“I’m only saying because I care,” she mumbled.
Jago looked away. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about returning to college. He thought about it all the time. Everyone had started back last week without him. He’d missed his end of year exams back in July thanks to Noah’s disappearance. The college dean had attempted to call twice this week already.
How could he even begin to think about leaving Devil’s Cove when he was failing? How could he think about leaving even if he was top of the class?
He froze. Up ahead, the face of his little brother smiled at him. Jago stepped forward to examine the missing persons notice taped to the street light. Sea salt had eroded the paper. Noah’s image, a picture of him beaming with joy as he clutched his new blue teddy bear, was fading away.
Jago looked back at Nat, who was now staring at the ground, an angry scowl pulled down over her features.
“You know, you’re more fun when you’re being morose,” he said, shrugging off his backpack. He pulled on the zip and delved inside to remove a fresh poster and some tape. “All this emotional feelings crap is creeping me out.”
Carefully removing the old poster, he set about attaching the new one. Nat came up beside him.
“Yeah, well you’re more fun when you’re not being a total ass.” A hint of a smile rippled across her lips. But only for a second. She pointed her head in the direction of the promenade.
Someone was crossing the road and heading straight for them. The man was in his late thirties, good-looking in an unconventional kind of way, but he had a hunger in his eyes that made him look predatory. Like a shark.
Even in the dim street light, Jago recognised him immediately. Anger rose from his stomach.
“It’s Jago, isn’t it?” the man said, as he approached. “I don’t know if you remember me? Scott Triggs. I write for The Cornish Chronicle.”
Jago regarded him through narrowed eyes. “I remember you.”
Scott smiled and unfolded his arms, adopting a casual stance. “So, what do you kids make of all this? The police haven’t released a statement yet but I’m guessing if you’re here, that isn’t your brother up at the hospital.”
Jago’s hands slowly curled into fists.
“Do you think I could get a quick interview? Just your thoughts and feelings about this new turn of events,” Triggs said. He pulled a mobile phone from his pocket and activated the voice recorder app as he nodded at the newly pinned poster. “It won’t take long. I can get the story in tomorrow’s paper. It might spark interest in Noah’s story again. Jog memories. Maybe someone will remember something and come forward.”
Nat stepped down on the edge of her skateboard and flipped it up into her hands. She tugged Jago’s arm.
“Come on,” she said. Before you say something you regret.”
The journalist activated the voice recorder and held it up. “It must have been devastating to learn the boy they found this morning wasn’t Noah. Were you visited by the police?”
Jago stared at the voice recorder then at the journalist, his eyes slowly narrowing.
“Were they able to shed any light on the identity of the boy on the beach?” Scott Triggs waited for an answer. When it didn’t come, he frowned. “Who do you think the boy could be? Do you think there’s a link between your missing brother and the appearance of this mystery boy?”
Nat tugged harder on Jago’s arm. He resisted, shrugging her off.
“Jago... This isn’t a good idea.”
But Jago wasn’t listening to her. He took a step toward the journalist. “The last time we spoke to you, you promised your story would help. That it might spur someone to come forward,” he said. “Instead, you made my family look like a bunch of inbreds. You insinuated it was our fault that Noah disappeared. Why would I speak to you again? Why am I even wasting my breath on you right now?”
He leaned in closer, his teeth mashing together.
Scott Triggs took a step back. “Hey, I only write the stories. I can’t stop my editor from barging in and changing my words.”
Nat pulled on Jago’s arm again. “Come on, dickhead. I don’t fancy having my face in the papers.”
Jago took another step forward. “You had no intention of helping my family when my brother disappeared. You have no intention of helping us now,” he said. “So why don’t you fuck off?”
He locked eyes with the journalist for a second more, before turning away. Jago stalked out of the car park.
Nat turned to follow. She paused, staring at Scott Triggs. “Here’s a quote for you,” she said, then lifted her middle finger. Dropping her skateboard to the ground, she hopped aboard and took off.
Jago had made it through the town square and was now marching up the hill. Fire burned in his veins. He had wanted to plant a fist right in the centre of that journalist’s face. He had wanted to keep hitting until his face was nothing more than bloody pulp.
Behind him, Nat was catching up fast. He quickened his pace. He was going to go home. He was going to get drunk until Noah’s beautiful eyes faded into an alcoholic haze. And Nat wasn’t invited.
He sped up, ignoring her pleas to slow down. He would drink until there was only darkness. He would drink until even he had ceased to exist.
5
EARLY SUNDAY MORNING sunlight seeped through cracks in the blinds, waking Carrie. She didn’t know when she’d fallen asleep or for how long, but now her muscles complained at the discomfort of sleeping in a chair. It took her a moment to remember where she was and why she was there. A burst of adrenaline raced through her body, waking her immediately. She sat up and glanced at the hospital bed.
It wasn’t a dream. Her son was alive. And he was awake.
His eyes were half open, blinking as they gazed at the ceiling. Then, very slowly, he turned his head.
Carrie’s body trembled.
