Traces of Her

by Amanda Brittany

  ‘Teenagers,’ Peter says, after a long silence. ‘Not easy, are they?’

  I shake my head. ‘I need wine,’ I say, getting up and heading for the bar.

  I return with a giant glass of white wine. Alcohol isn’t the answer, I know that, but it’s the only one I have right now.

  Peter and Maxen look up, as I take my place back at the table. The lights flicker and dip, and the sound of thunder cracking across the sky causes the locals and tourists to cheer and laugh.

  I stare across at Maxen, who is tapping the table like a drum, and then take a gulp of my wine. It tastes bitter on my tongue.

  He stops drumming his fingers. ‘I can’t keep it in any longer,’ he says, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘It’s killing me.’ He picks up his glass, empties it, and thuds it down on the table.

  ‘What is it, mate?’ Peter says, his eyes boring into him.

  The sudden silence between us gives way to the chattering and laughter around us, the sound of the rain hammering on the window.

  ‘It’s Rory,’ Maxen says in almost a whisper. ‘I gave him an alibi the night Ava died.’

  ‘Yes. That’s right. I remember,’ Peter says, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. ‘You were with him at the time of Ava’s murder.’

  He nods. ‘I said I saw him coming out of the hall looking for Gail. Said he seemed worried sick as she’d taken off after Ava.’

  ‘And?’ I say.

  ‘Well that bit’s true. I saw him, but rather than the two of us going into the village for a stiff drink, like I told the police, well … he took off in his car after Gail.’

  ‘What the fuck?’ Peter yells, shoving his glasses back on as though he needs them to see the truth.

  The chatter around us falls away, and the couple enjoying their gammon earlier, and now spooning in sticky toffee pudding and custard, glare across.

  ‘And it’s worse than that.’ There is a layer of sweat across Maxen’s forehead, his face is chalk white.

  ‘How can it be worse than that?’ Peter says, rubbing his face frantically. ‘For Christ’s sake, Maxen, what if Rory killed her and got away with it?’

  ‘He did.’ He lowers his head and runs his finger hard around the rim of his glass, as though he wants it to slice through his skin.

  ‘Fuck,’ Peter cries, and I feel like I’m being whipped up in a storm.

  ‘I took off after Rory on foot. I saw him on the beach that night. It was windy, and I was a long way from him, but there was a full moon, and I saw the glint of a knife in his hand.’ He covered his pallid face with his hands, and took a deep breath. ‘He stabbed Ava,’ he said looking up, his voice breaking. ‘He stabbed her over and over. I still see it so vividly in my nightmares – hear Ava scream. And there was someone else there. It must have been Gail.’ He let out a cry, and buries his head in his hands once more.

  ‘Christ, Maxen, what the hell?’ Peter cries. ‘Why would you keep that quiet? You saw him kill my sister, and you said and did nothing?’

  I feel oddly numb – shock, I suspect. I have no words.

  ‘I loved him,’ he says, looking up, tears falling down his face, reminiscent of the fat raindrops on the windowpane beside me. ‘I’d always loved Rory – always been there for him.’ He covered his face with his hands again, and after some moments spoke through slim fingers. ‘When he asked me to give him an alibi – said we’d never be together if I didn’t – I agreed. I was a bloody idiot.’

  ‘You selfish bastard,’ Peter says, his fists clenched. His face – pale and tense – tells me exactly how he feels. I feel the same.

  ‘I know. I know.’ Maxen rubs his neck. ‘I lost Rory anyway. I’d given the alibi, but wanted to retract it, knew I’d been a fool, but Rory threatened me, said he would kill my father – and I knew what he was capable of. I’d seen it for myself. So I moved away. My father continued working tirelessly on the case, but I knew he would never realise Rory had killed her – he trusted my alibi. God, how I’ve struggled with this knowledge for all these years.’

  ‘You poor thing,’ Peter said sarcastically. ‘And what about the rest of us, Maxen? You didn’t give a shit about us.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Peter. You’ve no idea how sorry I am.’

  ‘Sorry? Is that it? Sorry?’ He begins to rise, as though he’s about to suggest taking things outside.

  ‘We should call the police,’ I cut in, pulling my phone from my pocket, hoping to prevent World War III.

