She knew the truth. Had she really had a one-night stand with him? Or did he have something on her, and was blackmailing her into covering for him?
Hang on…
That Saturday when you had bumped into her flashed into my mind again. I remembered how I had watched you from your bedroom window because I was worried you were late. I’d seen you send her handbag flying, the contents spilling.
That clear plastic bag of pastel sweeties.
Oh, how stupid was I? They weren’t sweets. The Picky Person’s Pop In didn’t sell things in clear bags; everything was branded. They must have been drugs. But what kind? I pulled out my phone, googled images of MDMA pills. They looked pretty similar to what I’d seen, but then again, I had been a long way off. Too far to be even remotely certain.
But you had been in such a strange mood when you first got home. Had Alison threatened you? Had she offered you drugs in exchange for silence? Were she and James working together?
Perhaps James knew about the drugs – if there were any drugs, if it wasn’t my imagination, I told myself – and had blackmailed Alison into giving him a false alibi. If I could just get her to admit it.
Unable to do a three-point turn on such a thin strip of road, I carried on until I reached a turn-off and made my way to Alison’s home.
Fifty
The Daughtrey-Drews are the closest thing to posh that we have in Fenmere. Their family, like many in the area, went back generations. But rather than farmers and farmhands in their ancestry, they could trace their lineage back to Norman nobility. In fact, their great-great, however many greats, had helped to fund the building of the village’s square-towered church about a century after the 1066 conquest.
The family may not have that kind of cash to throw around any more, but they still live in the biggest house in the village. An old manor, with windows peeping through trimmed ivy, a thatched roof – something rare for the area – and a huge walled garden behind the sweeping drive. They used to host a summer garden party that was open to the whole village, back in the day when I was growing up, but that stopped about twenty or so years ago.
My dusty Ford Focus looked slightly out of place on the drive beside two sparkling champagne-coloured Mercedes, a brand-spanking-new silver Range Rover and a black Audi I could have seen my face in. With slight trepidation in case the police were also called here, and I wound up arrested, I made my way towards the front porch. A round, heavy metal knocker matched the huge black brackets that stretched across the ancient dark wood door.
I was reaching for it when the portal opened and Alison slipped out.
‘Thought I’d save you the job,’ she smiled apologetically. ‘I guess you’ve come to talk to me?’
‘That’s right,’ I replied, aware of my local twang sounding harsh against her more plummy tones. Alison didn’t have a local accent. Instead she spoke like someone from Made in Chelsea, which I put down to her private education. While locals said ‘grass’ to rhyme with ‘ass’, she rhymed it with ‘arse’. When she said ‘hour’ it sounded exactly the same as ‘our’, unlike Fenmere people who pronounced it ‘ow-wer’. Instead of ‘yes’, she said ‘yah’. She and her parents were the only people in the entire world, surely, who actually said ‘yah’; it seemed such a cliché.
She was thin to the point of almost-but-not-quite bony, and her legs were slightly bowed from hours spent riding a horse from an early age. Her clothes were expensive, but then, she had always been spoiled rotten. I remembered again about how her parents had made her speeding ticket disappear, thanks to a few words in the right ear. I couldn’t even get my daughter’s attack investigated properly.
Still, I tried to appeal to her good nature.
‘I won’t beat about the bush. Alison. Please, I’m begging you, if you weren’t with James Harvey, you have to tell the truth. He’s got to be punished for what he did.’
Alison’s eye contact was strong and steady. She didn’t seem in the least bit nervous.
‘I’m just a mother trying to get to the truth,’ I added desperately.
One hand rested on her hip, the other beneath her chin, as if considering.
‘Mrs Oak, I’m so terribly sorry to hear what happened to Beth. But, truly, this is nothing to do with me. I have no clue who hurt her – they hit her head, is that correct?’
I nodded, helpless in the face of her composure. A long finger lightly caressed her bottom lip, a thick silver ring glinting in the weak sunlight. I could make out the words ‘Tiffany & Co’ running around its base.