She tried to speak but her words got stuck. Tears filled her eyes, threatening to spill down her face, to flood the room and drown them both. She fought them back. There would be time for tears, but right now she needed her son to recognise her. To understand that she was his mother.
Dropping her feet to the floor, she leaned forward.
Cal watched her, his face blank. His eyes devoid of emotion. A sliver of ice slipped under Carrie’s clothes. It was like staring into a black hole. Into nothingness. There was no recognition there. No familiarity. For a second, despite the DNA test results, despite the mole beneath his left eye, she wondered if this really was her son.
He looked like him. An older version of him. But he was staring at her as if she were a stranger. Carrie turned away to glance through the open door. Unaware that Cal was now awake, the police officer remained sitting outside, staring off into space.
Turning back to Cal, Carrie attempted to relax the muscles in her face, to push the fear away.
“Cal?” she whispered. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re in hospital.”
The boy in the bed continued to stare at her with blank eyes.
Doubt filled Carrie’s veins. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “It’s me. It’s your mum. Don’t you recognise me?”
The boy blinked. Something passed across his face. Not recognition but something else. A darkness.
Carrie’s heart threatened to burst out of her chest. “Cal? Is it really you?”
Nothing. Not even the blankness this time. Perhaps they were wrong. The test results had been somehow mixed up.
The boy returned his gaze to the ceiling. Beside the bed, the machine beeped and a light flickered. Some of the sugary liquid from the IV bag was released and began making its way to his body.
Carefully, Carrie got to her feet. She took a step forward.
“It’s me. Your mother. Don’t you remember?”
Cal’s head turned sharply. This time there was something in his eyes. He watched her as she stepped closer. He was so small for a sixteen-year-old. Not just underweight but physically small. As if his growth had some
how been stunted.
Carrie took another step closer. Who had snatched her son away from her? What had they done to him? Waves of horror and sadness and anger rose from the pit of her stomach.
“Cal. . .” Tears came. “Cal. . .”
She rushed toward him, arms outstretched, wanting nothing more than to sweep her son into her arms and take away his pain.
Cal’s eyes grew wide and black. His arms flew up to his face then down to his sides. He scrambled back, taking the IV pole with him, ripping the cannula needle from his skin and splattering blood on the sheets. Before Carrie could stop him, he flew from the bed and hurled himself into the corner of the room. He crouched down, splaying his hands against the wall, baring his teeth like a wild animal. The machine beside the bed began to emit a series of loud beeps. Carrie was paralysed, watching in horror.
“It’s okay,” she breathed. This was not her son. This was a wild animal, backed into a corner, ready to defend itself if necessary.
“Cal, it’s me.”
The sound of hurried footsteps reached her ears. A second later, the uniformed officer entered the room with two nurses.
“I didn’t mean to—” Carrie began as the nurses brushed past her. They stopped at the foot of the bed and stared uncertainly at each other. In the corner, Cal’s eyes shot from one person to the other. His chest heaved up and down. His hands pressed tightly against the wall. He was still bleeding. The police officer took Carrie by the arm. She shrugged him off.
“It’s all right.” One of the nurses, a middle-aged woman with a kind face and a steely calm borne from years of experience, smiled at Cal. “No one is going to hurt you. We just want to make sure you’re safe.”
She shot a glance at Carrie. “I think it’s best you wait outside.”
Wiping tears from her face, Carrie glanced at her son; the wild animal pinned in the corner. Numbly, she nodded and allowed the police officer to escort her from the room. Once outside, she peered through the window and watched as the nurses slowly coaxed Cal back onto the bed.
Within minutes they had him tucked up again. He was even allowing one of them to attend the bloodied wound where the cannula had been torn out.
Behind Carrie, the police officer talked into his radio, passing on the message that the boy was awake. More footsteps echoed along the corridor. Doctor Singh veered around the corner. She stopped outside the room and peered through the glass.
“I see our young adventurer is awake.”
Carrie wrapped her arms around her chest.
In the room, Cal was calmer now. One of the nurses bandaged his hand while the other shifted the machine around to the other side of the bed.
Carrie could see the fear on Cal’s face as the needle came closer. She wanted to go to him. To stroke his forehead like she used to when he was upset. Back when he knew her as his mother.
A sob escaped her.
“He doesn’t know who I am,” she said.
Doctor Singh regarded her through analytical eyes. “Did he speak to you?”
Carrie shook her head.
“Let’s see what the CT scan shows before we go making any presumptions.” Doctor Singh offered her a sympathetic smile. “It’s early days, Carrie. Very early days.”
Wiping a tear away, Carrie nodded. But now she couldn’t shake the feeling that a terrible mistake had been made. How could her own son not recognise her?
They watched through the glass as the nurses finished up. Cal was lying back once more. He was alert, watching their every move, but he was calmer. For now.
The doctor turned to Carrie. “By the way, your husband and daughter are waiting for you. They’re in one of the visitors’ room. Your husband seems quite curious about what’s going on.”
Carrie felt a sudden flutter of panic in her chest. She had spoken to Dylan briefly yesterday afternoon. It had been difficult to explain to him what had happened. It had been even harder to force him to stay at home with Melissa and wait for her to call again. Clearly, his patience had worn thin.
