‘Whatever happens,’ she says. ‘It ends tonight. Everything ends.’
‘You’re not making any sense, Ro.’
She pulls away from me and wanders forward, moving faster now. I have to hurry to keep up with her. The light from the phone caresses the plants and trees around us. Every now and then I hear the sound of an owl in the distance. The fast walk helps to rid me of that chilled sensation I had before, and soon a fine sheen of sweat breaks out on my forehead and the back of my neck.
The woods are beautiful at night. Like that sense of déjà vu I experienced when I first moved back to Buckthorpe, there’s something familiar about the sight of the trees in the dark. Perhaps this is what I saw when I went sleepwalking through the woods that time Grandad found me.
Did I notice the stars above? The owls? The distant cries of foxes?
When we come to the edge of the bluebell field, a line from Mum’s poem pops into my mind: Blame the blue.
‘Was Mum there that night?’ I ask, breaking the silence that has grown between us.
‘No,’ Rosie says. ‘Just Dad.’
She takes a left at the edge of the bluebell field and begins to walk into a copse of close-knit trees. This isn’t part of the path, and now my heart thuds harder and harder with every beat.
‘Where are you taking us?’
She doesn’t even check behind to see that I’m following her. She’s moving with purpose, as though she knows exactly where she’s going. Every step she takes winds us through the trees. Now, when I lift my head, I can’t see the stars; all I see is branches. Nettles aggravate my bare ankles and wrists. My feet catch on ropes of thorny bushes.
‘The stones,’ Rosie mutters. ‘Five stones.’ She stops, finally allowing me to catch up with her, then raises her arm, pointing ahead. ‘One.’ A round, half-buried rock jutting out of the earth. ‘Two.’ A few feet away is a smaller stone next to a tree. ‘Three.’ This one is vast, the kind you can sit on. ‘Four.’ Another few feet away, this one more like a step coming out of the ground. ‘Five.’ The fifth stone is half-covered in moss, barely peeking out from the undergrowth. The five of them form an irregular circle. Rosie takes two steps forward and stands in the centre.
‘No,’ I whisper. ‘Please don’t. I don’t want to see.’
‘This is it,’ she says.
When she bends down, I reach out for her, one pale hand in the darkness extended towards her bent frame. But before I can touch her, she has her hands in the soil. I cover my mouth with that same pale hand. This is it, now. This is my answer. My body vibrates with fear and horror. What is she digging for?
Because I can’t bear to watch, I turn away and close my eyes. It’s as I close my eyes that I see him one more time. The boy I loved. Samuel. I see us together in the barn, holding each other, his hand on my cheek, mine on his neck. I feel the warmth of his face close to mine. I feel his lips on mine. I smell him. I smell the straw, dry and grassy. The absolute happiness that I’ve half-heartedly attempted to chase for the rest of my life.
‘Heather.’
I don’t want to see him, my love in a shallow grave.
‘Heather. Look.’
Of course, I have to. Slowly I turn around and face my sister.
But what I see doesn’t match the horrors in my mind. She stands looking at me with her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes open wide, as though she’s about to hand me a prize. The effect reminds me of a cat that has just brought a dead bird into the house.
My eyes slowly work their way down from her face, finally stopping at her hands. They are black from the earth, and yet they glow. She has placed her phone down on the ground with the torch beam coming up to highlight her amongst the shadows. And as the light illuminates her form, it picks out the glowing white shards of a translucent object in her hands.
‘This is it,’ she says. ‘This is what I wanted to show you.’
Tentatively I take a step closer. ‘I don’t understand, Rosie.’
But she merely nods towards the shards in explanation.
I lean over her hands, trying to ascertain the importance of what she holds. It’s only when I pick up one of the pieces that I realise this is the same sort of strong plastic as from the headlight of a car.
‘What does this have to do with Samuel?’ I ask.
‘I had to hide it,’ Rosie says. ‘They made me.’
She twists her body and begins to walk away.
‘Wait.’ I reach out for her, but my hand grasps at air.
