by Susan Lewis
Suddenly torturous sobs were tearing through her body, annihilating everything else. She sank helplessly to her knees, her hands trailing down the side of the casket. Penny, Penny, Penny. Why did you go? Why did you never come back? How could you not have understood how much we loved you?
She couldn’t think any more, she couldn’t speak, she could barely even breathe. The grief was too painful, too consuming. It was as though she was drowning in it, being swept away by its relentless force. She was trying to pull herself free, but she was only going down deeper. Down and down, past the bottom into the blackest, cruellest despair.
Penny, I’m sorry. I never meant the things I said. I should have listened, tried to understand . . . I loved you so much, but I took you for granted, treated you badly, like you didn’t mean anything, but you did . . . I miss you every day. You’re always in my mind. Have you ever forgiven me for being so mean? I don’t blame you if you haven’t. I’ve never forgiven myself. Oh Penny, how could you have left us that way? It broke Daddy’s heart. He never recovered, and Mummy’s never been the same either. We loved you so much . . .
It was a while before she realised there was a hand on her arm, that someone was gently easing her to her feet and sitting her down. Her chest was still heaving; she couldn’t see through her tears or hear past the cacophony of guilt, grief, longing and despair.
‘Drink this,’ Omar said softly.
Taking the water, she sipped and put a hand to her head. ‘I’m – I’m sorry,’ she whispered, hardly able to get the words out. The hopelessness, the need for answers, for her sister, was closing her down. It was as though she’d become lost in a place that had no meaning, no beginning or end. Nothing made any sense. How could a young girl simply vanish from the face of the earth? Why had it never been possible to find her? It was like a death, worse than a death, because it was a living hell.
An hour later, still feeling shaken and completely drained, Andee left the mortuary and started for her car. Her eyes were sore, and the devastation of her grief had left no colour in her face. She felt light-headed, strangely detached from herself and the mizzling rain sweeping gently into her hair and over her clothes. She wanted desperately to see her mother, to wrap her in her arms and feel thankful, blessed, that she still had her. She’d never tell her what had happened at the morgue, couldn’t imagine she’d put it into words for anyone, though she knew she should. She still needed help with Penny’s loss, even after all these years.
She was almost at her car when she came to a stop. Leo and Jemma were getting out of the vehicle next to it. Her heart thundered to a halt as she immediately thought of the children, then Martin and her mother. There had been an accident. Something had happened . . . Gould knew where she was, he had sent them . . .
‘Is everything all right?’ she asked, as she reached them.
‘Yes, yes, it’s fine,’ Leo said reassuringly, apparently realising where her mind had gone. He glanced awkwardly at Jemma. Clearly neither of them had expected to find her like this.
She must pull herself together, put on a smile, try and take control.
‘We wanted to talk to you,’ Jemma said. ‘Gould told us you were here.’
They looked so uneasy that she couldn’t think what to say. ‘I just needed to see her,’ she managed in the end. ‘It brought back . . . opened up a lot of things from the past.’
‘Of course,’ Jemma responded tenderly.
Andee smiled. ‘I’m going to organise her funeral,’ she told them.
‘We’ll be there,’ Leo said firmly.
Knowing they would be, as much for her as for Sophie, Andee nodded her gratitude. ‘So now, what do you want to talk to me about?’
‘We should get out of the rain,’ Leo suggested. ‘Do you have time for a coffee?’
Andee glanced across the road. ‘There’s a WVS caff over there. Or did you have somewhere grander in mind?’
‘Over the road is fine,’ Leo assured her. ‘My treat.’
Andee gave an exaggerated blink, and enjoyed his grin.
A few minutes later they were settled at a table next to a half-empty vending machine, three cups of Maxwell House between them all dressed up with liberal shots of froth and sprinklings of chocolate.
‘I have an idea I know what this is going to be about,’ she told them. ‘Gould has recruited you to persuade me to change my mind about resigning.’
Jemma bunched her hands together as she sat forward in her chair. ‘No one’s blaming you for not suspecting the parents earlier,’ she insisted. ‘None of us did.’
