
When would the little shits let him be?
Billy Cawley saw the shadows, heard the scurrying of feet and the giggles just moments before the banging on the front door. He was tired. So bloody tired of it all. He’d lost count of how many months he’d been hounded by the kids.
Kids. Part of him wanted to let it go – they didn’t know any better. But he couldn’t. They should know better. Their parents should be teaching them better. Did they even know where their bratty children were? What they were up to? And the people of Mapledon had dared to give him a hard time about his parenting. Fucking cheek. They all needed to be taught a lesson. He’d begun chasing the kids out of the cul-de-sac – running after them, shouting like a madman. He’d almost got hold of one lad just last week, but now that he wasn’t keeping himself as fit, having given up on the gym after … Well, after life had turned to total shit, he didn’t have the stamina.
Christ – twenty-five years old and already being outrun by kids. Mind you, not only didn’t he have the body or fitness of a twenty-five-year-old, he didn’t have the face of one either. That was evident when he overheard the taunts, the whispers and nicknames whenever he ventured out of his comfort zone of the bungalow – ‘Old Man Cawley’, ‘Creepy Cawley’ and the like. He had had worse nicknames though – some of the more cruel, unfounded things people said really boiled his piss. But he no longer had the motivation, the desire to look good or worry unduly about what the folk of Mapledon said about him. There was no one to impress now. Not now they’d taken everything from him.
A loud crash at the kitchen window startled him.
‘Bastards!’ He rushed to the door, flinging it open in time to see two boys hare down the road. He’d never catch up with them. Billy strode outside, stepping over all the crap in his garden. He kicked a doll’s head hard, sending it flying through the air. It landed by his truck, then rolled awkwardly behind the back tyre. He walked around to the kitchen window, and on inspection of the ground he found a large stone. He picked it up; it was pretty weighty – he was amazed it hadn’t gone right through the glass. None of the kids had done more than play Knock, Knock, Ginger before. It seemed they were getting braver.
Maybe it was time for him to do the same.
Chapter Twenty-Two (#ulink_d11e10b4-30ec-5f67-8f07-ab39bc9d3f9d)
2019 (#ulink_d11e10b4-30ec-5f67-8f07-ab39bc9d3f9d)
Anna (#ulink_d11e10b4-30ec-5f67-8f07-ab39bc9d3f9d)
Saturday 13th July
She was taking a leap of faith. Anna had no clue who Lizzie was, what she wanted – but, like her, she’d come to Mapledon for a reason. Anna wanted to ask so many questions, but also wanted to tread with caution. She needed to get Lizzie away from the church: she didn’t want to be seen by any nosy villagers. Being back in this place was bad enough, being recognised even worse – but to also be caught talking to an outsider – well, that would be punishable by death. Despite knowing that to be an exaggeration, Anna did know it was the one thing the tight-knit villagers of Mapledon feared the most. Although, at this point, just because Anna didn’t recognise the woman, or her name, it didn’t mean she didn’t have family ties here, so perhaps she was being too quick to label her as an outsider. The irony that she was acting just like a Mapledon villager herself wasn’t lost.
Only one way of finding out.
‘So, Lizzie – you visiting family too?’ Anna turned to face Lizzie as they walked, wanting to gauge her reaction.
‘Kinda, yes. No. Well, maybe …’ Lizzie stuttered.
That solved that, then. Anna inwardly sighed. How could she proceed from there?
Anna guided Lizzie around the corner of Edgelands Lane, the small primary school coming into sight. Lizzie stopped walking, appearing to freeze to the spot.
‘What’s the matter?’ Anna asked.
‘Nothing, sorry.’ She began walking again, her head bowed. ‘Why did you say Mapledon had dragged you back, Anna?’
‘It was only a turn of phrase, I guess. I just meant that it’d taken years to escape it – and its small-village mentality – and I never had the inclination to return once I’d left. But, with my mother still living here, well, it’s like I can’t quite rid myself of the place yet. While I still have her, I suppose it was inevitable that one day I’d need to come back here. And it seems yesterday was that day.’
‘Is she ill, your mother?’
‘I think she’s showing some early signs of dementia.’ Anna was surprised at herself for telling Lizzie. But then she always had found it easier to talk to someone outside of the family, someone who didn’t know the people involved; couldn’t judge.
‘Ah. I’m sorry. It’s a terrible thing watching the person you love become less like the person you’ve known all your life, I’m sure. Nice that you’re here for her though. Are you the only child?’
