by Graham West
Josie gave him another dig, hard enough to make him back off and start listening. He gestured for Kayla to continue.
“I never knew I was gay,” she said. “I was forced into sex before I had time to find out who I was or what I wanted. I got with Caden because he seemed kind and I wanted someone to look after me, but I lied to you. We never had a sexual relationship. I kept telling him I needed time and—”
“He accepted that?” Josie interrupted.
Kayla nodded. “Yeah. He was screwed up, I know. He did those terrible things, and I still blame myself.”
Josie sighed. “We all do stuff, Kayla,” she said gently. “And I can understand how and why you became attracted to Jenny, but you must have realised it was going to destroy the family.”
“I know.” Kayla lowered herself into the same chair in which she’d sat and introduced herself several years ago. “I had some weird idea that it would all work out. I didn’t really want to break up Jen’s marriage, I just wanted her to love me…the way I love her.”
Josie had her shrink’s hat on. “And when you realised she had feelings too? Didn’t that sound the alarm bells?”
Kayla nodded. “I knew it was wrong, I just couldn’t help it.” She glared at Rob. “Just like he couldn’t help it!”
Josie placed a hand on Rob’s arm, but he was too stunned by what he was hearing. “Well, he got you, so I guess something good came out of that little affair.”
Kayla’s eyes widened. “You really think so?” she hissed “Because I don’t. My own father’s ashamed of me. Look at him! It’s there in his eyes!”
Rob ducked as a glass flew over his head and shattered on the wall behind them. Kayla ran from the room, slamming the door and bounding up the stairs. “I wish I’d never found you!” she screamed. “I wish I’d never come back!”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have got so angry.” Rob turned to Josie, feeling utterly helpless.
Josie stood and started picking up the glass. “Well, there’s no doubt you’re in touch with your emotions, Rob. It’s just a shame you don’t know how to control them.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Blakely studied his wife from across the room. In the past few weeks, she had risen even higher in his estimation, and he often felt he was living beneath the shadow of her wings. He hated duplicity in all its forms, yet he had succumbed so easily when the young waitress had invited him into her bed. Penny was made of stronger stuff. She had steel in her veins, and people crossed her at their peril.
Maybe the flowers he had delivered that morning would sum it all up. A way of thanking her for being there—for believing in him. For being the best manager he’d ever known. There had been a few tin-pot dictators who had wormed their way into his father’s company over time. They were usually rude and walked around with some kind of chip on their shoulder: a deep-seated resentment that resulted in them wielding their power with sadistic delight.
One in particular had worked at a large sports centre that his father had bought as a going concern. Ian Strich Shinark was portly, with suspiciously blonde hair and a heavy London East End accent. Blakely’s father, for a reason unbeknown to him, had promoted the guy to the position of manager. Several members of staff had left, replaced by poorly trained youngsters who had little idea of how to deal with the general public. Blakely had stepped in, working in the shadows to find out what was going on.
It hadn’t taken long for Shinark to show his true colours. The man behind the jolly exterior was quite happy to knife any member of staff in the back the moment the opportunity presented itself. He succeeded only in dividing the workforce and creating a hostile atmosphere that had spread to the gym floor. Blakely had called his father, who had given him the authority to do as he wished. He had enjoyed calling the bastard into the office and sacking him on the spot before taking up the reigns. Within four months, the membership had doubled, but he couldn’t help imagining how Penny would have dealt with Shinark. The staff had called him Shine-arse, and Penny would have addressed him as such too—not necessarily behind his back. Blakely would have paid good money to watch her take him down.
He knew only too well his wife could have walked away after his affair with Kim, yet she had chosen to give their relationship a chance. That took some guts. Now, living in their modest quarters, he wondered if she regretted that decision.
Penny turned and smiled at him, clearly oblivious to what was on his mind. “I was thinking,” she said, “if you’ve got the Adams girl staying, how about we give Jacob Root a proper burial?”
Blakely was stunned at her sudden change of heart. “Really? But we’d have to inform the police and then there—”
“I know,” she interrupted. “We’d have to go through all the formalities, and it could take a few weeks, but Jenny’s right. The man deserves some respect.”
“Well, it would please her, I guess.”
Penny nodded. “And the park is closed anyway. Surely you don’t need to tell your father.”
It felt good; it felt right. A short graveside service, an added inscription. And even if his father objected, well, it was about time he stood up to the old guy. If he ended up in Portugal serving cocktails to tourists, then he would be doing it with a clear conscience.
***
The film hadn’t been that good, but Alex thought maybe it was down to his lack of concentration. He wasn’t exactly in love with Maddy, but she sure made him feel a whole lot better about himself. She was bright, and funny too, and that put him at ease, but the banter started for real when the movie finished. He’d teased her about hiding in her hoodie all through the movie, and she’d called him a Bear Grylls wannabe.
“You must be a real tough guy, surviving all those months in the wilds of Mosswood,” she quipped mischievously. “I mean, with nothing but a five-star restaurant and access to all the beer you could possibly consume, it must have been hell!”
