Rosemary sighed. ‘Nothing.’ She got up and went to the kettle as her two dogs peered at her from the utility room. Sandy was lying on the other side, staring in at them. ‘Coffee?’
‘No, thanks,’ Melissa said, grabbing her keys from the side. ‘I’ll head to the hospital and take over from Bill. I just need to pick a few things up from the shop first.’
‘I was actually hoping to talk to you before the kids woke up,’ Rosemary said. ‘You can have some breakfast while we chat? Rebecca dropped some pastries off last night.’
Melissa paused. She really wanted to get over to the house and hide that knife.
Rosemary pulled out a chair. ‘Sit, please,’ she said firmly. Melissa looked at the table, laid out beautifully with pastries and fruit. It reminded her of another time, twenty years ago. Melissa had just told Patrick she was pregnant. They were not even twenty yet, and though they’d been dating for nearly five years by then, it wasn’t how Patrick had mapped out his perfect little life plan: married at twenty-five, director level at twenty-seven, children at thirty. So Patrick had been completely bulldozed by the news and asked for some time to think. By then, they were already living together in the attic room. Rosemary and Bill hadn’t been delighted when they discovered the two teenagers were dating. But when it became clear they were in love, Rosemary in particular preferred to be able to control the situation by letting them take over the attic room when they turned eighteen, and Melissa got a job on the forest centre’s reception while Patrick tried to make his way up the ranks at a marketing company.
When Melissa came down for breakfast the day after she’d told Patrick she was pregnant, she was surprised to find Bill and Rosemary waiting for her with him, pastries piled on a plate in front of them. She knew in that moment that Patrick had told his parents and she was furious. They’d agreed he wouldn’t until he and Melissa had had a chance to talk properly! It was bad enough when Bill and Rosemary discovered she and Patrick were secretly dating, something they’d managed to keep a secret since that first kiss beneath the oak tree. The feral little forest girl they’d taken in wasn’t exactly who they had in mind as their son’s future wife. Now she was pregnant!
But this was their grandchild growing inside Melissa, so they had it all planned out in true Byatt fashion . . . and that was what the breakfast was about. The chance to fill Melissa in on what they’d decided about her baby and her body. They informed her that Patrick and Melissa would marry before she showed too much, and Bill and Rosemary would lend them the money to get a small place of their own . . . in Forest Grove, of course. It wasn’t exactly romantic, having their marriage decided by Patrick’s parents. But it was hard to turn down a house and the chance to provide a decent life for the child growing within her. Looking back, Melissa could see the Byatts had steamrollered her into it, taken advantage of her naivety. But it wasn’t about her. It was about the child growing inside her, her beautiful Joel. Two months later they were married in a hastily arranged ceremony in the forest. In the end, it really was beautiful, Melissa dressed in Rosemary’s wedding dress, Patrick looking impossibly handsome in a new suit.
But still, Melissa never forgot that breakfast when she’d been forced into a decision she hadn’t even had time to consider.
‘It’s just been so hectic the past couple of days,’ Rosemary said now as she handed Melissa a coffee. ‘I thought we could catch up.’
Melissa sighed and sat across from her. She might as well get it out of the way.
‘I just wanted to make sure you knew we’re always here for you,’ Rosemary said. ‘No matter what.’
Melissa looked at Rosemary’s concerned face. No matter what. Did she know something wasn’t adding up with Patrick’s attack? It was probably the meeting last night, how the detective told them all the culprit might be closer to home than they thought. She had seen the way it had given the community pause, especially Bill.
‘Melissa?’ Rosemary pushed. ‘You know that, right? That I’m here for you? Bill too?’
‘Of course,’ Melissa said, smiling. ‘I know you’re both here for me and the kids too. All of us know that.’
‘Good.’ Rosemary paused, taking a sip of her herbal tea. ‘I just keep trying to wrack my brains about who might want to hurt Patrick.’ She fixed Melissa with a look.
‘We all have,’ Melissa said, trying to keep her voice even as she picked up a pastry, taking a bite.