‘You insist you were with James?’
‘I was with him. Mrs Oak, it’s bad enough I’ve had to make a statement about my sex life. Why on earth would I lie?’
That was true. I had no idea why she would pretend to be with James Harvey if she wasn’t. It wasn’t as if they were in a relationship, and she might be tempted to cover for him.
‘All I know is that he is the only person who had a reason to attack Beth. Nothing else makes sense. Maybe he sneaked out while you slept, then sneaked back again for an alibi?’
She shook her head. ‘I wish I could help you. But I can’t.’
Despite the natural drawl that could make her sound insincere, she looked genuinely sorry about that, and I appreciated it. Her glossy caramel hair, with perfect highlights, hung around her long face, and she tucked one side behind her ear.
‘Look, I didn’t know Beth well. You know, with her being so much younger than I, different friends and my only returning to Fenmere recently…’ A crazy decision of hers to drop out of university, in my opinion, but I had little doubt Alison’s parents would sort out a good job for her, with their connections. ‘But she seemed a lovely girl. She was growing up into a beautiful young lady.’
‘She is growing into a beautiful young lady.’
‘Is. Yes, is, of course. She’s, er, shooting up, too, is as tall as me in her heels. She truly is a beautiful girl…’ She cleared her throat awkwardly. ‘I suppose what I’m trying to say is that if I could help you, I would. But I can’t, Mrs Oak.’
‘Can’t? Or won’t? James Harvey was grooming my daughter. The police may not be able to find proof of that, but I will. And then it’s only a matter of time before his alibi is proved to be lies.’
She looked away, bored. Stood up straight, no longer leaning against the porch frame.
‘Look, today he even told me he was gay. He’s a liar!’ I snapped. ‘Is he blackmailing you? Is it something to do with drugs?’
Alison looked as if she had been slapped.
‘James must have been desperate to get you off his case; and no wonder, if you’re going to make such ugly, baseless accusations,’ she recovered. ‘Well, I’ve told you all I can. I really must go now.’
Rhally mast go.
I stepped back to let her by, not knowing what to think.
When I got home, I noticed Alison’s Mercedes parked outside the Picky Person’s Pop In. Right, so her urgent appointment had been to buy some bits and bobs. That showed how high you were on her list of priorities, Beth.
I flopped onto the sofa and waited, half-suspecting that I might get a visit from either Flo or DS Devonport.
I’d been dozing for about two hours when they both arrived.
Flo was all sympathetic looks and soft noises, something her round face and equally round eyes seemed built for. What did Jacob see in her?
The detective’s tight lips looked as if they were struggling to keep angry words in. When she finally spoke, her voice was even lower than normal.
‘You need to keep away from James Harvey. You’re impeding the investigation with your actions. I’m sure that’s the last thing you want to do. New information has come to light which we are looking into.’
‘What new information?’ Hope flew like a kite.
‘I’m not in a position to say at the moment. But rest assured, we are following every possible lead in connection with your daughter’s attack.’
‘Well, you
’ll forgive me for thinking that sounds like a load of excuses,’ I snapped, as hope crashed and burned.
The front door opened and Jacob called out, ‘Are the police here?’ He walked into the living room and stopped. ‘Have you charged him?’
I closed my eyes. Oh God, he still thought that James Harvey was being held. I hadn’t yet told him otherwise.
The DS seemed quick on the uptake though. She explained everything to him that she had told me earlier – and added in the bit about me visiting James. Jacob didn’t say a word, just looked at me, stunned, eyebrows raised.
‘Well, he’s not made a complaint about me, has he?’ Which was suspicious.
‘No, Mrs Oak. In fact, he has been at great pains to tell us there is nothing to complain about,’ the detective replied. From the way her eyebrows went up, she clearly wasn’t convinced. ‘I can’t stress enough that Mr Harvey’s alibi has now been corroborated.’