Alex laughed. “Well, if this wannabe Bear Grylls ever wants a wannabe chav to keep him company—”
Maddy had laughed so hard the last gulp of her drink shot out of her nose. He’d left her on the corner of her road, and it was then she’d touched his cheek. “Don’t hurt me, Alex,” she whispered. “Please don’t hurt me.”
It was the first time he’d not thought about Danni since they’d broken up. Maddy’s laugh was infectious, and she had a smile that was as warm as her eyes. He wasn’t going to hurt her. He’d never hurt anyone the way Danni had hurt him, and when he was finally free—totally free of her—he’d tell Maddy all about the heartache and hope she considered him worth the risk.
Chapter Forty-Five
Isaac had fallen asleep less than ten minutes into the fifty-mile trip to Mosswood. Jenny turned off the radio and drove on with a heavy heart. She’d wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but the stream of love songs was sending her into an emotional overload. This should have been a family break, just the three of them, no Kayla. A few days away from the routine.
Danni was right. They were a dysfunctional family.
Watching Kayla and Rob together that first year had been difficult. Kayla was getting to know her biological father, his strengths and weaknesses, when all Jenny knew of her own biological father was that he had trained as a psychiatrist. Darren still talked about him. He was a good man. A caring, loving man who preferred to practise as a therapist simply because he possessed an innate ability to empathise. Jenny sometimes wondered if she’d inherited her ability to forgive from him, though she wasn’t feeling very forgiving just now.
She pulled up outside reception in the deserted car park and eased Isaac, still sleeping, from his seat, placing him gently into the pushchair. She wanted to cry. Jake usually took over the pram duties, always managing not to wake his son. This time, Isaac opened his eyes and let out a howl of protest.
“Hey, baby, it’s okay. We’re here.”
Isaac frowned; he looked more and more like his father every day.
Jenny wasn’t looking for an answer. She headed for the reception door, where Alex greeted her. The last time she’d seen him, he looked like death. Now, he had some colour in his cheeks and seemed cheery and anxious to help.
“The restaurant isn’t open,” he said, “but the staff quarters will be—that’s if you’d like something to eat?”
Jenny shook her head. She wasn’t hungry. Her heart ached, and the pain had travelled to her belly. “I’ve got food for the baby,” she replied glumly. “I can give him that in the room.”
She left the car where it was and walked up to the hotel, following Alex, who insisted on carrying her small suitcase in an act of chivalry that she found quite endearing. It took less than three minutes for the boy to drop the name of a girl he’d met. Maddy Maddison. Jenny guessed she would be the reason why his walk resembled a kind of dance, and she envied him. When love lifted you, it lifted you to the heights of ecstasy, and when it dropped you, it dropped you into the pit of hell itself.
Dennis Blakely greeted her with an awkward hug as they walked into the hotel lobby. Isaac stared gormlessly into space, trapped in a hazy world of semi-consciousness.
“Where’s your fella?” Blakely asked breezily.
“It’s a long story,” Jenny mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
Blakely nodded knowingly. “Ah, right. A domestic, I assume.”
It would have been easy to tell him to mind his own business, but considering she was staying here free of charge, Jenny thought it was best to shrug and smile.
Their room was large with a two-seater sofa and a king-size bed. Jenny filled up when she saw the rose petals on the sheets and bottle of champagne standing in a silver ice bucket.
Blakely looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I hope it’s nothing too serious.”
Jenny gave him a weary look. “I’ll be okay. Just going through a bit of a patch.” She looked over at the champagne. “But thanks for all this. I could use a drink right now, if you fancy joining me.”
Blakely checked his watch. “Tell you what, why don’t we go down to the bar? You can save that bottle for later.”
Jenny glanced at a drowsy Isaac who wasn’t going to be bothered where his mother wheeled him as long as he didn’t have to walk.
“Sure, and you can tell me everything that’s been going on,” she said with a grimace. Blakely looked like a man with plenty of troubles of his own. The fire was bad enough, but he had a square mile of land which lay under some kind of curse. People could be as sceptical as they liked, but even the most hardened cynic would not last the night in that forest.
***
Sebastian sat with Amelia Root’s diaries spread out in front of him. The young girl, immersed in her books, had often referred to the great writers of her day, frequently quoting passages. Given her knowledge of Christ’s teachings, it was hardly surprising that she had challenged Reverend Allington and called him a hypocrite.
He knows nothing of the love of which St. Paul writes in his letters to the Corinthians. And I wonder if his maker will let him ponder on that passage before abandoning his errant servant to the fires of hell. For it is written ‘They shall say, Lord, Lord, we healed the sick in your name, we cast out demons in your name. And I shall say unto them, ‘Depart from me, for I never knew you.’
Sebastian smiled to himself. He saw the grief and the bitterness in those lines; he also saw what appeared to be a tear stain at the bottom of the page. He understood the anger, although he’d never believed in hell fire or judgement day. Those were mankind’s ways of dealing with the world’s injustice—the belief that everyone would face the Almighty in the end.
But even in those early years, when she first set pen to paper, Amelia’s childlike sketches and daily observations fascinated Sebastian. Somewhere, the girl would have left a clue—maybe a passage or even a single line. How much of Mosswood’s history had Jacob Root really known? Sebastian emptied his glass, pouring himself another shot of brandy before slowly turning the page.
