33 Women: A gripping new thriller about the power of women, and the lengths they will go to when pushed...

by Isabel Ashdown

  The ball went to Fern.

  ‘It would be two crosses. Two black crosses. Here,’ Fern said indicating first to one side of her pelvis and then the other. ‘And here. Representing our strength; our refusal to bear the fruit of the men who would seek to govern us.’

  ‘Two black crosses it is.’ Sandy nodded confidently.

  Fern set the ball down outside of the circle. ‘Women,’ she said, ‘this is Sandy who wishes to join our number. All those in favour, raise your hand high.’

  Susan’s was the first hand to join Fern’s, followed by Regine, by me and little Seed, and when Kathy’s hand joined ours, however reluctantly, the vote was unanimous.

  ‘Welcome, Sister Sandy!’ Fern cried, rising to embrace the young woman with fervour, and Seed and I went directly to prepare her room.

  10. CELINE

  Present day

  Back at the house, there is an atmosphere of urgency as Pip distracts the girls with a plate of snacks and children’s TV while Una sets up the laptop at the kitchen table.

  Celine makes the coffee, knowing better than to interrogate Una until they’re all assembled, and they move about the room in heavy silence until the three of them are seated around the screen. She brings up a BBC News article, reporting on the recent discovery of twenty-four-year-old American chef Robyn Siegle, who had arrived in the UK a year earlier after her marriage broke down.

  Una reads aloud from the screen: ‘Police investigating the as yet unexplained death confirm that mother-of-one Ms Siegle had, until very recently, been a resident at Two Cross Farm, an all-women community located in the Arundel area of West Sussex.’

  She pauses, allowing the confirmation to sink in for a moment, before continuing: ‘Archie Chowdhury, the victim’s estranged husband, is being sought by Sussex police, who say they would like to eliminate him from their enquiries. US-born Chowdhury is thought to be currently living in London, where he also works as a chef.’

  Pip drums the table with her fingernails, her expression confused. ‘So, they think the ex-husband did it?’ She glances between Celine and Una, crestfallen. ‘If it was the husband, it can’t have anything to do with Jem Falmer – or Vanessa – can it?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Celine replies, stopping just short of I told you so. The very fact that Robyn’s ex is in the frame is surely enough to establish that this is a one-off, and not related to Vanessa at all. ‘Una,’ she says, ‘when you called earlier you made it sound as though you’d had a breakthrough. All this article does is show us how unrelated the two cases are.’

  ‘I agree,’ Una replies, rising from her seat to cross the kitchen and pick up a small framed print. ‘But that got me thinking. What if Jem Falmer and Archie Chowdhury were only part of the story? What if the police’s knowledge of the victim’s bad relationships – the violence in Vanessa’s case, the separation in Robyn’s – was stopping them from looking in other places, from considering everything?’

  ‘Lazy policing, you mean?’ Celine asks.

  Una shrugs. ‘It’s not unheard of for senior officers to get an idea in their head and refuse to be diverted from it. That’s how the Yorkshire Ripper got away with it for so long – one senior officer decided it was a man with a Geordie accent, and the rest of the team stopped considering anyone who didn’t fit that description.’

  ‘What’s that you’ve got?’ Pip asks, gesturing towards the upturned picture.

  ‘You know I took a stroll along the riverside this morning, while I was waiting for Dave Aston to call? I walked all the way down to the footbridge and back, passing Two Cross Farm en route. Of course, it’s not a farm these days – don’t think it has been for a very long time, if at all.’

  ‘Could you see it from the path?’ Celine asks.

  Una opens the photos app on her phone and scrolls through. ‘They’ve purposely grown the hedges high at the back, just like around the rest of the property. It’s properly fenced, with leylandii almost entirely obliterating the view. But the good thing about leylandii is that it stops the residents seeing out as much as it stops others looking in, and I found a little break in the hedge to spy through.’

