by Lauren North
‘Yes. He’s got a practice paper for me.’
We’re at the alley now, five minutes until we’re at school. Elise sticks to my side and it feels like she wants to tell me something.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask.
She shakes her head. ‘I’m worried about Harrie.’
‘Me too. If you know anything, Elise. Anything at all. Will you tell me?’
Silence.
I turn to look at Elise. Her head is dipped, her gaze fixed on the concrete.
‘Elise?’
‘I’ve tried talking to her, but she won’t tell me anything.’
I keep staring, wanting to believe her, but I’m not sure I do. We walk through the estate in silence.
‘Anna,’ Kat shouts from across the road as she pushes Ben out of the front door. She jogs towards me, Ben by her side.
‘Hi Ben, how are you?’ I ask.
‘Good.’ He throws a look at Elise and I wait for her to fall back and walk with him but she’s two steps ahead, talking with Molly, and doesn’t turn around. I’m surprised but pleased. It’s nice to see her making more effort with Molly.
‘I’ve been meaning to call you.’ Kat takes my arm and gives it a squeeze. ‘You didn’t reply to my text about a cuppa the other day?’
‘Sorry, I forgot. It’s been a strange week.’
‘Are you OK? Your message on the group chat sounded a little stressed.’
‘I’m just worried about Harrie. She’s at home today. She’s really not herself, Kat.’
‘Has she told you anything about that night?’
I shake my head. ‘She’s still saying she didn’t go out.’
‘Maybe—’
‘There’s something going on here,’ I say, cutting Kat off and ignoring the look of doubt, of pity, on her face.
‘Do you want to come back to mine after drop-off and talk about it?’ she asks.
‘I can’t. June’s watching Harrie, so I need to get back. Do you want to come to mine?’
‘I’d love to, but I’ve got a delivery coming this morning.’ She checks her watch. ‘In fact, I’d better get back. I’ll speak to you later.’
Kat spins around, saying a hurried goodbye to Ben. She’s already jogging back to the house when she shouts back to me. ‘Oh my God, Anna. I forgot to tell you. Dean got in contact with Anthony. He’s fine. He’s in Scotland. He had a bit of a breakdown by the sounds of it, but at least he’s OK.’
She gives a thumbs-up and is gone before I can form the words to reply.
Dean has had a breakdown and run off to Scotland. I frown as the news sinks in. It makes sense. Almost. Dean was struggling with something. It wasn’t just me who thought so. Sue mentioned his dark mood too. And yet there’s something about Dean being in Scotland that doesn’t fit. If Dean is in Scotland then does it mean he wasn’t even in the village the night Harrie was alone, or does it mean he was, and whatever happened is the reason he’s run?
CHAPTER 42
Harrie
Harrie flies out the gate at the side of the house, the bag in her hand knocking against her legs as she sprints ahead.
She hates this village. She hates the field and the stable. She hates Dean and the cage he’s in, but most of all she hates herself for what she’s done and what she’s still doing.
Each night she lies awake, her head filled with images of Dean, and she promises herself she won’t go back. She’ll fall asleep and when she wakes up, she’ll pretend it never happened. None of it. But then the dreams come and it’s Harrie locked in the cage, Harrie who is a prisoner, alone and dying with no one to save her, and she wakes up crying, and she knows she has to return.
‘Who’s there?’ Dean shouts as she reaches the doorway, steadying herself for what awaits her – a dying man and a smell worse than death. It must be what hell smells like, Harrie thinks.
‘I know someone is there. Please help me. I’m trapped.’ It’s the crack in Dean’s voice that makes Harrie step forward. His desperation pulling her in so he can see it’s her and not his rescuer.
She watches his face fall, the disappointment hitting hard.
‘What day is it?’ he asks, the question half lost in a coughing fit that makes his whole body shudder.
‘Thursday,’ she says.
‘Shit.’ His shoulders sag and he starts to cry again.
Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Harrie bites the inside of her mouth. He sounds like Molly does when she’s tired. He takes a long breath and looks up at her. ‘I’ve been here for more than a week. My wife and my brother will be going out of their minds. Please, help me. Just write a note or something. No one has to know it came from you. I’ll never tell anyone you were here.’
Harrie shakes her head and closes her eyes, then opens them quickly. The smell is worse when her eyes are closed. ‘I can’t.’
She reaches in the bag for a blanket she found in the back of the coat cupboard. The wool is rough with age but she thinks it will still be warm.
‘How long is this going to go on for?’ he asks, not bothering to take the blanket she pushes through the bars.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Harrie. Please. You’re a good girl. Your mum and dad are always saying what good kids you are.’
Harrie’s eyes narrow a fraction as she looks at Dean. ‘You know my mum and dad?’
‘Yes, we’re friends. Your mum designed the website for my building firm and I was the one helping your dad with the lights for the band at the summer fete. Do you remember? Martin Walker was there too. You know Martin. He’s got a daughter your age.’
She nods, thinking of Clarissa.
‘When will your dad be back?’
‘In a couple of months.’ Harrie sucks in her bottom lip to stop it trembling. She doesn’t want to talk about her mum and dad. Her mum is pretending everything is fine, that nothing is wrong, but Harrie heard her crying in the living room last week when she thought they were all asleep. She knows it’s about her dad.
Harrie reaches for the food next. She needs to hurry. It’s risky being here now. June could walk upstairs and check on her any minute. But she had to come now. She couldn’t bear another trip in the dark later. And besides, as soon as her mum is back she’ll be watching Harrie so closely there’ll be no way she can sneak out again, even if Elise agreed to help.
Elise is worrying, threatening to tell their mum everything if Harrie doesn’t stop sneaking out. Elise only knows a fraction – why Harrie left the house that night – but it’s enough. Harrie can’t let her do that. The fear rises so fast it chokes her.
You tell anyone about this and I promise you I will know. The threat is a constant whisper in her head. She shivers and grabs at the food.
A pack of crisps pops as Harrie squeezes it through the bars of the cage, making her jump. She doesn’t like being this close. Dean didn’t want to hurt her last time, he just wanted to make her listen, but his touch still scared her. Sometimes she’ll be sat at her desk at school, or in the car, or drifting off to sleep, and she’ll feel his icy fingers touching her skin and she’ll shudder, a scream lodged in her throat.
Dean is still talking about her dad. On and on. Stuff Harrie doesn’t understand. She wants to tell him to stop.
‘I can’t do this any more,’ she whispers.
‘What was that?’ Dean asks.
‘I can’t do this any more,’ she says, forcing herself to speak up.
‘But you have to.’ His eyes grow wide and Harrie looks away. His face is so thin. It reminds her of a skeleton. ‘I need you,’ he says. ‘Please. Your visits are the only thing I have.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I was leaving, you know? Selling up and moving away from here, and now look at me. I didn’t mean to get you involved. You know that, don’t you? I’m not a bad man, Harrie.’
Dean’s shoulders shake and he starts to cry again. Horrible loud sobs.
Without another word, Harrie covers her ears and runs away. She can’t listen
any more. She wishes Dean would die so she could be free.
Harrie runs across the field, climbs the gate and keeps going into the road, only seeing the silver car when she’s already in motion, when it’s too late to stop or hide or run. It brakes suddenly, stopping a metre away from her, the engine loud beside her.
The driver’s window buzzes down. He leans out. She wants to run again, but her legs are wobbling beneath her. She didn’t look before she crossed the road and she was almost hit by a car. His car.
‘What are you doing here, Harrie?’ The sound of his voice makes her heart stutter in her chest.
Then his door opens. The sound is enough to send a rocket of terror blasting through her, and she sprints away before he can grab her, only stopping to draw breath when she reaches the back gate.
Hot tears stream down her face. Her hands shake violently as she pushes the bolts across and creeps back into the house. The sound of the news on the TV drifts from the living room as Harrie hurries back to her bedroom before her mum gets home.
