Short heads up the stairs two at a time. Four doors greet him at the top.
He peers into a bathroom. A polka dot shower curtain is stretched full length across the bath. A greying flannel hangs over the sink taps.
Floorboards creak as he retreats and makes his way across the landing.
He searches the first bedroom, decorated in blues and yellows; finds nothing of interest. A second room has an easel and a chair facing a small square window looking out over the sea. A palette of paint, and a jar full of brushes are on a table, some paintings propped against the wall.
The next room is locked. ‘We need to get this open,’ he calls down the stairs.
A thud with a ram is all it takes to shatter the doorframe, allowing Short access. It’s a baby’s room, painted pastel lemon. There’s a white cot in the centre etched with lemon roses, a dusty mobile above it, a rocking chair by the window.
‘What is it with these horrendous puppets?’ he says under his breath as he heads towards the chair. This one is wearing a yellow and blue striped jacket. But it has one major difference from all the others.
‘Christ, that’s freaky,’ DC Martin says, entering the room, and coming up behind him.
‘Well, at least he’s got his feet.’ Short picks it up and hands it to the DC for bagging.
‘Not a lot of use if you’ve lost your head though, is it, boss?’
Chapter 45
May 2020
Alice
Alice senses Leon shudder as she shows him her latest creation – a macabre ventriloquist puppet tea party moulded from twisted copper.
‘It’s brilliant,’ he says. ‘But I’m not going to lie, after everything that’s happened—’
‘I started it before we went to Flynn Hotel.’ She puts it down on the table, and Henry pads over, sniffs it, and looks up at Alice with deep brown eyes.
‘And that’s not freaky at all, is it, boy?’ Leon laughs, ruffles the dog’s head as though they are in cahoots, and Henry wags his tail.
Leon turns and splashes white wine in one glass, orange juice in another. They are in the kitchen at Butterfly Cottage – safe, happy.
‘I found it quite therapeutic finally finishing it.’ Alice turns from the sculpture, picks up the orange juice.
‘Well your customers will love it.’
She’s glad Leon is here – that he’s moved in – that, if fate allows, they will always be together. They’ve been so close since everything happened. The thought of losing him shifted her perspective – she’s not sure what she would have done if she had.
She strokes the curve of her stomach. They are on the same page now. The thought of bringing up a child no longer holds the fear it once had.
Flynn House is hers now, but she will never return. It’s up for sale, but with everything that has happened there over the years, she’s not expecting many offers.
‘I went to the cemetery this morning,’ she says, heading over to the cooker to reduce the heat under the bubbling saucepans. She can hear the sadness in her voice. She always feels low when she’s visited where her father is now with the love of his life – Alice’s mother, Pippa Larkin. The police had found her remains on Seafield Island, and once they’d released her, revealing she died of natural causes, it seemed fitting to bury her with her father. It’s what he would have wanted.
‘You should have said you were going. I would have come with you.’
She nods. ‘I know. But sometimes I like to talk to them alone, you know? Try to get to know my mother.’
He nods, seems to understand.
‘I had an email from Christine, earlier.’
‘How’s she liking France?’
‘She misses Suffolk, but glad to be close to her son.’ A beat before she adds, not for the first time, ‘I still feel desperately sorry for Faith.’
He shakes his head, takes a mouthful of wine. ‘Alice, if she’d done what she intended, you would have bled to death. Can’t you see that?’
‘I know, but in her mind she never saw it that way.’ She lets out a sigh. ‘She just wanted us to be together.’
‘She killed so many people, Alice.’
‘I know.’ Another pause. ‘They’ve released Verity’s diaries.’ Alice nods towards a pile of books, ranging from exercise books to leather-bound hardbacks, stacked on her father’s desk in the corner.
‘The ones they found at the house?’
‘Mmm, they arrived this morning. As her next of kin they came to me.’
‘Have you read any of them?’ His eyes are fixed on the books.
