The Darkest Lies
Barbara Copperthwaite
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Epilogue
Also by Barbara Copperthwaite
Acknowledgments
A Letter from Barbara
To Paul. You know why.
And Mum, my greatest cheerleader. You never gave up hoping, even when at times I did.
Prologue
The cry for help is ragged and desperate, the voice hitching. There is no one to hear it.
A moon hangs so fat it oozes an aura into the sky that almost blots out the stars surrounding it. It looks down on land as flat as an open palm, and as unforgiving as a clenched fist, and gives no answer to the screams of fear and rage that float up to it.
This is the wind’s playground. It races across the North Sea and hits the land full force. There is nothing to slow it; no hills, few trees or hedges here on land reclaimed from the water to create the marshes and fertile flats of Lincolnshire. It screams ecstatically, punching the handful of houses it comes across, revelling in its unfettered freedom as it rattles windows. On its journey it picks up the entreaties for help that are echoing into the sky. Hurls them across the landscape, as gleeful as a toddler with a toy.
‘Help me! Please! Help!’
There is no one to catch the words.
No one, except a lone figure, turning, walking away towards lights in the far-off distance.
One
BETH
FRIDAY 22 JANUARY
Beth chewed at her thumbnail as she stared at the clothes that were carefully folded in the bottom of the rucksack. Was she doing the right thing? Yes; there’d be no harm done, and no one need ever find out. This was not a big deal. Still she gnawed, worrying at the nail.
The thirteen-year-old suddenly yanked her thumb from her mouth. She must remember not to chew it tonight; it looked as if she was sucking it, like a baby. Tonight, she needed to show that she was grown-up, no longer a little girl.
Right, had she remembered everything? Yep, it looked like it.
It had taken ages to choose both her outfits. One for her parents; one for her secret. She slipped a jumper on and smoothed down the Minnie Mouse picture on the front. It was a firm favourite of her mum’s so it was the obvious choice, even though she didn’t like the childish top herself any more. Everything was perfect for tonight – and her parents would never guess in a million years.
A huge grin on her face, Beth glugged a glass of milk and set it down on her dressing table. Then called out: ‘Mu-um. You ready to go?’
A laugh floated up from downstairs. ‘Isn’t it normally me asking you that?’
Beth hurried downstairs with her rucksack, her dad making the usual joke about ‘a herd of elephants’. She gave him a peck on the cheek and a big hug, which he returned, but peered around her at the television.
‘Ooh, offside,’ he groaned.
‘See you tomorrow.’
‘Have a nice night, Beans.’ He grinned as he used her nickname, but continued watching the football, casting her only a sidelong glance.
Minutes later, Beth and her mum were wrapped in their hats and coats, and striding along with Wiggins by their side. The russet cocker spaniel held his nose high, tail swishing casually from side to side, catching various scents on the cold January air.
‘Hey, wouldn’t it be amazing if we could smell things the way Wiggins does? We could follow scent trails!’ Beth said.
She linked arms with her mum as they took the left-hand lane from the village crossroads on which they lived, towards the home of Beth’s best friend, Chloe.
‘Like a superhero? You could be called Dog Girl,’ her mum joked.
Beth wrinkled her nose. ‘Yeah, on second thoughts… The name’s not great, is it?’
‘What other superpowers would Dog Girl have?’
‘Well, okay, she could take all sorts of things from nature. Like, she could have echo-location, like a bat, so she could find her way in the dark. That’d be handy now!’
They giggled.
‘What are you up to with Chloe tonight, anyway? Pamper night? Watching a film?’
‘Yeah, we’ll probably watch a film. Not sure about the pampering – Chloe might not have any face packs.’
‘We could nip back and get some. There’s a couple in the bathroom cabinet.’
‘No. It’s fine. We’ll probably watch a film and eat a lot of chocolate.’
‘Want some money for a pizza? It’s a Friday night, you might as well treat yourselves.’
‘Ooh, great!’
Her mum stopped abruptly, waving the tenner at the sky before handing it over. ‘Look how big the moon is tonight.’
�
�Is it a supermoon?’ Beth asked, gazing upward too. There had been one a few months earlier, and her dad had told her about how it was special, being closer to the earth and bringing bigger tides. That had been really cool.
‘Don’t think so, but it’s beautiful, isn’t it?’
She nodded. ‘I can see the man in the moon ever so clearly.’
Given that they had stopped, it seemed as good a time as any to try…
‘So, I might as well walk the rest of the way alone.’
