Traces of Her

by Amanda Brittany

  ‘He’s probably ill, Mum. Maybe the shock of being released has caused his heart to explode. I think it’s a waste of time, is all.’

  I glance across at her. Her eyes are fixed on the passing countryside. She’s hated hospitals since she had her appendix out two years ago, maybe it’s that that’s making her so negative. ‘I’m sure going to Newquay won’t be a waste of time. We may even find Willow.’

  ‘She could be anywhere, Mum. Newquay is a pretty big place, and we don’t really believe she’s there anyway, do we?’

  ‘No, I suppose not. But I thought we might visit Willow’s grandmother too.’

  ‘And you think she can help us find Willow? Why? Inspector Jones said Willow learned nothing from her mother, remember?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Becky, I thought you wanted to be supportive, be here with me.’ My voice is rising, I take a breath, try for calm. Perhaps she’s afraid. ‘Have you got any better ideas?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well then, we’ll go to the hospital, and to Green Pastures too, OK?’

  She looks at me. ‘OK,’ she says. ‘Mother knows best.’

  ‘That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all day,’ I say trying to squash the tension, and she cracks a smile.

  Chapter 37

  ROSE

  Now

  Green Pastures is easy enough to find with the help of the satnav, and once we’re there, I pull into an allotted visitor bay and kill the engine.

  We get out of the car, and head for the entrance. It’s a heavy door, with a security lock. We either need a fob key, or the number of Jeannette Millar’s apartment. We have neither.

  ‘Told you. Waste of time,’ Becky reminds me, folding her arms. I ignore her and, blocking out the sun with my hand, I peer in.

  ‘There’s nobody about,’ I say.

  ‘Old people sleep most of the time,’ she says. ‘Or watch murder mysteries. Although many of their species can be seen on cruises and coach trips.’

  ‘Stop stereotyping the elderly, Becky. You’ll be old yourself one day. I’ll have you know, your great-grandfather worked until he was eighty, and I only read the other day about a woman of ninety running a marathon.’

  ‘I was only joking,’ she says. ‘I like old people.’

  ‘Well, Jeannette Millar isn’t exactly old – she’s only in her early seventies.’

  She’s doing a Becky-eye-roll, when a smiling elderly man with a stick, looking smart in a purple polo shirt and cream chinos, appears. ‘Can I help you young ladies?’

  ‘Ooh, I hope so,’ I say. ‘We’re looking for Jeannette Millar.’

  ‘Number fifty-two.’ He places his fob on the door entry pad. ‘Come in,’ he says as the door slowly opens. ‘I’ll take you there.’

  We follow him down two carpeted corridors, all beautifully decorated, with flowers on display, until we come to number fifty-two.

  He taps on the door, and after a few moments he leans in closer to the door. ‘Jeannette! It’s me, Godfrey Marsden from number nine.’

  The door opens and a frail woman in a floral sweatshirt over black leggings, stands in front of us, looking older than her seventy years.

  ‘You have visitors, my love,’ the man – Godfrey – says with enthusiasm, pointing to us like we’re contestants on a game show.

  She narrows her eyes as she looks our way, and Becky steps behind me, as if the woman may shoot us, or batter us with insults.

  ‘I don’t want visitors, Godfrey,’ Jeannette says, and goes to close the door.

  ‘My name is Rose,’ I say in a rush, placing my hand on the door. ‘I’m Willow’s stepsister.’

  ‘Willow?’

  ‘Yes. Could we speak to you for a moment? We won’t keep you long.’

  She opens the door, and steps back. As we enter, I thank Godfrey, who heads towards the IT suite.

  ‘No problem at all,’ he says, with a flurry of fingers. ‘You girls have fun.’ I’m instantly reminded of Dad.

  ‘Whoa!’ Becky says, as Jeannette leads us into her lounge. ‘She’s got all the radiators on. It’s like a sauna in here.’

  ‘Shh!’ I say, hoping Jeannette didn’t hear.

  ‘You’ll feel the cold when you’re my age too, young lady,’ Jeannette says, thumping down onto a squishy sofa, and I wonder if she’s any idea that it’s twenty-five degrees outside.

