when he’d visited her as a child, she had to go and find out
more. Delve into his memories. He might be like her, and not remember anything, but she had to try. Together, they might be
able to slot in some pieces of the puzzle.
Rob had responded to her text almost immediately. He’d jumped
at the chance to meet her. Lizzie had suggested they meet at the
churchyard, but Rob asked her to go to his. After a fleeting
moment of uncertainty, she agreed, telling him she’d be there
in ten minutes.
During the brief car ride, Lizzie went over what she wanted
to say and the questions she wanted answered. At this point,
she wasn’t sure if he’d found out she was Eliza Cawley – and if
he knew, what sort of response she could expect upon her arrival.
If he didn’t already know, then he was about to get a shock.
Rob opened the door before she’d rung the bell. His face was
solemn, fixed into a grim-looking expression.
‘Hi,’ Lizzie said, tentatively. He didn’t respond, just stood in
front of her, staring. ‘Is it all right to come in?’
‘Sorry,’ he said, standing aside. ‘Yes, come on in.’
Lizzie stepped over the threshold and found herself in a small
square hall, stairs on the left, and two doors going off to the right.
Both were closed. They stood silently, awkwardly, in the hallway.
‘I’m sorry,’ Lizzie said. A glimmer of emotion flashed in his
eyes. Lizzie was unable to identify whether it was hurt, anger,
fear or sadness. But in that moment, it was clear he knew. Knew
she’d kept her identity from him. Lied to his face. She wondered
how she could repair the damage, then remembered her lines
– the ones she’d been rehearsing on her way there. ‘I didn’t tell you who I was because I was scared, Rob. I was afraid of every-261
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one’s reactions if they were to realise whose daughter I was. I didn’t like misleading you.’ She drew her lips into a smile, waiting for him to respond.
‘I get it. I don’t like that you did it, but I understand. Doesn’t stop me feeling as though you’ve conned me, or tried to trap
me, though. Mum said you’re a journalist. Were you after some
scoop, or something?’
‘No, Rob. I was after closure. I’m still looking for that.
Searching for the truth.’
‘I’m not sure you’re going to find that here.’
‘Oh, I am determined I will.’
‘At what cost?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There’s always a cost, Lizzie. Someone will suffer – truth or
lies – things can still hurt.’
‘What is it that you know, Rob?’
He lowered his head. Then turned and walked to the first
door, opening it and going through. Lizzie assumed he wanted
her to follow.
‘Sit down. Wine? Or lager?’ he asked.
‘If it’s cold, I’ll take a lager, please.’ The heat in her throat needed cooling.
He disappeared and Lizzie took the opportunity to look
around the room. It was like a drawing room, rather than a
lounge – a large dark-wood desk stood in the far corner, book-
shelves packed haphazardly with paperbacks lined two walls.
Picture frames hung on the other two in diamond formations.
Lizzie studied them. She continued even when Rob re-entered
the room. He silently waited for her to finish.
‘It’s weird, seeing these,’ she said, finally. Rob passed her a bottle of lager and she took a large gulp, the liquid coating her throat.
‘It’s like a time capsule,’ he said. ‘I rarely come in here – it
creeps me out.’
Lizzie laughed, but didn’t say anything. He was right.
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Somehow it did feel creepy in this room. Like it held secrets.
All those faces trapped in time, lining the walls. Snippets of
history. Of Mapledon’s past; its residents.
‘You’re in one of them, did you see?’ Rob said, approaching
the first wall.
‘No, where?’
He pointed to one that depicted what looked to be a village
fete. ‘This was May Day. I was about nine or ten I think, and
I’d been counting my lucky stars I’d got out of dancing like a
prat around that bloody maypole.’ He laughed. ‘Some of my
He laughed again, pressing a fingertip against the glass, indi-
cating the boys. ‘And there’s you, sitting in the middle. The
younger kids always sat around the pole while the older ones
danced, weaving the ribbons into patterns. Do you remember?’
She had a vague memory of coloured ribbons flying around.
‘I think so. I don’t remember ever dancing, though.’
‘You wouldn’t. You’d gone before you were the age to dance.’
‘Wow, that sounds unfair, doesn’t it?’ She forced a smile. ‘Who
are the people around the edge, watching?’
‘Um . . . gosh, not sure, almost all the villagers came out in
force on May Day. Let’s see . . .’ Rob moved closer to the photo
and began rattling off names. ‘There’s my mum and Muriel –
obviously, there was never any show without Punch – Eric, Mark,
Reverend Farnley, Tina, Billy and Pat.’
‘Wait, Billy? Really?’ Lizzie pushed her head next to Rob’s. ‘I
didn’t think he ever went out. By all accounts he was never made
to feel welcome. And most people’s memories point to him not
being bothered in the slightest with village events.’