Andee eyed them sceptically. ‘Actually, I think we all did,’ she corrected, ‘on one level anyway, because we know it’s almost always the parents in situations like this. It was the way it went when my sister disappeared. Everyone suspected my father. The press wrote some terrible things about him, even though there was never a shred of evidence to say he was involved. It was hell for him, for us all. I just didn’t want it to be like that again so I . . . Well, I guess I refused to see what was staring me in the face in case it landed me right back in the middle of my own nightmare.’
‘But what was staring you in the face?’ Leo demanded.
‘Well, to begin with I should have done a far more thorough vetting of Gavin’s driver’s log as soon I knew he’d been in France.’
‘It was done,’ Leo cried.
She eyed him meaningfully.
‘OK, the guys who did it took it at face value . . .’
‘And we know we should never do that.’
‘You can’t blame yourself,’ Jemma protested. ‘Especially not when it was you who got to the truth of it in the end.’
‘Maybe, but much later than I should have. And it wasn’t the only instance where I let my personal issues get in the way. My questioning should have become tougher when I found out about the baby. That sort of tension in a home, even without a proper diagnosis, is often a recipe for disaster, especially when an explosive and insecure teenager is at large. It was . . .’
‘Whatever you say,’ Leo interrupted, ‘you weren’t in this on your own. There was a whole team of us . . .’
‘But I was leading the case, influencing the investigation . . .’
‘That’s still no reason to resign.’
Andee’s eyebrows rose. ‘I happen to think it is, but it’s not only the oversights, mistakes, misleads in this case that have brought home to me the fact that I’ve never really been cut out for this job . . .’
‘What are you talking about?’ Leo protested.
‘Please, hear me out. I’ve always known it in my heart, and other things have come together lately to show me that it’s time to make some changes in my life.’ She gave a wry sort of grimace. ‘Please don’t ask what kind of changes, because I honestly don’t know what they’ll be yet, but a new direction, new horizons are definitely needed.’
As they stared at her, apparently lost for words, she felt almost sorry for her decision. She was going to miss them, a lot.
‘What if we say we don’t want you to go?’ Jemma finally managed.
Andee smiled. ‘I’d be flattered, of course, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t change my mind.’
After a while, Leo said, ‘Gould told us not to come back until we’d talked you out of your madness.’
Andee laughed. ‘Is that what he’s calling it? Well, don’t worry, you can leave him to me. Now, let’s change the subject. Has anyone been able to track down Tomasz Sikora yet?’
‘As a matter of fact, we have,’ Leo told her.
‘Are you still sure about this?’ Tomasz was asking as he and Kasia strolled along the beach at Kinsale, wrapped up against the wind, ready for the rain. Ahead of them the children were running patterns into the damp sand, while behind them, back on the gentle mound of an emerald-green headland, the small white cottage that was theirs until they found somewhere bigger sat huddled cosily amongst its neighbours. ‘I know you loved the house in Waverley . . .’
&nb
sp; ‘Not any more,’ she assured him. ‘Knowing what I do now, I’m happy to be away from there.’
Pulling her to him, he gazed into her eyes and said, almost incredulously, ‘You never doubted me, did you?’
‘No, never,’ she promised. ‘I was only afraid for you.’
‘But not any more?’
She shook her head. ‘You’ve done the right thing. The police will help you.’
As he turned to watch the children aeroplaning down to the waves she felt her heart expand with love. Tomasz was back, for them that was all that mattered, and even though they’d fled their home in the dead of night and were now in a strange country where they didn’t always understand what people were saying, she could tell they were happy to be here.
Tomasz was starting work at the marina on Monday where his cousin Artur was the manager. Ireland had been kind to Artur, and he was certain it would be kind to Tomasz and his family too. Artur’s wife, Shavon, who was from Kinsale, and a teacher at the local primary school, was going to take the children next week to enrol them, while Kasia rang the local care homes to see if they needed help.
They were so lucky to have escaped the nightmare that had been trying to swallow them up in Kesterly, so very fortunate to be blessed with this new beginning. Soon, when the time was right, Olenka and Glyn would join them, and maybe, next summer, her parents would come for a visit.
