in the top drawer. She hadn’t had the opportunity to search her
mother’s room, and with everything else going on, she’d almost
forgotten about them. But now, concerned her dad might’ve
been involved in getting Billy sent to prison, the content of those letters was even more significant. If they were from Eric, of course. Even if they weren’t, there was a reason Muriel was
keeping them, and the fact she’d hidden them from Anna was
a firm indication they were linked to what was going on now.
To what went on back then.
‘Here you go,’ Anna said, placing the mat down and popping
the mug onto it. ‘Mum?’ She waited for her mother’s attention.
‘When I arrived last Saturday, you asked me to get a notepad
from the top drawer.’ Anna pointed to the dresser. ‘I saw a
bundle of old letters in there.’ She watched for Muriel’s reac-
tion.
‘Yes, don’t know why I keep such things. Terrible hoarder,’
she said, shrugging.
‘Who were they from?’
‘You always were a nosy one,’ Muriel said, taking a sip from
her drink.
‘No. I really wasn’t, Mum.’ Anna knew her mother was
stalling. Not wanting to divulge the author of the letters. ‘They’re from my dad, aren’t they?’
‘No, no. Just a pen friend. Goodness, your father would never
put pen to paper.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ Anna could no longer bother with the
nicey-nicey, drawn-out approach she’d been taking with her
mother. ‘Show me.’
‘I – I shredded them. They were taking up too much space . . .’
‘When did you do that?’
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‘Oh, I don’t remember. The other day, when you were next door with Sandie I think.’
‘Really?’ Anna got back up from the sofa and bent down in
front of Muriel. ‘Look at me, Mum.’
‘What? What now, Anna?’
‘You’re lying to me. Shit. You’ve lied to me all my life, haven’t you?’
‘Of course not,’ Muriel said. But there wasn’t an ounce of
conviction in her tone.
Anna’s jaw muscles clenched; her teeth jammed together
painfully. She had to keep her temper – losing it now wouldn’t
get her anywhere.
‘I realise you’ve told some untruths,’ Anna said, knowing she
was putting it very mildly. ‘And I know you’re probably worried
about what I’ll think of you. How I’ll react. But, Mum – I need
to know now.’ Anna took Muriel’s hands in hers. ‘This is getting
out of hand and I’m afraid people will come to harm because
of what you did, or what Dad did. Or what the villagers of
Mapledon did. I realise what’s done is done – we can’t alter the
past, but we can ensure no one else gets hurt now. All I want is for you to confide in me, to tell me the truth. It has to come
out eventually. Whatever you did – I’ll forgive you.’ Anna
attempted a warm, encouraging smile. She wasn’t sure she would be able to forgive her, but she felt it’s what she had to say to get Muriel to talk.
‘Oh, Anna. It’s all such a mess. None of us had any idea it
would come to this, I promise you.’ Muriel put her head in her
hands.
The knot in Anna’s stomach intensified. None of us?
‘It’s okay, Mum. Did your attempts to get Billy to leave
Mapledon snowball? Did you use Jonie’s disappearance to ensure you got what you wanted?’ A cold sensation crept over her skin.
‘It wasn’t just that,’ Muriel said. As she looked up, Anna saw
the tears slide down her face, their path meandering through
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the deep wrinkles. Christ. Had her mother caused Jonie’s disappearance?
‘What else?’ she asked. Her voice shook with apprehension,
fearing the answer.
Muriel began shaking her head, the movements getting more
and more violent.
‘Mum! Stop that, you’ll give yourself a headache.’ Anna placed
her hands either side of her mother’s head to stop her.
‘I’m sorry, Anna,’ she said.
‘What for? Tell me.’
Anna’s phone pinged, the sharp tone making them both jump.
She sighed. Couldn’t be worse timing; talk about being saved
by the bell. Muriel looked relieved when Anna straightened and
retrieved her mobile from the arm of the sofa.
‘Christ,’ she breathed. She looked up at Muriel. ‘Well, I get
the feeling whatever you’re holding back might be about to come
out in the wash,’ Anna said.
‘Why? Who is it?’ Panic spread on Muriel’s face.
‘It’s a text from Lizzie. She says it’s urgent. She wants to meet us.’
‘Not now, surely? It’s gone ten o’clock.’
‘The text was sent an hour ago by the look of it,’ Anna
muttered. The damn signal in Mapledon was driving her mad.
‘But yes. We have to leave now. And, Mum . . .’ Anna looked
directly into Muriel’s watery, pale blue eyes.
‘What, Anna? For goodness’ sake, don’t draw this out so
dramatically!’
