I Lie in Wait: A gripping new psychological crime thriller perfect for fans of Ruth Ware!

by Amanda Brittany

  Dad’s stepped to one side. ‘Come on, love, you’re letting the cold in,’ he says rubbing his hands together, bringing me back to the moment. I will myself to move, heave my rucksack off my back, and edge past him. He closes the door behind us.

  ‘So what brings you all this way?’ he says, following me into the kitchen. He picks up the kettle and gives it a little shake before flicking it on. ‘Nothing wrong, is there?’

  Yep, just about everything.

  I shake my head and sit down at the round kitchen table. It still has the pretty embroidered tablecloth draped over it that I remember Mum buying over ten years ago.

  ‘How’s work?’ I ask. Dad loves his job as curator at the local museum, and last time I spoke to him he was working on an exhibition about ancient crimes in the area. It fills his mind, leaving no space to dwell.

  ‘Good,’ he says. ‘Keeps me busy.’ I rest my case.

  I ponder his earlier question, as he heads towards me with two steaming mugs of tea, places them on the table, and sits down opposite me.

  So what brings you here?

  He doesn’t know I’ve lost my precious baby. I never told him when I found out I was pregnant. I don’t know why – an amalgamation of reasons, probably. I suppose the news was far too good after everything that had happened. Maybe I didn’t want to jinx it. Maybe I was convinced that only bad things happen to me now. Maybe I wanted to tell him face to face. Whatever the reason, he doesn’t need to know now. He doesn’t need my tragic news on top of all the heartache he’s already been through.

  ‘I’ve broken up with William,’ I say, keeping my voice upbeat and even, as I fiddle with the handle of the mug.

  ‘Oh, love.’ He turns warm brown eyes on me.

  I raise my hand, knowing if we go down the hugs road at this moment, I’ll sob like a baby. ‘But I’m fine.’

  He throws me a sad smile. ‘I never liked him.’

  I smile. ‘You never met him.’

  ‘You deserve better.’

  ‘Well yes, yes I do.’ Another smile, though tears are close. I’ve almost accepted I’m better off without William, but it still hurts like crazy. I need a change of subject. ‘So what the hell have you done to your hair? And what’s with the moustache?’

  He laughs. ‘I’m playing Hercule Poirot.’

  ‘A card game?’

  ‘You know who Poirot is, you devil. Don’t you come here teasing your poor old dad.’

  I laugh. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist.’ It’s good to see Dad back performing with the local am-drams. ‘Well I must say I’m relieved. I thought it was your new look. So a French detective, aye?’ I’m teasing.

  He straightens his back, and with a pretty impressive accent says, ‘I’ll ’ave you know Poirot is from Belgium.’ He picks up his mug and takes a sip. ‘So are you on holiday from work?’

  ‘Unpaid leave.’

  ‘And you’re managing OK?’

  I want to tell him I’m not managing at all. That I’m going to have to move out of London because I can’t afford the rent, but instead I say, ‘Fine, I’ve got a bit of money saved.’

  ‘It will be good for you. You never gave yourself time to grieve after your mum.’

  ‘Oh I don’t know, I’ve done a ridiculous amount of crying.’ My voice cracks.

  ‘Oh, love.’

  ‘Will it ever get any easier, Dad?’

  He lifts his shoulders. ‘They say it does, eventually.’

  I blow steam from the tea and take a sip. ‘I thought if I came to see you, stayed for a bit …’ I suddenly feel overwhelmed. I haven’t been back here since Mum died, and there are memories of her, of my childhood, everywhere.

  ‘The thing is …’ He glances at his case by the back door, that I hadn’t noticed.

  There’s a beat before my thoughts become words. ‘You’re going away?’ I rub my temples. I don’t want to go home right now. I want to stay here with him. I meet his eyes, knowing he feels awful. ‘Oh God, I shouldn’t have turned up unannounced. I just wanted to surprise you, that’s all.’ It wasn’t strictly true. I needed him. Desperately.

  ‘Don’t be daft. I’m thrilled to see you, love. But—’

  ‘I should have called you first.’ Despite him telling me each time we spoke on the phone that he keeps busy, that he’d even joined the local ornithologists, that he’d started acting again, I still imagined him sitting at home broken – like me. And truth is, I know he is broken. He’s just better at plastering over the cracks than I am.

