‘Everything seemed so normal,’ I say. ‘I didn’t see anyone, not even a walker or a cyclist. I let Buddy off the lead. He was running backwards and forwards through the leaves, as he usually does, and then he took off at speed. You know, like when he’s following the trail of a rabbit or a fox. I searched for ages and kept calling his name. There was no sign of him, and I began to feel panicky. I stopped on the path to listen in case he was close by, and it was then I heard a weird noise. I couldn’t quite make out what it was, so I walked in the direction it was coming from.’
The words are tumbling out, and I pause to take a gulp of wine before continuing.
‘You know that huge old yew tree with overhanging branches where the older kids hang out?’
‘Mm, I do. It’s a great place for a den, but a bit unsavoury,’ he says. ‘It’s completely enclosed, if I remember correctly. We used to warn our kids about going in there. The youths used to get lairy and smash beer bottles. Didn’t someone get a needle-stick injury once after picking up a discarded needle?’
‘Yes, yes.’ I’m impatient to continue. ‘As you know, it’s set back quite a way from the path. That’s why the kids liked it. You could get up to all sorts without being seen.’ My hands are trembling, and I tuck my palms between my knees. ‘There was no sign of Buddy, and I thought he might have got himself stuck somewhere. I followed the direction of the noise on the off chance it was something to do with him.’
‘What sort of noise was it?’ Laurie is leaning forward in anticipation.
‘It’s difficult to explain. It was like a dull, repetitive thumping. There were muffled voices too, although it was hard to make out what they were saying. As I got closer, I realised it was coming from the space inside the tree. At first, I thought it must be some lads smoking a bit of weed and messing about. I was going to ask them if they had seen Buddy. I pulled aside the branches, and it wasn’t kids, it was two men. They were standing with their backs to me.’
A wave of heat rises through my body. I feel light-headed and shaky.
Laurie notices. He pulls Buddy onto his lap and moves in closer, placing his arm around my heaving shoulders.
‘Go on,’ he says.
‘They must have realised that I was there, because they both turned around to face me. It was then I noticed the boy.’
My whole body starts to shake uncontrollably. Laurie moves Buddy onto the sofa and goes to the kitchen. He brings back a glass of water and a roll of kitchen paper. I desperately want to cry, but there is a lump in my chest, like a log damming a river.
He pulls me close. ‘Hush,’ he murmurs, stroking my hair. ‘Do you want some time out? I can make us some tea.’
‘No, not yet. It’s agonising, but it’s helpful, too. I’m just glad I didn’t go to pieces like this at the station when they were taking my statement. I was concentrating so hard on getting the facts right and in order, I didn’t have time to get emotional. Somehow it feels different telling you like this. I know I must sound flaky, but remembering the small, inconsequential things like the poor boy’s trainers is the most upsetting part. Does that sound pathetic?’
‘No, it’s completely understandable. There’s less focus on getting things right, and you’re in your own environment. It’s why more personal memories are being triggered. Don’t give yourself such a hard time. You did incredibly well at the police station, considering you were in shock. That detective said so when she rang me.’
The glass is cool in my hands, and I hold it against my burning cheeks. What I have to tell him next is seared into my memory. I try to swallow, but my mouth feels as though it’s full of cotton wool. I force down a sip of water.
‘This bit isn’t pretty, Laurie. Are you sure you want to hear it?’
‘If it helps you, then yes. It’s your call, Fran.’
‘Okay. I suppose I’ve got this far.’ I wipe a droplet of sweat from my forehead before continuing. ‘The boy – I say boy because he didn’t look very old. Seventeen or eighteen? He was standing on a crate, and his hands were tied behind his back. His mouth was taped with that sticky silver stuff.’
‘Duct tape, you mean?’ Laurie says.
‘Yes, like packing tape. He was petrified, Laurie. He was struggling and trying to cry out. I’ll never forget the sound. It was horrible. He saw me, and he was pleading with his eyes. It was then I noticed the rope around his neck. It was thick and heavy like the one on the narrow boat when we had that canal holiday. Do you remember?’