‘She wants us to go to Blackstone Close. To Billy Cawley’s
bungalow.’
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Chapter Eighty-Six
2019
Lizzie
Lizzie parked on the drive at Blackstone Close. It felt odd –
particularly as the place didn’t bring back many memories. She’d
clearly done a very good job compartmentalising them, burying
them deep inside a part of her brain where they were irretriev-
able. She climbed out of the car, fetching the backpack from the
rear seat. Gravel crunched underfoot as she approached the front
door. Billy had given her his key. He’d also given her strict
instructions.
Nerves clutched at her insides as she slid the key into the lock
and pushed the door. It resisted; she had to give it several hard shoves before it opened. Piles of unopened post lay wedged
behind it; it was no wonder she’d struggled. She kicked most
of it out of the way and took a tentative step inside – muggy
air, a damp smell and dust quickly clogged her nostrils. She
sneezed three times, then covered her nose with her sleeve. She
flicked the nearest light switch knowing full well it wouldn’t
work as the electric had been switched off long ago, then
continued on through the hallway. Using her spare hand to
direct her mobile phone light, Lizzie headed towards the front
room – the one overlooking the garden. She wanted to see the
people arriving.
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Lizzie hoped what she was about to do would work. Hoped Billy Cawley would finally get what he deserved.
Atonement.
Car headlamps flooded the end of the cul-de-sac, the beams of
light hitting the ten-foot hedges, momentarily blinding Lizzie.
The car came to a stop just outside the bungalow, across the
driveway – blocking Lizzie’s own car in. She g
uessed they’d be
leaving before her, though. Then Lizzie spotted two figures
walking slowly along the pavement. Cautious in their move-
ments. Following closely behind, a further two people.
At least they had come. Lizzie was surprised – she assumed
they’d be reluctant, that she’d have to work harder to get them
to agree to meet her at Billy Cawley’s. It seemed everyone was
curious enough to want to find out what Lizzie had called
them together for. She wondered how long that would that
last.
How long before their curiosity gave way to anger, fear and
self-preservation.
Not everyone was going to make it, Lizzie knew that. Some
of the people involved with the lies, the cover-up – they would
not be present: Mark Hayes was dead – Lizzie’s research had
revealed it to be suicide; Reverend Farnley was in a residential
care home – unable to string a sentence together according to
her father’s ex-cell mate who’d made ‘some enquiries’; Eric
Fisher – he’d been AWOL since Billy Cawley’s incarceration, and
some villagers who’d had a part to play and had continued to
allow the secrets to remain buried – they were more minor
players and Lizzie hadn’t bothered with them. Lizzie, and Billy
himself, weren’t interested in those smaller fish. Just the big
players – the ones who’d lied and manipulated for their own
ends.
Lizzie lit the two oil lamps she’d brought with her, then walked
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confident and in control, however much she felt the opposite.
She stood aside to let them in. Muriel and Anna. Tina Hayes
and Pat Vern. Nell and Rob Andrews.
They were the chosen ones. They were the ones who’d perpet-
uated the lies, covered the truth and were happy to let those
really responsible slip away and remain hidden. Remain guiltless
in the eyes of the law.
They’d been the ones who’d been portrayed as the innocent,
damaged-by-a-tragedy members of the village of Mapledon.
Although there were some people present who were more innocent than others, each had to be present for the full story to
emerge. Lizzie wanted them all to know.
‘What’s going on, Lizzie?’ Rob was the first to question her,
the first to even utter a word. The others were solemn, pale and
twitchy. Lizzie experienced a strange buzz of satisfaction. But
then, she had always troubled these people. They’d always
thought Eliza Cawley strange, damaged goods. A child who
repulsed them. She guessed they still felt that way, even though
she didn’t rip the limbs off dolls anymore.
Unless some of them believed she did, of course – and that
she was the one hammering dolls to doors.
How short-sighted they’d been.
‘You’re all here for one reason,’ Lizzie said as she ushered
them into the lounge. The thick dust, the dark shadows, the
smell of rot – all added to the atmosphere, made them cower
just a little bit more.
‘Which is?’ Anna asked.
Lizzie stared at her for a moment before answering, taking
in her slumped shoulders, her pinched expression. Something
had altered – there was a coldness in her eyes that hadn’t been
there before. Hopelessness? When Lizzie had first met her, she’d
felt a connection – had immediately related to her. She hadn’t
come across as someone with dark secrets.
‘You’ll see,’ Lizzie said.
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‘This is preposterous! What is your problem, young lady?’
Nell demanded. ‘Stop playing games. We’ve better things to do
with our time.’ She turned and fumbled her way to the lounge
door.
