‘Sod off!’
Morvoren catches up to Elowen, grabs her elbow, makes her stop. ‘Look, all I can say is I’m sorry for what I said about you. It was wrong. But if you tell anyone, you’ll be the one who’s sorry!’
Elowen smiles and her cut lip oozes fresh blood onto her chin. ‘I’m already sorry. Sorry I was ever friends with a complete maniac.’ She shakes her arm free and continues on her way.
Morvoren watches Elowen hurry down the hill, until she climbs over the five-bar gate and becomes just a suggestion on the distant country road. Then despair snakes its arms tight around her chest, grows too heavy to bear. She sinks to the grass and lies flat, looking at the turbulent clouds gathering overhead. Swirls of grey, white and charcoal buffet together, tormented by a merciless wind. Merciless. Merciless gossip will be the wind to her dark clouds before the day is out. How will she hold her head up in church, the market, anywhere? What will her parents say? She’ll bring shame on them. Humiliation.
A river of tears escapes from the corners of her eyes and roll down her cheeks onto her battered face, the salt in them making her wince as it seeps into the many cuts and grazes. Damn Elowen to fucking hell! How dare she take her life, her love, and rip it up into tiny pieces – scatter it around the village for all to see. She won’t get away with it. Will not. One way or another, Morvoren will make her pay.
Chapter 15
It’s three o’clock before the police show up. Matt looks through the kitchen window just as the car door opens… Oh joy, it’s PC David Cross. Unaccompanied this time – no female officer. Certainly no detective with him. Great. His case is obviously a high priority then. Matt opens the door before Cross can ring the bell, ushers him inside and offers tea, which is accepted.
The officer parks his behind on a kitchen chair, puts his hat on the table and takes out his notebook. ‘Not having much luck since you moved here, eh, Mr Trevelyar?’
‘You could say that.’ Matt tells him about the vandalising of his car too.
‘Hmm. That was a bad move, not calling us about that. You needed a crime number, so you could have–’
‘Yes, I know. I have been really stupid. I just didn’t want the hassle of it all… There was no way the culprit would have been caught anyway. I need to get CCTV set up.’
‘Might be an idea, yes. Especially in the light of this unfortunate incident.’
Matt nearly laughs in his face. Unfortunate incident? How about total fucking tragedy? ‘Do you think they’ll try something else?’
‘Hard to say. Now let’s go through what you said on the phone.’ Cross checks the story about everything that happened – it doesn’t take long.
‘Have you spoken to Lavender Nancarrow yet?’ Matt asks.
‘I have. She says you went round for dinner, left about ten… and as far as she knew, you seemed pretty sober.’
‘As far as she knew? Surely it was obvious – I only had one glass of wine. Well, and that stuff she gave me.’
‘She said you had non-alcoholic wine.’
‘Yes. But I reckon she put something in it.’
‘Yes, Ms Nancarrow mentioned that you’d spoke on the phone, said you said she’d drugged you.’ Cross narrows his eyes. ‘That’s quite an accusation, Mr Trevelyar.’
‘But that’s the most logical explanation. Her grandmother will have roped her in because she’s carrying on some ancient bloody feud, and she’s still fuming about my gran stealing her bloke. I mean, can you see me driving from Lavender’s house, stopping off in the village, necking a bottle of whisky, meeting a woman and then getting it on with her in my car? Where would I have got the whisky from and met a woman at that time of night?’
Cross purses his lips and shrugs. ‘You could have already bought the whisky and met the woman before last night… arranged to meet her after you’d left Lavender’s. It’s possible…’
‘Possible, but not true.’ Matt can feel the heat of his temper rising along his neck. ‘I never drink whisky, and when I woke this morning in the car I felt completely weird. Like when you wake from an operation, you know?’
‘Can’t say as I do, never having had one… but I take your meaning.’
‘And I’d never risk my job like that. It’s not just a job, it’s a vocation. Or was…’ Matt rests his head in his hands.
‘You’ve been suspended, I expect?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hmm.’ Cross scribbles in a notepad for a few minutes then raises his head, looks closely at Matt. ‘Have you washed since the incident happened?’
