But little Noah had not taken his own life. He had not slipped off the edge, either.
Someone had taken him, of this Jago was convinced.
Nat was not so sure.
An extensive search of Briar Wood had already been conducted by the police two months ago. A local search party had been put together shortly after but had also found nothing. The police were adamant—if there was evidence hidden in Briar Wood it would have been found by now.
They hadn’t said it outright, but Nat believed they had reached the same conclusion as everyone else. Sometimes accidents happened to little boys who wandered off by themselves.
Now, as she and Jago turned direction and headed north through the trees, she wondered if they were achieving anything other than wasting time.
It was not the first time the thought had crossed her mind.
She glanced across at Jago, whose face was pulled into a frown as he searched the ground up ahead. The news that the boy on the beach was not his little brother had hit him hard. He hadn’t said anything but Nat could hear it in his heavy breaths. She could see it in his slow gait. And he was quieter than usual, bordering on mute.
To have his hopes raised then dashed like that, the pain must have cut deep into his heart. Nat knew a little of how that felt herself.
Perhaps that was why they were out here in the woods again, retracing steps they’d taken several times before.
“You know you missed another great day,” she said, when Jago’s silence became annoying. “Yeah, we learned all about Michelangelo. Did you know he was a millionaire? All that bullshit about him being a starving artist when all along he was raking it in. That could be us one day.”
Jago walked on as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “Yeah, of course, you’d have to get out of this shit hole first. Even if we don’t go to uni next year, we could still go somewhere. Find a mentor or something. Learn everything we can from the greats.” Nat quickened her pace. There was another reason she’d been considering this route lately. University fees. She didn’t have the money to pay them. And seeing as how she hadn’t seen her parents in five years, she doubted they would happily hand over the cash.
She walked on. “What do you think? I’m thinking London or Manchester. Somewhere big and busy. Somewhere cool.”
They rounded a large holly bush. The ground beneath their feet descended a little. Jago walked ahead.
“Jesus, I wish you’d come back to college.” Nat pulled out her tobacco pouch and a cigarette paper. “That prick, Sierra Davis, was giving me a hard time about my hair. Like a girl never shaved her head before. Big fucking deal. Better than her ridiculous highlights. I mean, hello! It’s not the nineties. God, I hate her so much. All summer I had the pleasure of not seeing her damn face and now there she is, every class, in my face. If I wrote a shit list, she’d be right at the top. Number one.”
Jago paused, turned his head slightly. “You know for someone you hate so much, you can’t seem to stop talking about her. Someone might start thinking you had a crush.”
Nat felt her face heat up. “Whatever. There’s just so much to hate, that’s all.”
Jago turned direction, weaving his way through a copse of birch trees. Following behind, Nat rubbed her hand over her head. It had felt liberating to shave off her locks. She liked how smooth her scalp felt against her fingers. How she didn’t have to bother with brushing and styling and spraying or gelling. Besides, shaving her head had felt like a statement. A big ‘fuck you’ to conformity.
Of course, shaving her head had given the people of Devil’s Cove further reason to whisper behind her back.
When she’d been first shipped out to live with Rose Trewartha, the cove’s resident foster carer, she’d quickly learned that most people referred to her as ‘the looked after child’. As if she were the only kid to have been removed from her family. After a year of living in the cove, she’d learned to ignore the whispers and the looks. It seemed that, unless you were born and raised here, you would always be an outsider.
Which was just fine with Nat. She had learned a long time ago that most people couldn’t be relied upon.
In six months, she’d be turning eighteen. Rose would stop receiving money for her care and would have no legal obligation to continue giving her a home.
She suspected Rose would never see her put on the streets. She had grown attached to Rose, and she knew Rose was very fond of her also. But how long would it be before some other wayward stray showed up needing a home?
Besides, Nat was getting out of here. She was moving to the city to live an artist’s life.
