she’d be turning back about now and heading for the safety of
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the car. But the only ghosts she believed in were those in her head – her memory, or her imagination. She tripped on uneven
ground but managed to right herself. She took it more slowly.
At least she knew where to find Rosie’s grave; that made the
walk across the ground slightly easier.
Something smashed against her shin.
‘Ow!’ She stooped to rub the painful lump that had already
risen. She’d walked into a small gravestone – she didn’t stop to
read the inscription. It was probably that of a child. As she cast her phone around where she was standing, the beam picked up
movement.
‘Hello?’ Her voice wavered. She hadn’t even meant to call
out.
There was a rustling noise, then she heard breathing.
She froze. Shit. Why the hell did you come here alone?
She forced herself to breathe more slowly. A panic attack would
not be helpful in this situation. The sounds of movement had
stopped. She could no longer hear breathing. Had she heard her
own panicked breaths? Lizzie moved cautiously forwards, her
eyes keeping focus on the area ahead of her. She risked hitting
another headstone, but she didn’t want to take her attention
away from where she thought she’d seen something. Or someone.
If it turned out to be the church cat, she’d feel so stupid.
There it was again. The movement was slower this time, as
though they were trying to avoid detection.
‘I can see you. I know you’re there. No point trying to hide,’
Lizzie said, her voice sounding braver now: confident and strong.
What first appeared to be a dark blob of a shadow, lengthened
and spread – became solid. Lizzie’s mouth dried, her pulse
pounding in her ears, drowning out any other sounds.
‘I think we’re here for the same reason,’ she said, making her
way more quickly to the figure now. Lizzie’s hand trembled, the
light from her phone wavering wildly, but she kept her arm
outstretched.
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‘What makes you say that?’ A deep voice broke the silence, tore through the darkness. Lizzie suppressed a yelp of surprise,
forcing her other hand across her mouth to prevent its escape.
‘Billy?’ she whispered.
The man turned sharply and shot off, away from Lizzie, away
from Rosie’s grave.
‘Don’t run, please. I want to speak to you.’
The adrenaline coursed through her veins, and she was saying
the wrong things. Frightening him away. But maybe that was a
good thing. Was she really ready, or able, to face the man who’d
ruined her life and those of so many other people?
Calm the fuck down, Lizzie.
She squeezed her eyes tight and took some steadying breaths.
He’d disappeared, but without thinking, she shouted after him.
‘Dad! It’s Eliza. Your Eliza. I just want to see you.’
The silence was fragmented by the odd chirp of crickets, but
nothing else. He must have left via another gate. Her shoulders
slumped. She was unsure as to why, but she felt disappointed.
She’d missed her opportunity to confront him. But she’d been
right – he had come back to Mapledon. Even if only in the dead of night to visit her mother’s grave. Maybe he’d come back again
tomorrow night. But now he’d been rumbled, he might not risk
coming back at all.
Lizzie crouched in front of Rosie’s headstone, one hand on
the cold granite.
‘I wish I could remember you, Mum,’ she whispered.
Lizzie felt the weight of a hand on her shoulder and she fell
sideways, her legs scrambling to get purchase on the earthy
ground.
‘Shitting hell!’ she shouted.
‘Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you,’ the man said,
his hands up in front of him, fingers splayed indicating he came
in peace.
‘Well, you did. I thought you’d gone.’
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‘I had, but I heard what you said, and it forced me to come back.’ He kept a comfortable distance between them, and Lizzie
felt herself relax a little.
‘I had a feeling you’d be here.’
‘So, you’re Eliza, are you?’
Lizzie caught his faint smile in the illumination of her phone
light.
‘Yes. It’s been a long time, Dad.’
Tears shone in his eyes and Lizzie was lost for a moment, she
didn’t know what to say, how to be. She’d been told a great deal
of second-hand information about a man she’d no memory of:
the man now standing in front of her. Awful things, disturbing
things. She felt unsure, wary. But she didn’t feel how she imagined she should – no fear, no disgust. This moment wasn’t as she’d
expected. He wasn’t as she expected. It was dark, she knew, but he appeared younger than she’d imagined. He was grey, with a
growth of stubble that suggested he hadn’t shaved in a few days,
probably since his release – but he wasn’t old when she consid-
ered he’d been in prison for thirty years. For all the things she’d wanted to say, had rehearsed so many times in her mind – now
faced with William Cawley, she was lost for words.
‘I know you’ll remember the bad things. I suspect you hate
me, or at least have grown up with hatred in your heart. But
you’re here for a reason. What made you come looking for me
after all this time?’
