‘Then do you trust me?’
I’d nodded, not knowing what else to do. I felt trapped. No way out.
As time ticked on, Sean convinced me that he would take Sasha far away, get rid of her where no one would ever find her, somewhere peaceful, a decent burial. He said he’d leave a few of her things in another part of the countryside so that the police would think she’d wandered off, that something bad had happened to her. After a while the investigation would be scaled down, he’d said, and her body would never be found. ‘It’ll all blow over. Before you know it, Sasha will just be another teenage runaway,’ he’d told me. ‘I know the land well enough.’
Keeper of all secrets, I can almost hear him saying.
Forty-Seven
‘I can’t believe he brought her here,’ I say to Marion, knowing that he’d hauled Sasha into the Land Rover while I was out driving around the village, pretending to search for her. Marion must have driven him home, leaving Sean’s contaminated vehicle up at the farm to clean. ‘Whatever you did, he shouldn’t have left you to deal with… all this.’ Part of me wants to give her a hug, while the greater part of me wants to thump her. ‘What the hell are we going to do now?’ My mind is all over the place – Sean’s voice still filling my thoughts, ordering me what to do, terrifying me into complying, controlling me. ‘We… we need to get rid of…’ I glance at the freezer.
Marion is suddenly on her feet. ‘He’s my son, Libby.’ She looks at me, imploring me. ‘And I still need to protect him. I’m going to confess everything to the police – tell them that I came to your cottage that night and I was angry,’ she continues. ‘That I shoved Sasha and that she hit her head. I’ll tell them it was an accident, that it was all my fault and I panicked and brought her body up here. She’s only small, after all.’ She stands tall and straight. ‘I can’t have my son take the blame for this, not after everything. I’ve kept his secret safe for so many years, Libby. I’m not giving up now.’
‘What secret?’ I yell, getting up close to her and grabbing her again. But she looks right through me, her lips tight together. ‘But they found blood in the boot of my car,’ I whisper, my hand coming up to my head. It was true that Sasha had cut her hand. ‘They’ll never believe you.’
‘Then I’ll tell the police I used your car, that I took it without you knowing. It’s an estate, after all, and the boot is bigger than mine. It makes sense. Plus I drove it not so long ago, remember? I’ll make them believe me,’ she says, suddenly animated and more like her controlled self again.
‘No, this is madness. You can’t do this. I won’t let you.’ I clutch my head, thinking. ‘We need to tell them that Sean covered everything up, that he brought Sasha’s body up here. It’s time for the truth, Marion.’ It hurts to betray Sean, but then he didn’t hesitate to do the same to me. I just don’t understand why.
Marion stops me, grabbing my wrists. ‘Libby, you know I’ve been ill. The truth is, it’s worse than I’ve been letting on. They thought I was in remission, but this last six months, it’s come back. It’s much worse now.’ Marion holds her stomach. ‘I might seem OK much of the time but it got in my liver, then my lungs. They thought they’d got it out all those years ago.’ She shakes her head. ‘I’m a fighter, Libby, but I also know when I’m beaten.’
I stand up, going over to her. ‘Oh, Marion, I know you’ve had health issues, but… but you’ve got… cancer?’
She nods.
‘I’m so, so sorry. I had no idea.’ All this time she’s been taking care of Alice while dealing with her illness, going to hospital appointments alone, and no doubt taking countless pills, having treatments.
‘They found it just after Sean was born,’ she says. ‘I had a hysterectomy and was given the all-clear. But I knew I’d never have more children. Three years ago, I found out it had come back. They offered me chemo but I couldn’t put myself through all that again. I opted for some radiotherapy, hoping that combined with medication would do the trick.’ Marion smiles. ‘But now it’s in my bones too. It’s the end of the line, Libby. I can’t fight any more.’
‘Oh, Marion,’ I say, reaching out to give her a hug. But she ducks away, almost as if she’s infectious.
‘I’ve already called the police, Libby – not long before you arrived. They’ll be here soon. Please. I can’t change everything, but I can change some things. Let me put this right. I’ll take the blame for everything, including covering everything up.’
