You should tell someone – someone who will listen.
Inspector Jones? But I could never prove it. And Maxen is his son. He’d never believe him capable.
He’ll do it again, Ava. You need to protect Willow.
She was a fair way out, the sea in control, when she looked back at the shoreline to see the haunting sight of her sister running along the beach, the light of the moon catching her flowing white dress.
Ava turned back and fought the sea with the little strength she had left, heading towards the beach – towards her sister. She needed to ask her forgiveness. Tell her it was Maxen. To be careful – he was a dangerous man.
Chapter 46
ROSE
Now
‘Becky,’ I yell, looking down the road. The sky has darkened, the air heavy. A storm is heading our way.
There’s no sign of Becky or Peter, and my heart gallops. But his car is still here. They couldn’t have gone far I tell myself as I call out, ‘Becky!’
I hurry down the slope towards the beach. It’s deserted. ‘Becky!’ I call into the silence, spinning on the spot.
Back on the road, I race past Peter’s car. That’s when I notice it. Written on my car door in red lipstick:
LEAVE
I look about me, into the nearby wood. Had someone done this while I was in the house? Or had it been there earlier, and I hadn’t noticed?
My heart thumps, as I crouch down and try to rub it away with my hand. It smudges but won’t come off. I’m not sure it ever will.
I rise, and race down the road. ‘Becky,’ I call again, suddenly spotting her with Peter in the distance. She turns. They stop to wait for me.
‘What the hell are you doing, Becky?’ I say, as I reach them, grabbing her arm. I exhale heavily – almost out of breath and sweating in the heat.
‘Mum! You’re totally embarrassing me.’ She shakes me free. ‘I told you we were going to the pub to talk.’
Peter has stepped away. My eyes are on him, but my words are still for my daughter. ‘After everything that’s happened, you walk off with a total stranger.’
‘I’m not five – and he’s not a stranger. Peter is Willow’s uncle, he told us that.’
I want to scream and yell, but I fear if I do, I may never stop.
‘I called out to you that we were going to the pub. You said you wouldn’t let him in the house.’
‘This is all my fault,’ Peter finally says, stepping forward.
‘Yes, yes, too bloody right it is.’ I fold my arms across my chest, feeling the thud of my heart speeding up again as I glare at him.
‘Calm down, Mum,’ Becky says. ‘Please. Peter may be able to help us find Willow.’
I look at her once more. ‘How the hell can a man just back from Australia help to find Willow?’
‘Come on,’ Peter says, heading into the pub. ‘I don’t know about you, but I need a stiff drink.’
*
Once seated by the window, a drink in front of us, I feel a bit calmer.
‘I’ll do everything in my power to help find Willow,’ Peter says, before taking a sip of his gin. ‘I loved that kid. I would have taken her on in a heartbeat when Ava died. But it wasn’t to be. I wasn’t considered suitable. As I say, I didn’t even know who adopted her at the time.’
‘It was Eleanor Winter, my stepmother,’ I say, fiddling with the stem of my glass.
‘Yeah, Willow told me in her letter. Said she’d had a great life so far.’
‘I’m glad,’ I say, softening. I’ve never been sure what went on in Willow’s crazy head at times, so it was good to hear it from a stranger.
He takes another sip of his drink. ‘My mum got custody at first, but gave her up quite quickly, unable to cope after losing Ava and Gail, plus she was never very maternal.’
My mind drifts to the sad woman we met in the apartment in Newquay – so different to the one Peter’s describing. ‘And you took off to Australia.’
He narrows his eyes, as though warning me not to judge, and takes another mouthful of his drink. ‘Originally I took off when I was in my late teens to get away from my mum. To be fair, she was glad to see the back of a difficult teenager with anger issues. Dad walked out when Ava was born, and we never saw him again. Didn’t have a clue where he’d gone. I guess I was damaged goods after that. The anger festered, and inanimate objects suffered. The odd door or wall had it coming.’ His smile is that of being lost in the past, almost childlike, and I find myself warming to him.