‘I guess I want the truth. Straight from the horse’s mouth.’
‘You could have got that if you’d visited me in prison. You
could’ve known the truth years ago.’
‘Yes, but I didn’t know then. I thought I knew the truth
already, which meant there was no point seeing you. I didn’t
want to put myself through it. Yes, I hated you. You ruined my
life. You took away my childhood. Why would I even consider
visiting a child murderer?’
Billy frowned and made a deep, grunting sound, like a hurt
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animal. Lizzie noted his fists were balled, by his sides. She may have misjudged this situation. Put herself in the direct line of
fire.
‘What’s changed?’
‘I came here. And since I stepped foot in this village, I’ve seen things differently.’
He nodded, a smile playing on his lips.
Was she being naive?
‘If it’s the truth you want, it’ll take some time. It’s not a short story. I suggest we do this in the daytime, somewhere neutral.
I can’t be seen here.’
‘Okay. Let’s agree to meet later this afternoon. Where are you
living?’
‘I’ve got a caravan. It’s on a farmer’s land on the outskirts of
Bovey Tracey. Close enough to secretly visit Rosie’s grave, but
far enough to keep within my restrictions.’
Lizzie didn’t like the sound of it. Too remote to be on her
own
with Billy Cawley. Whilst she had the overwhelming feeling
there was more to what had happened than had ever been told,
she also believed there was no smoke without fire. He might
not be responsible for the murder of Jonie Hayes, but he might
still be responsible for the abuse she’d been told she’d suffered as a child. She couldn’t put too much trust in him.
‘I’m staying at Bulleigh Barton B&B. It’s a little way—’
‘Yes, I know of it.’ He took a moment to mull it over, then
agreed to meet the following day after he’d reported in with his
probation officer. Lizzie watched as he left, then took the oppo-
site path and quickly got in her car and drove off.
She’d met her father. After thirty years. For the moment,
Lizzie didn’t quite know how to feel about it. And a nagging
feeling tugging on her insides told her she might have made a
huge mistake letting him into her life again.
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Chapter Fifty-One
1989
Brook Cottage Store
Tuesday 20th June – 29 days before
‘Can I go and play with Eliza?’
‘Robert Andrews, what have I told you about coming into
the shop when Mummy’s working?’
‘Dad’s not home yet,’ he said, as though that should answer
‘Hang on there a second, please. Wait until I’ve finished
serving Mrs Fisher.’
Robert did as he was asked, stepping away from the counter.
He pressed his back against the newspaper stand so he was out
of the way and he stood still, straining to hear what Mrs Fisher
was whispering to his mum. He heard ‘not a good idea’, but
that was all. Grown-ups were weird. He eyed the shelf of penny
sweets opposite, and decided while he waited he’d get a selection for him and Eliza to share. He picked out some sherbet flying
saucers, dropping them into the white paper bag. Then added
some fizzy cola bottles, his absolute fave, and some fried eggs.
He was about to pop in a candy lipstick for Eliza when his
mother shouted for him. He quickly shoved them in, hid the
bag behind his back, and went back to the counter.
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‘I’m sorry, love,’ his mother said looking at him, her head to one side. Robert knew it was going to be a ‘no’.
‘Why not?’ His voice came out like a girly whine. He looked
down at the floor.
‘It’s just not a good idea at the moment. You know she lost
her mummy not very long ago . . .’
‘I know. We had an assembly about it.’ Robert looked up to
Nell, his expression thoughtful. ‘Which is why it is a good idea, Mum. It can be “a very lonely time” – it’s important she has
friends to help her.’ Robert watched his mother’s face intently.
Tears shone brightly in her eyes, but they didn’t fall out.
‘Robert, you are such a kind little boy. I’m so proud of you.
But for now, I would like it if you’d wait a while. Until things
settle a little for Eliza and her dad. I think they need time to
heal. Do you understand?’
‘Not really. And it’s sad because she doesn’t have any friends.
If you died, I’d want someone to be kind to me.’
Mrs Fisher, who’d been standing there the whole time,
suddenly butted in.
‘Robert, you need to listen to the adults. We know more than
you do.’
Robert curled his lip – he hadn’t meant to, it just happened.
He doubted they did know more . Why did grown-ups think they knew it all? He’d lost this battle though, that was obvious.
‘Fine,’ he said, sulkily. ‘I’ll go back into the house then.’