‘Yes, I had a shower. I felt filthy. I’d been sick… just didn’t think…’
‘Ah. That’s washed away any crucial evidence that might have been present then.’
No shit Sherlock. ‘I know. I do have my clothes bagged up though – they’re not washed.’
‘Okay. That’s a start. How about the car? Is it still down by the newsagents?’
Matt sighs. ‘No. Betty’s husband brought it up here.’
‘Right…’
‘Can’t you do me a blood test? See if there’s some weird shit in my system?’
The officer frowns. ‘It is quite a few hours now since the incident… It would be doubtful we’d find anything.’
‘Well if you’d come this bloody morning I might have stood a chance!’
Cross pulls his neck back, his expression matching his name. ‘No need to get angry, Mr Trevelyar. We have to prioritise the most serious incidents, what with the cuts and all.’
‘This isn’t seen as serious?’ Matt’s incredulous.
‘It is to you, of course. But there hasn’t been a crime committed, has there?’
‘No crime? I was drugged, stripped and left in my car with lipstick all over me. That’s not a crime?’
‘But we only have your say so on that. You weren’t sexually violated at all, were you? Or beaten. If you were, it would be a different matter.’
‘So you’re telling me because I wasn’t raped or beaten up, you’re going to just do nothing?’
‘No, Mr Trevelyar. I’m telling you that it isn’t as high a priority as it could be. I’ll ask you to make a statement, and then I’ll see what my superior officer is prepared to do, given what we have to go on.’
‘Which will be my statement, Lavender’s statement and my clothes.’
‘Um… yes. Unless I can get them to authorise a blood test.’
‘Doubtful though, hmm?’ Matt says in a sarcastic manner.
Cross just taps his pencil and looks thoughtful. ‘There might be the possibility of trying to catch your car being driven from Ms Nancarrow’s on CCTV.’
Matt’s hopes rise. ‘Yes, I wondered about that. There’s also my phone and wallet, which were on the back seat on top of my clothes. Betty brought them in from the car, but if we rule her fingerprints out, and mine of course, there might be some that belong to whoever did this. Lavender most probably.’
‘It’s worth a try. I’ll put them in an evidence bag and take them into the station.’ Cross finishes his tea while Matt writes his statement and then he puts his notebook away. ‘I’ll be in touch, Mr Trevelyar. And for what it’s worth, I am very sorry you’ve ended up in this awful predicament.’
‘Thanks. So am I. If we can’t prove any of this, I can’t see my teaching career resuming any time soon.’
‘Let’s hope it all blows over in time.’ Cross looks about as convinced of that as Matt is. At the door he turns and says, ‘I’ll ring you soon to tell you to come into the station if we’re going to do the bloods. Bye for now.’
Matt watches him drive away and in his heart of hearts knows there will be no phone call. He knows the force is stretched – he reads the news, knows what they’re up against. Funds are directed at murder, rape, theft… serious crime. There’s certainly no money for stupid men who get themselves into ridiculous situations.
The next three days are some of the worst Matt can remember, barring his wife’s last few weeks of life.
He stays inside, orders takeaways, watches endless TV to try and block out what’s happened. Deborah phones once to ask if there’s been an update, but there hasn’t been. PC Cross hadn’t phoned back, as Matt knew he wouldn’t. He did say he’d be in touch by the end of the week though. The end of the week is tomorrow.
Matt flops down on the sofa and searches for the remote. Netflix might have a film that’s worth a look. The TV goes on but he can’t see the screen properly because the sun’s angling in through the window. About to close the curtains, he stops, lets his hand fall. It’s eleven o’clock in the morning on a lovely September day. Why is he hiding away as if he’s the one who’s done something wrong? The more he hides, the more people will assume he’s guilty. Matt ought to be walking the cliff paths, taking in the salt air and planning his next move, not skulking inside like a prisoner in his own home.