‘No, I’ll walk you to the door. It’s dark, Beth.’
She gave her mum her very best puppy dog eyes look. If the plan were to work, her mum couldn’t take her to Chloe’s house. Despite her parents thinking she’d be spending the night there, she had no intention of setting foot inside the place.
‘I’m a teenager. I’m not a baby. Pur-lease, Mum!’
After a second or two, there came a reluctant nod. ‘Be careful.’
‘I will!’
‘I love you to bits and whole again,’ Mum added.
Beth felt her nose prickle with guilty tears. They had been saying that to each other since she was about four. She remembered it vividly, being cuddled on her mum’s lap; her feet tucked under Dad’s legs to keep them extra toasty warm. One hand twirling a piece of hair round and round and round her fingers as Dad read to them. She’d loved to hear the sound of his voice, but no matter how hard she’d fought, her eyelids had grown heavier and heavier and…
The sensation of weightlessness had woken her, as Dad carried her upstairs. When he’d tucked her in, he had stroked her face and kissed her forehead.
‘Sleep tight, Beans. I love you to the moon and back,’ he had murmured.
Beth had stirred sleepily. ‘To the moon? That’s a really, really, really long way.’
‘It is, but I love you so much that it would easily stretch all the way there and back again – and more.’
The next day her mum had walked her across the road to school, holding her hand. As Beth slipped from her grasp, her mum had pulled her back, into a bear hug.
‘Love you to bits,’ she’d whispered.
Beth had paused in her squirming. ‘To bits and back?’ she’d checked.
Her mum had laughed. ‘Er, yes, I suppose. To bits and whole again.’
Ever since, that saying had stuck. Hearing her mum use it now, Beth wanted to call a halt to her plan. To throw her arms around her and confess everything. She wanted to go home. She wanted to curl up and watch telly with Mum and Dad, while Wiggins did sneaky trumps that they all tried to blame on each other, laughing, even though they knew it was the dog. She wanted to tell her mum she’d love her forever and ever and ever, to bits and whole again.
Instead, she grinned cheekily, turned and skipped away like a little girl. Taking the mickey was easier than trying to articulate all of those feelings.
The wind plucked at her ponytail as she flew from sparse light pool to light pool between lamp posts until they ran out completely. The darkness swallowed her. Ahead she could feel her fate waiting for her and she rushed towards it eagerly. Tonight was going to be a big night.
Two
MELANIE
SATURDAY 23 JANUARY
The hysteria I had been trying to keep at bay bubbled up again as his name came up on my mobile phone. I pressed dial. The words needing to be said crammed into my mouth, clogging it like dry crackers, but I didn’t stop running. Eyes darting everywhere, but seeing nothing.
Ringing. Ringing. Come on!
‘Hello?’
‘Jacob, she’s gone. She’s gone!’ My voice quivered and cracked, face crumpling. ‘What if someone’s got her? What if she’s hurt? Maybe she’s run away?’
‘Calm down.’ Your father sounded firm and certain, Beth. It was exactly what I needed. ‘What’s happened?’
‘No one knows where Beth is. She never arrived at Chloe’s house last night. I only found out just now, when I called to see when she’d be home. Her mobile is switched off…’
‘Don’t panic, it’s going to be okay. I’ll come home; we’ll look together. Just breathe.’
Calm. It’s going to be okay. Breathe.
Hearing it said out loud, I believed it. I believed that you weren’t really missing, Beth. That you would soon be home, with some silly excuse as to why you hadn’t been where you had said you would be and your phone was switched off.
Yet even while telling myself that, I hadn’t stopped running. My chest still felt as if it would burst.
‘I’m coming to the house now. Stay where you are,’ said Jacob.
The line went dead.
I should have turned back to meet him at home, but knew he would be twenty minutes or so, and panic urged my legs on. There was nothing to be calm about.
My little girl was missing. My baby. My world.
I shouldn’t have let you make your own way to your friend’s house. But you are thirteen, Beth; old enough to be trusted. Aren’t you? And Fenmere is a village where nothing ever happens. The most exciting thing to have occurred recently was when neighbours Bob Thornby and Phyllis Blakecroft fell out over Bob’s untrimmed garden hedge narrowing Phyllis’s driveway. Do you remember the hoo-ha over that?
So again, I repeated Jacob’s words silently… Calm down. It’s going to be okay.