Rosie stops, seems to remember the plastic in her hands, and puts it down.
‘Where are we going now?’ I ask.
‘I need to show you the rest,’ she says.
When she sets off again, I’m closer to her. Suddenly I see her foot catch the ground, and she trips. She grabs hold of me, with her weight tilting back. The world drops away and we fall, landing with a thump.
The earth is hard beneath us, and the wind is knocked from my body, leaving me gasping in cold air. It’s pitch black here and stinks of damp soil. Next to me, Rosie groans in pain. I pull myself to my feet and quickly return to my senses. I feel in my jeans pocket for my phone, but it’s gone. I grope around in the dark and find it in the spot where I fell, the screen completely smashed on a stone, unable to turn on. My hip and back are sore from the fall and I think I landed with my weight on top of the phone, adding to the damage. With my hands out in front of me, I feel my way around the hole and then squint up through the darkness.
‘What the fuck?’ Rosie mumbles.
We’re in a square hole, maybe four or five feet across, at least eight feet deep.
Then it dawns on me. We’re in a trap.
Twenty-Nine
Rosie
Then
I met him on the edge of the bluebell field. My torchlight bobbed along the heads of the flowers, making me feel as though they were an audience. Witnesses to our pact. As I drew closer, the beam found Samuel’s legs, his black hoodie, and finally his squinting eyes. I directed it back down onto the ground, where my shoes sank into the damp earth.
‘I can’t believe you actually came,’ he said, blinking to recover from the sudden bright light. His hood was already wet from the rain, and he stood with his hands pushed deep into his pockets as though to keep them warm.
‘Neither can I,’ I admitted. The sight of him made me tremble with fear, but I forced it down, shoved away all thoughts of the incident.
‘Why did you drag me out here?’ he asked, jutting his chin out almost aggressively.
I’d felt a fearlessness on my way that fooled me into thinking I could actually do this. But now that I saw him, tall, muscular, twice as wide as I was, I wanted to run away. That would make it twice now that I’d run terrified through these woods.
‘I … It’s about Heather,’ I said, my voice smaller than I’d hoped it would sound, made even smaller by the noisy raindrops pattering against the leaves. ‘You have to stay away from her.’
‘None of this mess is Heather’s fault,’ he said. ‘You know that.’
‘I don’t care.’ Hearing him say my sister’s name helped me find that thread of anger that I’d been hoping would give me confidence. ‘Stay away from her.’
Samuel shook his head slowly, with a small smile playing on his lips. I thought about how I’d found him attractive once, and how that had been a huge mistake. Maybe if I hadn’t felt drawn to him, I would have made Heather stop going to the farm and none of this would have happened. I’d pitied him for being bullied at school, but now all of that had ebbed away. Instead, I saw an entitled, arrogant boy.
I felt ashamed of the way I’d enjoyed his attention, the way he often studied my body, and for failing to step in the moment I’d noticed him stop watching me and start watching Heather instead.
‘What are you going to do to me if I don’t stay away from her?’ Samuel asked, his shoulders rising, his body tense. ‘You’ve already ruined my life.’
I couldn’t find the words to say in respon
se and stayed silent instead.
‘And now you just stand there with nothing to say. Nothing. You’re a bitch, Rosie. You need to undo everything you’ve done.’
‘Why? Are you going to hurt me if I don’t?’ I took a step towards him, reckless in my anger. ‘You know exactly what you did, don’t play the innocent with me.’
‘That didn’t give you the right to ruin my life!’ He grabbed me by the shoulders, fingers tight as a vice.
‘Get off me!’ I tried to twist my body, attempting to wrench myself out of that relentless grip.
‘They think I killed animals! I can’t go to school any more. Mum cries herself to sleep at night and Dad drinks more than ever. Peter gets bullied at school. Peter! Remember him, my little brother, who looked after your pony when you were at the farm? Who followed you both around like a lapdog fetching you drinks? He’s thirteen years old and they painted “RAPIST” all over his football boots. He came home with a bloody nose. That’s all because of you, bitch!’
‘Stop it! Samuel, stop it!’