She looked up. While she had slowed down with her thoughts, Jago had pressed on. She quickly caught up to him.
“Anyway,” she said. “Sierra Davis can kiss my ass. Along with the rest of them. In less than a year, we’ll both be out of here. Half of those losers will never leave. They’ll get knocked up or become alcoholics. Meanwhile, we’ll be cool as fuck, and they won’t be able to stand it.”
Jago did not respond. He stomped on. Nat caught up with him again. “You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
Jago shot her a glare and she was momentarily taken aback.
“Hey.” She grabbed his arm, bringing him to a standstill. “What’s going on?”
“What do you think is going on?” he said, his voice low.
Nat already knew. She’d experienced Noah’s disappearance right by Jago’s side.
“That boy on the beach has really got you rattled,” she said.
“I don’t want to talk about it. I had Mum going on all last night. So, it wasn’t Noah. It doesn’t mean that he’s dead. It doesn’t mean we won’t find him.”
Nat said nothing. She watched Jago wipe beads of sweat from his forehead then stare off into the distance. Anger flashed in his eyes. He’d always had anger in him, Nat thought. Long before Noah disappeared. Long before Nat had arrived in town and moved in next door. Long before they had formed a reluctant friendship; two outcasts forming one unstoppable force against convention and conformity.
They were silent for the next few minutes until they had gone full circle and could see the backs of houses through the trees. They reached the wooden fence that ran alongside and stopped outside Jago’s backyard.
Nat stared at the loose slat that remained unfixed. Just in case he comes back this way, Jago had said. Her gaze shifted to the house on the left, where Rose would no doubt be inside cooking up some culinary delight to feed to Nat later. Then onto the next house, where the curtains were old and stained, the windows filthy, and old junk in the yard peeked over the fence. Moss grew on the stonework. Slates were missing from the roof.
“Come on,” Jago said, tapping her shin with his boot. “Let’s walk out to the lighthouse.”
He got moving again. Nat stood for a moment longer, staring up at Grady Spencer’s house, before running to catch him up.
11
CARRIE STOOD AT THE foot of the bed, feeling victorious. The Pokémon cards she’d found in the box of Cal’s keepsakes had acted like a key to a locked door. She had arrived at the hospital later than planned but it had been worth every delayed minute.
She’d slept badly, lying awake on her back and staring up at the ceiling, desperately thinking of ways to deepen the connection she’d made with Cal.
At 4 a.m., the memory had come to her; Cal and Jago flat out on their stomachs on the living room floor, feet waving in the air, as they laughed and joked while doing battle with the monsters on their Pokémon cards. Cal had been obsessed with them for a long while, building his collection and swapping duplicates with friends at school until his collection was almost complete.
The house still dark, Carrie had climbed out of bed and crept downstairs to the living room, where she’d left Cal’s keepsake box on the side cabinet.
Now, she watched as Cal sat up cross-legged on the hospital bed, shuffling through the cards, his expression somewhere between co
nfusion and delight.
He was remembering. He looked up at Carrie for a second and she saw the child he had once been; bright-eyed and filled with excitement. A ripple moved across his lips.
Carrie caught her breath.
Had he smiled?
She wanted nothing more than to rush forward, to hold him against her, to kiss his cheek. But she knew better.
Instead, still holding her breath, she moved slowly to the visitor’s chair next to the bed and sat down.
Cal’s head snapped up.
She held his gaze.
Held it for what felt like an hour.
Finally, Cal relaxed his shoulders.
Carrie could barely contain her joy as she watched him continue to sift through the cards. Occasionally, he would stop to examine one at length.
“Do you remember?” she said.
Cal glanced up at her. He nodded.
Tidying the cards in a neat pile, he placed them on top of the bedside cabinet next to Rex the dinosaur and a handful of other plastic figures that Carrie had brought in yesterday. Little memories from a long time ago all neatly lined up in rows.
Cal stared at them all.