  As I perch on the edge of an armchair, and Becky crouches at my feet leaning against my legs, I study the place. It’s small and clean, the walls are cream, with vertical blinds at the window. A TV screen is frozen on John Nettles. Jeannette Millar shares the sofa with piles of books, magazines, and crossword puzzles. I notice a necklace around her neck with the word ‘Mummy’ on it.

  ‘I’ll tell you what I told her,’ she says, before I can say anything.

  ‘Willow?’

  ‘Yes. She came round here asking questions about the past. I didn’t want to be reminded. I lost two daughters on the same night, and my son took off back to Australia. I’d never felt so alone.’

  ‘And Willow?’

  ‘I could barely look after myself through such an awful time, letting Willow go was the kindest thing I could do for the child. That’s what I tell myself daily.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, my eyes leaving her creased face, and taking in the photographs on a display cabinet. There’s no doubt they are her family when they were young – a boy, two girls – and there’s one of Willow as a child, a Fisher Price phone pressed to her ear.

  Jeannette caresses her dry lips. ‘At the time, I thought things were getting better. Peter was back. We’d made our peace. He’s doing well now, you know. Owns his own plumbing company in Australia.’ She glances about her. ‘He paid for this place. Bought it for me.’

  I widen my eyes. ‘That’s very generous.’

  She rests her head against the back of the sofa. ‘I signed over the cottage to him, hoped he might come back and stay with me sometimes, bring his family. He never did. A few years ago he suggested I move here, so he could rent the cottage out as a holiday let. A man in the village does all the admin work for him.’

  ‘Peter owns Ocean View Cottage?’ I say.

  She nods. ‘It’s worked out well. I’m happy here. Well, as happy as I’ll ever be.’ A tear rolls down her cheek. ‘I never believed my Gail killed her sister and took her own life. I know she was angry that night, and someone saw her take the cake knife, but I don’t think she had it in her, not to kill her own sister.’ She pauses for a moment. ‘They never found Gail’s body, you know. I still dream she will turn up one day – walk through that door. Foolish, I know.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  She looks out through the window at a well-maintained communal garden.

  ‘It was the worst day of my life when they asked me to identify Ava’s body. I went with Rory, and as he walked into the room where she lay under a sheet, I stood in the doorway, unable to move.’ She pressed her hand against her chest, covering the necklace, breathing deeply. “I’ll do it,’” Rory said, and

  I rushed from the room, thousands of things I should have said to her when she was alive buzzing around my head, like wasps about to sting me over and over and over.’ She buries her head in her hands for a moment, before looking up once more. ‘From the corridor I heard Rory say, “It’s her” and I knew at that moment I would never be the same again.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, tears in my eyes. ‘Would you like us to leave?’

  She looks over at us and dashes a tear from her face with the cuff of her sweatshirt. ‘Give me a moment,’ she says, breathing deeply.

  Becky looks up at me, her eyes watery too, and gives a little shrug.

  ‘A lad had been hanging about,’ Jeannette begins again. ‘Always wore a yellow baseball cap pulled low so I couldn’t see his face. I saw him before Ava was raped.’

  ‘Ava was raped?’ I say, unable to keep the shock from my voice, and Becky takes my hand. ‘We didn’t know.’r />
  ‘Yes,’ Jeannette says. ‘A couple of months before she was murdered.’ She looks down at her hands again. ‘I wish I’d handled it differently.’

  After a long silence, I ask, ‘Do you think this man in the yellow cap could have been Ava’s killer?’ My mind drifts to Isaac – and away again; he’s far too young.

  ‘He hung about a lot,’ she said. ‘Never close enough to get a decent look at him. I took a photograph of him from the window once, but when I showed it to Gareth Jones he said it wasn’t clear enough to work with. I gave it to Willow when she visited.’

  I rummage in my bag, and bring out the unclear photo, and show it to her. ‘Is this it?’

  She nods, grabs a tissue from a box on the table in front of her, and dabs her eyes. ‘I believe now he was stalking Ava or perhaps Gail. I should have done more.’

  ‘You did your best,’ I say, basing it on nothing.