I stare intently at her and, for a second, there’s a flash of understanding between us. That, since she couldn’t save Sean from harm all those years ago, from the wrath of his father because of whatever it was he’d done, she’s been trying to save everything and everyone ever since. Keeping his secret safe – so safe that she won’t even tell me.
‘Go to Alice,’ Marion says. ‘Go and get your beautiful daughter and go home. Hold her close and don’t ever let go,’ she adds. ‘Not for a long while, anyway. Enjoy your life, whether that’s with or without Sean. I have no control over that now. But talk to him. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll talk back. But whatever happens, you will both always be Alice’s parents. Love your daughter. Love her so much it hurts. And then, when it comes time to let her go, you know that whatever she does, whoever she is, however she chooses to live her life, promise you will always still love her, just as I have Sean. A mother’s love can set free too, you know.’
My skin prickles as more tears well up. ‘Marion…’ I say, glancing out of the slatted window, listening out for cars. I don’t understand what she’s saying. ‘I can’t let you—’
‘No,’ she says, holding up her hands again. ‘Go. Just do as I say and everything will be OK.’
Everything will be OK…
I nod, my eyes wide, one ear listening out for sirens.
‘Sasha was not at your house when you came home from the pub.’ She takes me by the shoulders, shaking me slightly. I give her a little nod. ‘She’d gone missing and you don’t know what happened. I’ve got less than six months to live, Libby. Let me do this. Please.’
I stare at her, wondering if Sean knows she’s dying. I suspect he doesn’t. Marion wouldn’t do that to him.
I break down in tears again. ‘Thank you, Marion,’ I say, closing my eyes as she pushes me towards the door. When she picks up the mop, starts humming the nursery rhyme again, I give one last glance back then I turn and run – run as fast as I can back down to my little girl, back to the sweet scent of her hair, the softness of her skin, the depth of her sparkling blue eyes and the chatter of her constant questions.
‘Oh, Alice,’ I say, tears blurring my vision as I charge across the uneven ground to the farmhouse. ‘Oh, Sean,’ I sob, hardly able to take in what he’s done. While I want nothing more than for him to hold me, for Alice to be pressed between us, I know I can’t stand to face him. His betrayal is unspeakable and, right now, as the breath burns in and out of my lungs, I never want to see him again. All I want is to hold my daughter, to protect her. Like Marion protected Sean all this time, I think as I stumble across the courtyard – though I still don’t know what from.
‘Alice…’ I call out, gasping for breath as I rush in through the back door. ‘Alice, get your stuff, we need to go.’ I charge through to Fred’s study just in time to see them packing up the game of snakes and ladders. Alice turns suddenly, her surprised face changing into a grin when she sees me.
‘Can we have fish fingers for tea, Mummy?’ she asks, sliding the game onto a shelf.
‘Yes, yes anything,’ I say, scooping her up. I’m about to say something to Fred, my eyes locking with his as he sits, reclining in his armchair, but I stop. I just want to go, have time alone with my daughter before I face more police questions, which I know I will. Besides, I don’t want Alice in the presence of a man who assaulted his own son, whatever the reason.
‘Put your coat on,’ I say to Alice in the kitchen, sliding her arms into her little jacket. I grab her backpack off the table and sco
op her up, running out to the car, my hands shaking as I buckle her up in her car seat. I get in the driver’s side, fumbling to get the keys in the ignition at the same time as dialling Fran’s number, pinning my phone to my ear with my shoulder. Reversing the car round, I drive off up the bumpy track to the lane, praying that Fran picks up. Either way, I’m heading to hers. Either way, I can’t go home.
‘Fran,’ I say, choking up the second I hear her voice. ‘It’s me… thank God…’ I glance both ways along the lane as I pull out, catching sight of two marked police cars with flashing lights coming the other way. They don’t take any notice of me as they scream past, don’t slow down as they swing down the farm track.
‘Yes, yes of course,’ I hear Fran say when I ask her if we can come over, if we can stay for a while. She senses my urgency, doesn’t ask questions. After I hang up, after I’ve dropped the phone from relief, tears stream down my face so that I can hardly see to drive.