Something had changed in the last twenty-four hours. It was as if he had reached deep into his unconscious and pulled out missing pieces of a puzzle. The way he kept looking at her today—he knew her. She was his mother.
The realisation could not be described with words. It was an intense heat billowing from her heart, travelling along her veins to her extremities. And now she was about to do something that could jeopardise it all.
“Cal, would you look at me?” she said, softly. He turned to face her, his face still etched with curiosity. Carrie swallowed. “There’s someone who I’d like you to meet. Someone who I care about very much.”
She looked at the door again and nodded to the figure hovering in the hall.
A second later, Dylan entered. He came to a halt halfway between the door and the bed, eyes darting across the room.
“This is Dylan,” Carrie said.
Cal looked up. His face grew very still.
Dylan cleared his throat. “Hello, pal. Pleased to meet you.”
His gaze flicked back to Carrie. He reached out a hand toward Cal. Cal backed away, pressing up against the bedframe.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” Carrie soothed. “Dylan is a kind man. He won’t hurt you.”
She nodded at Dylan, who shrugged a shoulder and shoved his hands in his pockets. This wasn’t going to be easy on both sides.
“Do you remember what I told you yesterday, Cal? About Dylan and me. We’re married. We love each other. Do you remember that?”
An expression passed over Cal’s face, like rainclouds suffocating a blue sky. With his right hand, he plucked a photograph from the bedside cabinet and thrust it at Carrie. His eyes grew dark and angry. It was the picture she’d given him two days ago. The one of his old family. Across the room, Dylan stared at the floor.
“I know it’s hard to understand,” Carrie said, her jaw aching with tension. “A lot has changed since you’ve been . . . gone.”
Cal curled his free hand into a fist and pressed it into the bed. He leaned forward, bringing the photograph closer.
“Cal, baby. I know everything is confusing right now. Everything is different. But I’m here. We all are. We’re going to help you through this. When you come home with us, things will be better. You’ll see.”
As quickly as the anger had ignited in Cal’s eyes, it was extinguished. Dropping the photo to the bed, he hung his head and turned away from the adults.
Carrie’s shoulders sagged. She caught Dylan’s eye, who shook his head.
“This was a bad idea,” he muttered.
Carrie shot him a look. “He’s not deaf, you know.”
They were quiet for almost a full minute. Doubt wrapped itself around Carrie’s body. She’d made some progress with Cal, but was it enough? In two days, maybe three, he was going to be discharged. What would happen if they took him home?
When. She corrected herself. When we take him home. She looked from her son to her husband, who were both avoiding her gaze. Hopelessness engulfed her, threatening to spill from her eyes. She shook it off. No. This had to work. She had to make it work.
“Go get Melissa,” she said.
Dylan shot her a doubtful look. “I don’t know if that’s—”
“Please, Dylan. Go get her.”
Muttering to himself, he turned and left the room.
Now they were alone, Cal turned to face her.
“Give him a chance,” Carrie said, smiling. “You’ll see when you get to know him that he’s kind and caring. And he makes really good pizza.”
Cal didn’t look convinced. With one eye fixed on his mother, he pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his shins.
“There’s someone else I want you to meet,” Carrie said, choosing her words carefully. “You have a little sister now. Her name is Melissa.”
A moment later, the quiet was filled with footsteps and excited chatter. Cal’s head turned to the door. His brow grew tight and wrinkled.
Beside him, Carrie reached out a hand. “It’s okay.”
Dylan entered the room, carrying Melissa in his arms, who was busy telling her father all about the adventures of Dora the Explorer. Her eyes roamed the room and found Cal. She stopped talking.
“Hi, sweet pea,” Carrie smiled. “Did the nurses take care of you?”
“I tried on a step-a-scope and listened to my heart.”
“You did?”
Melissa nodded. Cal watched her silently from the bed.
“Melissa, this is Cal,” Carrie said, trying to keep her voice calm and steady. “Do you remember me talking about him?”
