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 oppor-
tunity 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!’
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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
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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 deliv-
ered the bloody message couldn’t be alluding to Muriel having
blood on her hands?
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Chapter Twenty-Nine
2019
Lizzie
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
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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 over-
hearing 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.
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‘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 immedi-
ately 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
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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.’
‘Gosh, yes – I hadn’t thought about that. It must be terrible
for you, and now I’m adding to it. It’s not like you can get away from it,’ Lizzie said, offering a sympathetic smile. ‘I assume you live in the village?’
‘Yes. Still here, living with my mum. And I know, before you
say it, it’s such a cliché. God, it’s actually sad, but I always felt I had to stay, after it all. Then, as she’s aged, she’s needed more help, so . . . you know.’
‘That sounds perfectly reasonable – not a cliché at all,’ Lizzie
said, thinking the exact opposite. ‘Hey – is there still a pub here?’
Lizzie remembered seeing it as she’d walked up the main street
yesterday.
‘Yes – not that it’s great, if I’m honest. Mainly old people.’
He said the last bit in a whisper from behind his hand. Lizzie
laughed.
‘Well, do you fancy dropping the average age of its punters
a bit by having a drink with me later?’
The man’s eyes brightened. ‘Sure, would love to. What time?’
‘Say . . . eight?’
‘Great. It’s a hundred yards or so to the right as you go down
the hill. I’ll meet you outside if you like?’
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That would be a good idea – she didn’t want to draw unwanted attention by going in alone. ‘Yes, lovely. See you later.’ Lizzie took her bag from the counter. ‘Sorry, I’m Lizzie, by the way.’
‘I’m Robert. Rob. Bob. Bobby. Any of those.’ He smiled
warmly. ‘Nell’s son. We own this shop – in case you didn’t know
that already.’
Lizzie returned his smile. Nell, as in Nell Andrews. Perfect.
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Chapter Thirty
1989
Blackstone Close
Saturday 8th July – 11 days before
Billy lifted his head from the arm of the sofa, immediately regretting doing so: it felt heavy, clogged, painful. His tongue was dry too, sticking to the roof of his mouth – he had to free it with his forefinger, causing him to gag; it made a strange suction sound
as it released. He rested his head back gently while dropping his arm and feeling around, exploring the floor beside the sofa with
his fingertips until he located the can. He took a swig from the
remaining content – the warm lager tasted foul, but he continued
to gulp it down anyway – anything to relieve the dehydration.
last. How would he get through another night of loneliness, of
guilt and regrets, if he didn’t have alcohol? He’d need to replenish his stock, but couldn’t face going to Brook Cottage Store to buy
it. Couldn’t face the judgement, the accusations. And he dare
not drive outside of Mapledon to acquire some – if he got
stopped, he knew his blood alcohol level would put him over
the limit. Though incarceration might actually be better than
how he was living right now, he would never turn this around
if he were in prison.
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He snorted. If he was being honest, and taking a good, hard look at himself, then he would never turn it around by diving
into the bottle every time he hit a stumbling block either. He
needed to pull himself together, get back to work. The problem
with working for himself was having no one else to answer to
and having a plethora of excuses for why he couldn’t find any
carpentry jobs. The people of Mapledon wouldn’t employ him.
He had to go further afield – and in his current state of mind
it was too much effort. Much easier to lie about all day and
wallow in self-pity.
God, he missed her.
He’d let her down so badly.
His forced solitude was suffocating him. If only people could
give him a chance, instead of believing all the terrible stories
flying around. If only he had company. Being by himself all the
time wasn’t good for him. Never had been. He needed, craved
someone to understand him. To be beside him and love him.
To trust him.
But, did he deserve any of that after messing up so badly?
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Chapter Thirty-One
2019
Anna
Sunday 14th July
Anna paced the lounge from the doorway to the window and
back, the edge of one thumbnail jammed between her teeth,
chewing on it vigorously as she waited for Auntie Tina to walk
down the path.
‘For goodness’ sake, love, you’re making me nervous,’ Muriel said. ‘Stand still. Or better yet, sit.’
‘I can’t. Not now you’ve told me I’ve done the wrong thing
inviting her here. If she hates me for merely living, then why
does she want to come for coffee? Is she going to lace it with
arsenic?’
‘And I thought I was the one who blew things out of propor-
tion,’ Muriel muttered, giving Anna a knowing look. Anna
smiled weakly. Did her mum know that’s what she often said
about her – what she told other people – that her mother was
inclined to dramatise?
The doorbell startled her, in turn making Muriel jump.
Anna shot a wide-eyed glance towards her mum and headed
to the door.
‘Morning, Auntie Tina,’ Anna said.
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‘You going to keep me on the doorstep?’
Anna stood back quickly. She hadn’t realised she’d frozen.
‘Sorry, yes – come in.’
Even though the morning was warm, Anna felt a chill as Tina
brushed past her and walked into the lounge. She took a slow
breath in, closed the door, then headed into the lion’s den.
‘Haven’t seen you out and about for a while, Muriel,’ Tina said,
as soon as she sat at the dining table.
‘The way it goes sometimes.’ Muriel gave a shrug.