DS Devonport spotted my mouth opening to give a retort, and raised her voice slightly to bulldoze over me. ‘Not only by Alison Daughtrey-Drew. Jill Young has come forward to say that apparently she saw Alison dropping him off at 5 a.m., and that they were kissing passionately before he got out of the car. She’d been going into the shop to see to the newspapers at the time.’
I slumped back on the sofa, beaten. If James Harvey was innocent, then who attacked you, Beth?
As I tried to sift through what I had heard, Jacob saw the police out. I wandered to the window and watched him, deep in conversation with Flo as they stood on the drive. Their heads were bowed together as my husband spoke urgently. The young officer’s pudgy hand was on his arm and her mouth crinkled into a line of sympathy. In the evening light they were cupped in the orange of the street lamp. They looked far closer than he and I had been for weeks.
Fifty-One
The crow caught in my trap seemed to know what I was as soon as it saw me. Its intelligent eyes held my gaze for a second, then it gave a deep-throated caw and began to flap and tug desperately.
It was more intelligent than the people who surrounded me every day. It recognised a predator when it saw one.
Take Melanie. My plan was working perfectly, right under her nose, and she had absolutely no idea. What a stupid cow. I was virtually parading before her, and she was too blind to see it. It seemed laughable now that I had, at first, been wary of her.
At one point she had seemed to be trying to pull herself together. Just because your daughter’s in a coma is no excuse to let yourself go. But her good intentions hadn’t lasted. She was a disgrace. Better her daughter died so she couldn’t see the mess her mum was.
She was constantly drunk lately too. In that state no one would take her seriously, no matter what she said. Good. For all my games, the last thing I needed was for Melanie to start putting two and two together.
But in that state, I could make use of her to cover my tracks.
Chuckling at the thought of the fun to come, I took hold of the crow. Killing it would not be the same as snuffing out a human life, but the bloodlust was becoming worryingly difficult to ignore. My kicks needed to be got somehow. I needed my fix.
As I looked deep into the crow’s eyes, I was reminded of my elemental power. It struggled, tried to peck and maim me, but I was too strong for it, fully prepared for its every strike, because I was all-powerful. I drank in its panic and terror. Wonderful.
Eventually, I snapped its neck. But not before entertaining myself.
Fifty-Two
If Jacob’s jaw got any lower he could use his mouth as a flytrap.
‘Have you heard yourself?’ he asked, stunned.
The argument had started almost as soon as he’d come back through the door after his cosy conversation with Flo. A ceasefire had been called long enough for us to get into the car to travel to the hospital for the weekend. But the engine had barely turned over before the bickering began again.
I should have shut up. Of course, I didn’t, Beth.
‘James Harvey has to be the one that did it. I don’t understand why Alison is lying. And somehow she’s got Jill in on the act too. What if it’s something to do with drugs?’
‘You’re losing the plot, Mel,’ Jacob groaned, slumping over the wheel as if he wanted to bang his head against it in despair.
‘No, listen. Who else could it be? James has to be the one! Although I still feel that Aleksy Jachowski knows more than he’s letting on. Maybe it’s worth talking to him again. Maybe he saw Beth and James together, or – oh, I don’t know. But I’ve got to figure out why Alison and Jill would cover for James.’
‘Or maybe they’re telling the truth.’
We sank into sullen silence. I stared out of the passenger window, looking at my own reflection in the darkness. My jaw was set, eyes narrowed, arms folded. Laser beam glare threatening to melt the glass. I couldn’t let it lie.
‘I’m sure Chloe is hiding something too. Which means Ursula is. Maybe I can get to the truth once I corner Davy again…’
‘So now Davy Young is involved in this grand conspiracy? Or did he do it? For goodness’ sake, Melanie, what are you doing? Leave this to the police.’
I tugged at the seat belt and turned to face Jacob again.
‘What’s your problem? I’m not getting in their way, I’m helping. I’m looking at things they might have overlooked. As a villager, I might be able to spot things they’ll miss in an official investigation. People might open up to me more.’
