‘Mrs Buckley? May we come in?’ Behind her is a uniformed police officer.
‘Of course.’ I stand back to let them in, then close the door behind them. ‘Would you like to come through to the kitchen?’
‘Thank you. This is Sergeant Collins.’ DS May gestures towards her colleague. ‘I appreciate this probably isn’t an easy time, but could we talk to you and your daughter?’
‘By all means.’ I gesture towards the kitchen table. ‘Do you want to take a seat? I’ll find Niamh.’
‘Before you do, Mrs Buckley …’ DS May speaks quietly ‘… I’m not sure whether you know, but Hollie drowned. You might want to tell her first, as she might find the news rather distressing.’
‘We do know.’ Taking in their surprised glances, I add, ‘My husband is the local GP. He told me the night before last.’ I start walking towards the stairs, calling up. ‘Niamh? Could you come down here for a minute?’
As I look up, her pinched face appears in her bedroom doorway.
‘The police are here again.’
Niamh comes closer, a worried look on her face as she peers through the bannisters. ‘Have they said any more about what happened to her?’
Shaking my head, I go up the stairs towards her. ‘No more than we already know. They just said they’d like to talk to both of us.’
Niamh’s intake of breath is sharp and I wonder if it’s too much for her.
‘If you’re up to it?’ I look at her anxiously. ‘I can tell them if you’re not.’
Wordlessly she nods, then slowly comes downstairs. When we go into the kitchen, I pull out a chair near mine for her to sit on. ‘This is Sergeant Collins and Detective Sergeant May – you met last time?’ I remind Niamh, nodding towards the woman.
‘Hello, Niamh.’ DS May speaks gently. ‘I’m so very sorry about your friend. We hoped we could talk to you some more about her as you might know something that could help us find out what happened to her.’
‘OK.’ In front of the two policewomen, Niamh seems younger, smaller, as though the news of Hollie’s death has reduced her in some way. Then I realise she has been reduced; in a village of adults, the two who were allies are now one.
DS May’s digital pen hovers above her notebook. ‘How long were the two of you friends?’
Niamh glances towards me. ‘Two years?’
I nod. ‘About that.’
DS May frowns slightly. ‘You didn’t go to the same school, did you?’
‘No.’ Niamh’s discomfort is obvious, her hands in little fists, clenched on the table in front of her.
‘Did you know any of Hollie’s other friends?’ DS May’s eyes scan her notes.
Niamh shakes her head. ‘She didn’t talk about anyone. I don’t think she had that many.’
‘Any boyfriends?’
Niamh glances at me quickly before shaking her head. ‘She didn’t have one.’
‘How about old boyfriends? Was there anyone she might have upset, or who wanted her back?’
‘No.’ An anxious look crosses Niamh’s face.
DS May turns to look at me. ‘Mrs Buckley, I know we’ve been over some of this last time, but how well would you say you knew Hollie?’
How well do any of us know each other – and how do you measure a relationship? ‘I’ve known her for years – and she’s spent a fair amount of time at our house since she and Niamh became friends. I also used to see her around the village. I go running,’ I explain. ‘Sometimes, weeks could go by without a sign of her. But she’s a teenager. I never thought of it as strange.’
‘You know her parents?’
I nod. ‘Not particularly well, but enough to talk to them in the pub, if our paths happen to cross. Stephanie – her stepmother – is a hairdresser and now and then I’ve been to her salon. I’ve been there recently, as it happens – but like I said, we’re acquaintances rather than friends.’
‘Hollie got on well with them?’
I frown. If she wants a window into their family life, she’s asking the wrong person. ‘As far as I know, but I’m probably not the best person to ask.’
DS May looks at Niamh. ‘Niamh? Did Hollie say anything to you about her relationships with her father and stepmother?’
Niamh shakes her head.
DS May is silent for a moment. ‘Hollie’s body was found in the grounds of Park House. Do you have any idea what she might have been doing there?’
Niamh’s gaze drifts towards the window before she looks back at the policewoman. ‘She used to go into everyone’s gardens. She liked to find her own way in. She never did anything bad. It was more like she was doing it because she could.’
DS May looks interested. ‘You think she got a kick out of it?’
‘Kind of.’ Niamh pauses, thinking. ‘Part of it was she didn’t like being told what to do. But mostly, I think she just wanted to feel free.’
DS May looks at her closely. ‘Did you ever go with her?’
The hint of pink in her cheeks and Niamh’s look of alarm give her away.