‘Yep. It’s all on me. My mum and dad separated years ago, so Mum only has her neighbours and the other villagers to look out for her. You never really prepare yourself for a parent to deteriorate, to die – do you?’ Anna gave a half-smile. Lizzie’s skin had paled, and immediately Anna realised she’d put her foot in it. Shit. Lizzie had been coming out of the churchyard – what was the betting she’d been visiting the grave of one of her parents? Maybe even both. That would explain her odd ‘kinda, yes, no,’ response when she’d asked if she was visiting family. ‘I’m sorry, Lizzie – I …’ she faltered.
‘It’s fine. Really. And no, you’re right, you don’t prepare yourself – even in later years.’ Lizzie dropped her gaze. ‘But you especially don’t prepare when you’re just seven years old when it happens. How could a child ever envisage something happening to her parents?’
Oh, God. Anna flinched. ‘How terrible,’ she said, now wishing she hadn’t begun this line of conversation. Anna had never been very good with other people’s grief, and today she’d overdosed on it. As much as she wanted to move the conversation on to a brighter topic, she knew she’d opened this poor woman’s wound now, so had no option but to watch the blood flow out. ‘What happened?’
Anna’s question was met with silence. They carried on walking, side by side – Anna led them past Major’s Farm and along Langway Road, making sure to give a passing glance to each property, checking if anything unusual adorned their doors. They were almost at the turn that would take Anna back home when Lizzie finally spoke again.
‘Cancer,’ she said. ‘My mother died of cervical cancer. She was only twenty-four.’
‘I’m so sorry, Lizzie. That’s shocking. It must’ve turned your world upside down.’ Anna truly felt terrible for this woman – to have had such a young mother, then lose her. Her life must’ve changed dramatically afterwards. No doubt Lizzie had a long, probably painful story to tell, but Anna realised they were getting closer to Muriel’s road now and she didn’t really want to invite a stranger in. ‘Er … I’m going to have to head back, actually. Mum will be anxious – I’ve been longer than I thought.’
‘’Course. Sure.’ Lizzie looked around her, like she was lost. Of course. She’d dragged the poor woman quite a way from where her car was parked, through winding lanes. She was probably wondering how to get back to it.
‘If you go left here it’ll take you back onto the main road of Mapledon, then hook another left, back up the hill.’ Anna smiled.
‘Good, thanks. Oh, Anna – er … I have no place to stay, actually … so …’
‘Oh.’ Anna panicked for a moment, thinking Lizzie was angling to stay with her. Surely she wouldn’t ask that of someone she’d just met? She hesitated before remembering the B&B on the edge of Mapledon. ‘Have you checked out Bulleigh Barton? It’s a beautiful place, rolling hillsides, quiet. I almost checked in myself rather than stay at my mother’s! There’s a leaflet for it in the shop window. It’ll have their phone number – you’ll see it when you head up the hill.’
‘Great. I’d kinda left without any plan, really. And this didn’t appear to be a place where I could get a cheap Airbnb deal,’ Lizzie said.
‘No, I guess it doesn’t. There’s literally just that one place within ten miles, I think. Not many visitors to Mapledon …’
‘Not if they want to leave again, right?’ Lizzie said, unsmiling. The intensity in her eyes made Anna shiver.
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)
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.’
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Sam Carrington
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: AN INNOCENT GAME. A SHOCKING CRIME. A COMMUNITY FULL OF SECRETS. Mapledon, 1989Two little girls were out playing a game of dares. Only one returned home. The ten-year-old told police what she saw: village loner Bill ‘Creepy’ Cawley dragged her friend into his truck and disappeared. No body was found, but her testimony sent Cawley to prison for murder. An open and shut case, the right man behind bars. The village could sleep safe once again. Now…Anna thought she had left Mapledon and her nightmares behind but a distraught phone call brings her back to face her past. 30 years ago, someone lied. 30 years ago, the man convicted wasn’t the only guilty party. Now he’s out of prison and looking for revenge. The question is, who will he start with? Praise for Sam Carrington ‘Engrossing psychological suspense … it had me hooked!’ Emma Curtis, bestselling author of The Night You Left ‘Expertly written … with plentiful twists and unforgettable characters. ’ Caroline Mitchell, bestselling author of Silent Victim and The Secret Child ‘A pacy read, packed with surprises. Will keep you on your toes. ’ Jane Corry, bestselling author of I Looked Away and My Husband’s Wife