CHAPTER 43
Anna
The post is waiting for me on the doormat when I arrive home. I scoop it up and dump it on the side as I flick the kettle on to boil.
‘Cup of tea, June?’ I call from the kitchen.
‘No thanks, love. I’m catching the bus into town this morning. Don’t want to miss it.’
June shuffles into the kitchen, laying a hand on my back. ‘How are you, dear?’
‘OK, I think,’ I say. ‘Worried about Harrie. Has she said anything to you?’
‘No, not a peep. I think she’s gone back to sleep. It’s the best thing for her. Anything else I can do, you just give me a call.’
‘I will, thank you.’
June leaves and the kettle finishes boiling. I pour the water over the teabag and thumb through the post. It’s junk, sort of. An advert for a local business networking event that I really should go to, and I will one day. Once I have a few more websites in my portfolio, once I feel less like a phoney – a mum trying to make ends meet – and more like the professional I want to be.
The second letter is addressed to Mr and Mrs James and I rip through the envelope without hesitation. The header at the top leaps out at me in bold navy lettering – DCC Collection Services – and I feel the world, the house, the kitchen fall away as I read on.
Dear Mr & Mrs James,
We are writing to inform you that we have acquired your outstanding mortgage debt of £150,000 from Willow Mortgage Providers. The above-mentioned amount is now due in full by the end of November.
If you are unable to make full payment, please call us immediately to arrange a repayment schedule that will show your commitment to clearing this debt. 23.43% p.a. interest will be charged on any outstanding debt. If you are unable to make payments, we will send bailiffs to the above-mentioned address to reclaim lost monies.
If the payment has already been made, please accept our thanks and ignore this letter.
Regards,
P. Robinson
Debt Collection Officer
DCC Collection Services
By the time I finish reading, the letter is shaking in my hands. The paper rustling and flapping. It doesn’t make sense. We never had a second mortgage on the London house. Rob showed me everything. The half-dozen credit cards, the loans for the business, the interest rates, the mortgage arrears. It was a steaming pile of shit I thought would drown us, but there was no second mortgage.
The only sound in the kitchen is my ragged breathing as I read the letter again, peering at each word. It’s on this second time round that I really see my name at the top of the page. Mrs James. Me. All the credit cards Rob took out, the loans, the failed repayments – everything was in Rob’s name alone. It was his mess and I would sit right down in it and take it as my own, but it has always been his.
This – this £150,000 – isn’t just Rob’s though. It’s mine too. It’s both our names on the letter. The realization makes my head spin. Black spots float across my eyes. We owe this company £150,000.
I can’t think straight. Can’t breathe.
Why did Rob hide this debt from me? Something else he’s lied about.
My phone is silent in my pocket but I snatch it up as though it’s ringing and stare at the blank screen. I’m desperate to call someone.
I try Rob first. It doesn’t even ring. It just hums – a dead tone.
Out of desperation I call Dean. I try to picture him in Scotland, holed up in a hotel. The picture doesn’t fit. Dean likes warmth and sunshine and he hates the rain. Scotland at this time of year would be his worst nightmare. The voicemail clicks on, but I don’t leave a message.
Part of me wants to throw open the front door and chase after June. I know she’ll be a shoulder to cry on for me, the supportive friend I need right now, but I’ve already asked so much of her.
I think of Kat next. She’d ditch the delivery she’s waiting in for and be round in a flash if I called her, but something makes me hold back. I picture Sue Stockton on my doorstep, the hissed accusation, and later her own admonishment. That’ll teach me to listen to gossip.
I’m almost certain the gossip is nothing to do with Kat, and yet I don’t call her. This is my problem and mine alone.
There is no one else. Literally no one. Out of obligation, I speak to my mother once a month. The life I tell her about isn’t so much Instagram-filtered as CGI-edited. I long ago stopped trying to win her approval. She has always been a hard woman to love and if she’s not someone I can turn to at midnight when there is nowhere else to go, then she’s not someone I can call for help now.
