by Graham West
She was right, Rob thought. She was always right. But who sent letters, these days? Kids Snapchatted and Twittered; they didn’t write. And whoever it was didn’t know Jenny had moved out. All her mates, the ones who mattered, knew about the cottage; they all knew about Jake and most of them were going to the wedding.
He called Jenny, catching her as she was about to take a shower.
“Dad?”
“Sorry, sweetheart. Just checking you got that letter.”
There was a pause. “Erm…yes. Why?”
“I thought it might be important.”
Another pause. Rob could almost hear his daughter’s brain ticking. “Not really.”
“Can’t you tell me what it’s about?”
“Dad, I’ve got to go, honestly!”
“So you don’t want to tell me?”
“I’ve got to go. Sorry.”
Jenny sounded flustered, but if it had been Kayla, he’d probably have an irate daughter on his doorstep. But maybe it hadn’t been a ‘Hi, I’m your sister!’ letter. Maybe she was playing it smart, introducing herself as someone who had read about her experiences and suggesting they meet?
“Hun! You really are halfway down paranoid alley! It’s probably nothing!” Josie sighed, flinging a handful of dirty clothes into a wicker laundry basket.
“I’ve just got a feeling,” he replied with a shrug. “It’s all this stuff with the graves and Sebastian. He thinks we’re in some kind of danger, and maybe we are. I’m just wondering if the letter isn’t a part of it all.”
Rob pulled the phone from his pocket.
Josie frowned. “Who are you calling now?”
“Jake!”
“Oh my god! Why?”
“Because I need to know.”
Rob held the phone to his ear, killing the sound on the TV.
“Hi, Mr. Adams.” Jake sounded breathless.
“I’m sorry, mate. Is this a bad time?”
“Nah, I’m just with Dad in his gym. Everything okay?”
Rob paused, not knowing quite where to start. “It’s about the letter. The letter Josie—”
“The one from Darren Pascoe? I didn’t think Jenny was going to tell you about that!”
Rob froze. The very name sent his head spin. “Pascoe?” he snarled.
There was an awkward silence. “Shit! She hasn’t told you, has she? Shit! She’s gonna kill me!”
But the name brought back all those memories. The bodies, the screams, the coffins passing him as the bearers carried his wife and child down the aisle.
“Pascoe?” he hissed, trying to control the anger rising in his belly. “What the fuck did that little runt want with my daughter?”
“Look, you need to speak to Jenny—”
“Jake!” he shot back. “You’re already in the shit with her! Don’t add me to the list!”
There was brief silence. “He wanted Jenny to forgive him.”
Rob stared over at Josie, open mouthed. “Forgive? He’s got to be kidding! Forgive? How? How?”
“I’ve told her, Mr. Adams. I’ve told her to burn the thing!”
“Jake, please don’t tell me she’s fallen for it!”
“It’s knocked her a bit, but she still has the letter.”
Rob groaned. “I can’t believe she hasn’t lashed the thing! What the hell is up with that girl?”
“She’ll come to her senses. Just give it time.”
There was another silence. Rob had run out of words. “I’ve got to go. Sorry. I’ll speak to Jenny later.”
Rob threw the phone onto the coffee table and turned up the TV.
Josie stood in the doorway, staring at him. “So it’s a letter from her brother!”
“It’s her half-brother, and a shit half at that!”
Josie shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Call him what you want, hun, but he’s still her flesh and blood. So before you go wading in, shouting the odds, just spare a thought for how she’s feeling right now.”
“Hate! That’s all she should be feeling!” Rob snapped.
Josie wasn’t having it. The psychologist always came to the surface in these situations. “No! Confusion. That’s what she should be feeling, and that’s exactly what she will be feeling! Think about it, honey. Imagine it was Kayla who had killed Elizabeth and Hanna. Imagine if she was asking for your forgiveness.”
Rob sighed, falling back into the chair and closing his eyes. He couldn’t ever imagine actually hating Kayla; he just couldn’t see the day he’d ever love her as much as he loved Jenny.