Carrie nodded, feeling as if she were drifting away from reality, still wondering if she would wake up any second now.
“I’ll have one of the nurses take you to them,” Doctor Singh said. “Perhaps your husband can convince you to go home for a couple of hours and get some rest.”
“I need to be here. For him. I need to make sure he’s safe.”
“Callum is perfectly safe here, Carrie. A police officer is stationed right outside his room. No one is going to hurt him.”
Carrie stood up. Her legs trembled beneath her. Through the glass, she could see the nurses finishing up.
Cal shifted his gaze and found hers. There was a flicker of something. Then it was gone.
“Go home,” Doctor Singh said. “Come back this afternoon. We’ll have some more results for you then. Besides, Callum is going to need you more than anyone else. And that means your health should be your priority.”
“But I. . .” Carrie was quiet for a second. Giving Cal one more look through the window, she turned back to the doctor.
“What if he doesn’t remember me?”
The doctor frowned for a second, then she reached out and gently squeezed Carrie’s arm. “We’ll do everything we can to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
6
THE KILLIGREWS’ HOUSE, a detached cottage with a slate roof and well-tended garden, was situated on Clarence Row, halfway up on the west side of the cove.
The drive back from the hospital in Truro had been fraught with strained silence. Even Melissa, who normally refused the notion of peace and quiet, had sat mutely in the back of the car. Like her father, she was blonde-haired and blue-eyed. But where his skin was tanned and weathered from a life at sea, she had the pale complexion of her mother.
Before leaving the hospital, the police officer—Carrie still could not remember his name—had warned her that the press would be moving around the cove, attempting to find out what they could about the boy on the beach.
An official statement would be released to them later today to confirm that it was not Noah Pengelly. Cal’s name would not be mentioned yet. It was in the investigation’s best interests that Carrie and her family did not approach the press or answer any questions if the press came to them.
Pulling up outside of their home just after eleven, Carrie was relieved to see the street was empty. Much of Porth an Jowl’s population would be attending Sunday service down at the church. No doubt, rumours would be flying from pew to pew. Secrets were hard to keep in a town as small as Porth an Jowl. Especially when air ambulances and crime scenes were involved.
Helping Melissa out of the car, Carrie wondered how long they had until the identity of the boy on the beach was revealed. She’d barely had time to let the news sink in herself. She and Dylan had yet to talk about it.
She glanced at him as they walked up the garden path. His narrow, intense eyes were giving nothing away. But she could tell by the tension in his firm jaw and the small vein that had popped up on his left temple that all was not well. And why would it be?
Once inside, Carrie switched on the television in the small but comfortable living room, turned to a channel dedicated to eye-popping cartoons, and sat Melissa in front of it.
In the kitchen, Dylan made coffee, then the two sat at opposite ends of the dining table. Both were silent, staring into the space between them. Occasionally, Carrie would glance up, hoping to catch Dylan’s thoughts in his expression. But if she had learned one thing over their five-year relationship, it was that Dylan wasn’t much for volunteering his feelings.
Her mind wandered back to Cal. She hoped he was all right at the hospital. The doctors and nurses would be taking good care of him, but what he really needed was the comfort of his mother. She thought back to early this morning, to his waking and not recognising her. Worse than that, he’d seemed afraid of her.
She longed to get back there. To make him remember.
She watched Dylan sip
his coffee. Finally, he looked up.
“How can they be sure it’s him?” he said. It was not the response Carrie had hoped for.
“They had his DNA on a database from before. They matched a sample. It’s him.”
Dylan’s deep, furtive eyes shifted from side to side. He ran his fingers through his days old beard. “Where the hell has he been all this time?”
Carrie could only shake her head. They were quiet again for a while. The sound of the TV filtered into the kitchen.
Dylan reached a hand across the table. Carrie slipped her fingers between his.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
“My son was dead. I’d dreamed over and over about this moment. About him coming back. I wished for it so much I thought I’d go crazy. And now he’s here, in a hospital bed, very much alive. I can’t get my head around it.”
A look passed over Dylan’s face, so brief that Carrie barely caught a glimpse of it. He stared at the table, then back up at her.
“How’s Melissa doing? Did you tell her?” she asked.
“I didn’t know what to say.”
Carrie glanced over her shoulder, out into the hall. She’d barely had time to absorb the news herself, never mind think about how it would affect her daughter, who had been an only child. Until now.
“Perhaps we should wait to speak to Melissa,” Dylan said.
“Why?”
“Because we need some time to get our heads around this. Everything’s going to change. And we don’t even know if. . .”
“If what?”
Dylan’s fingers, which had been stroking the top of her hand, stiffened. He shook his head. “It’s just a shock, that’s all.”
He was quiet and sullen, staring at the floor.
Carrie’s thoughts returned to Cal. He would be scared. She needed to be there for him, at the hospital.
She stood, leaving her coffee untouched and Dylan’s hand reaching for her across the table.
“I need to take a shower, change into some clean clothes.”
The Cove: a shocking thriller you won't be able to put down (The Devil's Cove Book 1) Page 4