I rearrange my legs, which are starting to go numb. ‘So, you weren’t aware of any enemies he might have had?’
‘Hmm. Well, the landlord of the Funky Raven for starters. And there might have been others.’
‘What’s the landlord’s name?’
‘Stuart Patterson. He’s a nice guy. Friendly. I don’t know what Clive did to get on his wrong side because, as far as I’m aware, it’s quite hard to piss off Stu.’
I decide that’s our next destination. I stand up. Jack does too, looking relieved to be going.
Netta follows suit, glancing at Jack’s camera fearfully. ‘You don’t want to take my photo, do you?’
Jack grins. ‘No, don’t worry.’
‘Phew. I look a mess.’ She pats her expensively highlighted waves. Even though she’s ill, it’s still obvious she’s an attractive woman.
‘Thank you for your time,’ I say, as she shows us out. ‘And you’re happy for us to name you in the newspaper?’
‘Of course. My fifteen minutes of fame.’ Her gaze goes over my shoulder to Jack. ‘And if you want a photo, do come back another time when I’m in a better state.’ I’m sure she winks at him. Then she closes the door on us.
‘Think you’ve got a fan there.’
He laughs. ‘Well, you’ve either got it or you haven’t. Maybe she likes the vulnerable look.’ He indicates his black eye that’s now turning purple. I’m just about to retaliate when I freeze. There’s a man in Clive and Deirdre’s front garden. He’s bent over a dying bouquet of daffodils, anger on his face, a fluffy dog that looks like a bear at his feet. I prod Jack in the shoulder blades and incline my head towards him. Jack widens his eyes and clears his throat.
There’s only a small wired fence between the two front gardens and the man looks up. He’s tall and lean, with receding grey hair. He’s wearing a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and a padded black coat. His face is long, thin and weathered.
‘Hi,’ he says, looking a little shifty and leaning back on his heels. ‘I’m not trespassing. My brother and my mum used to live here.’ He indicates the dog. ‘This is Hulk.’
I recognize his voice instantly from the phone conversation we had. He looks older than I imagined, though, and more scraggy. ‘Norman? I’m Jess from the Herald. We spoke last week.’
His eyes light up in recognition and he shakes my hand heartily over the fence. ‘What are you doing here?’
I quickly explain about the card I found with the flowers. ‘So I’ve just been asking the neighbours if they know if anybody had a grudge against him.’
Something dark passes across Norman’s face. ‘And what have they been saying?’
‘Oh, nothing really. That Clive kept himself to himself.’
He seems satisfied with this response. I daren’t tell him I’m on the way to the Funky Raven to ask the landlord why Clive had been barred.
He thrusts his hands into his pockets and toes the lawn with his boot. ‘Yes, well, I think Clive made a few enemies along the way, if truth be told. He got into something dodgy back in Bristol. He didn’t say what – but I got the impression he was running away, hence the move out here.’
‘Do you think the woman who killed Clive and your mum was hired?’ Jack pipes up from behind me. I turn to glare at him. I’m the one who’s supposed to be asking the questions. Why is Jack so obsessed by that ridiculous, far-fetched theory?
Norman looks shocked. ‘But why kill my mum? She’s done nothing wrong. She was just an old lady.’ He runs his hand along his bald patch, and mumbles, as if to himself, ‘To be shot like that by a woman. I’ve heard the suspect is a wife and mother. Clive’s no angel, don’t get me wrong, but I can’t help but think they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, y’know. This woman obviously has a screw loose and just snapped.’ He bends down to pat Hulk’s head.
I haven’t even mentioned to Jack yet what Margot told me the other night. That Deirdre had once stayed at the caravan park and Heather had met her. Was that just a coincidence?
And if Heather had just ‘snapped’, why had she got into the car and driven here? Why had she been in Bristol – near Clive’s house – earlier that morning? Had she been looking for him?
Norman turns away, his face set, and begins picking up the dead flowers strewn on the lawn, throwing them into a black bin liner, Hulk at his heels. But I can tell from his body language there’s something he’s not saying.