  ‘You can stay here, Amelia,’ he says. ‘I’m only away for a week, and once I’m back, we can—’

  ‘No. No it’s fine.’ I rise. Annoyed. Not with him, but with myself. Rattled that I assumed he would be here waiting for me, his life on pause.

  ‘Sit,’ he says. ‘I’m not leaving for half an hour, and I’m all packed. We have lots to catch up on.’

  I lower myself back down. ‘So where are you off to?’ I say, diverting the conversation into unknown territory.

  ‘Well, that’s the thing.’ He avoids meeting my eyes as he runs a finger over his moustache. ‘I’m hoping you’ll understand why I didn’t tell you.’

  ‘Didn’t tell me?’ My body tenses.

  ‘I’ll be staying at Drummondale House.’

  ‘What?’ It came out high-pitched. ‘Why?’

  ‘Lark disappeared a year ago this week,’ he says.

  ‘Christ, Dad. Don’t you think I know that?’

  He covers my hand with his. ‘I know you know that, love. I’m not trying to upset you.’

  ‘But why didn’t you invite me to come with you?’ I’m hurt, upset. I pull my hand from under his, lean back, and cross my arms over my chest, knowing I’m being defensive. ‘At least mention it?’

  ‘Because … because I didn’t think you would cope with it, Amelia. You’ve been so up and down over the last year. I thought it would be too much. I didn’t mean to deceive you. I wanted to protect you.’

  He’s right. I’ve been so unstable. ‘But I still don’t get why you would go back to that place.’

  His chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath. ‘Inspector Beynon may have given up hope of finding Lark, but I haven’t. I need to check we didn’t miss anything. Something that could lead us to her.’

  ‘After all this time?’

  He raises his eyes to the ceiling, tears glistening. ‘I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It just feels right somehow.’

  ‘Oh, Dad,’ I say, softening. ‘She’s not in Scotland.’ But there is no strength in my words. Despite the whole area being searched at the time, my mind still wanders back there. What if someone hid her underground, or deep in one of the many caves along the shoreline? We’d combed the area for hours, the police, dogs, and people from the local villages giving their support. But had we really covered every inch of the Drummondale House estate? I sigh deeply, reach over, and close my hand over Dad’s.

  Truth is, I’ve been through every possibility. At first I’d clung to the hope she took off. But when Mum died and Lark never appeared – never said goodbye – hope petered away, and lately I’d wondered if we’d missed something in Scotland too.

  Dad grabs a clump of tissues from a box on the table and divides them between us.

  ‘I need to do something,’ he says, dashing a tissue across his eyes. ‘Since your mum’s been gone, all I can think is what if we missed something, so we thought we’d head up there.’

  ‘We?’

  He nods. ‘Thomas and Maddie are coming for support.’ He looks away, as though he doesn’t want to see my reaction.

  I feel my eyes widen. ‘Maddie is your support?’

  ‘Not exactly. Thomas is my support, and your brother needs her. You know that.’

  My jaw clenches. ‘Bloody Maddie. I curse the day she became Thomas’s carer.’

  He shakes his head. ‘Please don’t say that, love.’ He places his hand over mine once more. ‘You sound so bitter.’

  I co
ver my face with my hands. ‘She should never have said those things about me on her vlog, Dad.’

  ‘I agree, it was thoughtless—’

  ‘Thoughtless? She made me look—’

  ‘I know, love, but she’s young. She made a silly mistake, and you needed someone to vent your anger on. She’s sorry, Amelia. The post has gone now. Please let it go.’

  But I’m not sure I can let it go.

  ‘I’ve rented two of the cottages,’ he says. ‘If you feel you’re up to it, there’s room for a small one.’

  I look up and shake my head. I’m not sure I can face going back there.

  ‘No.’ He shakes his head too. ‘I didn’t think so. Although, it could be a chance to talk to Maddie – lay your demons to rest, as they say.’

  ‘I quite like my demons full of energy, thanks very much.’ It comes out snarky, and I’m not even sure of the point I’m trying to make.

  He looks down for a moment, and then up and into my eyes. ‘And we might find something that leads to Lark.’

  I so want to embrace his hope.