  ‘No, no I didn’t, I’m ashamed to say. I only wanted the best for my children, but I was never very good at showing affection, particularly with Ava. I blamed her for why my husband left me. I deflected my anger onto an innocent child.’ She pauses for a moment, seeming to gather her thoughts. ‘I had a fling. Ava was the outcome. When my husband found out, he took off – so angry – rejecting us all. We never saw him again. And it was my fault. All my fault.’ She shreds the tissue. ‘I admit, after that, I was a rather cold mother, but I honestly wanted the best for all my children.’

  I struggle to form the words, but I must know. ‘Did Ava’s real father know she was his daughter?’

  She shakes her head. ‘Not at the time.’ She rises to her feet. ‘I think you should go now,’ she says, dabbing her cheeks, and fiddling with the necklace. She isn’t going to tell me any more.

  ‘One more thing,’ I say, rising. ‘I don’t suppose you know where Rory Thompson lives? I’d like to talk to him.’

  She rummages through the books and magazines next to her, and picks up a battered address book. She flicks through it. ‘48 Walton Avenue,’ she says. ‘It’s on the other side of Newquay.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, as we head for the door, and open it. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I call to her once more, before we step out into the corridor and click the door closed behind us.

  *

  I pull into the car park, and once I’ve found a space and grabbed a ticket from the machine, we walk through the double automatic doors into the hospital, and head for the lifts.

  When the doors swoosh open, we step inside to share the lift with a nurse, an elderly couple, and a mother with a baby. I hate lifts, and feel a migraine niggling – or is it the head injury? Maybe I should have got it checked out. But whatever it is, it fades as we step out onto the eighth floor.

  ‘Can you smell it?’ Becky says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Iodoform. I watched a documentary a few months back about how clean hospitals are. It’s the disinfectant they use.’ She covers her nose. ‘It’s weird. I hate it.’

  I shudder and look about me. ‘Ward 8,’ I say, using the hand sanitiser twice, before taking off down a corridor with determined strides.

  ‘Wait up,’ Becky calls after me, and I slow my pace. ‘What are you going to say to him?’

  ‘I’m going to wing it.’

  ‘Wing it?’ she says, as we reach the nurses station. ‘You’ve never winged anything in your life, Mother.’

  ‘I’m looking for Justin Havers,’ I say, and a nurse looks up from her computer screen, and points to a side room.

  Becky and I look at each other. ‘Why not stay out here?’ I say.

  ‘No, it’s OK. I’d rather be with you.’

  I open the door, and peek inside to see Justin, his eyes closed. A monitor bleeps, and as we step inside I notice his head is bandaged.

  A nurse bustles in and grabs a chart from the end of the bed. ‘There’s been no change,’ she says, as though we know what she means, and I look back at Justin.

  ‘What happened?’ I whisper.

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘We’re old friends. I only heard this morning he’d been taken in. We got here as quickly as we could.’ Becky looks at me wide-eyed, not used to me lying.

  ‘He was attacked in his home, poor love,’ the nurse says, writing something on the chart, and popping it back. ‘He’s in a coma.’

  She leaves, and I lower myself onto the chair by his bed, and Becky hovers behind me. ‘He’s in a coma,’ I say, repeating the nurse’s words, as though Becky hadn’t heard. ‘Who the hell would do this to him?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mum,’ she says, touching my shoulder. ‘But we should probably go,’ she says.

  ‘We should, yes.’ I touch his hand gently. ‘But he hasn’t got anyone else.’

  Chapter 38

  AVA

  2001

  Ava felt desperate. It was as though a vampire had sucked the life out of her. She’d been sick too. In fact, all she wanted to do was curl up in bed and hide from the world. But however much she and Gail didn’t get on, she was still her sister, and today meant everything to Gail.

  She stared in the mirror, her hand shaking as she held her red lipstick close to her lips, a sudden anger rising inside her. She struck each cheek with the lipstick, as though painting a picture. ‘I hate you,’ she yelled at her reflection. ‘Why don’t you just curl up and die?’

  *

  Later, after she’d scrubbed away the lipstick in the shower, Ava eased herself into her yellow satin dress, her body trembling. She’d hated the dress when she first saw it, and yet now she almost liked it – a blast of sunshine on the darkest of days.

  She placed the ring of flowers on her head and took the stairs slowly with the aid of the banister. A rumble of excited voices radiated from the lounge, making her want to turn back.

