Eleven
I swayed on my feet as I walked from the car to the front door, beyond exhausted after the last seventy-two hours or so. Dad and I hadn’t left your side since you had been found on Saturday, not even to return home to get a change of clothes. We didn’t dare, willing you to cling on – and by a miracle you had.
Now it was Tuesday afternoon, and my mum and dad were sitting with you, having previously been dog-sitting for us. Wiggins would be having a great time running round the big garden of their house on the far edge of Fenmere, so at least I didn’t need to worry about him. Between them all – John and Dad’s parents, your Grandpa Isaac and Granny Julia, and Grandpa Mick and Granny Heather – they were sorting out a rota to cover for the times your dad and I couldn’t be at the hospital. Your Aunt Tricia was in bits, so she couldn’t help, but with her living in America it wasn’t really an option.
No matter when you woke, the first thing you would see would be a person you loved.
The Family Liaison Officer had brought us back from hospital. Unable to remember her name, which Jacob kept reminding me was Britney, in my head I referred to her as Flo, because it was the initials of her job title. She had been great over the last three days, barely leaving our side, giving us updates on how the police were sweeping the area for clues and interviewing villagers. It all sounded really positive, and freed your dad and me to concentrate on you. Flo had even offered to come into the house when she dropped us off, and make us some food. We refused. We wanted to be alone for a while, at home. Get our heads together, then gather bits and bobs for you, Beth, to make the hospital room more ‘you’.
Our family home had a stale, disused air to it after being empty for three days.
‘Cup of tea?’ Jacob called as he strode into the kitchen. I shook my head, trailing after him.
‘Knackered.’ I threw a piece of paper onto the kitchen table to look at later. Jacob glanced at it. ‘It’s a list of some of the phrases chucked at us earlier. Thought I’d look them up.’
‘They’ve told us,’ he said over the sound of the running tap as he filled the kettle.
‘You know me.’
‘Always have to find stuff out yourself, yep.’
Typical journalist, always making notes and sniffing out information. Well, would-be journalist. Once upon a time I’d wanted to become one, but had given up my place at university after falling pregnant. Still, I’d never lost that basic instinct to find things out.
Now my head spun with medical information overload.
Epidural haematoma. Traumatic brain injury. Pressure in the intracranial space. Hypertension. Bradycardia. Irregular respiration. Suddenly these words were my world; it was too important not to find out more about them.
I hugged myself to keep the shivering at bay. Every muscle aching from being constantly tense; even my jaw hurt. Being in the house wouldn’t help me relax, though. It felt strange and empty without you and Wiggins. No singing, shouting, barking, no herd of elephants running down the stairs. No laughter. Just Jacob and me, rattling around.
It wasn’t simply the atmosphere; the missing pieces of our family had a physical impact too. Every noise the two of us made sounded different. Louder. More echoing. Lonely.
Someone had torn our world apart. Who would hurt you, Beth? Why?
Once again, my instinct told me it was someone we knew. Statistically, the most likely suspects were our own family, but my brain rebelled at the thought of my brother or husband as the attacker.
‘Can we go to bed?’ I asked suddenly. ‘I need a hug and some sleep.’
Tea abandoned, minutes later we were curled up together, even though it was only just gone three thirty. Beneath the covers, the smell of Jacob’s bare chest comforted me; the sweet odour of wood resin permeated his skin from hours working at the local handmade furniture factory. Something reliable in a world gone mad, its odour carried me into a dreamless sleep and fleeting respite.
Something dragged me from sleep. My eyelids felt heavy as they lifted with some effort.
A knock at the door. Gentle, apologetic, but enough to disturb my slumber. I felt groggy.
I slipped from Jacob’s side just as he groaned and turned over, his face crinkled from the pillow. As I pulled on my jeans, he sat upright.
‘What is it? Has something happened?’
‘Someone’s at the door,’ I called, hurrying from the room and down the stairs.
He was right behind me, top half-naked.
We almost fell out of the front door in our haste. Was it the police, with news of an arrest? Someone sent round to give us terrible news from the hospital?
Your best friend’s mum, Ursula Clarke, stood on the step. She held up a casserole dish. The first of no doubt many visitors we would get now we were finally home. Kind, but my heart sank, Beth – I didn’t want to see anyone or answer any questions. I didn’t have the strength.
‘Oh! I was about to leave this for you. Sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you… I’ve been so worried. When I heard what had happened… well, I feel so helpless, and wanted you to know that we’re all thinking of you. If there’s anything I can do to help…’
She looked as perfectly made-up as ever. Not a curl of her peroxide-blonde hair out of place. Perish the thought that the village bombshell should let herself go, even in a time of crisis. But despite the way she looked, the barrage of words illustrated Ursula’s nerves at what state she’d find us in, bless her.
She held the casserole out to me again.
‘That was kind of you,’ I said, touched.
I took the heavy dish, even though the thought of food made me feel sick, and passed it straight to Jacob. How long had it been since I’d eaten a solid meal? Mum and Dad had bought us sandwiches at the hospital, but I’d only had a little nibble before putting it down, fearing I’d vomit again. I’d managed a banana not long before leaving the hospital. Was that all? I should have been ravenous.