  I have three choices: One, go home to my empty apartment and lose myself down a bottle of wine every night, whilst making desperate calls to William. Two, spend time here alone in this house, regressing into my childhood. Or three, head to Scotland, to Drummondale House with my dad beside me.

  Tears burn as I imagine one of us recalling something vital that leads to finding Lark safe and well. Is it really possible?

  ‘OK,’ I say before I can change my mind, a surge of hope rising inside me. What if the answer to my sister’s disappearance really does lie up there in the Scottish Highlands? What if retracing our steps unearths a vital clue?

  I drain my tea. ‘But you’ll need to keep me away from Maddie,’ I say, thumping my mug down. ‘Or I may just kill her.’

  *

  I watch from the front doorstep, as Dad lifts Thomas into the back seat of his Ford Freedom, and puts my brother’s wheelchair into the boot. Thomas looks different to when I saw him last. His hair’s longer, and it’s tied back in a man-bun, and he’s grown a beard too, which suits him.

  ‘Robert, could you spare one of those bottles of water? My mouth is so dry,’ Maddie calls out of the rear car window, as he loads a pack of water into the boot along with the bags and other provisions, including a litre bottle of gin, which looks tempting. The wind catches Maddie’s silky black hair and whips it across her face. ‘The weather’s going to be a challenge,’ she says, pulling the strands from her cheeks. ‘Let’s hope it’s better in Scotland.’

  ‘I hope so too,’ Dad says with a laugh.

  I notice the way Thomas still looks at Maddie. I can’t work out if he’s in love with her, and I worry she’ll break his heart. A brief memory of her kissing his teary cheeks at Mum’s funeral flutters in and then evaporates. I’m sure she only sees herself as his carer, and one day she’ll meet someone and fall in love, and then what? Where does that leave my brother? My parents never planned for that.

  ‘Are you getting in, Amelia?’ Dad slams the car boot, and hands Maddie a bottle of water through the window.

  Apprehension and the freezing weather nails me to the spot, and the earlier fluttering of snow is moving into blizzard territory.

  ‘Amelia?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ A deep sigh turns to mist in front of me, as I make my way down the path, almost slipping on an earlier settling of snow. I climb into the passenger seat. Slam the door. Say nothing.

  ‘Grumpy!’ Thomas says, with a laugh. ‘I can see you’re going to be fun on this trip.’

  ‘How the bloody hell is this trip going to be fun, Thomas?’ I refuse to look round, sense Maddie’s eyes boring into my back.

  ‘Oh come on, sis,’ Thomas says. ‘Don’t be like that. We’ve got so much to catch up on.’ My brother seems oblivious to the suffocating tension in the car, or the fact we are heading to where we last saw our sister; that Drummondale House was the last place Mum smiled.

  Dad gets into the driver’s seat and closes the door.

  I finally snatch a glance over my shoulder, and Thomas grabs the moment to smile my way. He may be twenty-eight, but I still see my little brother sitting there, and recall how we used to run and play together. But that was long before he took off to America – long before his accident.

  I return his smile, and turn watery eyes back to the front window.

  ‘Should we be going in this?’ I ask Dad as he starts the engine. ‘The snow is pretty heavy.’

  ‘It doesn’t look great, does it?’ Dad agrees, flicking on the wipers. He leans forward and looks up through the window towards the sky.

  ‘Of course we should go,’ Thomas says. ‘It will be fine. I’m psyched up for it now.’

  ‘I don’t know, it looks a bit scary,’ Maddie says.

  ‘Well, let’s give it a go, and turn back if it gets too bad,’ Dad says, putting the car in gear, and pulling away.

  It will take over four hours to get to Drummondale House, so I bring out my phone, shove in my ear buds, and begin trawling through YouTube videos, particularly enjoying a video of a cavalier puppy being taught to high-five and roll over. Eventually, despite not being tired, my eyes grow heavy – and sleep with its awful nightmares of a year ago beckons.

  I’m going to where I last saw Lark.

  A sense of foreboding rises. Why do I feel this is the biggest mistake of my life?

  Chapter 3

  Present Day

  Amelia

  The first two hours of the ride is silent, and by the time we get to the services in Perth, the snow has turned to rain now lashing across the windscreen.

  Dad pulls onto the forecourt. ‘Need to stretch my legs,’ he says. And we take the opportunity to grab a takeaway.