  ‘No, don’t call the police,’ Maxen says. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Give us one good reason why not,’ Peter says, lowering back down.

  ‘Because I’m worried Rory may have taken Willow.’

  ‘What? Why would he?’ I say, trying to make sense of everything.

  ‘He’s capable of anything, Rose. Take my word for it. I think I know him better than anyone.’

  ‘He lives in Newquay, doesn’t he?’ Peter says. He pushes back his chair. ‘We should go there.’

  ‘You won’t find him there,’ I say, recalling the woman who answered the door at 48 Walton Avenue. ‘I’ve been. Rory rents the place out. He lives in Italy, apparently.’

  Maxen shakes his head and casts a hand over his chin. ‘I’ve my suspicions where he could be. His father left him Floral Corner when he died, and for a long time he said he rented the place out. But I have a real hunch he could be there.’

  ‘I still think we should call the police,’ I say.

  ‘If they go in with their sirens blaring, he will disappear – or worse, kill Willow. I vote we go together to Floral Corner. Now.’

  *

  My phone bleeps as we leave the pub, and the signal returns. It’s getting dark, and rain hammers down, soaking us within moments. I squint, trying to look at my phone screen through blobs of rain. It’s a message from Becky:

  Heading back to the cottage. Got a lift.

  I quickly message back in a surge of panic:

  Who with? x

  ‘I’ll drive,’ Peter says, leading the way as we race up the road, feet squelching in puddles, heading for Ocean View Cottage where he’d parked his car. As I battle the rain, my head plays ping-pong with my anxieties. Becky – Willow – Becky – Willow.

  A reply from Becky gives some relief:

  Don’t panic, Mum. I’m safe. X

  The kiss on the message makes me hopeful that she will forgive me for my earlier outburst. That we will talk later – that I haven’t done any lasting damage. And when we get home to Old Stevenage, I will handle things differently. I’ll be a better mother.

  As we approach Peter’s car, rain trickles down the neck of my top, making me shiver. It’s then that I notice Aaron’s Mercedes parked on a nearby grass verge. Thank God he’s here. But he’s not in his car, and I begin to wonder why he hasn’t messaged me to say he’s arrived.

  I look up at the cottage. Lights are on in most of the rooms, and I’m sure I see Aaron standing at the front window. He must be with Becky. He probably picked her up.

  ‘Come on, Rose,’ Peter says, through the open car window, his hands clenched round the steering wheel, his face splattered with rain, that drips from his nose and glasses. Maxen is by his side, so I get in the back, and pull out my mobile and call Aaron. It goes to voicemail. ‘It’s me,’ I say. ‘I’m going to look for Willow at Floral Corner. Please look after Becky, she should be with you.’

  I end the call, and as we pull away with a screech of tyres it hits me, I’m in the back of a car with two men I barely know, on my way to confront a suspected killer.

  Chapter 51

  ROSE

  Now

  Rain hits the car window, so loud I fear it might shatter. Windscreen wipers whip across the glass. Thud. Thud. Thud.

  Panic rises. Maxen stalked the cottage, and what do I know about Peter? Are these men even who they say they are?

  It’s so dark outside, and my heart is pumping hard, and I feel a dire need to escape. Are we going too fast for
me to jump out? Yes! We’re going too fast – far too fast for these twisting turning lanes.

  ‘Peter,’ I say, but he doesn’t answer. ‘Peter,’ I repeat, louder.

  Maxen turns. ‘These roads are awful, Rose,’ he says. ‘Let him concentrate.’

  ‘OK,’ I say, drawing my legs up onto the seat. Looking out of the window, I realise I’ve no idea where we are. I suddenly spot the house in the distance and sigh with relief.

  *

  ‘We’re here,’ Peter says.

  Most of the windows are lit up at Floral Cottage – someone definitely lives here. But as Peter pulls to a stop, fear won’t leave me alone, niggling. What if they’ve brought me here to kill me? What if they’ve taken Willow?

  Peter pulls on the handbrake. ‘Let’s go,’ he says, throwing open the door, rain showering him.

  I screw up my eyes against the weather as we run towards the cottage, mud splattering my legs, rain seeping into my canvas shoes. We gather under the pitch-roofed porch, our wet bodies huddled together, attempting to shield ourselves from the downpour.

