Ethan starts to whimper, fidgeting and trying to get down from Margot’s lap. Adam stands up. ‘He needs to go to bed,’ he says, taking him from Margot. ‘But we can carry on this conversation later, Marg. Alone.’ He shoots me a look before turning back to Margot. ‘Don’t make any decisions yet.’
He stalks off, Ethan in his arms, without saying goodbye to me, the back door banging behind him.
The sky has darkened and Margot glances anxiously out the window. ‘I’d better get the horses in. It looks like it’s going to be another bad night.’ Then she sighs heavily. ‘I’m sorry about Adam. Underneath all that … brusqueness, he’s a nice guy. He’s a good husband and father.’
I’m not sure I believe that. He seems threatening and aggressive to me but I don’t say so. Instead I try to look understanding. ‘It’s a stressful time for you all.’
To my horror, Margot’s face crumples and she pulls out a tissue from the sleeve of her jumper. ‘I can’t lose Heather as well,’ she says, tears spilling down her cheeks. ‘I don’t know how I’d bear it.’
‘Oh, Margot.’ I get up and, without even thinking about it, I put my arms around her. She still smells exactly as she used to all those years ago. Yardley perfume mixed with saddle leather. I breathe her in, remembering a time when I was still only twelve and on my first sleepover with Heather. I’d woken up, sweating and agitated, after a dream about my dad. I’d been upset, the divorce still too fresh, and I missed Dad, who had disappeared back to his job on the oil rigs, never bothering to keep in touch. Margot must have heard my crying because she’d come into the bedroom wearing a purple dressing-gown and she’d hugged me, my face nuzzled against the soft velour. I’d felt safe in her warm arms and reassured. I’d instantly calmed down and fallen back to sleep. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say to her now, the irony not lost on me that I’m the one comforting her. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
As I drive along Tilby’s high street a deep sadness descends upon me. The pavements are sleek with rain but I can almost see Heather and Flora hunched together, laughing. Once on our walk home – when I was finally allowed into their inner sanctum – we could hardly put one foot in front of the other as we doubled up with laughter after a car drove past, dousing us with rainwater so that our skirts were drenched. I remember running through the fields to their house, the mud splashing up our legs and over our white socks, then drying off with old towels in our favourite barn – the one where Heather was found at death’s door.
I should be feeling ecstatic. I have no doubt that Adam and Margot will agree to talk to me now, which could be a turning point for my career, and Ted will be overjoyed – but I can’t stop thinking about them, most of all Margot. Seeing her again, meeting Adam and little Ethan has stirred everything up. As a teenager I was more than a little obsessed with the family. I never got to meet Heather’s dad as he’d died a few years previously, before they moved to Tilby, but her uncle – Margot’s younger brother, Leo – was always there. A handsome, jovial guy with the same thick, dark hair as Margot used to have and twinkly green eyes.
I’d been more than a little envious of them, really, Heather and Flora. Being an only child, I’d always wanted an older sister. And they seemed so close.
They had everything – or so I thought then. Even, later, when I got to know them better, when Heather became my best friend, Flora still remained that glamorous enigma.
And then, in August 1994, sixteen-year-old Flora Powell disappeared.
9
August 1994
Flora grabbed her sister’s hand in a sudden rush of excitement. The fair had come to Tilby and it was the most thrilling thing that had happened in their boring little town all year. More amazingly still, their mother had allowed them to go. In the evening. Without her or Uncle Leo tagging along.
Different tunes clashed together so all that was discernible was the heavy beat of the drums. Lights flashed from the rides and laughter rang out in the normally empty field. The sweet scent of candyfloss was heavy in the air, mixed with something else, roasted meat, perhaps. Heather glanced at her sister, seeming unsure. Heather was only fourteen and this was the first time she’d been allowed to go to the fair at night without her mother. Unknown to her, Flora had snuck out last year when everyone was asleep. She’d been brave enough then to go to the edge of the caravan park and watch from that safe distance as the lights of the Big Wheel dazzled and the thump of music floated through the night.
But this year was different. This year Flora had turned sixteen. She was practically an adult. Plus she wanted to meet him.