He nods in agreement.
‘The men saw me, but they just turned away and went back to booting the crate. That was the noise I could hear.’ I draw a shaky breath. ‘And then, the absolute bastards, even though they knew I was there, they kicked the crate from under him. It was so callous. I ran towards him, thinking I could do something, perhaps even grab his legs to support him. The men seemed to find this funny. One of them got hold of my arms and pinned them behind my back.’ I pause, shuddering at the memory. ‘That poor boy. He died in front of me, in the most horrible way, and they were laughing. I tried, I really did, but there was nothing I could do to help him. That’s the worst of it.’
‘Fucking hell, Fran. Did they hurt you at all?’
‘No, not really. Everything suddenly went quiet, and the one holding my arms let go. My brain was racing. I wanted to get to the boy even though I knew he was dead. At the same time I was trying to decide which direction I should run to get away. The other one came over and blocked my exit in a jokey sort of way. He was dancing from side to side as though teasing me. Then his expression changed. He drew a finger across his throat and shook his head. That’s when I dodged past him and took off at speed.’
For the umpteenth time today, I try to put the horrific tableau out of my head. The boy, swinging slowly in a pirouette of death, beautiful dark eyes bulging, a thin trickle of blood running down from one of his nostrils.
I slump back on the sofa and, at last, the tears flow unchecked.
Nothing is ever going to be the same again.
I will never be the same again.
3
While Laurie goes to make a cup of tea, I sit back with my eyes closed, the events of earlier playing out in a loop like a bad film. Running frantically from that terrible scene had sent me crashing headlong through the undergrowth, tripping over bramble suckers and tree roots and dodging overhanging branches. Convinced they’re going to catch up with me, I run until my heart feels as if it is going to burst through my rib cage. My breath is escaping in short, ragged gasps, but I plough on, adrenaline coursing through my veins. By the time I reach the main path, my legs feel like jelly. I can’t run anymore, and I slow to a walk, waiting for my breathing to slow. I’m hoping to intercept a dog walker or cyclist, even a driver coming into the car park, but there’s no sign of anyone.
Usually the woods are a haven for dog walkers, and most days around this time, there are two or three parked cars. Now, the only vehicle I can see is a small grey van tucked into a gap between two trees. I make my way towards it, then stop short. What if it belongs to the two men? Patting my pockets, I locate my phone and Buddy’s lead.
Oh God, Buddy. Where the hell is he?
Just then, a Range Rover drives in and reverses into a space. I wave my arms like a lunatic at the woman driver. I recognise her as a fellow terrier owner. We often stop and chat on walks, sharing anecdotes about the disadvantages of owning such a wilful breed. Her dog is yapping in the boot, and to my great relief, sitting on a towel on the front seat, looking totally unperturbed, is Buddy.
She looks at me sternly. ‘He was trotting down the road. He must have been on his way back home.’
Her tone is sharp and accusatory. I can’t blame her. She probably thinks I’m a negligent owner. It occurs to me that Buddy has been blessed with more intelligence than I give him credit for. If he had tried to make his way home by following our usual path, he wouldn’t have been able to get back into the garden. Reaching the gate, he would ha
ve been perplexed to find it locked, and it’s far too high for him to climb over.
‘I’m so sorry, but I need your help,’ I say to the woman. ‘Can you drive me down the road a little way? Something awful has happened, and I really don’t feel very safe. I need to ring the police.’
Without a word, she opened the passenger door and gestured for me to get in. With Buddy sitting on my knee, the woman listened to my garbled account. I was grateful when she volunteered to drive me home, and relieved when she waited with me for police to arrive.
Laurie is tired. He was up at five this morning, and I can see he is flagging. I’m exhausted too, but I doubt I will get a good night’s sleep.
‘Why don’t you let Buddy out in the garden and then have a shower and go to bed? I’ll potter for a while and then come up,’ I say.