  She opened the lounge door. Jeannette was faffing with Gail’s white gown, and Ava had to admit her sister looked stunning. Her hair was piled on top of her head, with ringlets falling softly each side of her perfectly made-up face. Her dress was delicate, feminine, the top half made from Victorian lace, the bottom silk.

  ‘You look lovely,’ Ava said, meaning it. Sometimes all she wanted was for her and her sister to get on, be friends. But she knew it would never happen.

  ‘Yes, yes I know,’ Gail replied, looking at her nails, distracted.

  Willow was spinning in circles, her yellow satin dress flaring outwards from the waist. She was gripping a small bouquet, her hair decorated with tiny white flowers. My darling girl.

  Peter looked good in a royal-blue velvet suit, his hair fastened in a neat ponytail. He’d scrubbed up pretty well.

  Her mum looked the best Ava had ever seen her in an ankle-length dark green skirt suit, and a fascinator Gail had forced her to wear, pinned to her hair. Everything looked so normal – happy. The book’s cover – the real story inside.

  ‘Hey, Ava,’ Peter said, catching sight of her in the doorway. ‘Looking good, sis. Very nice.’ She felt far from it but tried for a smile.

  ‘Pretty Mummy!’ Willow squealed and stopped spinning to run and grab Ava’s legs.

  ‘For God’s sake, Ava, don’t let her stain your dress,’ Gail yelled.

  Ava crouched down, and studied the flowers pinned to Willow’s hair, touching them gently. The gash from Willow’s fall had healed well, just a tiny scar now, as the nurse had predicted. Ava wished her own wounds would heal as well. ‘You look like an angel, Willow,’ she said, kissing her daughter’s cheek.

  Willow smiled, and touched her mum’s face gently, and Ava took her small hand and kissed it three times.

  ‘The car’s here! The car’s here!’ yelled Gail, looking through the window. ‘Oh God, should we leave now? I want to be a bit late.’

  ‘Why?’ Jeannette said. ‘You don’t want to give Rory a reason to change his mind, do you?’

  ‘Maxen won’t let him change his mind,’ Gail said.

  ‘Maxen?’ Ava said uneasily. Surely it couldn’t b
e the same Maxen?

  ‘Anyway, Mum,’ Gail went on, ignoring Ava. ‘Why would he change his mind?’

  ‘I was only joking, love.’

  ‘Maxen?’ Ava said again.

  ‘Maxen Jones.’ Gail narrowed her eyes, her tone irritated. ‘Rory’s best man.’

  ‘Really?’ She should have known. Maxen had mentioned Rory that day at Kathy’s Café and again at the arcade. Yet she still found their friendship surprising. They were so different.

  ‘Yes? Why are you so shocked?’ Gail said. ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘I really think we should leave now, Gail,’ Jeannette cut in.

  ‘Yes. Well, OK, I guess we’d better go. Get me to the church on time,’ she sang, raising her bouquet in the air as she headed for the door.

  They poured from the cottage, and down the path towards the waiting limo – Gail holding onto Peter’s arm, Jeannette a few steps behind, Ava and Willow following on hand in hand. It was chilly, but a watery sun shone high in the blue sky. Gail had picked the perfect day to get married.

  Once in the car, Ava opened her silver clutch bag. The velvet box was at the bottom. Someone must have seen it before, and what better place to find out who than a village hall full of locals.

  *

  ‘Rory and I have been friends since we were kids,’ Maxen was saying. He’d already told tall tales about their antics in their teens to raucous laughter, and now his tone was more serious. ‘He had a much more exciting beginning than I had. Living in Italy for a while with his mum who adored him.’ He looked over at Rory and tilted his head. ‘I know the loss of his mother was traumatic, and his dad more recently – but they would be proud of you now, mate.’ He smiled at Rory. ‘Proud of everything you’ve achieved.’

  Ava zoned out, her eyes falling on Dexter in a pale grey suit, sitting at a table with his mother, and a group of Gail’s friends, looking a bit fed up. He caught her eye and smiled, dimples forming, and raised his glass to her. She shuddered. It was the first time she’d seen him since that awful night. She hadn’t realised he would be here.

  ‘And now we’re the closest we’ve ever been,’ Maxen was saying. ‘I’d do anything for you, Rory. You’re the best friend a guy could wish for. To the bride and groom,’ he said, raising his glass.