  There are a few still photos, but most interesting is the short video clip Una has captured, giving a slow panorama of the grounds, panning over lawns and greenhouses, vegetable plots and compost heaps. In the further distance there’s a driveway, not unlike Delilah’s, and, close to the hedge, a well-stocked wood store and shed. A brick footpath meanders across the lawn, coming to a stop outside French doors to the back of the house, through which two women emerge, carrying laundry baskets. Both are wearing hemp-coloured tunics; one has her hair cut short, the other wears hers long and loose. They begin pegging bright white sheets along a washing line which stretches the full length of the garden. It’s almost hypnotic viewing.

  ‘It’s like something out of a movie,’ Pip murmurs.

  ‘But did you learn anything new?’ Celine asks.

  ‘I did,’ Una says, not reacting to Celine’s abrupt tone as she presses pause on the video. ‘Do you see that, on the right-hand-side of the screen?’ She points to a miniature windmill at the edge of the drive, maybe five feet high, a traditional white stone construction, with a black cap and working sails.

  The sisters nod.

  ‘There was something so familiar about that image, something I couldn’t put my finger on. Anyway, my phone rang at this point, which is why the video ends here. I didn’t want those women catching me stuck in their hedge, so I got moving sharpish.’

  ‘Was it your police friend?’

  ‘Dave Aston, yes. I actually had two conversations with him, one then, and another when I got home and found this.’ With a cryptic smile, she taps the back of the picture.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Una,’ Celine barks, flipping the frame over.

  Pip lets out a hoot, laughing at her sister, but when they see the image behind the glass they fall silent again. It’s postcard-sized, a black and white linocut of a windmill. That very same windmill. Along the foot of the image are the words: Handprinted at Two Cross Farm.

  ‘Where did you find this?’ Celine asks.

  ‘Hanging in the spare bedroom,’ Una replies, raising one eyebrow. ‘The minute I got through the door after my walk, I remembered – I’ve been waking up to this image every morning since I got here. It was on the wall beside the reading lamp.’ She turns it over and unpins the casing, removing the original print and sliding it across the table to Pip. ‘Read it,’ she says.

  Pip reads the message aloud. ‘Dear Mum, I’m sorry I missed you when I visited. Just want you to know I love you and forgive you, Vx.’

  ‘Is it dated?’ Celine asks.

  Una nods. ‘Three months before Vanessa’s death.’

  ‘So, Vanessa was definitely a resident there – just like Robyn?’

  ‘I think this confirms it,’ Una replies, ‘though there’s no way of telling from this exactly when she got there or how long she stayed. It also suggests she never actually got to see Delilah when she came – so your mum was telling the truth when she told the police she hadn’t seen her in the previous year.’ She pauses for a moment, thinking. ‘Either way, this would certainly explain the tattoos. Like that young PC suggested – two crosses for Two Cross Farm.’

  Celine puts her head in her hands; it’s all too much. She thinks about her plan to pack up and go home, but she knows this latest discovery puts paid to that. How can she leave now? And it’s not as though she’s got anything pressing to rush back for in Bournemouth; there’s no partner waiting on the doorstep with open arms, no cat wanting to be fed, no children missing their mummy. Even her boss has made it clear they can do without her, since she’ll be leaving soon anyway. ‘God, Una,’ she says, ‘I don’t think I’m any clearer than I was this morning. What can we do with this information?’

  ‘That’s where DI Aston comes into it.’ Una opens a new tab and starts to dial up a number on FaceTime. ‘I filled him in on Vanessa’s situatio
n and he said he’d go away and do a bit of digging. He’s expecting a call back from me about now.’

  Pip and Celine exchange a concerned glance. ‘Do you want us to leave the room?’ Celine asks. ‘As it’s police talk.’

  ‘No, no, he said he might have a few questions for you.’

  The line connects and the steady-eyed face of a man in his late forties fills the screen. ‘Hello, Una – are we connected?’

  Una adjusts the laptop so all three of them are visible in the small screen reader. ‘Yup. Hello, Dave. I’d like to introduce you to Celine and Pip Murphy – sisters of the young woman I told you about earlier, Vanessa.’

  He bobs his head. ‘Good to meet you both, though I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. And I understand you’re dealing with another bereavement at the moment – my condolences to you both.’

  Celine likes him, trusts him, instantly. ‘Thank you,’ she says.

  ‘So, what did you find out, Dave?’ Una asks.