‘I skimmed through a few, but it makes for difficult reading.’
‘Does it say whether Verity killed her father?’
‘Not exactly, though she mentions pushing his body into the sea – can you imagine that? She was just a kid.’ A pause. ‘I need to put the diaries in the loft,’ she says. ‘I can’t carry on reading, it’ll break my heart.’
‘Oh, Alice.’ Leon takes her in his arms. ‘I’m sorry this is so hard for you.’
She rests her head against his chest for some time, tears spilling down her cheeks.
*
After they’ve eaten, Leon and Alice head into the lounge and snuggle on the sofa together. Henry stretches blissfully by the fire.
She clicks on the TV, bringing up Netflix, and hands the remotes to Leon, knowing he likes to scroll through the endless options.
Despite everything that has happened – the trauma of what took place at Flynn Hotel, the loss of her father, the fact Leon kept things from her – something good has come from the horrific nightmare. She knows what she wants from life, and that her father would want her to make every moment count.
She looks up at Leon and smiles. He kisses her hair.
Epilogue
1994
Hugh
Hugh drove for miles, staying on familiar roads as he travelled through Ipswich and Colchester, the pain in his side easing the further from Flynn House he got. Eventually, he pulled into a lay-by on the outskirts of London, to check his wound. It didn’t seem as bad as he first thought. The knife had missed any organs, and because of the little girl’s lack of strength and size, the blade hadn’t gone deep. It was nasty, yes, but not life-threatening. He unbuttoned and removed his shirt, stripping down to the blood-soaked T-shirt beneath. He ripped the shirt to bandage-sized pieces, and pressed the fabric against his injury.
‘Tiger?’ The voice in the back of the car was tiny, hopeless. He looked over his shoulder, where blue eyes stared up at him from a drawn, pale face. ‘Where’s Tiger?’
‘We won’t be seeing Tiger again, sweetheart.’ Tears burned his eyes. ‘Tiger is staying with Verity.’
‘Verity,’ the girl said, and her heavy lids fell over her eyes once more.
The thud of pain Hugh felt at that moment didn’t come from his injury. It came from his heart, as though it had splintered into pieces and he would never be able to put it together again. He’d let this happen. Hugh Flynn with his selfish indulgence and self-pity – he’d let this happen.
Forgive me, Pippa.
Forgive me, Verity.
Forgive me, Tiger.
He glanced in the rear-view mirror once more, at the now-sleeping child, her arms folded around the cuddly tiger. Forgive me, daughter. I’ll make this up to you. I promise.
He sat for some time in the lay-by. Cars whooshed by. The sun went down. The hot day turned to a warm evening, as darkness fell.
He had money – plenty of it, stashed in a bank account that Verity had set up for him years ago. But a bloke covered in blood arriving in a strange place, with a child who had been so desperately neglected, was going to cause attention. He was her father, but he had no way of proving that. He had no clothes for her. No food. What the hell was he going to do? Where could he go?
He knew the answer wasn’t to tell the truth. He couldn’t go to the authorities and let them know what his sister had done. He just couldn’t. Verity had been his
salvation. Protected him. He owed her. This was Hugh’s fault, and she would go to prison if it all came out, and her daughter would be taken from her, placed into care. No. That wasn’t an option. He couldn’t do that to his sister.
He started the engine, and pulled from the lay-by. He would keep driving, head around London until something came to him. But first he needed petrol, to grab something to eat for the child.
He drove into a petrol station, dragged his overcoat over his bloodied T-shirt, and filled the tank, before locking the car, and making his way into the little shop, where he grabbed a couple of packs of sandwiches, a milkshake, some coffee.
*
‘Is that nice?’ he said, as the child pulled her sandwich apart, and nibbled at the cheese, like a mouse. She didn’t answer, and he wondered again at the damage his sister had done.
When Hugh started the engine once more, he knew exactly where he was heading. The only place he had ever travelled to outside of Flynn House. He would go to Bristol.