Epilogue
Yesterday
It was first light and there was a chill in the air. The group of men met in the usual gateway, the one just past the eastern gatehouse of the estate. The first rays of sunshine bled between the trees, highlighting the honey stone of the building with flecks of gold. It was virtually silent – as though the land was still sleeping, with only the sound of the men’s low voices and birdsong audible. A pheasant flapped out of a nearby thicket.
Sean raised his arms, holding his carved walking stick as though it was a shotgun, closing one eye and tracking the path of the bird with the imaginary barrel. He made a shooting sound and recoiled, as if he’d fired.
‘For another day,’ Phil said, treading from one foot to the other.
‘Yeah,’ Sean replied, looking at him, leaning the stick against the back of the Land Rover. He made a sympathetic face, patted Phil’s shoulder. ‘Everything will be OK,’ he said, giving a nod.
Phil nodded in return.
‘Right,’ Sean called out to the group. ‘You four head up towards Blake’s Hill,’ he said, gesturing to some of the men. ‘But track along the brook first, taking in the area around the silos too.’ Then he gave further instructions to the others. ‘Phil and I will head out towards the Dentons’ land, covering the lower areas first, including where it adjoins the estate near the patch of woodland with the pheasant-rearing nets.’
They all nodded, a couple raising their hands to show they’d understood.
‘We’ll check the maize areas too,’ he continued. ‘No one’s been up there yet and Christ knows what ground the police have covered. Not much, by all accounts.’
There was a rumble of agreement as the dozen or so men nodded, shaking their tweed-capped heads, before the groups set off – some on foot, spaniels running to heel, and several others in their vehicles.
‘Hop in,’ Sean said, pointing to his Land Rover. ‘We’ll take mine.’
Phil nodded and opened the door, shoving aside things on the seat, including Sean’s Barbour jacket and a flask of coffee. ‘Someone’s birthday?’ he said, moving the gift bag. His face betrayed no expression. He wasn’t in the mood for jokes.
‘Yeah,’ Sean said, glancing at him and starting the engine.
The Land Rover bumped off and they drove in silence along the lane, slowing at a gateway as a car came the other way. Sean sprayed the windscreen with water, smearing it for a moment until it cleared, squinting into the sun.
‘I saw her, you know,’ he said, gripping the steering wheel. ‘Sasha.’
Phil’s head whipped round. ‘What?’
Sean raised a hand. ‘No, no, I don’t mean since she went missing. It was five days before that, on the Monday. I saw her standing at the bus stop in Great Lyne, the one just opposite our place. It was early in the morning.’
‘What was she doing there?’ Phil said, frowning. ‘She always gets the bus from our village.’
‘She’d walked to Great Lyne, apparently, and was waiting to get to college. That’s what she told me as I was de-icing the car. I’d waved to her and she came over. She didn’t look happy. I was on my way to work so ended up giving her a lift into town as the bus was late. She took some coaxing to get in.’
‘But why was she in your village?’
Sean swallowed drily as he remembered having exactly the same conversation with Sasha, asking her why she wasn’t leaving for college from her usual stop. She’d been vague with him to start – terse and curt – and was shaking and visibly upset. Despite this, she’d wanted to talk.
‘Because she knew, Phil,’ Sean replied, giving him a glance. ‘She was troubled about it. Very troubled, and didn’t look well, as though she hadn’t eaten properly in days.’
‘Christ,’ Phil said, resting his elbow on the door ledge, staring out at the countryside. ‘I had no idea.’
‘I drove her to college and calmed her down, convincing her she’d got it all wrong. By the time I dropped her off, she promised me she wouldn’t say anything. But it turned out she already had,’ Sean said, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. ‘She’d left a note on Libby’s car.’ He gave Phil another look.
Phil sighed heavily, shaking his head. ‘Shit…’
Of course, Sean hadn’t been able to tell any of this to Libby. And now he couldn’t tell everything to Phil – what they’d found when they got back to the cottage that night.
A mile or so further on, Sean slowed again, pulling over into a gateway. But this time there was no car coming. He turned off the engine.