‘I mean, you know my boy more than most.’ Rosemary tilted her head, a small, strained smile on her face. ‘How have things been at home lately?’
Melissa placed her pastry down, no longer hungry. ‘Normal, completely normal,’ she said firmly. ‘I mean, Patrick’s been stressed with the election coming up.’
‘Yes, he has been a little more pensive than usual,’ Rosemary said thoughtfully.
‘Which is only natural, right?’ Melissa asked, looking her mother-in-law in the eye.
Rosemary snagged her lip between her teeth. ‘It’s just . . . well, you know what a mother’s instinct is like, Melissa, and I just noticed Patrick seemed to have a lot on his mind recently.’
‘You know the way Patrick is,’ Melissa said, trying to hide her frustration. ‘He always wants everything to be perfect, so he’s been working non-stop for the election. But it’s nothing out of the ordinary – nothing that could explain why he was hurt on Thursday, anyway.’ Melissa examined Rosemary’s face. ‘Why, did Patrick talk to you guys about anything?’
Rosemary quickly shook her head. ‘Nothing. What about the kids?’
Melissa froze. ‘What do you mean?’
‘They must have sensed their father’s stress. Have they been okay?’
Melissa swallowed nervously. Did Rosemary suspect the kids were involved? ‘They’ve been absolutely fine,’ she said. ‘What’s this about, Rosemary?’
‘Oh, I’m just trying to place some context around things.’ She peered at Melissa’s plate. ‘You’ve barely touched your pastry!’
‘I’m not that hungry,’ Melissa said, looking at the clock, suddenly desperate to get away.
‘Poor love,’ Rosemary said kindly, putting her hand over Melissa’s. ‘I haven’t even asked how you’ve been.’
‘You mean since Thursday?’ Melissa asked. ‘Or before?’ she added, hoping she was making it known she wasn’t exactly delighted with this line of questioning.
‘Both,’ Rosemary said. ‘You said Patrick has been busy, so all the day-to-day stuff must have been falling to you?’ She leaned forward, lowering her voice. ‘I know how you’ve struggled before, Melissa. I just want to make sure we’re not getting a repeat of the past.’
Melissa stood up, coffee spilling on her jeans. She quickly wiped it away as Rosemary watched her. ‘I’m fine, absolutely fine,’ she said. ‘Look, I really need to go. I feel bad I haven’t seen Patrick since yesterday evening.’
Rosemary stood too. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m prying,’ Rosemary said. ‘I just wanted to make sure you’re okay and to let you know that we’re here for you – all of Forest Grove is.’
She walked around the table and pulled Melissa into an awkward hug. Melissa felt she couldn’t breathe as she thought of what Detective Crawford had said the night before.
I doubt anything gets past this lot. I’m starting to think the best assets we have in your husband’s case are the people of Forest Grove.
She pulled away from Rosemary and tried to smile. ‘Thank you. Tell the kids I’ll be back in time for lunch, okay?’
Then she grabbed her bag and walked out.
As Melissa drove down Old Pine Road towards her street, she mulled over what Rosemary had said. Did she know something? Or was she just worried Melissa couldn’t cope?
She wasn’t sure which was worse.
When she arrived at her street, the house coming into view, she took in a deep breath. Less than forty hours ago, she’d been cycling along this very road in the sunshine, looking forward to starting a lovely long weekend wit
h Patrick and the kids. Now, her husband was lying in hospital with a stab wound almost certainly caused by one of their children and she had one hell of a mess to clear up if she wanted the kids safe.
She drove past the house, noticing a police officer sitting outside on a plastic chair. Then she parked down a side street which housed a collection of garages. She turned the ignition off then got out, walking past the garages and into the woods. She knew she couldn’t just walk up to the front door and demand to be allowed in. It was a crime scene and they certainly wouldn’t let her rifle about in the kitchen. Instead, she planned to get in the back way and quickly grab the knife. This all relied on there not being an officer out the back too, nor any within the house. But from a text she’d received from her neighbours, the police presence had been drastically reduced since the evening before, so she was hoping that was still the case now.