27
August 1994
Flora peered out of her bedroom window. On the lawn below, shaded by the huge oak tree, Heather and Jess sat, sketchpads on their laps, their pencils flying across the pages. They were always drawing, those two. Their artwork had turned darker this summer: Gothic headstones and gargoyles, their faces distorted and ugly. They were obviously going through a phase, as her mum would say. They had Heather’s portable tape player between them on the lawn, and she could hear the faint, tinny strains of ‘Lovesong’ by the Cure. She knew that her sister was keeping guard, stopping her sneaking out to meet Dylan. She tried to pretend otherwise, of course, but Flora wasn’t stupid. Every time she ventured outside, Heather and Jess were there, like her own personal bodyguards, with their insincere greetings and pretence of asking her to help them with the horses, or to clean one of the caravans or any of the other mind-numbingly boring excuses they kept coming up with. She felt like a prisoner in her own home. And it was always there, unspoken between them: Heather’s veiled threat to tell their mum. So Flora found herself humouring Heather and playing along. She should never have smoked that joint – Heather was even more disapproving of Dylan now.
But it had been two days and Flora felt she was going to die of a broken heart if she didn’t see him soon. He might think she was going off him. He might meet someone else. She couldn’t bear it any longer: she had to see him.
She watched as Heather jumped to her feet, throwing her arms wide and spinning around, singing loudly while Jess looked on, giggling. Heather was wearing a lemon yellow sundress and looked beautiful and innocent as she twirled on the lawn. Flora felt an unexpected pang of tenderness towards her. She knew her sister was only looking out for her. But, still, it could be stifling. She was the eldest: she didn’t need her baby sister to protect her.
She pushed away the thought. This was her chance, while they were distracted. There was no point making excuses that she was going to the shops as they would just offer to go with her. No, she had to be sneaky.
Flora studied herself in the mirror, applying a little lip gloss, fluffing up her long hair, straightening her ankle-length tasselled skirt. Then she raced downstairs before anyone saw her. She inched open the front door. From where Heather and Jess sat they would see her if she walked down the driveway, so she crept around to the other side of the house, through the bottom section of the caravan park, crawling through the hole in the hedge into the field with the turnstile that led to Jess’s house and the high street. From there it was just a short walk across the next field to the fair. She couldn’t help but break into a run as soon as she’d left the grounds of Tilby Manor, just in case Heather or Jess appeared behind her, her heavy DM boots kicking up dust from the ground.
Even though it was only three o’clock the fair was already in full swing. The company would be moving on at the end of the summer and Dylan with it. She didn’t know how she was going to be able to say goodbye.
The sun was high in the cloudless sky, and along with the crowds and the music, she felt slightly disoriented as she walked through the fair, a shimmering heat haze floating in front of her. She was disappointed to see that Dylan wasn’t in his usual position on the Waltzers. Instead two other guys had taken his place, pushing shrieking girls around to the thump of ‘Pump Up The Jam’.
Her need to see him was so great she felt sick. Where was he? Maybe it was his day off. And then, through the crowds, she spotted him and her breath caught – like it always did on first sighting. He was standing at the candyfloss van talking to so
meone. Dylan was wearing a linen V-necked tunic top with jeans, a beaded necklace around his throat and leather wristbands decorating his tanned arms. His floppy dark hair fell into his eyes and she thought again – for the millionth time – how beautiful he was.
But then she noticed who he was with and her heart sank.
Speedy. Again. Why was his mother’s boyfriend always hanging around? And he dressed way too young for a man approaching forty.
They looked to be in deep conversation. Speedy was leaning towards Dylan, his narrow face creased in a frown. He was wearing an oversized T-shirt with a large strawberry on the front and Adidas trainers. Dylan nodded at something Speedy was saying, his expression serious, then reached around to a back pocket to retrieve an envelope. He handed it to Speedy, who almost snatched it, then shoved it into his tatty jeans and stalked off. Dylan stared after him, then ran his hand through his hair, looking exasperated.