Josie sat next to him, perching on the arm of the chair. “Look, nothing you say is going to change how she feels about Darren, but it might change the way she feels about you.”
It made sense. Maybe it would be better to say nothing at all. Perhaps Jake was right. Jenny needed time. Time to come to terms with the fact that the brother she wanted to forget had turned up looking for a place in her heart. Then she would realise it was a place he was never going to find.
Chapter Thirty
Dennis Blakely hadn’t deleted the image of Kim’s breasts from his phone. They flashed up under her name as ‘Ring of Fire’ blasted out from his top pocket. Even though he’d rather see a shapely leg, the image still aroused him. But Penny was probably right. The passion would fade. It nearly always did.
Sometimes he thought marriage was a sham. More often than not, couples felt trapped and love turned to resentment. Some were lucky, and the relationship developed into a friendship and survived through the years, but it was never ideal. He wanted to be married to Penny—someone to keep the nest warm while Kim hung around in the background like an unpaid escort.
It was ten-thirty. He stopped off at the bank on the way and by the time he’d arrived on site the park resounded to the sound of drills and hammers. Blakely held the phone to his ear, wondering which version of the woman was waiting for him. She sounded upbeat. “Hi, sweetheart.”
He only had to say the word and she would be in his bed within the hour, but Penny was there in his mind. He had to be strong.
“I’m a bit busy,” he replied curtly. “I’ll call you later.”
He clicked ‘end call’ on the screen and buried the phone deep in his pocket. It rang almost immediately.
It was Kim—the other Kim. “Don’t you ever hang up on me again!” she roared, sounding like she was actually spitting venom. “If you want something to fuck and throw away then get yourself a rubber doll. Don’t treat me like I’m some shit that you trod in!”
There was a silence. He could hear footsteps on the end of the line. He waited. There was a muffled voice followed by a loud crack. Then the phone went dead. She had probably launched her phone across the room, hitting the floor or a wall. Maybe divorcing Penny was going to be a lot less hassle than splitting up with Kim.
Her anger was making it easier. Penny had sounded so reasonable, a classy woman who was working through the rage, rising above the situation with a sophistication he admired, while Kim was showing herself up to be an immature young girl.
Blakely finished checking out the delivery dates before making his way over to the house. Larry Thomas was waiting for him in the doorway of the reception area. The place was beginning to take some kind of shape and for the first time he imagined the couples booking in at the desk with excited kids circling around their feet.
Blakely wondered how many of the builders knew about Kim and her boobs. Thomas was probably spreading the word. Nothing travelled faster than smutty gossip, particularly when it involved the boss.
“They’ve delivered gold fittings,” Thomas said, greeting him with a scowl. “They should be silver.”
“Call them,” Blakely replied impatiently. “We’ve got a few weeks before they’re needed anyway.”
“And the wrong tiles,” the foreman continued. “They should be non-slip. You’ll be paying more in compo than you’re taking at the gates!”
“Okay. Just sort it, Larry—and thanks,” he rep
lied impatiently.
Thomas nodded. “Oh, did you catch that girl—what’s her name?”
“Kim?”
“Yeah, the one you’re—”
“She’s just been on the phone? Why?”
Thomas frowned. “On the phone? No, she was here, looking for you.”
Blakely’s stomach turned.
“She might have gone looking for you in the woods,” he continued. “I thought you were checking out the plots.”
“No!” Blakely snapped. “I got caught up at the bank! Why the hell didn’t you call me!”
Larry Thomas shrugged. “I’d go looking for her if I was you. We’ve got thunderstorms forecast, and they don’t look that far away!”
Blakely nodded and headed off towards Mosswood. They had managed to create enough plots without felling too many trees, and in many areas the overhanging branches interlocked, creating a canopy against the worst of the British weather. Several workmen in fluorescent jackets and hard hats stood next to a log pile, drinking tea.