‘Have you heard yourself? Leave this to the experts, okay? Don’t you have enough on your plate without going round pointing the finger at all and sundry?’
‘At least I’m doing something, Jacob. Unlike you, sitting back and letting the police get away with letting their investigation slide.’
‘They’re the experts. Not us,’ he snapped.
I turned back to the window, resentment festering. God, I wanted a drink. I wanted to beg Jacob to drop me back home so I could talk things through with Glenn. He’d listen; he’d understand and not judge me. What was the point of going to the hospital so that we could stare at your corpse-like body, when I could be doing something far more productive? Something that would actually help you?
Love hearts covered the entrance to the children’s ICU, and I realised with a jolt that Sunday would be Valentine’s Day. Time was passing; it was three weeks to the day since you had been attacked, and you weren’t showing any signs of improvement.
The ventilator still breathed for you.
The monitor showing your heart rate, respiratory rate, oxygen saturation percentage and blood pressure were all as constant as Lincolnshire’s horizon.
Your MRI scans showed no change.
A nasogastric tube still fed you.
There had been a time when those words meant nothing to me. Learned by rote, I could now recite them.
Likewise, the team of people looking after you had felt overwhelming at first, but now I knew the difference between the ward consultant and the neurological consultant surgeon. I understood the differing roles they had in your care, and the duties of the nurses, whom I had got to know and become friendly with over the past weeks. We often brought a cake for the team, as a thank you for their continuing hard work caring for you. Sometimes I baked it, but I’ll admit it, Beth, a lot of the time I bought them from Seagull’s Outlook Café. Ursula probably wouldn’t want my custom any more, though; not after threatening legal action on me the day before.
When were you going to wake up, Beth? I wanted to shake you, shout at you, do whatever it took to rouse you. I wanted to take a chunk of my soul and gift it to you, to give you the strength to fight.
‘Take whatever you have to take from me,’ I begged. ‘Take it all, everything I have. Just get better.’
There was no gentle squeeze of my fingers in reply. No flutter of eyelids. Only the usual beep, beep, beep that made me want to throw the machines out of the window.
You weren’t in the hospital room, were you, Beth? You
’d gone. You were on the marsh.
My only child. Every ounce of love in my body and soul had been poured into you, my sweetheart, my Beans. More love than I’d thought a person was capable of feeling. To bits and whole again.
Please get better, Beth. Please, please, please…
I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. All I could do was sit and watch the ventilator filling my daughter’s chest with air, making it rise and fall. Hold your limp hand. Watch your face, so pale that even the freckles seemed to have faded.
You know, sometimes I used to catch myself with a soppy grin on my face, just from watching you walk into the room and flop on the sofa. The wonder of you, Beth Oak. Seeing your face glowing with enthusiasm as you spoke about a bird you had spotted. The look of delight at Christmas when you realised we’d bought you those ridiculous platform boots, and you had paraded around in them still wearing your pyjamas. I’d almost got a crick in my neck looking up at you, they made you so tall!
Thinking about those good times made me feel I was teetering on the edge of a cliff. Any second the pain might make me decide to jump.
Think of something else. Anything else.
So I considered the conundrum of who hurt you.
Something about my conversation with Alison bugged me, but I couldn’t think what. I kept replaying it, sure I’d missed something, but whatever was wrong wouldn’t come to me. Like trying to remember a dream, the more I tried the less substantial it became.
I’d talk it over with Glenn, I decided.
Glenn. Talk about cometh the hour, cometh the man. His reappearance in my life had been perfectly timed. I owed him so much.
Looking at you and thinking of Glenn made me imagine the pain he must be suffering at losing his own daughter. But it didn’t have to be like that for him; something could be done to get his daughter back. It was time for me to start repaying him for the kindness, patience and support he had shown me. Speaking selfishly, solving someone’s problem might give me a little respite from my own too. Maybe I’d get a step closer to the kind, thoughtful person I’d been before anger and frustration chipped away at me.
The Darkest Lies: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist Page 17