Flora waited a few moments before heading over. Dylan was surprised, and pleased – she was thankful to note – to see her. ‘Gypsy Girl,’ he said, his arm snaking around her waist and pulling her towards him. ‘Where have you been? I’ve missed you.’
‘I had to sneak out,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘My sister’s acting like my bodyguard.’
‘Can you stay out all day?’
She laughed, giddy to be in his company again. He was like her drug: she felt intoxicated just being near him. ‘Yep. Until nine thirty this evening.’ She didn’t tell him her mum only let her come to the fair if she stuck with Heather. But as long as she was back by dark her mum couldn’t really say anything. ‘What was your stepdad doing here?’
‘He’s not my stepdad.’ Then he grinned and raised an eyebrow. It was then she noticed he had something in his hand. A clear packet of what looked like white powder. Even she knew it was more than just a bit of weed. ‘Got us a little treat for later,’ he said, kissing her nose. ‘It’ll make you feel on top of the world.’
Heather had searched the house and grounds but Flora was nowhere to be seen.
‘She’s gone,’ she said to Jess, throwing her arms wide in despair. ‘I can’t believe she’s gone.’ So much for their plan to keep Flora away from Dylan.
Jess looked down at their sketch pads at her feet, as if the answers were among the graves they’d drawn. She sighed and bit her lip.
‘What?’ snapped Heather. She could see her best friend was fighting an opinion.
Jess glanced at her. ‘It’s just … she is sixteen.’
‘But Dylan’s no good for her.’
Jess crossed her arms and stuck out her chin defiantly. ‘That’s not your decision to make, though, is it?’
Heather stared at her, aghast. They usually agreed on everything.
‘Look, what have you got against Dylan anyway? He seems okay.’
‘Okay? He gave her drugs, Jess.’
‘She smoked a bit of weed. It’s no different from drinking alcohol.’
‘I’ve not had alcohol. Have you?’
Jess looked sheepish. ‘Yeah. At Christmas Mum lets me have a Snowball. And at Gina’s party a few months ago we had some cider.’
Heather stared at her friend with a mixture of awe and disapproval. She knew Gina and her cronies still had time for Jess. It was just her they glared at when they walked past. She’d never got an invite to Gina’s party and it hurt that Jess hadn’t revealed before now that not only had she been invited but she had actually gone. Heather didn’t want to be possessive. She knew Jess liked her best, but still. Sometimes it was hard not to feel left out.
Heather had never thought she needed anyone other than Flora. Then, when she’d made friends with Jess, she’d discovered what fun it was to have a best friend, someone in the same class who had your back. She was worried about losing them both: Flora to Dylan and Jess to Gina.
‘I know you care about Flora,’ Jess said softly, ‘but she’s sensible. She’ll be okay. She won’t let Dylan drag her into anything dangerous. And by the end of the summer he’ll be gone.’ She shrugged. ‘But if it makes you feel better we could go to the fair anyway. Keep an eye out for her?’
Heather wanted to hug Jess in that moment. She’d known she would understand, despite not having siblings of her own. Jess was still on her wavelength. Nothing had changed.
She felt more light-hearted as she linked arms with her best friend and headed towards the fair.
It took hours to find Flora. It was as though she had vanished off the face of the earth. Heather and Jess looked everywhere, and asked around after Dylan, but nobody seemed to have an idea where they had gone. ‘His shift starts at six and it’s now five thirty, so he’s bound to be here soon,’ one of the guys on the Waltzers informed them. He was older than Dylan and had kind eyes. ‘I’m sure your sister will be all right with him, don’t worry.’
Heather tried to distract herself by using the last of her pocket money to go on the dodgems with Jess, and although she screamed when someone slammed into the back of them, and giggled when Jess took over the driving and couldn’t reverse out of the corner, in the back of her mind was the uneasy feeling that wouldn’t leave her. Jess was right: Flora was sixteen – old enough to take care of herself. It was just that Heather didn’t trust Dylan. She knew he didn’t have her sister’s best interests at heart. She was counting down the days until the fair left and Dylan with it.