He shook me back and forth until my teeth smashed against my tongue and blood filled my mouth. Both my shoulders, still caught in his grip, throbbed with pain. His expression was focused, his lips pressed together and his eyes narrowed. For a split second I thought he might kill me.
But I couldn’t allow that to happen. If it came down to him or me, I’d choose him. I lashed out, scraping my nails down his cheek. The sudden pain at least surprised him, because he finally released his grip and shoved me hard. I tripped over my feet, landed painfully on my backside, my torch bouncing on the forest floor.
‘Hey!’
A tall shape rushed past me and collided with Samuel. Two men hit the ground, writhing around amongst the bluebells. The larger man was on top of the other, pounding him with his fists. I rushed to pick up my torch. It had powered down from the fall and my trembling fingers seemed to have lost the ability to switch it back on. Finally I got the light directed to the shapes writhing in the bluebells.
It was Dad on top of Samuel, punching and punching. Over and over. Pummelling his face into meat.
Fear turned me to stone.
I could stand there and do nothing. Or I could save Samuel. But I remember thinking that Dad was actually going to do it. He was going to kill Samuel. What happened next was in my hands.
Thirty
Heather
Now
‘We must be about eight, maybe nine feet down,’ I say. I open my arms out wide and my fingertips brush soil on both sides. ‘Maybe five and a half feet wide. The screen on my phone is smashed and I can’t switch it on. What about yours?’
Rosie is sitting on the floor by my feet with her arms wrapped around her knees. She rocks back and forth, her eyes staring into the black. I can barely see her, with those dirty hands, dark hair and filthy clothing. She could be part of the earth. A broken version of Gaia herself.
I drop to my knees. ‘Rosie, can you hear me?’
I’ve already checked myself over for injuries, but apart from a bruised hip, I seem to be unscathed. I just can’t figure out if Rosie is hurt or not.
‘I should’ve known,’ she says quietly. ‘We’re going to die tonight, Heather.’ Finally her eyes meet mine, and all I see is a haunted woman.
I can’t stand the pain she’s in. I wrap my arms around her and grip her tight. ‘No, we’re not. Just do everything I say and we’ll live. And then we’ll sell the fucking house and get the hell out of this village. Okay?’
She nods, and I’m relieved to see that I’ve beaten down whatever barrier was cutting her off from facing the reality of the situation.
‘Good girl,’ I say. Gently I help her to her feet and pat her down to check for broken bones. We establish that her ankle is sore, but she can put weight on it. There’s a cut on her arm, too, and we use the sleeve of my top to stem the bleeding. I’m worried about the cut. It’s not particularly deep, but it is bleeding profusely, and we’re surrounded by dirt that could cause an infection.
‘Can you try finding your phone for me?’ I ask.
She gropes along the ground and then shakes her head. ‘I put it on the ground while we were looking at the smashed headlight.’
‘Shit. It’s all right, that just means we need to get out and then find help. But we can climb out. You just need to give me a leg-up.’
She nods slowly, still not quite herself but beginning to come around.
‘Okay, now cup your hands, Ro. I’ll put my foot in it like we used to do when we were little. Remember when we’d ride the ponies bareback? Remember?’
‘I remember, sis,’ she says, and a hesitant smile brightens the terrified expression on her face.
I adjust my weight in preparation, but Rosie straightens up.
‘Hev?’
‘Yeah.’
‘There’s something else I need to tell you.’
‘Tell me when we get home, okay?’
She shakes her head. ‘No, I need to tell you now.’
‘Then say it quickly.’
‘Okay,’ she says. ‘I lied about Samuel. He didn’t force himself on me.’
It hits me like a short, sharp jab to my abdomen. This is the exoneration I’ve always wanted for the boy I loved all those years ago, and yet there’s no closure or comfort in hearing the words spoken.
‘Why did you lie?’ I whisper.
She glances up, and then back down to me. ‘It’s complicated. We need to go. If we get out of these woods, I’ll explain everything.’
‘Tell me,’ I insist.