My father is long gone. I have no cousins, no other family to speak of.
Rob is equally alone. His mother died the year before we met and his father is in a care home in Brighton. We visited last time Rob was home, taking the girls to the beach and making a day of it. Graham was having a good day and although he couldn’t remember the girls’ names, he seemed to know who we were.
My thoughts flip from Rob back to the letter still in my hand. The edges are damp from my clammy grasp. I fold the letter in half and half again and slide it into my pocket before climbing the stairs to check on Harrie.
The curtains are drawn, the room in gloom. Harrie is curled up under her covers, breathing softly, and I leave her to sleep.
I have never felt so alone.
Second interview with Bev Pritchett, member of Barton St Martin Parish Council
Interview conducted by Melissa Hart, The Daily Gazette, 3 November
Bev: I’m so sorry about yesterday.
MH: It’s completely understandable, Mrs Pritchett. It’s becoming quite clear to me that this is a very close community. The events that have taken place here must have come as a huge shock.
Bev: Yes, that’s very true. We are all close.
MH: Will Mr Pritchett be joining us today?
Bev: Oh … no, he’s gone in to the school. Even when the kids aren’t there, there is always paperwork that needs to be completed. He’s very dedicated. Some schools don’t go as far as they should to teach the kids. It’s not all about maths and English, you know? Mike feels he has a duty to give each and every child the best opportunity in life. The Year Fives are learning to manage a budget this term. And he likes the school to be involved with the village events, get the community behind it.
MH: Mrs Pritchett, what was your husband’s interest in Elise James? I understand they spent a lot of time together?
Bev: Well yes, they did. Elise wanted to go to a private school which has an entrance exam. Mike was helping her study for it. He knew Anna didn’t have the money for a tutor and entry to the school is very competitive. It’s all for nothing now, sadly. I just wish I knew what Harrie had been up to last week. I’m sure Mike’s already told you this, but she wasn’t herself. Something was wrong. Anna messaged us a couple of times asking if we knew something. God knows what she thought we knew. Anyway, Mike did what he could for Elise.
MH: It sounds like you’re a very dedicated couple, Mrs Pritchett. You’ve been on the Parish Council for how long now?
Bev: Oh, ten years at least. Dean and I joined around the same time.
MH: What can you tell me about Dean Stockton?
Bev: Nothing I’m sure you don’t already know.
MH: Do you know his wife?
Bev: Sue? Yes. She used to come with Dean to the parties, but she stopped. I don’t know why.
MH: What parties are these?
Bev: The normal kind. Anthony and Tracy Campbell normally host. They’ve got the biggest garden, you see. But we all take it in turns. Mike and I do a Burns Night celebration. Gina and Martin do the summer solstice.
MH: And who came to the parties? I’m assuming not all of the village.
Bev: Oh no. Just the usual group. Kat and Steve, obviously. Gina and Martin. Tracy and Anthony. Jack and Sandra. Dean. Anna and Rob were always invited but they only tended to join us when Rob was home. I wish I could be more help. Have you spoken to Tracy?
CHAPTER 44
Anna
Harrie sleeps until lunchtime then drags her duvet downstairs and watches a film. I try to talk to her, to find that moment again when she was prepared to open up to me, but it’s gone – a locked room I can’t get into.
Instead I clean the inside of the kitchen cupboards, pulling everything out first, scrubbing and then packing it all away. It’s a job that doesn’t need doing but I find comfort in it.
The day disappears and I’m just rallying Harrie to come with me for the school pick-up in the rain when June arrives on my doorstep, proffering a baking tin.
‘I thought Harrie might prefer to stay here. I’ve baked some Halloween biscuits I need some help decorating. That is if you’re game, Harrie?’
Harrie smiles for the first time in what feels like forever, and the hardness, the worry inside me, softens.
‘We’ll save some for Molly and Elise to do too, of course.’
‘Thanks, June. You’re the best.’