‘And if the police do obtain a search warrant?’ the same journalist demands.
Seed obviously doesn’t like her either; she’s asked more questions than anyone else here, and her tone has been the most challenging. She narrows her eyes, zoning in on the woman. ‘If the police impose a warrant on us, so be it – so long as the investigators are female. But if they try to impose a man on us, rest assured we will exercise our own power with the full might of the law. We have a lawyer within our community. We understand our human rights – to the letter – and we will, without hesitation, employ them.’
A murmur erupts, followed by more questions, but it seems Seed is finished. ‘I’d like to take the opportunity to thank you all for coming and hearing what we have to say. We wish the police every success in bringing Robyn’s case to a satisfactory conclusion, and now I ask you to join us in a minute’s silence, in memory of our lost sister.’
Behind her, the bell sounds out a single ring, and Seed bows her head. The crowd falls silent too, many lowering their faces as they follow her lead. When the bell rings again at the end of the minute, Seed is gone, already safely secured on the other side of the gate, her claret form drifting across the lawn towards the grand house, before disappearing behind the front door. Beyond the gates, the women remain motionless until she is gone from view, at which point they form their single-file line again, and retreat through the back of the property.
The crowd breaks apart, many of the news crew sprinting straight to their vehicles to get on the road, to start editing and broadcasting their updates in the Robyn Siegle case. As the lane opens up a little, Una tells Celine she’s going to grab DI Aston before he leaves, and she heads off towards the stage, where he’s being interviewed by a member of the press. The sunset beyond the house is spectacular now, the sky a deep fuchsia pink, and as Celine searches the crowd for her sister there is a sense of dystopia about the place, the image of that moving line of brightly tunic-clad women still sharp in her mind.
‘Auntie Ceecee!’ Olive cries out, colliding with her legs in a running bear hug, winding her momentarily.
‘Ollie-Ollie,’ she replies, quite taken aback by this unexpected show of affection. It dawns on Celine that she hasn’t known these children at all; that she should know these children by now.
When Pip catches up, Celine hugs her. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a crap sister,’ she finds herself saying, and she reaches down for Beebee, to run a hand over her silky little head. She’s close to tears, and she doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. This isn’t what she’s like.
Pip scowls, perplexed or worried, it’s hard to tell. ‘God, Celine – you’ve been anything but crap. Will you just stop it? Celine?’
‘Ignore me,’ she says with conviction, and Pip rubs her arm and points in the direction of the stage, where Una is now deep in conversation with the detective. They head over, turning a blind eye to Olive and Beebee who immediately clamber over the empty stage, running up and down the steps and stomping across the boards like pygmy goats.
‘Ah, here they are,’ Una says, extending an arm. ‘My surrogate nieces, Celine and Pip. DI Dave Aston of Sussex Police – this time in the flesh.’
He is stocky, not much taller than Celine, with a strong handshake, his steady blue-eyed gaze more arresting in real life than it was on screen. ‘Are you local?’ he asks.
‘Celine lives in Bournemouth now,’ Una says, answering for them, ‘and Pip’s still my next-door neighbour in Kingston.’
‘Lucky you.’ Dave Aston smiles. Then he inclines his head towards the empty stage and asks, ‘So tell me, what did you make of that?’
‘I’m guessing for many it was a media dream,’ Celine replies. ‘There’s nothing more likely to whet the news-makers’ appetites than talk of cults and murder.’
Dave nods. ‘Remind me: you arrived on Monday afternoon, Celine, and my officers visited you all on Tuesday?’
‘Yes, they came the morning after the body was found.’ There’s something about that phrase that so saddens Celine, that so echoes with the namelessness that Seed alluded to just minutes earlier, that she immediately corrects herself. ‘After Robyn Siegle was found.’
‘Horrible timing. Particularly given your recent …’ Dave Aston struggles for words. ‘Once again, my sympathies.’
Celine and Pip smile, closed-mouthed, still unaccustomed to speaking about their mother’s death outside of their tight unit. My sympathies. The expression is unbearable, so inadequate.
