by Susan Lewis
‘John, it’s Rose,’ she said softly. ‘You were always a night owl so I was … I was hoping to catch you.’ She took a breath and he could picture her so clearly, the translucent glow of her skin, the mesmerising lavender-blue eyes. ‘I’ve thought so often,’ she continued, ‘of what our first words might be if we were to … If something happened and we were able to see one another again. I was always afraid the time wouldn’t come, but then I felt sure it would.’ Another pause and he imagined her putting a hand to her mouth, the way she always did when something overcame her. ‘Sarah told me about Pippa,’ she said shakily. ‘I’m so sorry, John. I know how close you two are, it must be very difficult for you.’ He heard a tremor in her breath as she hesitated again. ‘I guess I’m rambling now. I’d hoped to speak to you, but you’re not there so I shall call again.’
As the machine clicked off he sat gazing at his memories as though they were playing out in front of him, while the resonance of her voice continued to steal all the way through him. It was like an elixir, making him feel young and strong again. He found himself smiling past the pain as he pictured the man he used to be, crazily in love with the most beautiful woman in the world. How happy they’d been, and devoted, and so certain that nothing would ever tear their perfect little family apart. Then the tragedy and cruelty of it all swept through him with such force that he lost his breath. Hearing her was bringing it all back, the horror, the fear, the sentencing and then the slam of the prison doors.
How could thirty-five years have passed so quickly and yet still feel like an eternity? Was she still his Rose? The tenderness in her voice told him that she was, and the ache of missing her and longing for her was oh so hard to bear.
‘Rose,’ he whispered, as though she could hear him, and the sound of her name, so sweet and full, was as beautiful to him and as restful as coming home after a very, very long time away. Could he dare to hope that fate would play them a kinder hand this time around and bring them back together before it was too late?
The billowing, windswept landscape of Exmoor was hazed by a lingering drizzle as Daphne drove to what she called her telephone spot in a layby not far from Landacre Bridge. During one of her stops she’d spotted several red deer grazing the brush, but this morning they were nowhere to be seen, only a small bevy of quails pecking about the sodden earth.
After turning off the engine she took out her mobile, knowing already that there were several texts, because she’d heard them chiming into the phone as she was driving. Much as she’d expected they were mostly from Lucy, the first letting her know that the funds for the chess piece had cleared. The next was a little snappy as Lucy demanded to know where the heck she was and why she hadn’t called.
Knowing she’d been remiss, Daphne’s eyes closed as she struggled with her conscience. Hurting or upsetting Lucy in any way was always very hard for her to bear.
Making herself scroll on to the next message, she read the few simple words and felt the chill of a bitter fate starting to close around her. Found your boxes, will bring with me on Sunday. Afraid to go any further she sat staring through the windscreen, her heart thudding wildly like the rain. Lucy had found the boxes … If she’d opened them …
Swallowing hard she reminded herself that it was just a small envelope, easily overlooked, and Lucy was so busy at the moment …
Inhaling deeply, she opened the last text. It was from Hanna, letting her know that half of Cromstone was being evacuated and some of the families from the estate were camping out at the farmhouse. Sensing the thrill Hanna was getting from that, Daphne almost smiled, but her nerves were too tight to allow more than a glimmer.
How desperately she wished there were no voicemails, but there were, so going through to her messages, she keyed in 1 to play back. Hearing Lucy’s tone as she said, ‘Mum,’ was enough to confirm that the nightmare had begun.
‘I’ve seen the cutting about the fire,’ Lucy said, ‘and the … the announcements … I don’t understand. I need you to explain. Please call me.’
Dropping the phone in her lap, Daphne covered her face with her hands. To say she’d always known this day would come wasn’t the truth, because she’d never allowed herself to think it. Instead, she’d given thanks to the Good Lord every day of her life for the comfort He had brought to her anguish at a time when she’d never have believed any comfort could be had. He’d delivered Lucy in His own special way after so much longing and heartbreak, proving that He did exist and that He did care after all. How was she to know that so many years later He would lead her to Cromstone, where He would show her that what He could give He could also take away?