  Celine’s not sure what the dynamics of their working relationship are, but it’s instantly clear that these two know and respect each other, sharing an easy shorthand which does away with superfluous pleasantries. This comes as a great relief to Celine, who just wants to hear it straight.

  ‘Well – and this is privileged information so it stays within this group – I can tell you that I’ve had Robyn Siegle’s father on the phone from the US this afternoon, who was able to tell me that, since leaving for England a year ago, Robyn had embarked on an intense correspondence with a woman here, at a place called Two Cross Farm.’

  ‘She told her dad all this?’ Una asks.

  ‘Yes. Seems father and daughter were close – spoke on the phone at least once a fortnight, and she’d been fairly open with him, up until three months ago, when she jacked in her job and moved away from her London flat.’

  ‘Was he worried when she lost contact?’ Celine asks.

  ‘Not too much, because she was still dropping him the odd postcard or letter, and her messages were very positive, telling him how she’d settled into the women’s community, and how happy she was. In these letters, she spoke very warmly about this woman called Seed.’

  ‘Seed?’ Pip says. ‘What kind of name is that?’

  ‘A cultish one,’ mutters Celine, and Una nudges her to behave.

  Dave riffles through some papers, before looking up again. ‘Seed – no surname that we can yet establish – is the leader at Two Cross Farm.’

  Beebee wanders into the kitchen and pulls on her mother’s sleeve, causing the image to blur momentarily. ‘Hungry,’ she murmurs.

  Pip closes her eyes and sighs heavily.

  Without a thought, Celine jumps up and leads the little tot to the fridge, where together they find a new block of cheese. She chops a chunk into tiny squares and sends Beebee toddling off again, balancing the bowl between pudgy hands and promising to share with her sister. Thank you, Pip mouths as Celine closes the fridge door.

  ‘Robyn was having a relationship with this Seed woman?’ Celine asks as she returns to her seat.

  ‘Platonic, or something more?’ Una adds.

  ‘We couldn’t say,’ Dave Aston replies. ‘We’ve spoken to Seed via telephone – thankfully, they do actually have a landline – and she maintains Robyn was just another resident, that there was no special relationship, but still, she sounded very edgy.’

  ‘Well, one of her women has just been murdered,’ Una says, ever the voice of balance.

  Dave nods his agreement.

  Celine leans in closer. ‘Dave, do you think Vanessa’s murder might be related to Robyn’s in some way?’

  ‘It’s impossible to say right now, Celine. But with the tattoos, the waterside locations and now Una’s new evidence suggesting Vanessa stayed at Two Cross Farm – my boss reckons if the post-mortem confirms Robyn was definitely murdered, there’s a good argument for revisiting Vanessa’s case while we’re at it.’

  Pip’s expression brightens. ‘Really? You really think they might reopen her murder case?’

  Celine can barely speak. In the fifteen years since Vanessa’s death, and the decade since the police officially scaled back the investigation, they hadn’t dared to allow themselves to think new evidence might turn up like this. ‘I can’t believe this is really happening,’ she says finally.

  ‘Anything you want to ask the girls, Dave?’ Una suggests.

  ‘Yes. I’d like to know if you think Vanessa would have told anyone else exactly where she was heading after she’d left Jem Falmer. Do you think there’s anyone, other than you, who she might have confided in?’

  ‘No one,’ Pip replies. ‘She would’ve told Celine over anyone else – before me or Mum or any of her friends. They were close.’

  Were we? Celine thinks. How can that be true, when Vanessa just went off like that, with barely a goodbye?

  ‘And can you think of any other connections she might have in the area, apart from your mother? Schoolfriends, ex-boyfriends, work colleagues?’

  ‘No one at all,’ Celine says. ‘Jem was her first real boyfriend, and all her schoolfriends are in the Kingston area. The only reason I’d even heard of Arundel is because Delilah – our mother – moved here.’

  There’s a pause while Dave makes a note. ‘What happens next?’ Celine asks, biting down on her thumbnail.