After travelling for more than five hours, exhausted, Hugh pulled the car onto the wide drive of Clara McCloud’s house on the outskirts of Bristol, and dragged on the handbrake. He prayed she would be able to put him and his daughter up.
The Edwardian house felt familiar, and his mind skittered back to happier times with Pippa. He’d escaped Flynn House then too. His life had been on track. He closed his eyes, imagined himself sprawled on the grass, Pippa in his arms. Would things have been different if he hadn’t returned to Flynn House?
Hugh climbed from the car, and pulled on his overcoat, buttoning it to the neck. He stepped out towards the front door.
Clara McCloud had been in her late seventies when he and Verity had rented there. She would be in her eighties now. He glanced at the two annexes at the side of the house, in darkness. Students, if they still rented there, would be home for the summer break.
As he stepped onto the porch a security light sprung on. He pressed the doorbell.
It was some time before Clara opened up. ‘Can I help you?’ she said. She looked the same, but wasn’t as agile. Her stout body supported by a walking frame. She narrowed her eyes. ‘Hugh?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I thought so. I never forget my lodgers.’ Her voice was soft, her eyes lifting upwards as though searching for memories. ‘How are you and that sister of yours, Vivian?’
‘Verity.’
‘That’s right.’ She screwed up her life-worn face. ‘Are you all right, dear? You look terribly washed out.’
‘I’m OK. Thank you.’ Hugh looked back at the car. ‘The thing is, I need somewhere to stay. Only temporarily.’ He looked over at the annexes. ‘I wondered …’
‘Well you’re in luck, Hugh. It being the summer break, you can take your pick.’
‘That’s fantastic. Thank you.’
Clara turned, and plucked a key from a row of hooks by the front door, and handed it to him. ‘Now please don’t think me rude, but I’m in the middle of a Hitchcock film – the one about the birds.’ She turned in the hallway, moving slowly with the aid of her frame. ‘But if there’s anything you need, dear boy, you know where I am.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, knowing Clara wouldn’t bother him while he worked out how to repair his life.
*
The following month was traumatic. Hugh’s injury should have been stitched, and was taking a while to heal. His trips out to get food and clothes were torturous.
The child barely slept, and when she did she would often wake in tears following recurring nightmares about being dragged back to Flynn House.
It had taken a lot of coaxing to get the little girl to eat, but with the aid of food supplements, she was gradually gaining weight.
At times Hugh wondered if he had made a mistake – was he really up to caring for the child? Was he really any better than Verity or Felix, trapping this little girl in a tiny annex, where nobody knew of her existence?
But slowly things improved. A milestone was seeing her smile for the first time; another was a small tinkling laugh when they sat in the park together, and a brown Labrador raced up to her and licked her face.
‘I like dogs,’ she said, as the sun beamed down on them, and Hugh gripped her hand. It felt like a sign from Pippa. They’d planned to get a Labrador, hadn’t they?
‘I like dogs too, Alice.’ He had no idea why he called her Alice, but it suited her, with her long blonde hair and that lost look. She was no Tiger, no Rosie. She was a little girl who had fallen down a rabbit hole, and got lost in a strange world. Hugh had saved her from danger, hadn’t he? He hoped it wasn’t too late.
At that moment he had no idea what the future would hold, but the intense feelings that ran through him were overwhelming. Was it because she was his daughter, or had he simply needed to protect her, a little someone who would finally give his life meaning?
*
At the end of the university summer break, Clara needed him to give up the annex for students. Hugh packed up the few things they had, tracked down an old friend who arranged fake birth certificates for Adam and Alice Hadley, and headed to Woolacombe in Devon. By then Alice was a good weight, growing into a happy, healthy child. The recurring nightmares she’d had when they’d first arrived at the annex were growing further and further apart. Life would never be easy, Hugh knew that, but then he didn’t deserve easy.