‘How, umm, how is Beth?’ Ursula asked, head on one side. She used the sort of hushed tone more usually associated with people talking of the recently deceased.
‘She’s… Ursula, would you like to come in?’
‘Well, I’d better get back to Chloe. She’s upset by what’s happened, understandably.’
‘Of course, of course. I just wondered if Chloe had any idea why Beth was on the marsh in the middle of the night.’
‘I’ve asked, believe me. But she doesn’t have a clue.’
Of course she didn’t have a clue. Your best friend wasn’t exactly blessed in the brains department, was she, Beth? I know you two had been inseparable since nursery school, but she didn’t understand half of what you said these days. Her idea of a deep conversation was discussing what the Kardashians had been up to. Why did it have to be you lying in that hospital bed, fighting for your life, when you had so much potential compared to her?
Are you shocked that I could think that way, Beth? I was. Fear and exhaustion were making me feel out of character. As soon as your attacker was arrested, and you had come round, I’d be back to my old self. We all would.
Suddenly, a thought occurred…
Twelve
I frowned. It didn’t take a psychic to work out my thoughts, and Ursula soon twigged. ‘Melanie, I believe her. She’s not hiding anything – she knows how serious this is.’
‘Of course, sorry. But you know what best friends are like at that age. They share everything. I just… I just hoped.’
‘We’re desperate for answers,’ interjected Jacob.
‘Of course you are. I’d be exactly the same.’
Ursula reached out and hugged me. Taken by surprise, I hugged her back.
We’d grown up together, living in the same village, but as kids the fact that she’d been four years older than me had put her in a different sphere. As we’d got older things had changed, of course. We’d made mutual friends, and then when our daughters had become best friends at nursery we’d got to know each other much
better. But she and I had never been close. Ursula was the kind of person who wore her heart on her sleeve, but could be a little superficial. She always had to look perfect, get perfect marks in school, have the perfect wedding, buy perfect furniture. Now she was thirty-seven, it was easy to imagine her becoming one of those women who tried to cling to their youth by having Botox and dressing identically to her daughter.
You know me, Beth, I couldn’t give a toss about my looks or what people think. I’d always been comfortable in my own skin, doing my own thing. People thought I was mad for giving up a place at university after falling pregnant with you, and that I was too young to raise a family. There had been plenty of gossiping and judging going on about me. So what? The timing may not have been ideal, but you were a gift that I’d never, even for a moment, regretted.
When Ursula and I pulled apart she gave me a watery smile. ‘So, how is Beth doing?’
‘As well as can be expected. It’s all too soon to tell,’ replied Jacob.
‘She’s in a coma. An induced coma. The doctors have told us to prepare for the worst… but she’s clung on, so we’re hopeful.’
‘They don’t know what type of injuries she’ll have when she wakes, though.’
‘It’s bad. Pretty much as bad as it can get.’
Ursula’s head moved back and forth between us as Jacob and I played fact tennis about your prognosis. Her face paled as she heard the news, and she grabbed my hand.
‘I’m so sorry. I mean it – if there is anything I can do, please let me know. And, could I ask a huge favour from you? Could you let me know if there’s any change in Beth? Anything at all? Chloe is going out of her mind.’
‘Of course,’ I promised. ‘And if she does think of something, anything at all, that might help the police figure who did this, or why, or—’
‘I’ll let you know. It goes without saying.’
We said our goodbyes, tears in our eyes. It meant a lot that everyone in the village had rallied round us.
Jacob lifted the casserole dish and sniffed it.
‘Smells good. Steak stew. Do you want some?’
‘Umm, maybe a little bit.’
As he walked through the lounge and into the kitchen with it, I walked after him. ‘But only a tiny bit, Jacob.’
Even then, he gave me more than I wanted. I’d known he would, of course, hoping that my appetite would kick in once I started eating.
‘We’ve got to keep our strength up for Beth. She’ll be coming round soon, and I don’t want her worrying about us,’ he reminded me.
True. You were a sensitive girl, Beth. Always worrying about others, and taking in injured birds and wild animals, trying to fix them. When one died – as they so often did – you were always heartbroken. The thought of you fretting about me instead of concentrating on getting yourself better made me force down a mouthful. But the food seemed to stick in my throat, then sit heavy in my stomach. Ursula was a great cook – after all, she ran the village café and did the catering in the pavilion for the cricket matches every summer. But my stomach was churning too much for anything to seem appetising.
Lack of sleep was making me feel sick too. We’d only snatched an hour before Ursula had woken us. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep going. My eyes felt gritty. They started to droop as Jacob launched into his second bowl of casserole, mopping up the gravy with a slice of bread.
Another knock at the door.
For a second we stared at each other. Then jumped up and ran to the door, Jacob still clutching the dripping bread.
It was Jill Young, armed with what looked like a huge lasagne. Her frizzy, steel-grey hair was pulled into a high ponytail, as usual, and bobbed up and down as she nodded her greeting. It always seemed strangely girlish compared to her flat shoes and sensible clothes.
But Jill’s hair wasn’t what caught my attention at that moment; it was who was behind her. A car was pulling up, and inside was DS Ellen Devonport.