With the dishwasher loaded and swishing its way through a cycle, I unzip Laurie’s case and empty it. I jam his dirty clothes into the washing machine, but not before burying my nose in his shirts. I feel guilty at being so suspicious. The trouble is that old habits die hard; it’s not that long since he was unfaithful.
I check the downstairs windows and engage the safety chain on the front door. It’s not normally part of my night-time routine, but from now on I cannot trust anyone else with the task. Both Laurie and I are slapdash when it comes to home safety. There have been mornings when I have come down to let Buddy out into the garden and the bifold doors have been left unlocked overnight.
Laurie tends to laugh it off. ‘We have excellent security and live in one of the safest neighbourhoods. You worry too much, Fran.’
You worry too much. It’s his stock phrase when he wants to make light of my fears. Now, I don’t think I will ever stop being anxious or feel safe again.
Buddy follows me upstairs and curls up on his bed on the floor. Laurie is lying on his back, snoring, a book open across his chest. He doesn’t move as I retrieve the book and his glasses and place them on his bedside cabinet. When I slide in beside him, he turns onto his side away from me, and I curve my body against his. ‘Heat thieving’ he calls it. Sleep eludes me, and after tossing and turning for what seems like hours, I switch on the radio, notching down the volume to avoid disturbing Laurie. He stirs, and Buddy does too. Awakened from sleep, he does a complete turn, ending up back in exactly the same position he started from. I smile despite myself.
The World Service is full of depressing news, and I’m about to switch off the radio when a report on biodiversity grabs my attention. We as humans definitely have to stop plundering our planet if it is to have any chance at survival. The reporter mentions the importance of trees and their role in the ecosystem. I have always loved being outside in nature. It’s calming, and I feel centred when I’m walking in woodland. Now I feel sad, thinking how my perspective has shifted in just a few short hours.
I will never forget walking into ‘our woods’ for the first time. It was the day after we moved into the house, and the chaos of unpacking was still ongoing. The kids were squabbling, a sure sign they were bored and had too much energy.
‘It’s a lovely day. Let’s go for a walk,’ I’d said. ‘I’m getting stir-crazy too, and the exercise will do us all good.’
Laurie had been reluctant. There were so many jobs left to tackle, and he only had a few days booked off before he would be returning to work.
‘Come on,’ I’d wheedled. ‘Let’s explore. We can check out the cycle tracks. Once we get settled in, we can go for lots of bike rides.’
Flynn, having just reached his eleventh birthday, was still capable of public displays of excitement and whooped his agreement. Alice, two years older and ineffably cool, raised her eyebrows in disdain, then fixed me with a sly look.
‘And we can get a dog, can’t we, Mum? You did promise.’
Laurie had sighed loudly and thrown an exasperated look in my direction. He’d gone over all the disadvantages of dog ownership on numerous occasions, invariably concluding with, ‘And me and your mum will be left with the responsibility of looking after a dog long after you two leave home.’
He was right, of course.
While the kids ran ahead along sun-dappled pathways, Laurie and I followed.
‘Worth it?’ he’d asked, squeezing my hand.
‘Definitely,’ I’d said.
It would be another two years before we finally wore him down, and he caved in to the pressure. One Saturday, having viewed a series of canine mugshots online, we all trooped off to a local rescue centre. Here we were introduced to the oddest-looking scrap of a puppy, the last from a litter of indeterminate paternity. He was pint-sized and terrier-like in appearance. There and then, Buddy – as Alice and Flynn named him – inveigled his way into our hearts and, despite Laurie’s reservations, became a part of our family.
It was a good decision, although Laurie would never admit to it.
I startle awake to see the clock on the radio showing 3:30 a.m. I have slept briefly. I drift off again, and from an anxiety-laced dream, I am roused by the voice of the presenter reading the shipping forecast. It is now 5:20 a.m. In a couple of hours, Flynn will be getting up for work. I want to ring him before he leaves to catch his train. Alice, on the other hand, only has a short walk to work. She’s not great in the mornings and will no doubt be listening to music rather than having the radio or TV on. I decide I will ring Flynn, and Laurie can do the honours with Alice. She’s always a bit spiky with me on the phone and is definitely not a morning person. At the age of twenty-four, she can still behave like a stroppy teenager, and I don’t need any further angst.