‘One night I arrived home drunk,’ he goes on, losing the smile. ‘Mum was there, waiting for me.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘She attacked me with a bread knife for being pissed.’ He rolls up his sleeve and shows us the scar. ‘Admittedly I was rowdy – shouting, that kind of thing. It was my go-to when I’d been drinking. But I would never hurt anyone. I didn’t deserve that. She told me much later she struggled because I reminded her so much of my father.’
‘It’s hardly an excuse though,’ I say.
He shakes his head. ‘Anyway, Ava came down the stairs that day, saw the blood. She scurried into the corner, squeezing as far against the wall as she could. I thought she would disappear.’
‘Jeez,’ says Becky. ‘That’s awful.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I add – I didn’t know Ava, but I could cry for her.
‘Gail heard the commotion. Called the police. But by the time the cops arrived, Mum acted like she was the victim. Said I was dangerous, that it was self-defence, and at that moment I knew I had to get out of there. Ava was traumatised at the time – wouldn’t speak for weeks.’ He shrugs. ‘I took off, never looked back … well, not until Gail asked me to give her away at her wedding. We’d kept in touch over the years.’
‘Did you know Willow had you on her list of suspects for Ava’s murder?’ I say. ‘She had several men on her radar.’
He shakes his head. ‘I would never have killed Ava. I loved her. She put me on the right road, I’ll always be grateful for that. I miss her even now.’
‘The right road?’
‘She told me to try harder with my wife, that if I loved her, I needed to stop thinking of myself, work at it.’ He smiles once more, as though bringing her to his mind.
‘So you’re married?’
He nods. ‘Happily, two kids – well, teenagers. Both much better behaved than I ever was.’
‘Oh God,’ Becky whispers, suddenly looking past me. ‘It’s scary-man.’
Peter and I look round. The man is at the bar, handing over a twenty-pound note, and my stomach flips.
‘Why scary-man?’ Peter says, looking at Becky.
‘Because he was stalking the cottage the other night,’ she tells him.
Peter’s eyebrows furrow. ‘But that’s Maxen Jones. He isn’t scary. There must be some mistake. Hang on.’ He rises. ‘I’ll introduce you. You can find out why he was there.’
‘Oh my God,’ Becky says, slipping down in her chair.
Chapter 47
ROSE
Now
‘What the hell were you doing on my patio?’ I yell as Maxen approaches, a few steps behind Peter. The couple tucking into gammon and eggs at the next table glance our way, and whisper to each other from behind their hands.
Maxen presses his body against our table, far too close. ‘I was looking for Willow,’ he says, his Welsh accent strong – how the landlord confused it with a Scottish dialect remains a mystery.
‘I’ll get another drink in, shall I?’ Peter says, disappearing to the bar, and I wish he hadn’t raced away so soon, leaving this stranger gazing down at us through narrowed eyes.
He’s about forty, slim, his fitted grey T-shirt clings to his toned chest. He drags his fingers through light brown hair, and I notice an air of vulnerability about him.
‘Why were you looking for Willow?’ I’ve lowered my voice, but I’m aware I still sound snarky. I don’t care. He’s part of the reason my nerves are so frazzled. I turn from his stare, to notice th
e bar, so quiet a moment ago, is filling with people from the garden, covering their heads with their hands, and laughing. Through the windowpane I see the clouds have darkened, and splatters of rain hang on the glass.
‘She contacted me about a week ago,’ Maxen says, and I meet his eye once more. ‘Asking what I remembered about the night her mother died. I came to Cornwall on Friday morning to meet up with her, but she didn’t answer the door. She hasn’t answered my calls or messages either. Last night I thought I’d come to the cottage again, see if she was there. I didn’t expect anyone to be home, if I’m honest.’
‘You could have picked a more suitable time. You scared me half to death.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry. I’m a creature of impulse when I’ve had a few. Do you mind if I sit down?’ Without waiting for an answer, he pulls out the chair next to Becky and sits down. Becky shuffles closer to the wall and looks over at me with worried eyes.
‘Maybe sit here,’ I say, rising. ‘Next to Peter.’
‘Fine.’ He gets up, and we swap seats.
‘You were staring at us the other day,’ Becky says, nibbling on her nails, her shoulders hunched.