‘I was wrong. I should have waited.’ She puts her arms down ready to help me up out of the hole.
But I shake my head. ‘Tell me, Rosie. What happened to Samuel that night?’
Before she can answer, a bright light floods into the hole. Both Rosie and I fall away from it, and I have to shield my eyes to avoid the pain of the blinding beam.
‘Stay where you are, girls.’
The sound of the man’s voice turns my blood to ice. I press myself up against the side of the hole, not that it will do any good. There is nowhere to hide, nowhere to go.
‘When I first dug this little hole here, I figured I’d be catching just one of you Sharpe girls. But it’s nice to have you both. Now, if you could throw up your phone.’ He gestures with a wiggling of his fingers. ‘Come on. I can see one over here, but there’s two of you and I know you don’t leave the house without them.’
Finally my eyes begin to adjust to the light and I can see our captor. Unfortunately, his features are obscured by shadows. But I can see the shotgun slung over one arm. He must be the one who fired the gun at me. Next to me, Rosie whimpers.
‘Come on, I don’t have all day.’ He lifts the shotgun as a reminder that he’s armed and we’re not.
I fling the shattered phone upwards. It lands next to his feet and he bends down to pick it up, slipping it into his pocket.
‘Good,’ he says.
‘Fuck you,’ I say impulsively.
He stands at the edge of the hole for a moment until there’s a buzzing sound and he walks away lifting a phone to his ear.
I lean back against the wall and let out a long breath. Since coming home, I’d figured we were being run out by the villagers, but it hadn’t occurred to me that we were being hunted. Whoever is up there expected at least one of us to fall into his trap. I wouldn’t have come here without Rosie, which means that this must all be for her.
‘Do you know who that is?’ I whisper to her.
Slowly she nods her head.
‘Who?’ I know I recognise the man’s voice, but my exhausted brain doesn’t seem to want to connect the dots.
‘Colin Murray,’ she says. ‘It’s Samuel’s father.’
Of course it is. His voice sounds slightly different from usual, not quite as beaten down and defeated as the last time we spoke. The note of triumph threw me off.
‘Who do you think he’s on the phone to?’ I whisper. Whoeve
r it is, he’s having an animated conversation. I can’t make out the words, but I hear the sound of him hissing through his teeth in a seething kind of anger that chills me.
‘I don’t know,’ Rosie says. There’s an edge to her voice that makes me wonder whether she’s telling me the truth, but then I have another thought that pushes the others away.
‘Buckthorpe Jack!’ I say, the fog of shock finally clearing. ‘If we scream, he might hear us and call the police.’
‘What if he’s in on it?’ Rosie says, face pale and drawn.
‘What other choice do we have?’
I take a deep breath and signal for Rosie to do the same, before screaming ‘Help!’ as loudly as I possibly can. If nothing else, I feel a tingle of pleasure when Colin turns back to us in alarm, his face thunderous. I scream again, keeping my gaze on his, hoping my expression remains strong enough to challenge him. This weak man, who hunts young women; I had no idea of the level of hatred he felt for us when I visited the farm. I saw your pain. I felt sorry for you.
He snaps the barrel and the stock of the shotgun together and raises it to his shoulder. ‘Scream again and I’ll kill Heather first.’
He means it.
The pleasure of our tiny victory ebbs away, leaving me hollow and freezing to my core. Are we going to die in this hole? Dirty and cold, like hunted animals?
‘Heather has nothing to do with this. Let her go,’ Rosie says. I’m surprised to hear the steel in her voice after seeing her fear and vulnerability. ‘I’m the one you want.’
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘You are. But I’m not against getting rid of her too.’
Rosie’s face screws up in revulsion. ‘Have you any idea how twisted that is?’
But Colin’s voice doesn’t sound twisted at all. If anything, he seems completely calm, almost businesslike about the situation. There’s an air of detachment about the way he speaks, as though he’s carrying out his plan with an attitude of unwanted inevitability.
‘I don’t care,’ he says simply. And I believe him.
The Liar's Sister (ARC) Page 19