‘Well, the camera never lies. And he is there, standing right
next to Tina.’
Lizzie noted the straggly hair, the hunched shoulders, recog-
nising her father from the many pictures she’d seen in the media.
‘He was keeping an eye on me.’
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‘Or just going to see you take part in the May Day celebrations?’
Rob offered.
‘No. You can see from his posture, his gaze – look.’ Lizzie
pointed. ‘It’s like he’s afraid I’m going to come to harm or
something. I’d heard that he’d become overprotective of me
after Mum died. This must’ve been near then.’
‘Didn’t your mum die at the end of May, though? This would’ve
been before that, being a May Day thing. I could ask Mum.’
‘No need.’ It didn’t really matter about the timing. What was
interesting was how closely her father was standing to Tina.
Jonie’s mum. Was Jonie one of the girls dancing? Looking more
closely, Lizzie wondered if it was Jonie her father had such a
close eye on. Not her. A shiver shot through her. No. She was
reading too much into it. Hadn’t she decided that she was more
inclined to believe Billy was innocent of the crime? She had to
make her mind up, come down on one side of the fence or the
other.
‘I was talking to Muriel today,’ Lizzie said, changing the
subject. ‘She mentioned you had tried to be friends with me. Is
that
true?’
Rob backed away from the wall and sat down on a large, flat
stool. It resembled a big mushroom. When he looked back up
to Lizzie, she saw his face was red.
‘I told you the other night, I don’t really remember much.’
‘Bollocks.’ Lizzie heard herself saying it before she could
control her mouth. Rob looked away sharply. ‘Look, I know I
lied about who I was,’ Lizzie said, ‘we’ve covered that. But there’s no need to lie now. Is there?’
‘It’s awkward, Lizzie. I mean, like . . . uncomfortably so. I’ve
never spoken about it and if I’m honest, I don’t want to start
now. Nothing good will come of it. Just more hurt and pain.’
‘For me, or you?’
‘You, mainly.’
‘Well, can you let me be the judge of that?’
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‘Okay, and me, then. If you don’t believe me, then—’ He held his head in his hands, his eyes masked. ‘You’ll think I’m
some weirdo.’
‘Oh, come on. I’m the weirdo – you can’t take that crown
off me.’ Lizzie attempted a laugh, but it sounded hollow.
‘I wanted to help, somehow. We’d been told in a school
assembly to be kind to others. And I knew you got a rough ride
from everyone. Just about every kid teased you – their parents
stopped them from playing with you. You were certainly never
invited over to someone’s house for tea, and despite some
horrible kids trying to befriend you just so they could get a look inside Creepy Cawley’s house, no one had stepped foot inside
or been allowed to even play in your garden with you. I felt
sorry for you.’
‘So, you snuck out, away from the shop, and came to the
bungalow to call for me?’
‘Yep. God, I actually remember it clearly. I had a bag of sweets
to share with you. They were stuffed in my pocket, getting gooey
in the heat. I was scared stiff when I knocked on the door. Even
more scared when your dad answered it. But he let me in.’ Rob’s
eyes narrowed, his face crumpling.
‘Did he hurt you, Rob?’ Lizzie asked softly. Her heart banged
hard against her ribs as she awaited the awful answer.
‘No. He didn’t touch me.’
‘Oh. Okay, then. Why has it been such a big deal to you all
these years then? Why the silence?’
‘This is so . . . so hard, Lizzie.’
‘You’ve come this far, go on – get it off your chest.’
‘It was you. You who touched me. And you made me touch you.’ Tears tracked down his face.
Lizzie’s jaw slackened. ‘What the hell, Rob?’
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Chapter Seventy-Two
1989
Mapledon Church
Sunday 4th June – 45 days before
Muriel hurried through the church gate, patting her dress down,
then dragging her fingers through her hair to neaten it. She
swiped the back of her hand across her forehead, clearing the
dampness from her skin. Rushing up the road in the heat hadn’t
been a good idea, but she was late. She’d never been late for
Sunday school. Reverend Farnley would be wondering what had
held her up. The truth of the matter was that she’d been too
preoccupied with the minutes from Thursday’s Mapledon
Meeting, keen to get the action points written down. Keen to
make progress with at least one of them. The main one.
She opened the heavy church door as quietly as she could,
so as not to disturb any reading the vicar might be in the middle of, but she was lucky – he was nowhere to be seen as she entered.
It was uncharacteristically quiet. Muriel looked around for the
other wardens, but they weren’t there. Had Sunday school been
cancelled without her knowledge?
‘Hello,’ she called out, tentatively.
Nothing.
Where were the kids?
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An outing. Muriel tutted. She’d forgotten all about the walk.