She walked around the edge of the forest until she came to her back garden. As she took it in, she felt tears flood her eyes. It looked lonely, no bike or scooter strewn across the lawn, none of Lilly’s suntan bottles or Grace’s books left on the table from an Easter Friday spent in the sun. She checked nobody was at the back door then walked slowly down the length of the garden, relieved to see there seemed to be no sign of movement inside the house. She passed Joel’s tree, gazing at the orb that Lewis and Lilly had bought. Its turquoise green and bright blue swirled as it twisted in a light breeze. She felt tears prick at her eyelashes.
‘Oh, Joel,’ she whispered. ‘What’s happening to our poor family?’
She wished he was here. He’d be over twenty now. Despite his condition, she was pretty sure he’d be a pillar of strength for them right now. When you endure the kind of challenges he had, it surely gave you a strength to deal with adversities like this. He was always so brave when he had to undergo tests and when he watched his younger siblings do all the things he couldn’t. Yes, he had his moments, the occasional epic meltdown. But on the whole, he coped so well, smiling and joking, jovially telling his brother and sister off. She imagined him sitting beside her now in his wheelchair, his dark hair and brown eyes so like his father’s, the freckles smattering his small nose like his mother’s. He was such a beautiful boy, had been from the moment she gave birth to him. She knew Patrick had struggled with her pregnancy, still unsure he even wanted the child and clearly not enjoying the way the growing baby changed the shape of his girlfriend’s, then wife’s, body. But as soon as he held his squirming, beautiful son in his arms, Patrick fell instantly in love. Anyone who came across Joel fell in love with him. It wasn’t just about the way he looked, it was how he dealt with his condition too, with a laugh and a wink. His brother and sister in particular adored him, his death hitting them hard.
Melissa pulled out her set of house keys, finding the back-door key and quietly opening the door. Though she had a plan if there did happen to be someone inside – feigning pure naivety on her part: ‘Oh, I thought it was okay to pop back to get some clothes. Nobody said otherwise.’ – she still felt nervous. The silence struck her first as she walked into the kitchen, just like Thursday, when she’d come in to find Patrick on the floor. It was unusual then and it was unusual now. She sniffed the air. It smelt stale, a brief hint of chemicals and something off.
Old blood, Melissa realised. Patrick’s blood.
She placed her palm on the door frame to steady herself before slowly walking into the kitchen. There was police tape tangled on the side, specks of dust everywhere, cupboard doors flung open. The police had tried to clean the blood away but there were faint swirls of pink on the floor, like whoever had done it had grown bored with replacing the bloody water for new. Smears of blood remained on some of the cupboards too.
Melissa imagined Patrick lying before her again, the kids standing in shock around him.
She pulled her eyes away from the stains and looked towards the front door, taking in the shape of the police officer sitting outside.
She needed to be quick . . . and very quiet.
She went to the cupboard under the sink where Lewis had told her the knife was and reached her hand under the bins, prising open the plasterboard protecting the ‘secret place’. At first, she felt nothing and had to manoeuvre herself so her fingers could reach further, finally grasping the edges of a black bin bag. One of the kids must have had the foresight to wrap the knife up before hiding it. She took a deep breath then yanked it out, peeking inside.
Yes, it was the knife, their largest one, its silver blade stained with Patrick’s blood.
She put her hand to her mouth in horror. It all seemed so horribly real now, the tragedy of it all rushing over her in waves. For a moment, she thought she might be sick. She bent over, taking in gulps of air. That was the last thing she needed. How would she explain vomit on the floor?
She sat down, putting her head in her hands. When her queasiness dissipated, she wrapped the knife up in another bin bag, then grabbed an empty cardboard tube that had at one time contained a champagne bottle, a leftover from their celebrations when Patrick was nominated to run as a councillor. Grace had been saving the tube to use in a science project. Melissa placed the knife inside it, then put the tube in a large shopping bag.