***
Jenny stared hard at her fingers, wrapped around a large glass of Prosecco. They looked pale and gnarled, and for a moment she felt as if she’d aged overnight. Was this how if felt? The weariness? The feeling that you no longer cared about things that once mattered more than anything else? So many of the elderly seemed to see death as a friend rather than a foe, and it had always baffled her. Life was precious, something you clung to. But now, she began to understand.
“I’m sorry.” She looked up at Blakely, who studied her with palpable concern. “I’m not very good company at the moment.”
Isaac busily sucked away on his bottle of juice, happy to be somewhere different. He’d soon get bored, but the pool was open and there was always the soft-play centre. It shouldn’t be too hard to keep the kid entertained.
Blakely took a sip from his beer and wiped the line of foam from his lips. “Look, I know you were a bit pissed off with me over the thing with Amelia’s father. I was out of order, I know that.”
Jenny smiled, unsure where he was going.
“Anyway, we thought it might be good to have a proper burial. You know the kind of thing, a little service at the graveside?”
Jenny felt strangely warmed by the thought. Maybe she hadn’t died inside after all. “You’re going to get Francis to say a few words?”
Blakely nodded. “I’ve informed the police. I’ve told them we’ve found the remains of someone we believe to have been the gardener here in the late 1800s.”
“They’ll need to do all the DNA stuff, won’t they?”
“Sure. They’re not just going to take our word for it, but we have a copy of Sarah Bell’s letter stating Jacob disappeared into the woods followed by the doctor’s henchmen and was never seen again.”
“As long as they’re happy that it’s not the body of a missing person on their books.”
“I’m not that well up on the forensics,” Blakely admitted. “I assume they’ll want to recover the remains and study the site itself, but I don’t think it will take too long. They were pretty quick with Amelia.”
Jenny felt a chill in her bones. The girl seemed very much alive at the moment. “Is there any news about the fire?” she asked, changing the subject.
Blakely shrugged. “You were there, Jenny. You were in the middle of it. Isn’t there anything you can tell me?”
It was almost as if he knew. Realising she was gripping the glass so hard it was in danger of shattering, Jenny forcibly relaxed her grasp. “I’ll tell you on one condition. You have to promise not to tell anyone else, okay?”
Blakely frowned. “Go on.”
Jenny’s heart quickened. “Bailey Rosales started the fire.”
With the revelation, the temperature in the bar room seemed to drop several degrees. Jenny had always believed the less said about that night, the better, but now she found herself telling Dennis Blakely exactly what had happened in the depths of Mosswood. He listened without a word until Jenny finished with, “The thing is, it wasn’t her. It wasn’t really Bailey. I think you know exactly what I mean, don’t you?”
Blakely looked stunned. But she also saw fear in his eyes. Of course he knew.
“So there won’t be any recriminations…right?”
Blakely shook his head slowly, his hands caressing the glass. “My father will sell this place unless we get it up and running. That includes every square metre of the land.” He paused and smiled ruefully. “There are people in this town who know what went on in those woods. But they won’t talk.”
Blakely told her how Councillor Matthews had approached him beside the lake and the meeting at which his father had stormed out. Then there had been a subsequent visit from Matthew’s son, Gerard.
“They seem pretty determined,” Jenny said.
“Yeah, and that troubles me more than anything. We had two kids here who saw things—and did things.”
Jenny took
a sip of wine but then pushed the glass away. “I need to keep a clear head. I’ve got Bailey’s mum’s number. Cody’s parents, too. I’m going to give them a call later.”
“What are you going to say?”
“I’m not sure, but I need to know what those kids are up to. If Cody is still seeing Jacob, and if Bailey is—”
“Still setting fire to things?” Blakely interrupted.
It should have been funny, but it wasn’t. “She was in some kind of trance with no idea what she’d said or done, and Cody claimed Bailey was talking like an old woman. I just want someone to tell me all that weird shit has stopped.”
***
Sebastian pictured the diminutive young figure in a white bloodstained nightgown, standing by the lakeside with the knife still in her hand—the same hand with which she had penned those final words before taking her own life. The old man’s tears dripped down his cheeks as he emptied his glass and pushed aside the diary. Its cover was a little worn around the edges but, having been stored in a trunk away from the sunlight, it was in remarkable condition.
He’d found nothing in those pages from the first of January, when Amelia had spent the day languishing on her own, pining for her father; nothing that would suggest the girl knew anything of Mosswood’s dark history. There were another ten diaries, of course, none of which he had read in their entirety, but Amelia’s words lay heavily on his heart, and maybe it was time to take Ricky out for a stroll along the lanes. The fresh air would do him good. It had taken a while for Sebastian to get back on his feet after Caden Reece had beaten him to within an inch of his life, and he’d missed the walks.
Sebastian thought about Amelia as he walked. The girl had been left, unwanted, growing up in a tiny attic room and it had all happened over a hundred years ago. Yet, during a century of change and apparent enlightenment, children and animals still required organisations to protect them. Women were still beaten and abused; there was still race hatred. There were still people needlessly losing their lives every day due to greed and corruption.