‘What do you think our chances are of reopening Vanessa’s case?’ Celine asks, jumping at the opportunity to ask him straight.
‘I don’t know, Celine. What I’d really like is to track down some of her friends from that time. Can you have another think about it, both of you, see if you can’t come up with a few names for me? At the moment, we’re working with very little information, and if I’m going to put together a proposal I need something more.’
‘Thanks,’ she says, exchanging a nod of agreement with Pip.
Una clears her throat, deftly shifting direction. ‘I only discovered you’d been transferred to Sussex when I called the Yard, Dave. Congratulations on your promotion, mate, well deserved.’ She turns to the sisters. ‘Dave was one of my first juniors when I was made up at Scotland Yard. A long time back. As you can tell, he’s a bigger cheese now.’
‘I learnt a lot from Una here,’ he smiles. ‘To be honest, I learnt more from Una in five years than I had in the ten years previous. She was the one who put me forward for my first big promotion.’
‘Dave was just telling me a little bit about Two Cross Farm,’ Una says. ‘Apparently this lot aren’t all that popular around here.’
‘It’s the “cult” thing,’ he replies. ‘She’s right, Seed is – people are suspicious, and I get it, but I also understand the women’s desire for privacy.’ Now he lowers his voice and leans in a little. ‘To be honest, Una, we’re desperate to get in there to interview the other women and take a look around, but Seed’s running rings around us. You know she’s got it covered in-house? As she said, one of the women in the community is a hotshot lawyer. They might look like members of a hippy commune but they’re as sharp as tacks, and I know she’s not bluffing when she says she’ll sue.’
Beebee jumps from the platform and lands badly. ‘Ah-fuck-it!’ she curses, grabbing at her ankle and rolling around with her knee up by her ear.
‘Beebee said fuckit!’ Olive shouts from the stage, before clamping a hand to her mouth, wide-eyed.
Pip starts to protest – ‘I can’t believe she just – they never normally—’ but gives up when she sees the others stifling their laughter. ‘I think it’s time I got these potty-mouths back home, don’t you, Celine? They’ll be getting hungry.’ She scoops up Beebee, as Celine gives Olive a hand down. ‘You coming, Una?’
‘I was thinking of asking DI Aston here if he’s got time for a quick pint,’ she says, thrusting her hands into her jacket pocket, looking every bit the boss.
Aston checks his watch and nods, clearly needing no persuasion. ‘The lads can finish up here. The Eagle?’
‘Sounds good to me. Save me some supper!’ Una calls over her shoulder, already striding towards Dave’s car.
Leaving Two Cross Farm behind them, the sisters turn towards home.
‘So, I saw you and Harry the gardener getting chummy earlier,’ Celine teases her sister. ‘Not bad-looking, is he?’
Pip elbows her and swears under her breath. ‘Not every man is a potential conquest, you know!’
‘Ha! As if I’ve ever conquered any!’ Celine replies, laughing, and Pip can’t disagree.
As they walk, Celine is playing over the image of those women behind the railings of the security gate. They appeared so tranquil and compliant, devoted to Seed, yet entirely self-contained and confident.
‘There’s something not right about that woman,’ Pip says, breaking her sister’s thoughts. ‘Seed.’
‘Like what?’ Celine replies. �
��I mean, I know the tunics and bell-ringing was all a bit odd, but she seemed pretty genuine to me.’
‘I dunno. There’s something off, aside from how strange she looked in all those robes and scarves. And what was that discoloration on her face? Looked like burns to me.’ After a pause, she continues. ‘Maybe she’s just too convincing? Too calm and assured? Shouldn’t she be in a complete panic right now, after one of her women has just been found dead on the riverbank? If I were her, I’d be worried for the safety of the others, wouldn’t you? She’s a bit of a robot, if you ask me.’
Celine’s been called the same in the past. ‘I don’t agree. She’s good at talking, that’s for sure, and she’s good at holding it all together, but that doesn’t make her a robot. You saw how upset she seemed when she first mentioned Robyn’s name.’
Pip kicks a stone along the path, the way Celine remembers her doing as a sulky child. ‘Do you reckon she was the leader when Vanessa stayed there?’