‘I wouldn’t,’ Pat Vern said.
Nell turned back sharply. ‘I wouldn’t?’ she repeated. ‘That sounds like a threat to me, Pat?’
‘No, Nell. Of course it’s not.’ He sounded exasperated already.
‘But you need to stay. Eliza has things she wants clearing up.
She deserves to hear from you, too.’
‘Hear what? Look, Pat, I appreciate this must be a difficult
time for Tina and you,’ Nell said, pointing a finger at the
silent Tina. ‘But dragging up what happened to poor Jonie,
without being able to bring any kind of closure, is mean. It’s
selfish. And Eliza – Lizzie – is only here to witness more distress, and to try and vindicate her abusive, murdering
bastard of a father!’
Lizzie heard a gasp from Muriel’s direction. That woman was
something else. How could Muriel be so offended by a bit of
bad language after what she’d done?
‘Who said I couldn’t offer any closure to Tina?’ Lizzie said.
Shocked faces all turned to look at her.
‘As I said,’ Lizzie continued. ‘You’re here for a reason. That
reason is to uncover the truth. Although I’m aware some of you
know aspects of the truth, others only know very little of it.’
‘Go on, Lizzie,’ Tina said. Her voice was a small sound from
the corner of the room. Lizzie nodded to her.
‘Okay.’ Lizzie gave a feeble smile. An attempt to soften what
was to come. Some of the later revelations would hit Tina hard.
She looked to Pat, who tilted his chin in acknowledgement before
wrapping an arm around Tina.
‘You lied, Anna,’ Lizzie said as she turned, directing her mobile phone light onto Anna. Lizzie watched as Anna’s face seemed
to lose its shape – the muscles slackening. She wasn’t enjoying
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added: ‘Little Bella Fisher didn’t tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Did she?’
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Chapter Eighty-Seven
1989
En route to Bovey Police Station
Friday 21st July – 36 hours after Jonie Hayes’ disappearance Muriel took the narrow roads slowly to avoid the Dartmoor
ponies and to allow her time to pull in for any cars coming from
the opposite direction. And to give her time to go over the script with Bella. She had to get it right.
‘Again,’ she said. ‘You need to sound more confident.’
‘I’m tired, I can’t.’
They passed Haytor, the car juddering over a cattle grid.
Bella’s head banged rhythmically against the passenger window,
but her blank stare never wavered.
‘You must, Bella. Now, from the beginning: where were you
when you first saw Billy’s truck?’
She sighed. ‘ Fine. Jonie and me were heading to the park, so we walked along Elmore Road, and that’s when I saw Billy
Cawley’s truck.’
‘Okay. Right, well don’t say it’s Billy’s truck to begin with.
Describe it,’ Muriel coaxed.
‘Red truck, yellow stripe, doll’s head. Yes, mother, I’ve got
it.’
‘Don’t snap at me, Bella.’
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‘Well, I don’t want to do it, Mum.’ Fresh tears glistened on her cheeks.
‘I know, darling. But we need to. You understand, don’t you?’
Bella turned her head, her eyes finding Muriel’s and locking
with them. ‘Yes. I understand. I just wish we could go back to
before. I wish we’d never started playing that stupid game. I
wish I . . .’
‘Enough, Bella. No point going over the what-ifs and the I wishes; there’s nothing we can do to change what’s happened.
We can only try and fix it as best we can.’
‘There’s no fixing it, though, is there? Jonie’s gone.’ Her gaze
left Muriel’s and returned to the sweeping countryside, her face
expressionless.
‘But we can make it easier for Auntie Tina.’
Bella huffed. ‘You mean easier for you and Dad.’
Muriel drove on in silence, hoping and praying her ten-year-old
daughter would come good once she was in the police station.
Their future depended on it.
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Chapter Eighty-Eight
2019
Anna
Friday 19th July
The realisation hit Anna full force.
She hadn’t seen Jonie Hayes being taken by Billy Cawley.
Her younger self – little Bella Fisher – hadn’t even seen the
truck where she said she had.
Everything she’d told the police had been a lie. A story her
mother had tutored her to get right. A fleeting memory of
rehearsing the story before going to the police station flashed
through her mind.
That must have been why there’d been a delay in informing
the police; why she hadn’t told them what she’d seen immedi-
ately.
Because it hadn’t happened.
And her mother had come up with a story that made Billy
Cawley look guilty to get rid of him from the village. A story
that would see her mother’s agenda come to fruition.
Anna wanted to vomit.
All eyes in the room were on her, waiting for an explanation
she couldn’t – didn’t want to – give them. Her memories were
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