It was a long time later that she turned the car around and started back to the cottage. She barely saw the landscape she was passing, hardly even registered the road. Her mind was no longer here on Exmoor, on this day in this year. It was in another place, a very, very long way away in both distance and time.
On reaching the cottage with its grey stone walls covered in flowery trellises, she went inside to find Brian dozing in his chair next to an empty hearth.
‘Ah, there you are,’ he said, coming to as she closed the door. ‘I thought you’d got lost. How’s Lucy? Is everything all right?’
Bringing him the phone, Daphne connected it to voicemail and sat down at the table as he listened.
When his eyes came to hers his confusion fired her frustration, even as it seared through her heart.
‘Brian,’ she said gently, ‘do you understand what the message means?’
He swallowed nervously and nodded.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I understand,’ he assured her.
Though not convinced, she couldn’t have borne to make him spell it out, so choosing to believe him she said, ‘Then you know what has to happen now?’
His eyes came to hers again, almost childlike in their bemusement.
‘Yes you do,’ she insisted softly. ‘We’ve talked about it and we agreed. We have to do it for Lucy.’
‘Yes, of course, for Lucy,’ he echoed, and his eyes followed her as she went to take a writing pad and pen from a drawer.
Since everyone at the manor had bedded down much earlier than those at the farmhouse, Sarah had risen with the lark ready to prepare two dozen breakfasts for her impromptu guests. Mercifully, the rain had eased off, so she’d been able to get down to the baker’s for bread and over to Hardy’s farm for fresh milk and eggs. There still weren’t many people about, but the general feeling of those she spoke to was that the lower reaches of Cromstone hadn’t faired as badly as some of the other low-lying villages around.
For her guests’ sakes, as well as her own, Sarah hoped they’d be able to return home today, since she knew she’d never find the heart to turf them out if they had nowhere else to go, but she really didn’t relish the thought of trying to cope with them all once Simon had gone.
Fortunately he wasn’t due to leave until tomorrow, so at least she’d have his backup for today – once he managed to drag himself out of bed. She wasn’t exactly sure what time he’d come home this morning, but it must have been after three because she was still awake at that time, listening to the rain and planning how she was going to spend her unexpected windfall.
By mid-morning she’d served everyone scrambled eggs and toast, regaled her mother with tales of what had happened during the night, and stripped all the beds ready for the wash. Most of her guests had trudged off down the hill by now to inspect what damage, if any, had been done to their homes. Early reports back were mostly positive, with only a few garden sheds and a couple of fences appearing any the worse for the storm. Nevertheless, all residual plans for the fete were cancelled, setting up a howl of protest from Hanna and her friends, who’d been sent over to the manor by Lucy to find out if Sarah needed any help.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll organise something especially for you,’ Sarah assured them, glancing up as a bleary-eyed and unshaven Simon padded into the kitchen. ‘If the weather
improves we can hold it on the green at the front, and if it doesn’t we’ll find ourselves another time slot in the village hall.’
‘I don’t see what the problem is, now that everyone’s house is all right,’ Hanna grumbled, passing a basket of clean washing to Juliette who passed it on to Marietta who stood holding it, not sure what to do. ‘I mean, it’s not as if it’s raining now, or anything.’
‘No, but everyone’s still a bit shaken up at being ordered out of their homes,’ Sarah reminded them, opening the tumble dryer to give Marietta a clue, ‘and no one got much sleep last night so they won’t be up to much today. Si, are you just going to stand there or would you like to say good morning?’
Glancing briefly over his shoulder, Simon raised a hand to the girls.
‘Hey,’ they said in unison.
Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘Playing hero has worn him out,’ she explained. ‘I expect he got his pants in a twist over the top of his tights.’