He would always be haunted by his past. Never be free from the grief of losing Pippa, the shock of what his sister had done, or the trauma of being bullied at Felix’s hands. He would always be grateful to Verity for getting him out of their lives – thankful that she did that for him.
But now Alice must come first, and he would keep her safe until the day he died.
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Keep reading for an excerpt from I Lie in Wait …
Prologue
Now
Me
‘Maddie? Maddie, is that you?’ It is. I know her voice. She’s in the next room. ‘Maddie! Maddie, please help me!’ I tug at the chain trapping my wrist to the bedstead. It cuts into my flesh. Makes fresh wounds.
‘We’re heading back to Drummondale House on Friday,’ she’s saying. ‘It’s the anniversary of Lark and Jackson’s disappearance.’
‘Maddie, please!’ I yell. Why can’t she hear me?
‘Robert feels there may be something we missed that night. I’m not sure what to think, but I’ll keep you updated. Wish us luck!’
‘You’re wasting your time, Maddie,’ you say. And of course, you are right.
The sound of your laptop snapping closed brings me back to reality. Maddie isn’t there at all. You were listening to her vlog.
I close my eyes, fatigue washing over me, my usual thoughts carrying me to nightmares: How did I let this happen? How could I have been so stupid?
*
I have no idea how long I’ve slept, but I’m now alone, and the place is in darkness. I shuffle up the bed, ears pricked on alert for the sound of tyres rolling over the ice-packed ground. My sore, watery eyes pinned on the window, waiting for a glimpse of your car’s headlights to cut across the grubby glass. But it’s silent, and I wonder if you’ve gone back there – back to Drummondale House.
Chapter 1
Present Day
Amelia
He took her. Jackson Cromwell – my mother’s lover. He took my teenage sister. He took Lark from us. I know he did. And sometimes, looking back – eyes wide open – I wonder if I should have reacted when I saw the way he looked at her, the way he flirted.
It’s the anniversary of her disappearance this Friday. Twelve long months of not knowing where Lark is – whether she’s alive or dead.
My ex-partner William couldn’t cope with my outpourings of grief following my sister’s disappearance. It
couldn’t have been easy for him listening to me repeat the same tragic words, desperate to explore my feelings, desperate to cope with what had happened. I went from numb to feeling too much, to numb again, all with the aid of too much wine.
In fact, I still hadn’t come to terms with her loss when, seven months later, my mum died. Imagine a car wreck – well that was me in human form.
But a few weeks after her funeral, life took an upward turn. I discovered I was pregnant. For three months a tiny baby had been growing inside me and I’d been too swept away by grief overload to realise. It was a miracle, and for the first time in ages, bubbles of happiness fizzed.
‘It can’t be mine,’ William said, when I broke the news over his favourite meal of guinea fowl and gnocchi.
‘Of course it’s yours,’ I said, placing the little stick telling me the best news ever onto his side plate, and trying to smile despite his tactless comment.
‘That’s got your pee on it, Amelia,’ he said, pushing it away. ‘Are you positive it’s mine?’
‘OK, for one …’ I held up my index finger ‘… I’ve only slept with you in all the time I’ve known you. And two …’ I burst into tears.
William jumped up, grabbed a serviette – he always insisted we had them on the table, as I had, still have in fact, a habit of getting ‘stuff’ on my face when I eat – and thrust it into my hand.
‘OK, great, I’m going to be a dad,’ he said, and left the room. He’d barely touched his gnocchi. I guess the pee on the stick hadn’t helped.
So this portrays William in an awful light. But, in fairness to him, he’d been through my hell with me, and was no longer ‘Fun-Loving Will’ the man with the amazing smile who I met on a night out with the girls three years ago. He was a faded, tired version. In fact, I couldn’t recall the last time he’d smiled. He wanted out of our relationship, but, at the time, he didn’t have the heart to leave a woman weighed down by a bucket-load of tragedy. And now, a baby – our baby – would trap him forever.
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