‘Don’t you need to take the track up ahead? Loop back round to where the Dentons’ land meets the footpath from Great Lyne? It’s a route Sash may have taken for a short cut,’ Phil said.
‘Yes,’ Sean said. ‘We’ll go there. But look.’ He pointed across the field, currently lying as grass. A tractor shed and a couple of barns sat squat over to one side, up against a wooded area. ‘I remember when all that was planted,’ Sean said. ‘The saplings were only so high, about the same as us.’
‘How time passes,’ Phil said, staring out at the mature wood.
Sean nodded. ‘Come on,’ he said. He beckoned Phil out of the vehicle, pointing up to the barns.
Phil hesitated. ‘No, Sean. Why would you want to?’
‘I’ve never been back since. Haven’t been able to. But now… well now, things feel different. As though I need to.’
Phil shook his head. ‘OK,’ he said, sighing and getting out of the Land Rover.
Sean gathered his jacket from the seat, slinging it on before he got out of the car. The two men climbed over the five-bar gate, jumping down the other side, their breath clouds of white in the cold morning air. They walked over the uneven ground towards the barns in silence, each of them thinking of times past – long hot summers on the land when Fred would employ them, paying them each ten pounds for the day to drive tractors, cart bales, unload them into the Dutch barns. In the winter, when the land was frozen hard, they’d still be out here. Up to no good on their bikes, pedalling fast between the villages to see their mates, sneaking off with whatever bottles of alcohol they could nick without being found out.
They were just lads. Good lads.
‘It was here, wasn’t it?’ Phil said as they drew close to the red-brick building. ‘It’s looking a bit worse for wear now.’
‘No, it was this barn. The stone one. Not something I’m likely to forget.’ Sean stopped for a moment, one hand on his hip, the other clutching his jacket around him. ‘It wants tearing down.’
‘Looks as though it’ll fall down before long.’
Sean stared up the steep incline to the north side of the field. The incline he claimed the round bale had rolled down, flattening him in its path, badly bruising and smashing up his right knee. No one ever questioned his story, why his injuries didn’t quite match up to his version of events. Things were different in those days. Boys mucking about on a farm – tractors, machinery. Accidents happened all the time.
Sean went closer, right up
to the flaking wooden door of the barn. It was half hanging off its hinges. He stood, peering into the darkness, his skin prickling with goosebumps as Phil came up behind him.
‘Hooky, bread and cheese,’ Phil said, laughing. The first laugh Sean had heard from him in three weeks. ‘And some weed if we could get it.’
‘The good old days,’ Sean added, turning to find Phil close, his eyes filled with tears.
Sean stepped inside the barn, brushing cobwebs off his face. His eyes gradually grew accustomed to the dim light, his nose catching the smell of rotting hay, of rats, of ancient oil from the rusting quad bike. There was a pile of tools stacked in one corner: rakes, picks, forks and shovels. They were virtually as old as the building. Sean swallowed and screwed up his eyes as he remembered…
‘Dad, no, don’t!’ he’d cried, tears streaming down his face. His young cheeks burned pink from embarrassment. ‘Da-ad!’ he’d wailed, shielding his head with his arms. He’d tried to save himself, pushing himself back on his bottom along the floor, trying to escape his father’s wrath. Fred loomed over him, shovel in hand, grabbed from the stack of tools when he realised why Sean wasn’t out working.
‘No son of mine…’ he’d roared, raising the shovel, bringing it down on Sean over and over, smashing him wherever he could. His rage was unstoppable.
Sean had screamed and yelled, trying to stand up and run away, but every time he did, his father knocked him down again.
‘It still smells of blood in here,’ Sean whispered, swallowing, opening his eyes. He was shaking. A tear rolled down his cheek, and, at close range, he saw the same on Phil’s face. He stopped, turning his ear to the doorway, thinking he’d heard something – a car perhaps.
‘I’ve got something for you,’ Sean continued, thinking he’d imagined the noise. He slipped his hand inside his Barbour, pulling out a black and gold gift bag. ‘Happy birthday,’ he said. ‘For next week. I didn’t know when…’ He lowered his head. ‘I just thought today would be a good day to give it to you.’
Date Night (ARC) Page 30