I looked at my watch. Noon. No one had seen you since I’d dropped you off at the bottom of Holders Lane; Chloe’s house is at the top. That was at 7 p.m., seventeen hours ago.
Seventeen hours! What had happened between that wave goodbye and Chloe’s front door?
Anything. Anything could have happened in that time.
I cursed myself; I should never have let you out of my sight. I should have insisted on delivering you right to the front door. But you had begged to be allowed to walk alone.
‘I’m a teenager now,’ you had insisted. ‘I’m not a baby.’
Not stroppy. You had been pleading. The breeze blowing across the fields of cabbages had plucked at your hair, creating a halo that made you look younger than you were. Still, I had relented because, despite my urge to wrap you in cotton wool, the slow, painful process of giving my daughter responsibility had to start at some point. That had seemed as good a time as any.
Now I reached Holders Lane again, deeply regretting my decision. Chloe’s home was the lone building far off at a right-angle corner of the road. It was painted a soft shade of lilac, so stood out easily from the patchwork fields of cabbages and warm brown fallow earth topped with white frost. On either side of the lane ran large ditches, for drainage. Looking at them, a horrible idea formed in my mind.
Hands curled tight in my pockets to fight the tension roiling through my stomach, I forced myself to peer over the edge and focus my panic-blinded eyes.
Twisted limbs. My little girl’s body broken on impact by a car bonnet, then flung aside by a hit-and-run driver. So much blood.
That was what I expected to see. Instead, there was coarse grass, mud and a smear of frozen brown water.
Every step I took made my heart jolt. Maybe this would be the step when my worst fears came true. The adrenaline coursing through me screamed hurry, hurry, hurry. My mind forced me to slow down. I couldn’t risk rushing and missing you. Progress was painfully plodding.
When I finished one side, I crossed and searched the drainage ditch on the other side.
Despite my measured gait, by the time I was done I panted as if I’d run a marathon, the cold hitting the back of my throat and making me cough.
If you weren’t here, where were you, Beth?
Once again I started to run. Shouted your name, tears streaming, taking in only snapshots of houses, gardens, hedges, the playing field. The low winter sun in my eyes making everything sparkle cheerily in the frost. Soon I was back in the centre of Fenmere, where most of the village’s houses were huddled. At the main crossroads was our house, along with the church, primary school, general store, café and the most popular of the two pubs, The Poache
r.
‘Melanie!’
Someone shouting my name made me whirl round. Jill Young stood in the doorway of the Picky Person’s Pop In, Fenmere’s general store. The ‘c’ had fallen from Picky some months earlier, making it close enough to ‘pikey’ that villagers had sniggered guiltily until it was rapidly fixed.
‘All right?’ asked Jill. The owner showed the economy of language that marked out true villagers from incomers. Why use twenty words when one sufficed?
‘Have you seen Beth? She’s been missing since last night.’ Saying the words again ripped something in my soul.
Jill’s mouth set. Her squat body reflected the flat fens; she was a woman of horizontal lines: frown, mouth, folded arms.
‘I’ll spread the word. Get the lads out looking.’
Relief spread through me. Jill knew everything that happened in Fenmere. Her network of informants would put MI5 to shame. A woman in her sixties, she ruled her family with a rod of iron, and still called her four forty-something sons ‘the lads’, despite some of them having families of their own.
If anyone could discover what had happened to you, it was Jill Young.
‘Thank you. You’ve got my number?’
When she nodded, I pushed off again. Chest hurting, throat burning. I was not a gym bunny, and my legs were resisting my urge to run. Gathering what little breath was left, I stood in the middle of the village and screamed your name.
Curtains twitched. People appeared in doorways, then gravitated towards me. Everyone talking, but with nothing useful to say.
‘You called the police?’ It was Martin Young, one of Jill’s lads. A farmer as no-nonsense as his mother, but with his late father’s dark hair, dark eyes and swarthy skin. Chunky, capable and balding beneath the woollen hat he wore almost permanently.
I shook my head, unable to speak.
‘Get home.’ His head jerked back the way I’d come. ‘We’ll look, you sort that.’
It made sense. But I stood still, head turning this way and that. Torn.
‘Go on, Melanie. We’ll find her.’ Martin’s voice softened but remained insistent.
He was right, I had to go home. You would be there, I was suddenly sure. I would tear a strip off you for scaring me, for making me look stupid in front of the whole village, for panicking over nothing.
The Darkest Lies: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist Page 1