She didn’t know his name. But she’d bumped into him on the high street yesterday when she was in Gateway getting some shopping for her mum. She’d spotted the flyers attached to lampposts and nailed to fences. The Smithwick travelling fair was back for its second year. It meant the town was flooded with new blood and she, for one, couldn’t be more ecstatic. She was fed up with the boys in her year at school and it wouldn’t be any different in September, even though she’d be in the sixth form. They either followed her around trying to twang her bra strap or they hurled offensive remarks at her, words like ‘dyke’ and ‘frigid’, just because she didn’t fancy any of them. She hated walking past them where they all seemed to congregate at the clock tower, drinking Diamond White and smoking, trying to look hard. She didn’t find any of them attractive or cool.
Flora had been leaving the supermarket, the handle of the plastic carrier bag digging into the flesh of her forearm, when they almost collided. She could tell straight away that he wasn’t a local by the dark hair that touched the collar of his patterned psychedelic shirt and his tanned face. No boys in Tilby would dare to dress to stand out, scared they might get beaten up. He was older than her by a couple of years at least, and when his sea-blue eyes met hers, she actually felt butterflies flutter in her stomach.
‘Oops, sorry,’ he said, in an accent she couldn’t quite place. London, perhaps. Definitely not West Country. ‘Nearly sent you flying.’ His eyes swept over her long black skirt with the tasselled hem, her lacy cream blouse, the many chains around her neck and her DM boots. And then he gave an audacious whistle. ‘Actually, I take that back. I’m not sorry at all. You look like a beautiful gypsy girl.’
Flora had blushed, not knowing what to say or how to react. Instead she muttered something about having to go and scurried past him down the street, but he called after her: ‘Come to the fair tomorrow night. I’m working on the Waltzers there. I’ll look out for you, Gypsy Girl.’ She’d grinned to herself as she hotfooted home, her cheeks still burning in the breeze.
And now here she was. But where was he?
She felt Heather stiffen beside her and snatch her hand away. ‘I’m not sure about this,’ she said. Her voice sounded very small and Flora could hardly hear her above the cacophony.
Flora felt a flash of annoyance towards her sister. She didn’t want to walk around the fair by herself. Why was Heather being such a baby? It wasn’t as though their mother had forbidden them to come.
But she took a deep breath, making an effort to swallow her irritation. This was what Heather was like. Quiet and unsure about trying new things. She knew she should have asked Jess along too. Jess was good at bringing Heather out of herself. Her sister was too introverted at times, closeted in her bedroom listening to too much Goth music. Flora liked The Cure as much as Heather did – although she preferred All About Eve now. The trouble with Heather was that she didn’t want to open her mind to new experiences. Flora had never been properly kissed, just a peck from Andy Waters back in junior school when they pretended to get married. It was her time.
‘Come on,’ Flora pleaded, trying to keep her voice light and not too desperate. ‘We’ll have fun!’ And the only bloke I’ve ever truly fancied has said he’s going to be here, she silently added.
‘I don’t really want to be here … It’s all a bit loud.’ She looked bewildered, like one of the neighbour’s sheep after it had strayed into
the wrong field and got caught up in barbed wire.
It took a while but Flora eventually managed to coax her sister towards the Waltzers. The sun was going down and the sky was streaked with pink, orange and purple. It gave the evening an unreal quality and Flora’s heart quickened even more. The dance beats seemed to pulsate inside her. She just knew something exciting was going to happen for her tonight. If only Heather would stop being such a wuss. This was their father’s fault. He’d shouted and nagged and bullied them for most of their childhood. But he’d been dead for more than four years now. Yet Heather still seemed cowed by him. Flora knew her sister needed to let her hair down a bit, to stop her incessant worrying.
‘I’m not going on that,’ said Heather, her eyes wide with terror as she watched the Waltzers spin and dip as though they were dancing. ‘I’ll be sick.’
Flora wasn’t planning to go on them either. She was just there for the sexy boy she’d bumped into yesterday. Where was he? And then she spotted him jumping from one car to another, whirling them around to the squawking delights of the passengers: three teenage girls with too much lipstick and hairspray, she was irked to note. He was even better-looking than she remembered. Her insides actually fizzed, like a Refresher on her tongue, at the sight of him.