  Beside her, Una reaches out and takes her hand away from her mouth. It’s a small gesture, but one Celine suddenly recalls from her teenage years, when Una helped her to kick her nail-biting habit once and for all. ‘Is there anything you want from us, Dave?’ she asks.

  ‘Not for now,’ he replies. ‘I just need to remind you that this is strictly off the record, and I know it’s going to be hard, but for now you’re just going to have to sit tight. I won’t even consider making an official proposal about Vanessa’s case until the forensic results come back for Robyn Siegle.’

  ‘How long will that take?’ Celine demands. ‘Surely the police need to talk to those women at Two Cross Farm as soon as possible? You need to get in there and ask about Vanessa’s stay back in 2005.’

  ‘Dave’s already made some preliminary enquiries—’ Una starts to protest.

  ‘I have,’ DI Aston agrees. ‘But it’s not straightforward. Already this Seed character is proving tricky, refusing to grant us access to the property without a warrant. And because the victim wasn’t found there, and CCTV in the town places her elsewhere on the night she died, there’s no real grounds for a search warrant. Yet.’

  ‘So, we just wait,’ Pip says, wearily.

  ‘Well—’

  ‘While this Seed woman hides away in her bloody commune, keeping a lid on God knows what information about Vanessa and Robyn!’ Celine throws her hands up as her frustration spills over.

  ‘Let the man speak!’ Una says, slapping Celine’s leg under the table. ‘Tell them about tomorrow, Dave.’

  ‘What’s happening tomorrow?’ Pip asks.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ he says, ‘Seed, the leader of Two Cross Farm, is giving an independent press conference, just down the road from you. There’ll be a police presence, of course, but I’ve asked Una – unofficially – to come along to assess the situation too. Merely as an interested bystander, you understand. And if you two wanted to tag along, there’d be nothing to stop you. It’s a public meeting, after all.’

  Celine’s eyes meet Pip’s. Good old Una. Thank God for her and her police contacts.

  ‘We’re gonna be there, girls,’ Una says as she cuts the connection to Dave Aston and closes her laptop. ‘And we’ll be right in the front row if I’ve got anything to do with it.’

  11. BRAMBLE

  1982, Two Cross Farm

  My love for Seed was so complete, I often found myself wondering what kind of a mother I would have made, if things had worked out differently for me. If I’d ever married. If I’d left home. If I’d had children of my own.

  By the time Seed was five, Two Cross Farm was at full capacity
, with thirty-three women, including the Founding Six. Little Seed was beloved by all, wise beyond her years, funny and playful, hard-working and kind. Already she was showing glimpses of the great leader she would become, and, while this was something which was rarely discussed openly, there was an inherent understanding that this would be her path.

  On the morning that Sandy was banished, Seed had awoken before the dawn bell, as she so often did, dropping down from her own bed and plodding across the small space to mine, to clamber beneath the covers and curl up beside me. As we nestled together like a nut inside its shell, I wished for the bell never to ring, so that we might stay in our warm cocoon for precious moments longer.

  By 6am that wishful thought was a distant memory, and, as was our daily routine, we were seated at the table with our fellow sisters, breaking bread and discussing the day’s plans.

  ‘How are the beehives doing?’ Fern asked Nancy and Buttercup, two recent arrivals who had brought this new skill to the group.

  ‘We should be harvesting first-flow honey in the next few weeks,’ Nancy told her, and Fern continued around the table in this fashion, checking on community progress in all our areas of work.

  ‘How about the gooseberries? Are they ready for jam yet? And the courgettes? Have we got enough wood in, ahead of the autumn months? And what have we got coming out of the art studio, Sandy? Any new greetings cards to add to the market stall?’

  Sandy, the young woman with all those exotic tattoos, had taken over the running of the art studio in the three years since she’d joined us, and her linoprint cards had proved popular at the local market stall Fern ran with Regine each Saturday.

  ‘I’m hoping to run out some new ones today,’ Sandy replied. ‘Of the castle. Thought they might go down well with the tourists.’

  ‘Very good!’ Fern replied. ‘And Seed’s rota says that she’s helping you this morning?’

  Sandy nodded, giving a thumbs-up across the table to Seed, who was sitting to my right dipping toast soldiers into a soft-boiled egg.