And then, just before six, she saw him strutting towards where they stood by the Waltzers. It took her brain a moment or two to realize that Flora wasn’t with him.
‘Where’s my sister?’ she demanded, as soon as Dylan reached them.
‘Hey, it’s little Heather Powell.’ He draped an arm around her shoulders. ‘What’s the matter now?’
‘Where’s Flora?’
He threw his head back and laughed. ‘Take a chill pill. Your sister’s gone home. I’ve got to work tonight.’ He moved away from her to leap onto the platform. He seemed full of energy.
‘See?’ Jess said, tugging on her arm. ‘Flora’s fine. Shall we go back now?’
There was nothing Heather wanted to do more. She was tired of the noise and the smells and the crowds. She’d much rather go back to the barn with Jess, sit and chat and sketch and listen to music. Her plan to watch over Flora and stop her leaving the caravan park had failed miserably. And Jess was useless, even though she’d promised to help her keep Flora away from Dylan. But she’d made her feelings perfectly clear earlier: Jess obviously felt that she was being too protective of Flora.
She would have to come up with another plan.
She let Jess lead her away. Yet the uneasy feeling wouldn’t leave her.
28
Margot
Margot had spent all weekend at her daughter’s bedside – visiting hours allowing. She wanted to cherish every waking moment with Heather. She’d nearly lost her and, even though she knows the road ahead won’t be easy, at least she’s alive and recovering a little more each day. And Margot will do her best to make sure she doesn’t go to prison.
The police are still standing guard. Heather’s been moved out of the ICU to a private room, mainly because of the police presence but also because the hospital doesn’t want the other patients to be alarmed. The doctors – thank the Lord – aren’t allowing Heather to be interviewed yet, saying she’s still in no fit state emotionally to deal with the fact that all the evidence points to her shooting dead two people. Heather has said she can’t remember a thing about that fateful day. Margot had tried to probe her gently, asking her if she remembered anything, but Heather had got distressed and Adam had glared at her disapprovingly.
‘Give it time,’ Dr Khan said, when she passed her pacing the corridor. ‘It’s common for patients to be unable to recollect any memories from the time of their brain trauma. She might never get them back.’
Could Margot live with that? The not-knowing? She thinks so, if it means having Heather back where she belongs.
Margot’s rubber soles squeak as
she strides down the corridor to Heather’s room. Because it’s Monday morning, Adam has agreed to stay at the caravan park to check out the young couple, whom she still thinks could be journalists. Margot’s excited at the prospect of spending time with Heather, alone, and has with her an array of chocolate and magazines. At the weekend Adam brought Ethan in to see her and Margot had to fight back tears as he snuggled up to his mother’s chest, his head resting against her collarbone, sucking his thumb, happy and contented to be with her again. Heather had kissed his soft dark curls hungrily, tears running down her cheeks as she practically inhaled him, terrified of being parted from him again. Margot understands how that feels. And in that moment she knew Heather hadn’t tried to take her own life. There is no way she’d ever leave her little boy. He is her world. Maybe it had been an accident. Maybe the gun had gone off in her hand and the bullet hit her chest. Or – she recalls the unidentified set of fingerprints on the gun – somebody else was involved.
Heather is sitting up in bed when she enters the room. She looks up, her eyebrows raised. It’s still a shock to see the huge padded plaster on the side of her head. ‘Mum. Why is that policeman still outside the door?’ she says. She asks the same thing every day. And every day Margot has to come up with more lies.
Today, Dr Khan has suggested they tell her the truth. Gently, of course. The police are champing at the bit to interview her. But Margot had promised Adam not to say anything until he arrived at lunchtime.
‘It’s just policy, love, don’t worry about it.’
Heather frowns and chews her lip. It’s a new thing, this frowning. Before, Heather was a smiley person. She never glowered. But today her eyebrows are so knotted together it looks as though she has a monobrow.
‘And why haven’t you brought Ethan with you? I need to see my baby.’
‘He’s at nursery today. It’s a Monday. Remember?’
‘He’s too young for nursery.’
Then She Vanishes Page 16