‘Tomasz! Come and look at this,’ Anton cried excitedly.
‘It’s treasure,’ Ania shouted, jumping up and down.
Planting a kiss on Kasia’s nose, Tomasz trotted off to make the inspection while Kasia strolled along after him, her fingers going to the rue du Bac pendant at her throat. The Medal of the Immaculate Conception that her mother had given her before she’d left Poland.
Though she knew it was too late to ask for special graces at the hour of Sophie’s death, she’d prayed for her every day since discovering what had happened to her, and she would continue to pray for her. Especially tomorrow, which was to be the day of her funeral.
‘Divine Mary Faustina, Apostle of Mercy, fold thy kindness round sweet Sophie and guard her with love, Softly sing songs to her of heaven above.’
Chapter Seventeen
‘ARE YOU SURE you won’t have something stronger?’ Graeme offered as he passed Andee a coffee.
‘This is fine,’ she assured him, going to sit in an ornately embroidered armchair that wasn’t unlike an Egyptian throne. They were in his gallery at the heart of Kesterly old town, a place of endless fascination for her with all its hidden treasures and histories. Even before meeting him she’d longed to know more about this world of old masters and antiquities, how to understand values and vintages, or to unravel the mysteries of time. It felt so distanced from her own world, more romance and fantasy than harsh reality.
‘So the funeral’s tomorrow?’ he said, sitting at his desk and fixing her with his concerned grey eyes.
‘Actually, it’s more of a memorial,’ she replied. ‘She was cremated yesterday with just a few of us present. Tomorrow will be a bigger . . .’ She broke off as his phone rang and waited as he told the caller that he’d ring back. As he replaced the receiver she decided not to tell him any more about Sophie’s farewell. It wouldn’t be right to burden him with how emotional and yet cathartic she was finding it to be involved in the arrangements. They hadn’t gone far enough in their relationship for her to expect him to understand what it might mean to her.
‘I read about your sister in the paper,’ he told her. ‘I’m sorry. This must have been a very difficult case for you.’
Her eyes went down as she felt disappointed in herself for underestimating him. ‘We’ve found Sophie. That’s what matters,’ she said quietly.
He didn’t disagree, and seeming to realise she didn’t want to discuss her sister, he said, ‘So were her parents at the cremation?’
She shook her head. ‘They didn’t request it, and it wouldn’t have been allowed anyway. They won’t be there tomorrow either.’ He didn’t need to know that she’d had a letter from Gavin, or that she’d decided to carry out his wishes. In truth, she’d rather not think about Gavin at all.
Putting her cup down, she said, ‘I’m making my resignation official at the end of the week.’
Though he seemed surprised, he looked slightly puzzled. ‘Is that a good thing?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘So what will you do?’
Wondering if, like her, he was thinking about Italy and the house he was hoping to buy, she said, ‘I’m not sure yet. I guess you could say I’m considering my options.’ She gave a wry sort of smile that he almost returned. ‘Actually, there is one decision I’ve reached,’ she confessed, deciding she must get to the point.
The way his eyebrows rose told her that he had an inkling of what was coming.
Though she was trying hard to find the right words, they seemed to have vanished, or maybe they were rearranging themselves to emerge in another way. A way that would change her whole reason for being here.
‘You’ve decided to make a go of it with your husband?’ he said gently.
As her heart caught she replied, ‘He isn’t my husband, but yes, I have. He . . . He’s my children’s father. It’s what everyone wants, for us to get back together. I mean, I want it too . . . It’s just . . . Well, there’s you and what we have and . . .’ She fanned out her hands as she regarded him helplessly.
His eyes were full of the kindness she could so easily have come to love in him. ‘I can’t really say I’m surprised,’ he told her ruefully, ‘and I think you probably know how sad it makes me, but I understand your decision, and I respect it.’
Her eyes closed as she tried to convince herself she was doing the right thing. It didn’t feel as though she was.
‘Are you planning to stay in Kesterly when you leave the force?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘For the time being, anyway. My mother’s here, and both the children are still at school. Martin’s probably going to take over his father’s business.’
He smiled. ‘Then I hope we can remain friends. Apart from anything else it’ll make it easier if we run into each other, which I’m sure we will from time to time.’