He nods. ‘I was trying to muster the courage to talk to you both. I thought you might know where Willow is. I’ve been asking everyone.’ He glances over his shoulder. ‘Peter says you’re her stepsister and niece.’
We nod, as he scrutinises us, the tension in the air tangible. ‘That’s right,’ I say.
‘Well, I was one of the last people to see Ava alive,’ he says. His voice trembles. He avoids eye contact. ‘I spoke to her when she was on her way to the beach.’
Peter approaches with a tray full of drinks, and Maxen grabs a gin with jittery hands. Knocks it back in one.
‘Willow told me my father’s helping her. He was the inspector on the original case.’
‘You’re Inspector Jones’ son?’
‘That’s right, although I haven’t seen him for years. We went our separate ways a long time ago.’
‘I told Willow about Maxen when we chatted on the phone,’ Peter says, once he’s sitting down. ‘I said he may be able to help her. Maxen and I stayed in touch for a bit after my sister died.’
‘We met at Rory’s stag do,’ Maxen says.
‘And later at his wedding,’ Peter says. ‘Kept each other’s contact details, didn’t we, mate?’
Maxen nods. ‘I went back to live in Wales soon after Ava’s death,’ he says. ‘I’d lived in Pwllheli until I was six, been happy there. So when a job came up that I couldn’t turn down, I returned. My father stayed here and worked on the case for ages. He’d always liked Ava, felt sorry for her, and when she died he became a bit obsessed with solving the case. We barely kept in touch.’
‘So you haven’t been back to Cornwall in all that time?’ I ask.
He shakes his head. ‘But when Willow wrote to me, I decided it was the right time to return to Bostagel and set the record straight, and hopefully see my father.’ And without another word, he knocked back the dregs from his glass, got up, and headed back to the bar.
Chapter 48
AVA
2001
Ava wrestled free from the sea’s grip, and made her way up the beach, trying to catch her breath. Her sister was close – running towards her.
Gail glared at Ava as she reached her. ‘You’ve ruined everything,’ she cried, tears streaming her face, ‘absolutely everything.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Ava said, shivering, her teeth chattering. ‘I didn’t mean to.’ She spotted the cake knife dangling from Gail’s hand, and stepped back. ‘Where’s Rory?’
‘Why? So you can accuse him again of raping you? Do you fancy him, Ava? Is that what this is about?’ Gail spat.
‘No! No! Gail I think—’
‘You wrecked my wedding and accused my husband of rape. Why the hell would you do that?’
‘I’m sorry. But I was drugged and raped, Gail. And I thought it was Rory – because of the bracelet – but I could have been wrong.’ A tear zigzagged down Ava’s cheek and trickled, cold, down her neck.
‘Wrong?’
Ava held out both hands towards her sister. ‘All I’ve ever wanted was for you to love me. Help me. Please.’
Gail stepped forward, and for a moment Ava thought her sister might hold her, but her eyes were filled with anger. With a sharp movement, Gail grabbed Ava’s cheeks in one hand and squeezed. ‘Wrong?’ she yelled. ‘You accused Rory of rape, and now you’re saying you could have been be wrong.’
‘I think it was Maxen.’
‘Maxen? Rory’s best friend? You’re a fucking nightmare, Ava. You always wreck everything. You’re the reason Dad left.’
Ava tried to punch herself free, but she was so cold and wet, her dress hanging sodden around her body, clammy, weighing her down. The sea had stolen her strength, and her mind whirred with confusion and anger. Why didn’t Gail care what had happened to her?
‘Maxen raped me, and you couldn’t care less, could you?’ she cried, the words like sparks in the darkness. Bile rose in her throat, and her mind whirred with confusion.
What if Rory wasn’t innocent?
What if he’d been with Maxen that night? It was his bracelet after all. And he’d hounded her in the ladies’. Scared her. She gagged – could it have been both of them? She’d heard Maxen’s speech at the wedding. He would do anything for Rory. ‘And I can’t be sure Rory wasn’t there too,’ she spat.
Gail’s face morphed – ugly. ‘You fucking bitch,’ she yelled releasing Ava’s cheeks and lunging towards her with the knife. Ava moved, and with the little strength she had pushed Gail hard.