Tucking the hand holding the bag of sweets into his trouser
pocket, he retreated. Sometimes he was allowed to take some
things from the shop, like last week when his mum told him to
take two Pot Noodles for himself and Nick for an after-school
snack. But he had to have permission. He couldn’t ask for it
now – she’d see right through him and know he was taking
sweets for Eliza. Robert had already made his mind up he was
going anyway. His mum would be in the shop working for
another two hours at least, and his dad wasn’t due home from
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work at the local brewery until seven. There was plenty of time to sneak out, see Eliza, and get back before anyone knew he’d
been gone.
His heart beat so hard as he crept out the back door. He was
careful not to be seen by any adults, particularly those heading
towards the shop – he didn’t want them to dob him in. He’d
made sure he’d given enough time for Mrs Fisher to have walked
down the road – she was so nosy and annoying – she’d definitely rat on him if she saw him leaving.
Eliza’s house wasn’t far from the shop; it wouldn’t take him
long to reach it. He’d only ever been there with some of the
older kids when they’d knocked on Creepy Cawley’s door and
run away. Robert felt scared now as the bungalow came into
sight at the end of the cul-de-sac. He knew the things people
said about Eliza’s dad, but he wasn’t sure they were true. Even
so, his tummy twisted and bubbled as he approached. Creepy
Cawley’s red truck was in the gravelled driveway. He really hoped Eliza was outside playing. That way he wouldn’t have to knock
on the door and ask for her.
Robert hesitated by the front wall; his hands were hot in his
pockets, the paper bag of sweets felt warm and squidgy. Eliza
wasn’t in the garden. He stood, unable to go forwards yet unable
to walk away either. He’d come this far; he had to be brave
enough to knock. He wished he knew which window Eliza’s
bedroom was. He’d just knock on that and she’d probably come
He heard the word, chicken, repeated in his head.
Come on. Do it.
His hand was raised, inches from the door before he realised
he’d even walked up the path. He had a moment of sheer panic
as his knuckles rapped on the glass. What was he doing here,
really? He’d never even spoken to Eliza before – most of the
kids at school picked on her, said she was weird like her dad,
and ‘one sandwich short of a picnic’. And even Robert agreed
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she was. Eliza was bound to tell him to go away now, and if she didn’t, her father surely would. He was so stupid. His mum and
Mrs Fisher were right. It wasn’t a good idea to be here.
There was no answer anyway, so Robert turned his back, his
legs ready to make a run for it. But what if Creepy Cawley
thought he was playing Knock, Knock, Ginger? He’d chase him
down the street. Robert dithered on the step, not sure what to
do.
Stay. Grow up. You’re almost ten years old, not a baby.
He knocked again, then shut his eyes tight. His heart was
going to leap out fro
m his chest any minute. A breeze swept
across his face at the same time he heard a whooshing noise.
The front door had been opened so quickly he’d felt the move-
ment of air. He held his breath, for good measure, and waited
for the shouting to begin.
‘Open your eyes, boy!’ A booming voice came from in front
of him. Robert’s eyes sprung open. A pain in his groin gripped
him and he held onto himself in the hope he wasn’t about to
pee his pants.
‘What do you want?’ Creepy Cawley’s frown seemed to take
up his entire face – creases upon creases, making him look like
a scary old man. No wonder all the kids were afraid of him. Up
close he was even worse than how Robert had imagined him.
An ogre, even. Robert opened his mouth, but only a squeak
came from it.
‘I – er . . . I—’
‘Spit it out, boy! If you’re meant to be playing that stupid
game, I’m afraid you’ve not grasped the point. You’re meant to
knock, then run away?’ He raised both eyebrows, displaying
wide, dark eyes.
‘I’m not . . . I wasn’t playing it.’
‘So? Again, what do you want? I haven’t got all day.’
‘I wanted to see Eliza,’ Robert managed to say through his
tightening throat.
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‘What for?’
Robert put his hand in his pocket and took the crumpled
bag out, holding it up towards Creepy Cawley. ‘I brought her
some sweets.’ His voice sounded weak. Scared. He coughed and
took a deep breath before speaking again. ‘My teacher said it’s
nice to do things for other people when they’re sad.’ He dared
to look into the man’s eyes and give a small smile.
‘Right. I see.’ Creepy Cawley nodded, slowly, and Robert
thought he saw the hint of a smile on the man’s thin lips. ‘You’d better come in, then.’ And he swung the door open wider to let
Robert walk inside.
Robert swallowed his fear and took a step into the hallway.
He couldn’t hear Eliza’s voice. He really hoped she was home.
The door slammed loudly behind him.
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Chapter Fifty-Two
2019
Anna
Tuesday 16th July
The fact her mother was hiding the letters from her made Anna
wonder what else she was keeping secret. What could possibly