‘Flynn, it’s Mum.’
I can hear the sounds of crockery rattling in the background and the background murmur of voices from the TV.
‘Hi, Mum. What’s up? It’s a bit early for you. Is everything all right?’
I feel a sense of relief. He obviously hasn’t heard anything yet.
‘I’m good, thanks. Listen, I don’t want you to be concerned. It’s just that something happened yesterday. I wanted to tell you about it first, before you hear it from somewhere or someone else. It’s all a bit traumatic.’
‘That sounds ominous. Are you sure you’re okay? Where’s Dad?’
‘Dad’s still asleep. We are both all right. The last thing I want is for you and Alice to be spooked, but once this hits the media, all sorts of lurid speculation could circulate.’
I proceed to give him a shortened version of events, conscious he needs to get ready for work.
He lets out a low whistle. ‘Phewee, that sounds horrendous. Look, Mum, I have to go, but I will ring tonight. It must have been a terrifying experience for you. I’m just glad you and Dad are safe.’
‘We are. Don’t worry about us. Oh, and Flynn?’
‘Yes?’
‘There is a possibility the press might track you down at some point. I don’t think they will, but if they do, don’t speak to them.’
‘I won’t, I promise. Talk to you later.’
Laurie is moving about upstairs, and Buddy is waiting to be let out into the garden. Suddenly, he lets out a low growl and starts barking wildly.
‘What is it, boy?’
Through the glass doors, I can see a man wandering around on the patio. He’s holding a phone to his ear. He continues with his conversation despite the fact that I am banging hard on the glass.
I shout to Laurie to come down. The man, unconcerned, reaches into his pocket.
He walks up to the glass and holds a business card against it. I’m shaking this time, not in fear but in anger.
‘Mrs Hughes, Francesca, Fran? Hi, my name is Tom Harrison. I’m a reporter from the Derbyshire News. Can I have a word?’
Laurie is by now at my side. He is rubbing sleep from his eyes and struggling to tie the belt of his dressing gown. He is seething at the intrusion, his face red with anger. I would like to know how this stranger got my details so quickly. Do the police give out witness details? If they do, it’s wrong. Then again
, it’s easy enough to find people via the internet nowadays.
‘No, you can’t have a bloody word. Piss off before I set the dog on you,’ Laurie yells. ‘And I’m warning you now, he bloody well bites.’
Buddy snarls and shows his teeth as if to order.
‘You’re trespassing, mate. You had better make yourself scarce before I call the police.’
If it weren’t so serious, I would laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all.
Raising his hands, the man backs off and walks away. Laurie waits for him to get onto the path at the side of the house before sliding the patio door to allow Buddy to escape.
‘He should just about make it.’ He laughs.
Buddy is barking furiously and throwing himself at the side gate in a frenzy. We can only assume Tom has made his escape.
‘This is just the start, isn’t it?’ I say, feeling weary. Laurie nods in agreement.
We hear the snap of the letterbox.
A pound to a penny, it’s Tenacious Tom’s calling card.
4
Laurie is talking to Alice. He is using his reassuring voice, trying to pacify her. He hands me the phone, and I mouth, ‘Gee, thanks,’ at him. She sounds uncharacteristically agitated on the other end.
‘Mum, I’m worried. Is it possible those men could come looking for you? You are the only witness, after all.’
Great. Thanks for reminding me. It’s not like I haven’t thought about that possibility.
I hold my tongue and make reassuring noises. Alice switches tack and goes into bossy mode.
‘Listen, Mum, Dad is not to let you out of his sight, do you hear me? And it’s important that you ask the police for protection.’
She has obviously been watching too many crime thrillers. She does have a point, though. I make a mental note to ask DI Holmes what the procedure is when I next speak to her.
In A Deep Dark Wood: A psychological thriller Page 2