  Peter rings the bell, and I can see a light through the opaque door window, but no sound comes from inside.

  Eventually a figure appears behind the glass, and bolts are pulled across. The door opens.

  ‘Isaac?’ I say, pushing my wet hair from my face as the boy stares at us, his face void of expression, the yellow cap he always wears pulled over his dark hair.

  ‘My cap,’ Maxen whispers. ‘I thought I left it at Rory’s house in Newquay.’

  ‘We need to come in,’ Peter says, pushing the boy aside so he stumbles against the magnolia walls, as he heads into the house. I follow, and Maxen, behind me, kicks the door shut.

  The large hallway has four oak doors leading from it, and a wide staircase to a second floor.

  We stand, rain forming puddles at our feet, shivering in our wet clothes.

  A woman appears through one of the doors. ‘Can I help you?’ she says, and Isaac runs towards her.

  She’s about forty, with curly blonde hair to her shoulders. She’s wearing a green dress, flared at the waist, with white polka dots, and her feet are bare, toenails painted pale pink.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Peter says, his eyes filling up. ‘Is it really you?’ I can tell he wants to rush over and hug the woman, but she stares at him for a long moment, her expression haunted – he doesn’t move.

  ‘Peter?’ she says finally, as though she’s worked out who he is, her voice flat, almost robotic. ‘Is Gail with you?’

  ‘No, Gail is …’ He pauses. ‘Christ, what are you doing here, Ava?’

  My stomach tips as I take in his words, and I feel woozy. ‘But … we thought—’

  ‘We need to get you out of here,’ Peter cuts in, his voice high with emotion. ‘We need to take you home.’

  Chapter 52

  ROSE

  Now

  I’m reeling. Unable to take in that Ava Millar is standing in front of us – alive – and yet somehow not here at all.

  The boy – Isaac – moves in closer to her, and she puts her arm around him protectively and pulls him to her.

  ‘I live here,’ she says, coiling her hair around her finger. Her face is made-up beautifully – lips blood red, eyelids shadowed with silvers and greys. ‘This is my home,’ she adds.

  Maxen steps forward from where he has been hovering behind Peter. ‘Ava, do you remember me?’ he says.

  She narrows her eyes and shakes her head.

  ‘You helped me pick out some taps once at the DIY, didn’t you?’ He’s talking to her like she’s a frightened animal, who might bolt in a moment. ‘The kid is wearing my baseball cap, Ava,’ he says. ‘Who is he? Who’s the boy?’

  She shakes her head. ‘I remember a bracelet.’ She touches her wrist, and I notice bruises on her arms. ‘I think you should leave, now,’ she says. ‘My husband will be home soon. He won’t be happy you’re here.’ Is that fear in her voice?

  ‘Your husband?’ I say.

  ‘And I must feed Willow.’

  ‘Willow?’ There’s so much wrong with this scene. It’s as though Ava is talking about a child. ‘Where is she?’ I cry, looking about me. ‘Where’s Willow?’

  ‘Her father put her in the basement, like he did me. Only for a while, until she understands this is the best thing for her. We’ll give her all the love she deserves once she accepts things.’

  ‘Shit,’ Peter yells, and pushes past Ava, almost knocking her off her feet, and Maxen follows. ‘Where’s the fucking basement?’ They open a door, and then another, finally disappearing, their feet thumping down steps. I go to follow, but Ava grips my arm.

  ‘I missed her,’ she says, but her voice is still void of emotion, her face chalk white, like a China doll. ‘My darling girl – my Willow – it’s so good to have her home.’

  Suddenly the front door swings open.

  ‘Darling,’ Ava says. She looks at me, and smiles. ‘This is my husband.’

  I swing round, and my eyes widen. It’s Inspector Jones.

  Chapter 53

  ROSE

  Now

  ‘What are you doing here, Rose?’ Gareth says, narrowing his eyes.

  ‘You have the audacity to ask me that?’ I cry. ‘We’re looking for Willow, you know that.’ I glance over at Ava, trying to work out her expression – it appears to be adoration for him.

  Stockholm syndrome. I’ve read about it, and there’s no doubting this is what I’m witnessing.