She’d leave it in the boot of the car while she was at the hospital then take it back to Rosemary and Bill’s before burying it. She knew where to hide it: it was a place she used to go with Ryan when they were kids, sneaking out on summer nights, unnoticed by their sleeping parents. It was a place in the densest part of the forest, a place they considered their area, somewhere they would escape to and whisper in the darkness. Ryan would set up a campfire and they’d both bring snacks. They always knew exactly where to meet because the area glowed in the dark, thanks to the presence of foxfire, bioluminescent fungi that thrived on decaying wood. And for some reason, in this particular patch of the forest, there was a lot of decaying wood.
If more people knew about the place, she was sure they would descend upon it. But she and Ryan kept it a secret, protective of an area that had been their sanctuary all those years ago. She sometimes wondered if the reason they were holding off introducing it to their own kids as they grew older was that they liked the idea of it still being here, like a portal to another world where they would always be protected.
Now it felt like a portentous decision to Melissa. The fewer people who knew about their secret spot in the woods, the less chance there was that the knife would be found. Of course she’d considered the fact that the spot was alight at night, a beacon for anyone wandering by. But people simply didn’t wander by the area at night. It helped that there was a ban on people going into the woods between the hours of 11 p.m. and 4 a.m., an attempt to deter teens from having drunken camping parties there. But they didn’t really need it. There was something about this part of the woods that people stayed away from anyway – fearful they’d get lost, maybe?
Melissa’s eyes went back to the bloodstained floor. She thought of Patrick, of his large bare feet on this very floor as he walked in to get her a glass of wine. Or chasing the dog as the children laughed. The parties they held here for Halloween and for the kids’ birthdays. The big BBQs they held for all their friends. Christmases with Rosemary, Bill and Patrick’s sister whenever she visited from Australia with her family. So much laughter, so much love.
How had it come to this?
The front door clicked open.
Melissa froze, the shopping bag containing the knife in her hand as she heard the distinctive sound of Detective Powell’s voice echoing down the hallway.
Chapter Twenty
Saturday 20th April, 2019
9.05 a.m.
As the detective walked down the hallway, Melissa looked at the back door. Would she have time to dart out or would it just look even more suspicious if they caught her doing that?
No. She had to stay.
She searched around her frantically, her eyes alighting on some dirty clothes that had been taken from the washing m
achine and placed in a basket during the police search. She grabbed a bunch of them and shoved them in the bag, covering the tube holding the knife. Then she took a deep breath and faced the kitchen door.
It opened and Detective Powell appeared, a uniformed officer behind her.
If the detective was surprised, she managed to hold it in, regarding Melissa coolly. ‘You’re not supposed to be here,’ she said.
‘I came to get some of the kids’ clothes,’ Melissa replied. ‘I didn’t realise I wasn’t allowed to come.’
‘It’s a crime scene,’ the detective said.
‘How did you get in?’ the other police officer behind her asked, a young man with red hair who she vaguely recognised. ‘I’ve been outside all the time.’
‘Through the back,’ Melissa said, gesturing to the door. ‘I honestly didn’t realise I was doing anything wrong. I thought all the forensic work had been done. I’m so sorry.’
Detective Powell examined her face, then her eyes dropped to the bag and Melissa thought she might faint.
Thankfully, the detective’s eyes lifted back to Melissa. ‘Is Grace okay?’
‘Yes, thanks. She does like her forest walks, bless her.’ Melissa realised her words were coming out quickly, her voice a nervous pitter-patter. She started backing away. ‘Right, I’d better go get these clothes in the wash before I visit Patrick. Again, I’m so sorry.’
‘Surely you have clean clothes?’ the detective asked.
Melissa held her breath a moment then gestured towards Lewis’s football shirt. ‘Yes, but Lewis needs this particular shirt.’
‘Right. Well, just make sure you let us know next time you need anything from the house,’ the detective said.
Melissa nodded then strode to the back door.
‘Before you go . . .’ the detective called out. Melissa paused, heartbeat throbbing in her temples. ‘We’ll need to search your bag.’
Melissa slowly turned around. ‘It’s just dirty clothes.’
‘It’s something we need to do, Mrs Byatt. I hope you understand?’ the detective said, dark eyes cold.
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