  Dad and I get out of the car, and race towards the McDonald’s, and despite him using his coat as a makeshift umbrella for us both, rain splatters down my collar, making me shiver.

  We are silent in the queue. We are silent returning with the burgers. We are silent while we eat in the car.

  ‘Well at least the snow’s cleared,’ Dad says finally, finishing the last of his burger and screwing up the wrapper. ‘I was beginning to worry we would end up snowed in in the Scottish Highlands.’ He laughs. ‘Imagine that.’

  ‘I’d rather not,’ I say, though the thought of it raining all the time we are there is almost as bad.

  ‘Only another two and a half hours,’ Dad says, wiping his hands with a serviette. ‘You’ve got a splodge of something on your cheek, love,’ he adds, and I instinctively touch my face, and get mayo over my fingers.

  Back on the road, I find myself dozing once more. When I wake, the car’s heater is pumping out a dry heat, and snow tumbles from a charcoal-grey sky once more, as though someone’s tipped out a giant bag of cotton-wool balls.

  Dad is crawling along at ten miles per hour and the wipers struggle to and fro – thump, thump, thump onto cushions of snow each side of the windscreen.

  ‘When did it start snowing again?’ I say, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

  ‘About an hour ago,’ he says. ‘We’re almost there.’

  We make our way up a steep hill, skidding and sliding. ‘I think we should have turned back, Dad,’ I say. But there’s a determined look on his face. He’s desperate to get there.

  As the wrought-iron gates that separate Drummondale House from the rest of the Scottish Highlands loom in front of us, my stomach flips. Memories of the last time we were here invade my thoughts, and a feeling of absolute dread rises inside me.

  The gates stand open, and as Dad pulls through them onto the drive that leads to the ruin, I battle an urge to grab the steering wheel and turn the car around. We shouldn’t have come. My heartbeat quickens, banging against my chest as I catch sight of Drummondale House, shrouded in snowflakes. A few years back I would have whipped out my phone and taken a picture. Put it on Facebook or Instagram. But I’m a different person now. Broken.

  I sense M
addie moving forward in her seat, her breath hot on my neck. ‘This weather is awful, Robert,’ she says. ‘I mean I love snow, but this is crazy.’ There’s tension in her voice. ‘We should have turned back an hour ago.’

  I turn and glare at her. ‘Well, maybe you should have said something an hour ago.’

  ‘It’s too late now, Maddie, love,’ Dad says, meeting her eye in the rear-view mirror.

  I snap a look at Dad, my body tense. His eyes are back on the windscreen, and he’s hunched forward over the steering wheel.

  ‘I’m sure it will clear up by morning,’ he says.

  ‘Unlikely. I’m pretty sure this snow is here to stay, Robert.’ There’s a quiver in Maddie’s voice.

  ‘Well we can’t go back now,’ he says, blinking. ‘It’s too late. We’re here now.’

  We pull onto the snow-covered car park, and memories of twelve months ago skid into my head like a skier on a downward slope. I remember it all so well.

  I press my forehead against the side window, eyes tipped towards the sky. It’s blustery out there – the wind rattling and moaning as it wraps itself around tall trees that sway as though dodging its icy hands.

  A sudden thump on the glass makes me jump. ‘Fuck!’ It’s Ruth, the owner, far too close to the window, peering in at us, her small, grey eyes screwed up against the weather. I sink down in my seat, holding my chest, taking deep breaths to calm myself.

  ‘I’ll get the keys,’ Dad says, switching off the engine. He leans over his seat, grabs his coat from between Thomas and Maddie, and opens the door, which swings outwards, almost ripping from its hinges. Snow invades the car.

  Once outside, Dad struggles to put on his coat, wind whipping it into the air like a kite, as he pushes his body weight against the door to close it. Finally, he beats the wind, and manages to get his coat on, doing it up as he trudges through settled snow, Ruth by his side.

  I glance back at Thomas. He’s asleep, making puff puff sounds as he breathes. It breaks my heart that he messed up his young life. I can still recall how excited he was a few years back when a Hollywood director hired him to write a screenplay for a new feature – we all were. He’d flown to the US full of so much hope. But he struggled. Mingling in circles where he didn’t quite belong was too much for him. He began drinking and dabbling in drugs to cope, and instead of his life taking off, as it should have, he spiralled downhill. Lost control.