DS May tries to reassure her. ‘Niamh … you’re not in any trouble, I promise you. All we’re trying to establish is what Hollie was like, what she did, who she saw …’
Niamh hesitates, then speaks quickly. ‘The other day, when I was with her, she climbed a gate up Furze Lane into a field. But that’s all we did. I did try to stop her,’ Niamh adds. ‘The gate said “private” on it. She said we weren’t doing any harm. And we weren’t.’ Glancing at me, she folds her arms.
‘Can you tell us when that was?’
Niamh frowns. ‘About ten days ago? I’m not sure.’
DS May turns to me. ‘Mrs Buckley, you said earlier you sometimes saw Hollie when you were out running … Where was that, usually?’
‘I don’t always run along the same route, Detective Sergeant.’ I pause. ‘But quite often, I’d see her in the churchyard.’
DS May pushes a strand of her long hair behind her ear. ‘Didn’t that strike you as a macabre place for a teenager to hang out?’
‘Yes …’ I hesitate. ‘I suppose it was. But Hollie had a vivid imagination. She lost her birth mother eight years ago and though she isn’t buried there, I think there was something comforting to Hollie about the idea of being among ghosts.’
It’s the same reason any of us go there. To remind ourselves of loved ones who have gone before us. ‘It isn’t as strange as it may sound,’ I add, then falter as she looks at me oddly. ‘I’m not sure what else I can tell you.’
It seems as though we’ve reached an impasse; DS May stands up. ‘Just to warn you, the press are hanging around. Unfortunately it’s what happens when a story gets out. I strongly advise against talking to them.’
‘They’ve already been here,’ I tell her. ‘I told them they were trespassing and asked them to leave.’
DS May nods. ‘Good. I’ll leave you my card. Should you think of anything about Hollie, however small, I’d appreciate you calling me.’
After they go out to their car, Niamh stands at the kitchen window watching them leave, then, without saying anything, turns and goes upstairs to her room. Left alone, I swallow the lump in my throat. It’s hard for her, and even harder for Hollie’s parents. Hollie’s death will affect all of us.
Chapter Thirteen
Elise
With Hollie’s body being held until a post-mortem has been carried out, no date for her funeral has been set and so a week and a day after she was found, instead of the handful of regulars, most of the villagers make their way down the frozen footpaths to gather in the church, while parishioners from outside the village join us and I’m relieved when Mia, one of Niamh’s school friends, squeezes into the pew next to her. The church is packed and the service poignant, a reminder of how transient life is, after which the vicar delivers a more personal message.
‘More than ever, we need to look out for one another. Small communities like ours are rare places. At times like this, we must stand united. We should
all feel safe enough to let our children roam the footpaths. Our children should, in turn, feel safe doing so. We have to find a way to not let this tragic accident destroy the sense of security that’s always existed here.’
It’s a naïvely optimistic message – and inappropriate, I can’t help thinking. We don’t yet know if Hollie’s death was an accident. Whether or not it was, it will be time, rather than faith, that will lead people to feeling safe around here again.
As we file outside, Della catches my arm. ‘Andrew not here?’ Raising a questioning eyebrow, she seems to lack her usual sparkle.
‘He’s playing golf.’ He’s the only person I know who hasn’t felt the impact of Hollie’s death. I watch surprise register on Della’s face.
Now and then I’ve come close to confiding in her, but it’s impossible to explain, even to her, why I tolerate Andrew. My heart twists in sympathy as I see James across the churchyard, his face shadowed with grief. But it seems that even here, there is no escape from the press and as he stands there, a man walks towards him, raising a camera. James turns away in the nick of time but then another man I vaguely recognise, smartly dressed in a dark coat, steps in and after what looks like a confrontation, the cameraman leaves.
‘Bloody press.’ As the man in the coat turns back towards James, I’m curious. ‘Who is that talking to James?’
‘Phil Mason.’ Della’s silent for a moment. ‘You’d think the press would have the decency to stay away, wouldn’t you?’
‘I’m not sure they have a moral code.’ I frown as I study this Phil Mason. He’s of average height, younger than James, and like many people around here, wealthy, judging from the winter tan and neatly styled hair, the cut of his coat, his polished shoes. After a brief exchange with James, Mason walks away. ‘Poor James. It makes you wonder how much pain one person can bear.’
‘He isn’t the only person who’s lost someone.’ Della’s eyes drift towards Stephanie, standing a few feet behind him. ‘I hope it isn’t much longer before we find out what happened to Hollie. The police are treating her death as suspicious, aren’t they?’