The mini diggers had left, leaving the area looking a little less like a building site, although Blakely still felt that the concrete footings looked unsightly. The sooner the cabins went up, the better. He stopped. “Any of you guys seen a young woman round here?”
“Yeah, she went off in that direction,” the one with the Santa beard replied.
Blakely frowned. “Why?”
“She was looking for you. We thought you might have gone checking out the nature reserve.”
Blakely shook his head in disgust. He wasn’t in the mood to argue the point. No one could have seen him go past, so why did they send a young woman on a pointless mission? In the reserve, of all places. They had plans for the place but work hadn’t started. There were no paths, no signs and no picnic tables. It was wild and gloomy. No place for a young woman to go wandering. He punched the speed dial on his phone, breaking into a power walk that was more like a run.
After several seconds she picked up. “Kim?”
There was no answer.
“Kim? Look, I know you’re pissed at me, but where are you?”
He could hear the rustling of the trees. The wind was picking up. “Kim?”
He could hear breathing. She was listening.
“Kim. I’m not getting into another fight with you. Just find your way to the edge of the wood. I’ll meet you by the grave.”
She remained silent, but she was walking; he could hear her footsteps.
Except it wasn’t Kim. “You must be the lover boy!” a male voice growled menacingly through the phone, sounding like a bad Darth Vader impersonator. “You might say that she’s having a lie down.”
Blakely stopped. His blood ran cold and his heart felt as if someone had ripped it out and replaced it somewhere in his gut. “Who the fuck are you? Why have you got her phone?”
“She was snooping, Mr. Blakely,” the voice answered. “This is no place for a pretty young thing.”
“What? What do you mean? Where is she? Please tell me she’s okay!”
“C’est Pas Fini,” came the reply.
Blakely guessed whoever it was must have had some kind of device that disguised his voice.
“What? It’s you? You wrote that shit on the grave?”
“That is for you to find out. A little mystery. Maybe it was Miss Adams, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I just know things. Maybe I like playing games. Let’s see how good you really are.”
“Where’s Kim? I want to speak to Kim!”
“She has no need of you.”
“Where is she?” Blakely roared. “What have—”
“I’m done for now, Dennis. Good luck.”
The phone went dead, and Blakely broke into a run.
***
Jenny Adams was tired, although she wondered if there was a difference between weariness and tiredness. Jake had stayed over at his father’s place, just to make it clear he was serious about the letter. Darren Pascoe was an asshole, turning up like this, just when she was beginning to come to terms with the fact her mother wouldn’t be around to help her choose Hanna’s bridesmaid’s dress, and her sister wouldn’t be there to wear it. Jenny would never see those tears—her mother’s tears—her beautiful mother, standing at the front of the church in a hat the size of an umbrella, crying like a baby throughout the service.
She had it all worked out. Whom she loved, whom she hated. Whom she trusted, whom she kept at a safe distance. But now this. Her great-great-great-grandmother was watching like some kind of guardian angel, waiting for her on the other side of consciousness with a bunch of cryptic clues.
The phone rang. Her father’s face flashed up on the screen as she pulled over and killed the engine. “Hi, Dad. Everything okay?”
“No, sweetheart, it isn’t. Why didn’t you tell me about the letter?”
Jenny’s heart sank. “I didn’t want to worry you,” she blurted
“Worry me? That boy doesn’t worry me, Jenny. You do!”
“What? Why?” she asked. It was a rhetorical question. She knew the answer only too well.
“You still have the letter?”
“Well, yes.” Jenny thought it might be better to keep quiet about her visit to Sebastian’s home.
“I’m confused. I thought he’d be the last person you’d want to hear from! I thought you’d have ripped the thing up!”
Jenny felt an anger rising inside. Why did she have to defend herself all the time? “Because he’s my brother!” she yelled. “He’s my own flesh and blood, and I’m gonna decide what I do with that letter. Not you, and not Jake!”