‘Custodian,’ Celine corrects her. ‘I don’t know, Pip. It’s a long time ago. I’d guess Seed isn’t all that much older than me, so it’s unlikely.’
‘It took everything in my power to stop from calling her out on it. To ask her if she remembers Vanessa.’
‘Thank God you didn’t, Pip. If Seed does know anything about Vanessa, the last thing we need is you giving her the heads-up on it before the police are ready to reopen the case. You heard the DI yesterday – our best bet right now is to keep a low profile, and wait for Robyn Siegle’s post-mortem results to come in. And you never know what Una’s going to come back with after her meeting with Dave.’
The entrance to Belle France comes into view and the girls sprint on ahead, disappearing up the drive. They seem entirely at home here and it strikes Celine how sad it is that they never knew Delilah, never got to enjoy this place as beloved grandchildren, because they were never invited.
As they step on to the gravel, Pip halts, holding Celine back. ‘I’m telling you, Celine, that place has to have something to do with Vanessa’s death. If only we could get inside and talk to some of those women … I know the police always believed it was Jem Falmer who killed Vanessa – as have we – but there’s a bigger story here, I’m certain. I know it’s a massive coincidence us being here when this happened to Robyn Siegle, but sometimes the stars align – fate or chance or whatever you want to call it – sometimes we’re in the places we’re meant to be for a good reason.’
Celine blinks back at her little sister, seeing her as a real grown-up for perhaps the first time in her life. ‘And what is that reason, Pip?’
‘We’re going to find out what happened to Vanessa, sis. Now that Mum’s not around, there’s nothing stopping us from opening up that old box of hurt, is there? I’m up for it. I’m tough enough, whatever pain it brings. Are you?’
For a moment, Celine cannot answer. She turns towards the house, so similar to Two Cross Farm in its layout and aspect. The pink glow of the sky has deepened to an inky crimson, making bold silhouettes of Olive and Beebee as they chase each other across the far lawn. Celine is transported back in time; she could be looking at Vanessa and Pip, so familiar are their movements.
‘Celine?’ Pip urges.
‘Of course I’m up for it,’ she replies, turning resolute eyes on her sister. ‘And you’re right, Pip. One way or another, we’ve got to get inside that place.’
13. BRAMBLE
1991, Two Cross Farm
The teenage years are difficult, so they say, and for Seed, with her various complications, it was a particularly turbulent time.
There were changes she was going through that she couldn’t understand, even despised, and by her early teens, plagued by adolescent acne and growing like a weed, she had started to disappear inside herself. Where we had once been so close, she began to reject my affection, to resent my concern and to bristle at the very sound of my voice. She toiled as diligently as ever, but there was a new detachment to her which unsettled the other women, and, instead of looking forward to the rota days when they would be paired with Seed for work, they came to dread her sullen darkness.
One winter night, soon after Seed had passed her fourteenth birthday, we lay in the single beds of our little twin room, separated by just a small side table and lamp, following an afternoon in which she’d walked out on Fern as she’d tutored her in the art of numerology. While I knew Seed’s rage wasn’t restricted to me, I was the one who felt the most direct force of it, being in such close proximity to her, the one who had raised her as a mother might. Across the room, I could hear her shallow breathing in the darkness, and I yearned to look inside her heart, to try to understand what I could do to take away her pain.
‘Seed?’ I whispered, trying again to open up the conversation with her. ‘Are you all right?’
The pattern of her breathing altered, but her silence did not.
‘It’s just that, well, I want you to know you can always talk to me,’ I said. ‘You do know that, don’t you? Seed?’
She shifted in her bed, and I could tell she’d turned her back to me.
‘How are your sessions with Sister Kathy going?’ I hated to probe like this, but I was increasingly scared that I was losing her. Her weekly sessions in Dr Kathy’s clinic room had begun just after her thirteenth birthday – talking therapy, Fern called it – and I was starting to wonder if Seed’s growing distance from me was in some way related to the time she spent there. ‘Are you finding it useful talking to her? Maybe you could tell me some of the things you tell her? What did you talk about today?’