As the girls giggled Sarah waited for a response from her brother, but he was still gazing out of the window, apparently lost in a world of his own. ‘Well, I guess I’d better see what I can give him to aid the resuscitation,’ she said, going to fill up the kettle. ‘How are things over at the farmhouse, Hanna? Don’t tell me Mum’s back at work already?’
‘She’s gone to get Dad from the station,’ Hanna replied. ‘Everyone’s left now. Pippa went last because she wanted to stay and help, but Mum said she’d done enough already and then John came to get her anyway.’
‘Is their house OK?’
‘I think so. We’re going down there later to do our Wii Gym.’
‘I’m impressed that John was up and about so early,’ Sarah commented, glancing at Simon again. ‘I thought he was out as late as everyone else.’
‘He was,’ Hanna told her, ‘and Pippa’s saying he has to go back to bed, which is why we can’t go down there till this afternoon. Anyway, if you don’t need us to do anything else we’ll go and find out what’s happening at the village hall, like nothing.’
‘I’m sure they’ll be busy cleaning up after everyone who stayed there last night.’
Hanna’s eyes widened with alarm. ‘That is such a good point,’ she said to her friends, ‘so we should rethink where we go next or they’ll rope us in. What about yours, Juju? Or no, let’s go back to mine, because Dad’ll be there any minute and he might have some great ideas what to do about our fashion show.’
‘Your dad’s so cool,’ Marietta was sighing as Sarah waved them off. ‘I wish mine was the same, not that I ever see him.’
Going back to the kitchen, and finding Simon still miles away, Sarah finished reloading the washing machine before turning to face him. ‘What’s up?’ she asked, folding her arms to show she meant to get an answer.
After casting her a quick glance he went to start making some tea.
‘Well that was very informative,’ she commented, opening the fridge to pass the milk.
His eyes stayed on what he was doing as he said, ‘Something happened down at the estate last night that was … Well, definitely not good.’
Her eyebrows rose. ‘Floods generally aren’t,’ she reminded him.
‘I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about an incident in one of the houses I went into to help a young mother with her two kids. John came in after me and the woman suddenly started going berserk, telling me not to let him put his hands on her children, and to get him out of there.’
Sarah blinked in astonishment.
‘She called him a murdering bastard,’ Simon continued, ‘and told him to eff off out of Cromstone because they don’t want the likes of him living anywhere near decent people.’
Sarah’s face was turning pale. ‘What on earth was she talking about?’ she demanded. ‘What did John say?’
Simon’s expression remained grave as he said, ‘He just apologised and backed out again.’
Sarah couldn’t believe it. ‘But she’s got it wrong,’ she declared firmly. ‘She’s obviously mixed him up with someone else.’
Simon’s eyes came to hers. ‘She said everyone’s talking about it on the estate, how he murdered his own daughter.’
Sarah reeled.
‘According to her he was released after serving fifteen years …’
‘No!’ she cried, slamming a hand on the table. ‘They’ve got the wrong John Mckenzie. It’s a common enough name so it would be an easy mistake to make.’
Simon didn’t argue. ‘She told me that a few of her neighbours are getting up a petition to try and drive him out of Cromstone, so they must be pretty sure of their facts if they’re going that far,’ he replied.
Suddenly furious, Sarah shouted, ‘Well this is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it? To find a way to damn him, so you’re ready to believe someone who …’
‘Sarah,’ he broke in gently, ‘when I got back this morning I went online to check.’
Sarah could only look at him.
‘Her name was Alexandra Mckenzie,’ he said. ‘She wasn’t quite three when …’ He swallowed and dragged a hand across his face. ‘When he committed the crime.’
Sarah’s hands were pressed to her mouth as she stared at him with horrified eyes. She didn’t want to believe it, she just didn’t.
Coming to put his hands on her shoulders, he said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be right about him like this …’
‘Do you think Mummy knows?’ she whispered shakily. ‘Could she … Is that …?’ What was she trying to ask?