Then he noticed her and his face brightened. He jumped down to where they were standing on the steps, much to the obvious annoyance of his groupies in the car. ‘Well, hello, Gypsy Girl. I was hoping you’d make it.’
Flora’s cheeks flamed and she just about managed to mumble hi. She sensed Heather staring at her in disbelief. She didn’t dare look at her sister because she knew she’d see judgement and disappointment in her expression. ‘Fancy a go?’
Heather stepped back in horror. ‘Not for me, thanks. I’ve just spotted Jess,’ she said, her voice full of relief. ‘Come on, Flora. Mum said we had to stick together, remember?’
Instantly Flora felt irritated. She wasn’t going anywhere. She turned up her face to the boy, whose name she still didn’t know, and said, ‘I’d love a go, as long as you spin me.’
Heather stood for a while, watching her sister giggling and flirting with the fair hand. She’d never seen Flora act like that before. It made her feel uneasy and she turned away in disgust. She could see Jess standing at the Big Wheel holding a giant candyfloss on a stick and waving her over. She was alone. That was what Heather admired about Jess. She was brave. She didn’t worry about turning up at something like this by herself. Heather hated crowds and loud noises.
Flora was off the Waltzers now, looking a bit green and giddy. The fair hand was holding her up, his arm snaked around her waist. He looked smarmy to Heather but she could see how much her sister fancied him. He was too old for Flora, not like the boys at school, and he walked as though he had something in his pants. Then they sashayed past her, Flora not even glancing in her direction. No, this wasn’t right. Heather stepped forward, arms folded, calling after them, ‘Where are you going?’
Flora tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder. ‘Just for a walk around the fair. Dylan is on his break.’
Dylan. Of course, that would be his name, something cool and a bit different, not Peter or Mike or Paul, like the boys at school. Oh, no, bloody Dylan. ‘Mum said we had to stick together …’ But her words were already lost in the hubbub and the music. Flora was too busy giggling at something Dylan was saying. She watched as they wandered off, his arm slung around her shoulders and hers around his waist.
‘Who was that?’ Jess was suddenly by her side, her lips glistening with pink sugar. The fluffy candyfloss was as big as her head.
‘Some bloke Flora met off the Waltzers.’
Jess linked her arm through hers. ‘Don’t worry. She’s a big girl, she’ll be fine. Come on. Why don’t we go and see if Zac and his mates are here?’ Jess brushed her mousy blonde fringe from her face. Was that blue eye-liner she was wearing? Heather felt the all-too-familiar anxiety tug at her insides – first Flora going off with some strange lad and now her best friend wearing make-up and talking about finding that moron Zac and his mates.
She turned away, trying desperately to spot Flora. But her sister had been swallowed by the crowds.
‘Hey, she’ll be okay,’ said Jess, watching Heather intently. ‘You worry too much. Come on.’
Heather tried to smile, but she suddenly felt a sense of foreboding so strong she had to pause to catch her breath. She pushed down her unease and followed Jess further into the fair.
10
I must be dreaming but I’m remembering you and the fair, the music, the crowds. I start to feel scared, just like I did the first time I went there, and I begin to thrash around, my legs jerking, but it must be my imagination because I know I can’t move. I feel like I’m under water and that the surface is up ahead, glinting enticingly, the sun beaming down, like the light at the end of a tunnel, but I can’t reach it. I can’t pull myself out of the cold darkness. I can’t reach you.
I don’t know if I let out a moan. Is that voices I hear? A hand stroking my brow? Is it my mother? I’m desperate to talk to her, to explain. I need to tell her what happened, and why, before it’s too late. But I can’t move, I can’t speak. Is this what it feels like to be dying?
My mind slips back to the fair. It’s all I can think about. And even in my muddy, confused state I know that the fair is very important. That it all started there. I mustn’t forget. It’s the link to everything.
11
Jess
BRISTOL AND SOMERSET HERALD
Friday, 16 March 2012
WOMAN BRANDISHING A GUN SPOTTED BY NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOUR
by Jessica Fox
An Eye-Witness to last week’s shootings saw a woman leaving the property with a gun on the morning of the double murder in Tilby.