Ten minutes later, he steps out onto the gravel drive, rucksack containing biscuits and a flask of coffee on his back, and stout walking shoes on his feet. A jackdaw swoops onto a nearby wall and has a heated argument with a ginger cat. The cat wins and the jackdaw flies off over the fields. Perhaps he ought to go into the village and have a heated conversation with Ms Nancarrow? She’s the key to the truth, he’s sure of it. But who would be the jackdaw in that scenario? Him probably, especially if a customer came in. Everyone would have seen him on social media by now, and Matt would be the evil schoolteacher terrorising poor little Lavender.
As he nears the village, Matt keeps his head down and quickens his pace. His best bet is to hurry through and get onto the cliff path as soon as he can. The last thing he wants are any snide remarks from people, or worse. He shudders when he remembers some of the comments on Twitter about what needs doing to him. Probably idle threats, but who knows? As he passes the baker’s shop he feels a thump on the back of his head and something hot slips down his neck and inside his hood. Grabbing at it, he turns just in time to receive a sausage roll square in the face. He wipes the greasy pastry from his nose and cheeks and looks at what’s in his hand – half a pasty.
‘Shame it’s not a brick, you prick!’ a young man dressed in a safety vest and overalls yells. A gang of similarly dressed men howl with laughter and one hurls a half-eaten bread roll which lands at Matt’s feet. A plump woman comes out of the shop, trying to calm the situation. And though his fight is trying to take over the flight instinct, Matt grabs the opportunity to hurry on. There’s no way he wants to be photographed fighting in the street. That would be the living end.
At last on the cliff path, he realises he’s shaking. It’s not with fear, but fury and a sense of terrible injustice. Fucking Lavender and Morvoren – they have to answer for this. But how? Matt sets off at a brisk pace, focussing on his feet stomping along the rocky path, blood pumping in his ears and murderous thoughts in his head. The stiff offshore breeze is blowing in from the choppy ocean to his right, but the sun’s unseasonably warm and takes the chill from it. Soon his gut and fists start to unclench, and he stops to take in his surroundings.
A seagull or two hover as if on invisible strings over an azure and turquoise ocean, tipping their wings occasionally to adjust their bodies to the breeze. Far below, a spit of a yellow beach is beset by huge rollers rushing in and smashing against the majestic ancient rocks. The force of the waves is so hard Matt can feel the vibration in his legs. He steps closer to the edge, and just for one moment imagines what it would feel like to push Lavender off into the water. She wouldn’t last long, especially if she smashed her head on the black jagged rocks on the way down. Then he shakes the image away. What is he becoming?
Matt takes the back roads home as much as he can through the village, his hood up, head down. Luckily no one spots him, or if they do, they don’t say anything.
Once inside he sticks the kettle on and then his phone rings. He doesn’t know the number.
‘Mr Trevelyar? It’s PC Cross here.’
Matt’s heart lifts. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m just calling to say I’m afraid the CCTV cameras haven’t caught your car at all. Whoever drove back from Ms Nancarrow’s must have used only the back roads.’
Matt’s heart sinks. ‘Hmm. Someone who knows the place like the back of their hands.’ Their webbed hands.
‘Probably…’
‘Definitely.’ Matt sighs. ‘So that’s it then? What about my wallet and phone? My clothes?’
‘Nothing. The only prints on those were yours and Betty’s. Nothing on the clothes apart from lipstick. No hairs, nothing.’
‘Okay… well, I’m sunk then.’
‘I hope not, Mr Trevelyar. People have short memories, and it will blow over eventually…’
‘I know you’re trying to be nice, PC Cross, but you know as well as I do I won’t work in my school again. Maybe not in any school.’
‘Again, I hope that’s not the case. Sorry we couldn’t have done more.’
Matt ends the call and puts the kettle on again. He doesn’t know why, because he doesn’t want tea. He doesn’t want anything apart from his job back… his life back. He’ll have to phone Deborah and tell her the latest, such as it is. And then what? That would depend on what she says. He expects she’ll have to consult with the governors. Therefore, his fate depends on a few parents, local dignitaries and a pompous ex-headmaster. His chances? Slim to none.