“But I don’t—”
Jenny wasn’t done. “And before you start preaching about what you think I should be feeling, just ask yourself why I have a fucking brother in the first place! Ask yourself that, Dad, because one name keeps cropping up in my head—Melissa!”
A lorry roared past her car, close enough to make her jump. She threw the phone onto the passenger seat and took several deep breaths before firing up the engine. Her heart still thumped hard as she eased back into the traffic. If Jake wanted to hang out at his father’s place until she’d destroyed the letter, then that was fine, but he’d best get himself a suitcase and pack some clothes. She wasn’t a child anymore, and this was between her and Darren, no one else.
By the time she pulled up outside the cottage, Jennifer Adams had made up her mind. One way or another, she was going to meet up with her brother and they would sort this out, face-to-face.
Chapter Thirty-One
Dennis Blakely stopped to catch his breath. Having to fight his way through the undergrowth didn’t help. God, I’m so unfit. He really needed to get back to the gym and stop supping large glasses of wine with his evening meals. He wasn’t overweight, and could still see his feet, but he was breathing hard—too hard.
He’d called Kim’s name several times over, but there was no reply. Maybe Darth Vader was waiting, having lured him into a trap. Walking was better—walking and listening. The woodland grew denser. This was the area where the adventures would really begin: the acres set aside for family walks, picnics and bike trails, away from the cabins and into the unknown. Of course, it still needed work. They would have to lose a quite a few more trees in order to create enough space for families to cycle, and naturally, the sites designated as picnic areas needed to be cleared.
Blakely heard the first drops of rain hitting the canopy above his head. The black clouds had gathered fast and thrown the whole woodland into an eerie gloom that made him feel even more fearful. Maybe he should call Thomas and ask for some back up. At least he’d have a chance if Darth was waiting in the shadows. He pulled out his phone, glancing at the screen. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” There was no signal. Maybe Kim was on a different network.
Blakely thought about turning back—calling from the edge of the woods and waiting for his foreman and a couple of his cronies to turn up. But he needed to find Kim. He couldn’t walk away now, even if it was just to sum
mon help. He continued on, his hands trembling at his sides. Every movement, every flap of a bird’s wing, every scampering squirrel made him jump.
His father would be ashamed. His father, who had fought in the Falklands for his country. His father who returned with half his left leg blown off. He’d left hospital and began to plan his future away from the army. He could never work for someone else, not after military life. He wanted to be his own man.
The thought of his father’s bravery and tenacity drove Blakely on. He picked up a broken branch, breaking off the end. It was heavy enough to act as a club. A weapon would come in useful should anyone be waiting. There was a chance, he knew, that Kim had found her feet and made her way out into the grounds, but there was no time to go checking. Blakely’s chest tightened. Please, God, not now. The pain subsided as he took several deep breaths. Then he saw Kim’s handbag, hanging from a branch.
It was a burgundy kind of red and probably expensive. Her mother had bought it for her as a twenty-first present, and parents generally didn’t skimp when it came to big birthdays. But if Darth was a thief as well as a vandal then he had clearly underestimated its value.
Blakely edged forward and carefully lifted the bag from the tree. Maybe the mystery guy had hung it there as a clue; maybe he’d find an article of clothing on another branch, all leading him deeper into the forest.
The rain was heavier now, and the whole forest grew darker by the minute. He peered ahead, his own footsteps drowned by the roar of the water hitting the leaves above him. Then he spotted something—a rope, tied into a noose, hung from the branch of a tree. He moved closer, trembling with fear. There was blood on the tree, a crude message, scrawled across the trunk. C’est Pas Fini.
Kim lay between two trees, barely visible in the fading light. The pale blue skirt she’d worn when she stormed out of his room the previous evening was hitched up around her thighs and something covered her head. He stumbled forward, his heart banging, expecting that at any moment a stranger would be upon him. Blakely prayed as he drew closer. It was the leather jacket, thrown across her face. The jacket she had bought the previous week.