Thirteen
This was my first chance to look properly at the detective sergeant. Last time had been too much of a rush. There had been so much to take in, having gone from thinking you were dead to discovering you were alive.
Now Ellen Devonport sat in an armchair in front of me and I had the time to study her, as she studied me. The glossy curtain of dark brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail. A thick, blunt fringe cut across her eyebrows. No sign of grey, but the start of fine lines around her eyes and mouth showed her to be in her early thirties, like me.
Her face seemed familiar, but that was the thing about living in this area: everyone knew everyone, even if only by sight.
In the armchair opposite her sat a younger man who seemed to take in every detail with his intense eyes, but he barely spoke a word. This, Jacob and I had been informed, was Detective Constable Alan Musgrove, whose shirt was slightly crumpled, as if he had grabbed the first one to come to hand that morning. It looked all the more noticeable because his colleague was so crisp.
Flo hovered in the background. Her chubby little face looked a bit intimidated by the detective sergeant. She hurried into the kitchen to make us all a brew, robbing me of my job. Jacob helped her carry the steaming mugs.
DS Devonport gave a smile, just a little too tight to be genuine. Smoothed the tweed material of her trousers before placing her folded hands there. Leaned forward at an angle that seemed to have been carefully calculated to look sympathetic. Her perfection in the face of the chaos since your attack seemed so at odds that it rankled with me. But no matter what my personal feelings were, she was our best bet for discovering what had happened to you.
‘I want you to be assured that we are treating this case seriously.’ She had one of those low, husky voices that men find sexy. It didn’t quite seem appropriate for this situation. ‘Beth suffered a serious assault, and we are doing our utmost to find the perpetrator. We’ve put together an appeal for information which we’ve released to the press, so be prepared if you do watch television.’
Great; it made me feel better knowing we were going to be getting maximum publicity. It meant that what had happened to you would be looked into properly. Hopefully someone would come forward with information, and the culprit would be caught quickly.
‘I would like to get a little more detail from you, though, and double-check a few things.’
Jacob and I held hands and agreed in unison.
‘What time did you last see Beth?’
Good grief. ‘Don’t you already have all this?’
‘We do, yes, but as I said, I’d like to go over it again, if I may.’
I bit my tongue. The police knew what they were doing, and arguing with them would slow things up. ‘I’m sorry. Whatever it takes to find out who did this to Beth, I’ll do it. Even if it means saying the same thing a million times over.’
A gentler, more genuine smile came from DS Devonport this time.
We went over everything again. It was exhausting, and seemed a nonsense, but what did I know about detective work?
‘After she left, you both stayed home?’
‘That’s correct,’ Jacob confirmed.
‘And what clothes was Beth wearing?’
‘Blue skinny jeans, a red Mini Mouse jumper, flat black ankle boots and her black winter coat,’ I replied dutifully.
‘Do you recognise these?’
The silent DC Musgrove passed me a series of photographs of clothing. A filthy white crop top with three-quarter-length sleeves. A black miniskirt. Thick black tights. I turned the photographs this way and that, as if changing the perspective would make clear the reason we were being shown these things. Passed them on to Jacob, who took them, a curious look on his face. We both shrugged. You had clothes like that, but so did lots of girls.
A final set of photographs was handed over. From varying angles they showed a pair of black suede ankle boots with a thick platform sole, high heel and silver metal down the back, like a seam. I gasped.
‘Let m
e check something.’ I pushed away from the sofa and walked upstairs, quick, full of purpose.
Into your bedroom. Refused to be distracted by the sight of a glass you had left on the side, a thin film of milk misting its insides, which made it look as though you were coming straight back from wherever you had nipped to. I marched right past it and flung open the wardrobe. Dug around in the bottom. There was the shoebox.
When I opened it, it was empty.
I ran downstairs.
‘Those are Beth’s. But she definitely wasn’t wearing them when she left the house.’
You’d begged for those ridiculously expensive and totally impractical boots. I hadn’t approved of the huge heel, which added a good six inches to your height. How you were supposed to walk in them was beyond me, and besides, I’d thought them too grown-up for you. But you’d been determined – and whether I liked it or not, my little girl was no longer so very little. As it was Christmas, I had given in. Despite my misgivings, the look on your face when you had opened that present had been worth every penny.
‘She hasn’t worn them yet. So where were they?’
‘Mr and Mrs Oak, the boots and the outfit photographed are what Beth was wearing when she was found. There is no trace of the clothing you described to us.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Jacob said. Exchanged a look with me, as if I could explain. We were as confused as each other.
‘We also spoke with Chloe Clarke and her mother. Both say that your daughter hadn’t planned to stay at their home that night.’
‘No, Beth told me. I walked her virtually up to the door,’ I whispered. You wouldn’t lie, so… ‘They’re lying. When I spoke to them, they didn’t say that.’
I ran the conversation over in my head. It was confused, garbled; panic seemed to have erased most of it. But when I’d phoned I’d been calm at first, just thinking you were running late.
‘Any sign of them stirring from their beds? What time will Beth be home?’ I’d asked, all breezy.
The Darkest Lies: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist Page 4