Absently sipping his tea, he decides that once he’s spoken to Deborah, he’ll head back to London for a bit – see his parents, his grandparents. They know nothing of his news. They’ll be so upset… but maybe Elowen might have an idea about Morvoren. What her weak spots are. From the depths of despair and darkness he needs to find his fighting spirit, pull it up into the light. He needs to prove he isn’t some drunk womaniser, needs to show he’s fit to teach. Okay, given the strength of local feeling against him, maybe not in this village, but somewhere. Matt knows the only way he’ll achieve his aim is to expose the real culprits. He also knows that will be easier said than done.
Chapter 16
Lavender’s being spoiled with a lavish afternoon tea – her reward for such a successful mission. Gran’s fussing over her like an old hen, can’t do enough for her. ‘Now, my love. Are you sure you don’t want more cake? Annie’s baked it specially for you. She’s so proud of you for driving that evil man out of the village. Shame we can’t tell everyone here what you did, but at least we know, eh?’
‘You helped too, Gran… and Jamie.’ Lavender picks up her second piece of chocolate cake and takes a bite. The fact that Jamie appeared that night as if by magic has really bothered her. Gran organised it without telling Lavender, which was a bit sneaky. She doesn’t trust him. The more people who know about all this, the more chance it has of leaking out.
‘I didn’t do much, and Jamie only stripped him, helped get him to the car. You did the rest – bloody genius with herbs you are.’
‘I’m not bad.’
‘Not bad? You’re the best!’
Lavender smiles at her gran’s obvious pride in her granddaughter. ‘Maybe. The thing is, how can we be sure he’s gone for good?’
Gran’s bushy brows knit together, and she pours more tea. ‘We can’t be absolutely sure. But my source says he’s gone back to London. He’s not going to be teaching at the school for the foreseeable, that’s for sure. Don’t know if it’s permanent, but it bloody well ought to be. The villagers won’t have it. Not after what he did.’
‘Except he didn’t do anything, did he?’ Lavender says. ‘We did.’ She raises an eyebrow at her gran.
‘No.’ Gran points a fork at her. ‘But don’t forget what he did to those young girls in London, and his poor wife.’
‘I’m just saying. And I haven’t forgotten, that’s why I agreed to it all in the first place.’
They eat their cake in companionable silence for a while, then Gran says, ‘What do you think about young Jamie?’ Gran’s tone is evasive, false. It makes Lavender feel uncomfortable.
‘In what way?�
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‘He’s handsome, isn’t he?’ Gran’s eyes shift about the room like anxious butterflies, finally settling on Lavender’s face for a few seconds, and then down to her plate again.
‘I guess so. Why?’
‘He’s set to inherit the business too.’
‘And?’ Lavender’s getting more worried now.
‘And he’d be a good match for you. Annie says he’s besotted.’ Gran’s butterflies become bolder, stay focussed.
‘A match? What century are we in? And I don’t want a man, thanks. I’m happy as I am.’
‘You’re going on for twenty-six! You need to start thinking about settling down, having children. We need to carry on the Penhallow line.’ Gran sits back, folds her arms.
Lavender can hardly believe what she’s hearing. ‘Settling down? I don’t want to bloody settle down… and Penhallow? Not sure if you’ve noticed, Gran, but my surname is Nancarrow.’
‘Yes, but you’re a Penhallow right enough. It’s in your blood.’ Gran slurps her tea and sighs, looks into Lavender’s eyes and says, ‘I can see why you’d be a bit worried about settling down. I know you’ve only been out with a few men and because of what happened when you were a kid, it didn’t last. But Jamie will take that into consideration… Annie’s had a talk to him about it and–’
Lavender almost chokes on the cake. ‘She did what!’
‘Now don’t get upset.’ Gran holds her hands up. ‘The lad has to know what he’s getting into.’
‘Getting into?’ Lavender thumps her fist on the table. ‘There is no way I’m going to be romantically involved with Jamie. NO WAY! Do you hear me?’
‘But he’s in love with you.’ Gran’s voice, on the surface, is soft, pleading, but Lavender detects steel running underneath.
‘I don’t care if he were to show up here with a million pounds in a gold carriage and propose. I’m not interested.’ Lavender takes a calming breath, looks Gran directly in the eyes. ‘And that’s the end of it, okay?’
‘Not sure he will see it that way.’ Gran sniffs, folds her arms.
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