Peter Bright, 37, who lives next door to where mother and son Deirdre and Clive Wilson were shot dead, described seeing a ‘dark-haired woman’ leaving their cottage with a gun used for ‘hunting’.
He said: ‘I had just come back from a run and thought I heard a shot, then a thump and a bang coming from next door. I didn’t think too much about it until I was putting the bins out. And then I saw this dark-haired woman stride down their garden path with what looked like a shotgun slung over her shoulder as though about to go and shoot birds. She had a deranged look on her face. I watched her get into her car and then I heard screams from my wife. When I turned back I saw what Holly was screaming about. The Wilsons’ front door was wide open and Deirdre’s body was slumped at the foot of the stairs. That’s when I put two and two together and realized the woman I saw had just shot Deirdre Wilson.’
Mr Bright continued, ‘I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The woman was totally calm when she left the house. She got into a sky-blue estate car. I remember thinking it was weird because I’d passed that car over an hour earlier while on my run, which must have been about 6 a.m. And that same car had been heading into Tilby Manor Caravan Park and had been driving very erratically.’
Avon and Somerset police are appealing for more witnesses to come forward.
I file the story in time for the lunchtime deadline so it will appear in tomorrow’s paper, then take a long slug of coffee.
Peter had been twitchy when Jack and I visited him first thing this morning. We’d just turned up on the off-chance he would be in. He worked from home, he said. Something in software. He was obviously a keen runner as he was still in his Lycra when we got there, although he didn’t look as though he’d just been exercising: he was surprisingly fresh-faced with no hint of sweat. His wife, Holly, made us a cup of tea served in floral bone-china cups, then sat next to Peter on the sofa in their small, immaculate living room, too close so that her right side was pressed up against his left. There was an overpowering smell of plug-in air freshener in the room, but despite the bright furnishings the cottage was dark and a bit gloomy. It was the views of the beach and the sea beyond that were the selling point. Holly had seemed ner
vous, too, and didn’t want to go on record or give any quotes, even though she described to us the full horror of finding Deirdre Wilson slumped on the hallway floor.
‘There was so much blood,’ she said, shredding a tissue into her lap. ‘More than I thought there would be, not that I knew what to expect. Her eyes were wide and staring …’ She gulped. ‘I’ll never forget it.’
Peter placed his arm protectively around his wife’s shoulders. Then he explained to us that their house was the mirror opposite of Deirdre and Clive’s. ‘And as it’s a terrace I could hear every bang. I didn’t know they were shots. Obviously you don’t expect to hear gunshots, do you? That’s why it was such a shock to see that woman carrying a gun leaving their house. She acted like she didn’t care who saw her. I mean, she could have come in the middle of the night. Under darkness. You know?’
I’d sat and nodded as I took notes. I still found it hard to believe we were sitting there talking about Heather. And where had she been coming back from at six in the morning? Why had she not been at home, tucked up in bed with Adam? Or downstairs feeding her little boy? Had she spent the night somewhere else? With someone else?
The shootings had taken place around 6.45 a.m. So what had she been doing before that?
‘I don’t understand why anybody would want to kill them,’ said Holly, into a tissue. ‘I know they hadn’t lived there very long but they seemed normal. Deirdre spent most of the time either pottering in the garden or walking her dog along the beach. A few older ladies would drop in from time to time, with a cake. I think she held the odd coffee morning. She was in the WI, you know …’ She sniffed and dabbed delicately at her nose. ‘Clive kept himself to himself. He would also walk Hulk …’ I raised an eyebrow and she laughed. ‘I know. Odd name for a dog that looks like a teddy bear. I think they wanted something masculine. It was plain to see he loved that dog. I’d sometimes bump into him on the way to the newsagent’s where he’d always go to collect the Radio Times on a Saturday morning, or coming back from the pub as I was putting out the bins. He always said hello. They weren’t loud people. They didn’t play music or bang around the house. They just seemed …’ she stared up at me with woeful eyes ‘… decent.’
Then She Vanishes Page 6