‘I’m different,’ Seed said quietly.
‘Of course you’re not, my darling! Oh, you know it’s normal for teenagers to feel this way – we’ve all felt like outsiders at some time in our lives. I know my own teenage years were terrible,’ I said, although, of course, my own troubles couldn’t have been more different from Seed’s.
‘It’s not the same. You didn’t grow up in here. You’re not me,’ she growled, turning to face me in the darkness so that her voice grew clearer. ‘You don’t know what goes on inside my head. I’m nothing like the rest of you. I’ve never been outside of here, never met another person my own age. Never been alone.’
I didn’t know how to answer her, because she was right. I didn’t know what went on inside her head. And she was different from the rest of us, that much was becoming increasingly obvious, with each passing day and each new battle.
‘Is there anything I can do to make you happy?’ I whispered.
For long seconds, we lay in the darkness, neither of us speaking, as all the while I felt like a woman standing on the precipice of a great mountain, looking down.
‘My own room,’ she finally replied, her voice cracking. ‘I’d like my own room.’
Of course! With relief, and, I admit, some sadness, I inwardly berated myself for my naïve stupidity. It was only natural, wasn’t it? She needed her own space more than anyone in this community. Everyone else who came here had experienced the privilege of privacy at some point in their lives before Two Cross Farm, but Seed had known nothing but company. The child needed some space. She didn’t want to be sharing a room with dusty old Bramble, did she?
The following day the request was put to the Founding Sisters, but, after a short but heated debate which led to a 3-2 result, it was rejected on the grounds that all women were equal. Fern wouldn’t hear of a sister taking a room of her own, no matter who or what the circumstances. When Seed was called back to the office and received the verdict, she remained silent, her unblinking stare betraying her fury. With a chop-chop clap of Fern’s hands we were dismissed to go about our work, and Seed silently complied, going down ahead of us to return outside to continue helping Francine with the task of clearing the autumn leaves and branch-fall.
Anxious at Seed’s lack of response, I watched the activity in the garden from the top window, where the views stretched across the lawns, out to the greenhouses, to the wood store and art studio,
and further, past the high hedge to the river and wetlands beyond. It was an icy morning, and the sisters were going about their various tasks swaddled in heavy coats and hats, gloves protecting their fingers from frostbite. There’d been a storm some days earlier and as Francine stoked the bonfire, built high with broken branches and garden debris, Seed did the rounds of the work groups, collecting up natural fodder to add to the pile. From my window, I followed her movements as she swept out the wood store, casting log dust and rat droppings on to the pyre. I saw her talking with Rose and Goldie at the potato plot, before collecting up an armful of rotten canes and dried husks, and I watched as she crossed between the largest raised beds and dropped the bundle on to the burning stack.
And then, I bore witness as she turned her face to me at my high window, and raised one arm in a wide cheerful wave, before she plunged herself into the fire, and was consumed by its flames.
14. CELINE
Present day
When Celine and Pip get home from the press conference at Two Cross Farm, they sit down together to draw up a list of Vanessa’s friends, in a bid to provide something more for Dave Aston to work on.
The list, they discover, is pitifully poor.
‘Surely she had more friends than that?’ Pip says, searching through the kitchen cupboards for ingredients to make a pasta bake. ‘She was really popular at school.’
Celine has a sudden inexplicable urge for a cigarette, something she hasn’t felt in the ten years since she gave up. ‘She pretty much dropped everyone once she took up with Jem, didn’t she? Including us.’ She stares at the three names on the scrap of paper in her hands. ‘And to be honest, Pip, two of these are girls I know for certain she hadn’t seen since she left sixth form. Which just leaves Georgie.’
Pip is weighing out dried pasta, frowning hard. ‘They couldn’t get hold of Georgie before, when it happened. The police – do you remember? I think she’d gone off travelling or something. Do you want to see if you can track her down and give her a call, or shall I? You knew her better.’
33 Women: A gripping new thriller about the power of women, and the lengths they will go to when pushed... Page 9