Melissa nodded, her stare fixed on the boy in the bed.
Carrie turned to Cal. “And this is Melissa. Your sister.”
The siblings regarded one another like Man seeing the moon for the first time.
“Can you say hello?” Dylan said, kissing the top of Melissa’s head. The little girl watched the boy through large, round eyes.
“Hello,” she said.
Dylan set her down on the floor. She leaned into his legs, hooking one arm around the back of his knees.
“I don’t have a brother,” she said. “I’m an only child.”
“That was before,” Carrie smiled. “Now you have a big brother to take care of you. Isn’t that great?”
Melissa looked uncertain.
“Come here, sweet pea. Come say hello.”
Taking a slow step forward, Melissa fixed her gaze on Cal, as if she expected him to leap from the bed and attack her at any second.
Carrie took her by the hand and swept her up into her lap. She kissed her on the top of the head, then on her cheek. Melissa squirmed. Cal stared.
“This is all a little strange, isn’t it?” Carrie looked at both her children. “But soon, it will feel like things were always this way.”
She glanced at Dylan, whose face was lined and drawn. On her lap, Melissa shifted around. She had already lost interest in Cal and was staring at the collection of toys on the cabinet.
“Dinosaurs,” she said.
Cal reached out a hand. His fingers hovered for a second, twitching up and down. He picked up the T-Rex and, curling a fist around it, turned back to Melissa.
She stared back at him with hopeful blue eyes.
“Perhaps Melissa could play with one of your toys,” Carrie said.
Cal tightened his fist around the dinosaur. After a moment, he reached across with his free hand and picked up a small red car. The paint was cracked and peeling off in places. He regarded it for a moment, before placing it on the bed.
“Thank you, Cal.” Carrie smiled. Inside her chest, her heart heaved and swelled. She scooped up the toy car and handed it to Melissa. “What do you say?”
Melissa turned the car over. Her eyes wandered to the T-Rex in Cal’s f
ist.
“Thank you,” she said.
This was good. This was progress. Cal could listen and understand. More than that, he recognised the needs of others. Whatever had happened to him, he’d still retained his empathy.
Carrie found herself smiling. Dylan removed his hands from his pockets. Their eyes met.
“All right, then,” Carrie said.
12
MEETINGS TOOK PLACE between doctors and the mental health team. Therapists were consulted. Carrie and Dylan were interviewed and assessed. There would be follow-up checks, of course, and home visits, but all agreed it was in Cal’s best interests to continue his recovery with his family.
And so, days later, on a cloudy Sunday afternoon, Cal came home. His transfer from hospital to house had been meticulously planned. Sneaked out of a side entrance to avoid the press, he and Carrie were transported to an ambulance and driven out of Truro to a roadside service station, where Dylan was waiting with the car. The staging had seemed elaborate to Carrie, but necessary.
The police would be issuing a statement to the media tomorrow, announcing Cal’s identity. And then the circus would really begin.
Carrie had protested, begging Detective Turner to delay the statement. But the decision had been made by his superiors. Cal had still not uttered a single word. The initial inquiry into his reappearance had come up empty. Unless he could tell them what had happened, there wasn’t much of a case to investigate.
Carrie glanced over her shoulder. Cal had spent the entire journey from the hospital glued to the rear passenger window, his shoulders heaving up and down, his breaths steaming up the glass. Doctor Singh had provided him with a pair of dark glasses for the journey. It seemed that Cal’s eyes were light sensitive, suggesting that wherever he’d been, he’d had limited exposure to daylight. A low vitamin D count had confirmed this.
Now, as the car pulled up outside the house, he turned and stared past Carrie.
“This is your home,” she told him. “Do you remember?”
He remained silent and unmoving, his expression unreadable through the glasses.
The Cove: a shocking thriller you won't be able to put down (The Devil's Cove Book 1) Page 7