  ‘Ava needs to see a doctor,’ I say. ‘Isaac too.’

  ‘We do not.’ Ava dashes to Gareth’s side, and links arms with him. ‘We’re perfectly fine.’

  It appears he hasn’t got her held against her will.

  He moves away from her and grabs my arm. He drags me to the corner of the hallway and whispers, ‘Ava killed Gail, Rose. If you take her away from here, she’ll go to prison. Do you really want that?’

  ‘So Gail was the dead woman on the beach?’ My head spins, as I look over my shoulder at Ava who is back with Isaac, straightening his cap and tweaking his cheek as though he’s five. She reminds me of a Stepford Wife.

  A crashing sound comes from below us.

  ‘Who else is here?’ Gareth yells, taking off across the hall and through the door that Peter and Maxen went through earlier. His shoes sound heavy on the flight of stairs, and I hear someone cry out in pain.

  I fumble my phone from my bag and dial 999. Ava watches, with tears in her eyes, as I speak to the police. The boy stands far too still.

  ‘Why are you spoiling everything?’ she says, once I’ve alerted the police, but I don’t reply. I race past her, and head through the door, and down a dark staircase. Peter is lying at the bottom, lifeless. ‘Oh my God!’ I cry, bending down in front of him, his head is bleeding.

  ‘Rose!’

  I rise and head through the door, to see Willow tied to a chair at the far end of a long room with no windows and then I spot Becky lying on a bed. It looks as though she’s unconscious.

  ‘Becky!’ I cry and go to run.

  ‘Stop!’ Gareth has a knife at Maxen’s throat.

  On a table I see Willow’s and Becky’s phones, and I realise Gareth must have given Becky the lift – so where is Aaron?

  ‘I don’t want to kill Maxen,’ Gareth says. ‘I love him. Always have. But I will.’

  ‘You love me?’ Maxen sounds so grateful, and part of me feels sorry for him. That he is so surprised to hear this from his father.

  ‘Of course I love you,’ Gareth goes on, but the knife is so close to Maxen’s throat, a tiny slip would kill him in seconds. ‘Why the hell did you come here?’

  ‘You took Willow,’ Maxen says.

  ‘I had to. She got too close to the truth.’ His voice is shaky, and I realise his Welsh accent has slipped away. ‘She knew. She knew what I did.’ His eyes are wild and fiery.

  ‘Let him go Gareth, please,’ I say, my voice wobbling. ‘You don’t want your son’s de
ath on your conscience too.’

  He smiles, dimples forming in his cheeks. ‘You have no idea, have you, Rose?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You have no idea who I am.’

  ‘This is Rory, Rose,’ Maxen says, his voice cracking with emotion. He blinks, and a tear rolls down his face. ‘This isn’t my father,’ he adds, his voice barely audible.

  ‘I don’t understand.’ My eyes fix on who I’d believed was Inspector Jones. ‘He’s old enough to be your father.’

  ‘He had me fooled too, Rose,’ Willow says, her eyes puffy and red, and I wonder if he’s had her tied to the chair ever since he took her.

  ‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Rory says. ‘You’ve ruined everything.’

  I’m struggling to take in what he’s saying. Why would Ava’s brother-in-law, Gail’s husband, masquerade as the inspector?

  I’m aware the police will be here soon. My only option, if I want Maxen to live, is to keep Rory talking. There’s a tremble in his hand now and I cringe, watching the blade hover close to Maxen’s flesh.

  ‘You told Willow you were Inspector Jones too?’ I say.

  ‘When she first arrived, I heard she was making enquiries in the village, so I went to see her at the cottage, told her I was Inspector Jones. Even made myself look older. You wouldn’t believe what you can do with the help of a YouTube video and a bit of make-up. I intended to misdirect her, that’s all. I gave her a photo of Justin, and told her I’d always thought he killed Ava, that I never trusted his alibi.

  ‘I hadn’t figured on some busybody telling her that Rory Thompson was briefly a suspect. Willow asked me what I thought, and I told her Rory’s alibi was sound, that he was innocent. But she wouldn’t let it drop. Asked me to get her a photo of him. So I did – well a photo of some random on the internet. I gave her a photo of Peter Millar too, hoping she might be more interested in him.’