‘I can’t answer for Mum, but I do know that we should speak to Lucy. Hanna spends a lot of time in that house …’
Slapping his hands away, Sarah said, ‘Please don’t even start to suggest she’s in danger. I just won’t have it.’
‘OK,’ he conceded, ‘but think about it, if it was your daughter going down there all the time, wouldn’t you want to be told?’
Philippa’s good eye was shadowed with tiredness and anxiety as John told her what had happened at Katie Freeman’s house during the night. Easily able to imagine her brother’s hurt and humiliation, she sorely wished she was able to stomp down there and put the wretched woman right in a way she’d never forget. However, on hearing that Simon had witnessed it all, she felt her heart ache with so many heavy emotions that Katie Freeman was forgotten.
‘What did he say?’ she asked, reading the pain in John’s eyes and feeling it as though it was hers.
‘He didn’t get the chance to say anything,’ he replied. ‘I thought it was best just to get out of there.’
‘So he didn’t try to defend you?’
‘Why would he? He doesn’t know who I am, or what happened back then.’
Unable to take any more, Philippa begged, ‘John, stop, please. You can’t let him think …’
‘No, Pippa, you stop. It happened. I went to prison. People were always going to find out, because in the end they always do.’
‘Listen to me,’ she urged passionately. ‘I am not going to my grave leaving things as they are …’
Realising she was close to tears, he reached for her hands across the table. ‘It’ll be all right,’ he assured her.
‘How?’ she cried, pulling away. ‘You have to speak to Rose, John, because if you don’t I will and …’
‘Pippa, she called, last night. She’s been in touch.’
Seeing the joy and relief in her brother’s eyes, Pippa could only groan with dismay even as she got to her feet to go and hold him tightly, hoping that it might squeeze some sense into him, though she knew the time had long passed for that. ‘What did she say?’ she asked hoarsely, already bracing herself for the answer. It had better be what she was hoping to hear, or she really would take matters into her own hands.
‘It was a message on the machine,’ he told her. ‘She didn’t leave a number, but I know she’ll call again.’ Gazing tenderly into her eyes, he said, ‘It’s still there. After all these years that special something we shared … It’s never g
one away.’
Smiling through her tears, Philippa put a hand to his cheek as she said, ‘I never thought it had. I just wish it hadn’t cost you so much.’
* * *
As Joe looked up from the cuttings Lucy had given him, he was frowning irritably. ‘Well, obviously there’s some sort of mistake,’ he stated, as though it might in some way have been Lucy’s fault. ‘I mean, what else are you trying to say, because where I’m coming from that’s the only explanation.’
‘It is for me too, but until I speak to my mother I can’t know anything for certain.’
‘Except that you clearly didn’t die in the fire, or you wouldn’t be sitting here.’
Wondering if he was refusing to connect with what this might mean for her, or if he just didn’t get it, she said, ‘I’ve been online to check, and an eighteen-month-old girl called Lucy Fisher, daughter of Daphne and Brian, died in a fire in Hastings the day before that report was printed.’
Glancing down at the cuttings again, his whole body seemed to tighten as the confusion of it continued to confound him. In the end he said, ‘Well, it stands to reason, you’ll have to go down to Exmoor and speak to your mother. Or are you trying to tell me now that she’s not your mother?’
Too afraid to put into words what she was really thinking, Lucy simply stared at the cuttings.
He jerked back in his chair. ‘For God’s sake …’
‘Joe, listen, please. I’ve been going over and over this. You said yourself I obviously didn’t die in the fire, but it says there that I did …’
‘This is bollocks,’ he growled. ‘Total and utter bollocks.’
‘And what about the death notices? They were printed over a week later, so clearly a child did die and if it wasn’t me …’ She tried to take a breath, and found she couldn’t. ‘You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?’ she pleaded.
He only looked at her, evidently not wanting to be the one to voice it.
‘This could mean that Mum and Dad aren’t my real parents.’ Hearing the words spoken aloud tripped a terrible feeling in her heart.