Reverend Farnley had said last week they’d be taking the children around Mapledon to talk about its history. Odd that she hadn’t
encountered them on her way up through the village though.
A noise from the vestry caught her attention. Muriel strained
her ears, moving closer to the room. There were voices coming
from inside. She lifted her hand to knock on the door, but froze.
The deep voice, muffled by the heavy wooden door, seemed
urgent. It was Reverend Farnley, Muriel felt sure. Why hadn’t
he gone along with the others? Rather than knock, she pressed
her ear to the door instead. She didn’t know why she felt
compelled to listen, why she hadn’t just let her presence be
known – it was a feeling, an inkling something wasn’t right. His
voice lowered to the point she couldn’t make out any words.
She stepped away from the door, deciding to wait in the main
church for the others to return. Maybe he was making an impor-
tant call. She shouldn’t disturb him.
Muriel busied herself with tidying the kids’ corner, straight-
ening the kneeling pads in the pews and neatening the pile of
hymnbooks. After ten minutes or so, she heard the vestry door
opening. Finally, Reverend Farnley was coming out. Muriel
walked towards him, but the look of dismay on his face made
her stop short.
‘Whatever’s the matter, Reverend?’ Muriel shot him a worried
look. ‘Are you unwell?’
‘Muriel. I . . . you . . .’ he stammered, then took a big breath, composing himself. ‘You weren’t here when the others left. I
assumed you weren’t coming today.’ He kept turning his head
to look behind him as he spoke.
‘I’m sorry I was running so late; I had some urgent business
to attend to.’
Farnley raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. He seemed
to be hesitating, undecided whether he was going to walk back
into the vestry or come out into the church.
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‘Right,’ he said. ‘Yes, I had rather the same predicament.’ He smiled – but it was an awkward one.
‘Oh? Is everything all right?’
He turned his head again, back towards the vestry. ‘It’s Eliza,’
he said quietly. ‘She’s been sick, and I was trying to get hold of Billy to come and get her.’
Muriel craned her neck around the Reverend to see inside
the vestry. But the door was pulled to.
‘Well, we shouldn’t leave her in there on her own,’ Muriel
said, moving towards the door. Reverend Farnley caught hold
of her arm. ‘She’s fine now, Muriel. No need to fuss.’ Something
in his voice caused her to pause.
‘I can drop her home, Reverend. It’s no problem.’
‘Give her a moment.’
‘Why?’ Muriel couldn’t keep the bewilderment from her tone.
Reverend Farnley’s face flushed. Muriel, her patience wearing
thin, walked forwards and pushed the vestry door open. Little
Eliza was sitting on the floor – on cushions taken from the
wooden bench – clutching her doll, crying.
‘Oh, poor Eliza. Are you feeling poorly, love?’ Muriel crouched
down beside her. Eliza nodded without looking up. ‘Come on,
sweetie.’ Muriel held out her hand. ‘Let’s get you home. Maybe
you need to go to bed and rest.’
As Muriel straightened, Eliza’s hand now in hers, she felt
Reverend Farnley right behind her. She turned, banging into
him.
‘Sorry,’ she said, backing up and moving around him to reach
the door.
‘Muriel, wait a moment. I need a word with you.’ Reverend
Farnley’s face was set in a solemn expression. ‘Alone. Eliza can
wait for a bit longer.’
It hit Muriel then.
‘Has she told you something?’ A flash of hope that Eliza might
have divulged what her father had been doing to her bolstered
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her. Muriel would finally have a way of getting rid of Billy Cawley from her village.
‘Not really, no. But I think it’s best if you don’t mention it
to anyone.’
‘Mention what? That she’s sick?’
Reverend Farnley gave a deep sigh. ‘No, Muriel. That there
is . . . well . . . suspicion, let’s say, that Billy is in some way . . .
er . . . neglecting her.’
‘So, she did say something.’ Muriel pursed her lips, her face becoming stony. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Reverend, but you can’t keep
that sort of thing to yourself. It’s important—’
‘It’s important we don’t rock the boat unnecessarily, Muriel.
It wouldn’t look good that I was trying to coax her to tell me
something now, would it? What if she goes back home and tells
her father that I’d been asking questions?’
‘What if he really hurts her and you knew about him all along
but had done nothing? How would it look if the person she
confided in, who happened to be a vicar no less, stood aside and allowed such a thing to happen?’
‘Well, I’m asking you not to say anything for now, Muriel.
There is no solid proof and the poor man has already had a
rough ride since moving into Mapledon,’ Reverend Farnley said
in a calm but firm tone, giving Muriel a look that left no room
for interpretation; he might as well have said ‘because of you,
Muriel’. ‘I don’t want to be the one to instigate a persecution,