‘Yes, yes of course. I hope we can too.’ She took a breath. ‘Graeme, I . . .’ She stopped, knowing that if she said any more it would almost certainly be the wrong thing.
He waited, until seeming to understand how difficult she was finding this, he got to his feet. ‘I guess there’s no point in drawing this out.’
She stood up too and felt a terrible rawness inside as she looked at him.
‘I’ve enjoyed our times together,’ he told her softly. ‘I hope Martin realises how lucky he is.’
She wouldn’t answer that, as there was nothing to be gained from telling him how much it meant to Martin that they were going to be a family again. How much it meant to the children and their grandmothers too. And to her. But that wasn’t making letting go of what she and Graeme had shared, the hopes and dreams they’d given one another, any easier.
‘Thank you for coming,’ he said, as they reached the door. ‘You could have done this on the phone . . .’
‘I wouldn’t have. I wanted to see you.’
He touched a hand to her cheek. ‘Take care and be happy,’ he told her, looking into her eyes.
‘You too,’ she whispered back. ‘And thank you for . . .’ She shrugged. ‘For being you.’
His eyes twinkled as she smiled.
Moments later she was walking down the cobbled street, each step feeling heavier than the last as the longing for what might have been tangled ever more tightly with the doubts of her decision. In her mind she could still hear the bell over the gallery door as he opened it for her to leave; at the same time she was seeing the relief and concern in Martin’s eyes when she’d told him why she was coming here today.
‘Are you sure?’ he’d asked uncertainly.
‘Of course
,’ she’d replied, knowing it was what they’d both needed to hear.
And she was sure. She truly wouldn’t have done it if she weren’t, but she’d hurt a man she cared about deeply, a man who deserved to be happy, and who she could have been happy with if things were different. She could never feel good about that.
On reaching the car she turned on her phone and was relieved to find no messages from Martin. It wouldn’t feel right to speak to him now, and knowing him as well as she did she suspected he understood that. She needed this time to herself, to allow the goodbye to feel as certain in her heart as the decision to leave her job.
That was going to be another wrench, another resolution she must come to terms with as she allowed new directions, new horizons to open up for her. She still had no firm ideas of what she might do next, although she hoped to travel before making up her mind. She had an urge to visit places she’d never been to before, and though she knew she’d enjoy exploring them with Martin, she couldn’t help thinking of how different it would have been to explore them with Graeme.
Different, but not better, she reminded herself.
Starting the car, she began heading out of town in the direction of Paradise Cove. There was no point trying to second-guess the future when she, of all people, knew how unpredictable it could be. It was as unreadable as a closed book, or a door that sheltered the secrets behind it.
Or the reasons why some children were found when they disappeared, and others weren’t.
Thank God some were.
‘Hi,’ she said, when Estelle answered the phone, ‘I’m going to be a little earlier than I expected. Is that OK?’
‘Yes, yes, it’s fine,’ Estelle assured her. ‘I think I’ve got everything ready. I can’t wait for you to hear it.’
The following day no one was moving in the Woodland Memorial hall; everyone was listening as the Reverend Fern Gosling addressed the gathering.
‘It isn’t unusual to fear death,’ she was saying, her tone seeming both comforting and curious, ‘most of us do, because we have no real idea of what it means, where we go from here. It’s especially difficult to understand when someone as young as Sophie is taken away. We feel that she hasn’t had her time; that her whole life was still stretching out ahead of her waiting to be fulfilled. I can’t tell you that it wasn’t, but I can tell you what I believe, which is that when Our Lord calls it is because the time He wants us to be here on earth is at an end. He wants us to join Him. You might wonder why He wanted Sophie after such a short and latterly difficult time here, and why He chose to take her the way He did. It’s very hard for us to understand what His reasons might be, and yet, in a way, it can be quite simple. The shock of how it happened, the very real tragedy of it, will have made each one of us pause in our hectic lives to think about Sophie, and other children like her who are afflicted by bereavement, and become desperately lost along the way. Perhaps we will also remember how important it is to appreciate and cherish those we love while they are with us.’