As though in slow motion, her sister fell backwards, arms flailing. She dropped the knife, and crashed down hard onto the rocks.
Ava fell to her knees. ‘Gail! Gail! Are you OK?’ she cried.
‘Bitch!’ Gail screamed, staggering back to her feet, lashing out, and slapping Ava’s face hard.
Ava rose too, tried to run, but Gail pulled her back to the floor, climbed on top of her, and reached for the knife.
Chapter 49
YOU
I saw Ava at the cinema. I talked with her, wanted to talk for longer, get to know her better. But Dexter wouldn’t let us. He wanted her for himself.
I followed Ava and Dexter to the bar. I watched her for ages – the way Dexter left her alone to talk to his mates. He didn’t care about her.
She went to the ladies’, I remember. I thought about following, letting her know I was there, but I didn’t want to come across as weird.
And then I saw you. Hovering near her table – waiting until she returned and taking her away.
I followed you out into the cold night, saw you get into your car, bundle her in the back.
I grabbed a taxi, asked the driver to follow, but he wouldn’t go into the woods, didn’t want to damage his vehicle, he said.
On foot I searched for you. But by the time I found Ava she was unconscious and you’d gone. I was too late.
I covered her with her coat and knelt down and wept at her feet. How could you? But then I already knew what you were capable of.
I’d taken the bracelet from you on your stag do, when I untied your half-naked body from the tree. The others had thrown your rucksack by your side, the bracelet had fallen out. It was for Gail, wasn’t it? You’d told me that. But I’d taken it for myself that night. And then, on the night you raped her, I left it for Ava – poor, beautiful Ava. Destroyed by you.
I don’t think I loved you in quite the same way after that.
Chapter 50
ROSE
Now
Rain hits the windowpane like marbles, startling me, and a flash of forked lightning stabs the sky. The storm is making my eyes ache, and the rumble of loud voices irritate me. I fear a migraine will set in.
Maxen returns from the bar. He’s trembling, his drink sloshing onto the table. I resist the urge to clear it up, as he slides onto the chair next to
Peter.
‘Well hello again, ladies and gentleman.’ We look up to see the landlord brandishing menus and a wide smile. ‘Good to see you again, can I tempt any of you with a bite to eat? I can recommend the hunter’s chicken and the sea bass.’
I realise we haven’t eaten, and I need something to bring my blood sugar up to ward off this migraine. ‘Do you fancy something, Becky?’ I ask, turning to see her folded into herself, tapping on her phone.
‘I’m not hungry,’ she says, glancing over at Maxen, and back at her phone.
I have no idea what makes me flip. Tension? Stress? Lack of sleep? But I choose now to confront her – now, in front of Peter and Maxen, now, as the landlord is handing out menus, now, at a time when all our emotions are off the scale.
‘You never eat,’ I snap. ‘I’m sick of this, Becky; it’s getting out of hand. Look at you. You’re far too thin. I’m worried sick.’
Her eyes fill with tears, and the landlord makes a quick retreat. Peter covers his face, and Maxen empties his glass.
‘Why, Mum?’ is all she says as she rises and shoves her phone in her pocket. She dashes a tear from her cheek with her palm.
‘Sorry,’ I say, and grab her hand. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.’
She pulls her hand free and pushes past me. ‘It’s OK,’ she whispers, but I know it’s far from it. I should have known better. There’s no doubt she has an eating disorder, but I’ve rushed in at the worst possible moment. I’m a terrible mother.
‘Wait! Where are you going?’ I call after her as she pushes through the throng, towards the door.
‘I’m tired,’ she calls over her shoulder. ‘I’m going back to the cottage to have a lie down.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ I say, getting up.
‘No.’ She stops and stares at me. ‘I want to be on my own, is all. Please. Let me have that, Mum.’
It takes all of my power to let her go; to lower myself back onto the chair, and not run after her. But I feel sure if I don’t let her have space, this will escalate. ‘Text me when you’re back safe,’ I call, as she opens the door. A gust of wind almost knocks her off her feet and heavy rain splatters her thin frame. She doesn’t reply.
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