‘All I know is they’re carrying out a post-mortem. I suppose we have to wait and see what that shows.’ I glance at my watch, glad to have an excuse to get away. ‘I should go. I’m working this afternoon. I’ll catch you another time.’ Kissing her on the cheek, I start looking for Niamh, finding her with Mia. ‘I’m sorry, Niamh – I have to go home and get ready for work. I check in at one. Do you want to walk back with me?’
‘Can I go to Mia’s?’ Niamh looks at me anxiously.
‘Of course – if that’s OK with your mother, Mia?’ I’m grateful not to be leaving her alone. She and Mia aren’t particularly close, but right now, Niamh needs company.
Mia nods. ‘She did say it would be OK. I asked her on the way here.’
‘OK …’ I glance at Niamh. ‘I’ll call your father – he can text you to arrange a time to pick you up.’
*
Three hours later, I’m sitting on my crew seat as the aircraft takes off for Nice. Thankfully, the short flight is unadventurous, the passengers undemanding, and for the few hours in the calm of the half-empty cabin, Hollie’s death seems far away. In the south of France, the sky is blue and we open the aircraft door to warm air and French accents, but as I drive home after the return flight, and turn into the village, it comes flooding back.
Andrew’s car is in the drive. After I park and go inside, the sound of the television filters through from the sitting room. I slip off my shoes and am on my way upstairs to look for Niamh when I hear Andrew’s voice.
‘For God’s sake, you know I can’t.’ His voice is scathing as he talks on his phone, seemingly unaware I’ve just come in.
‘She won’t say anything.’ There’s a silence before he laughs cynically. ‘How do I know? For Christ’s sake, I’m married to her. Of course I know!’
Unable to stop myself, I walk over to the sitting room and push the door open, pretending I don’t know he’s on the phone. ‘Did you collect Niamh, Andrew?’ I speak louder than usual, deliberately interrupting.
Turning around, frowning, he points to his phone. I ignore him. ‘Niamh?’
‘Just a moment,’ he mutters into his phone, then covers the mouthpiece with his hand. ‘How dare you!’
‘I would have thought our daughter’s whereabouts would be your highest priority right now.’ I stare at him coolly, my meaning clear. ‘Particularly in light of Hollie’s death. Did you even read my text?’
I’ve caught him out. He hasn’t bothered. ‘One of us needs to go and get her,’ I say pointedly, gazing at the almost empty bottle of wine on the table in front of him. ‘I imagine that’s going to be me.’
I was hoping to have a bath and put on pyjamas, but suddenly I’ve no desire to be in the same house as Andrew. Without waiting for a reply, I walk out to the kitchen and put on my shoes just as a car pulls up outside. Hearing a door slam, dread fills me that it could be the press again, but seconds later, Niamh appears through the door. ‘Mia’s dad dropped me. He said he didn’t mind.’ Her face is brighter than this morning, pink from the cold, her voice lighter and less troubled than it has been in days, weeks even. My stomach churns at how obvious it is that even for a few hours, it’s been good for her to be away from this house.
‘Your father got held up.’ As always, I make an excuse for Andrew’s selfishness. ‘Have you had a good day?’
‘Yeah.’ But at the mention of Andrew, her face clouds over.
‘I’m so sorry he didn’t text you. I only got in a few minutes ago and I was just about to come out and get you.’
‘It’s OK.’
I watch her eyes lower. She knows I’m lying about Andrew, that I’m pretending everything is fine, even though, especially in light of Hollie’s death, Andrew’s selfishness is breath-taking. My stomach twists more tightly. Niamh misses none of it. Two minutes in this house, and the lightness is already leaving her.
*
On Monday morning, life resumes a semblance of normality when Andrew goes to work and Niamh goes to school. For once, there are no harsh words or arguments. Instead, an odd sense of calm pervades the house – one that fills me with unease.
Pulling on a sweatshirt over my running gear, I head out for a run, taking a route that brings me past the Hamptons’ house. There are no lights on in the windows. Closed and dark, the only sign of life is the single police car parked outside.
Just beyond their drive, the press are lurking. Anger flares in me that they can be so insensitive. Crossing the road to get away from them, one of them calls out to me as I pass. I make out one word – Hollie – running faster, not bothering to reply.
Further away from the village, I turn into the pine woods, taking the wide path between trees that stretch either side of me as far as I can see in neat, regimented rows. The air is cold and dry, without wind; just the occasional cry from a passing bird breaking the silence.
Beneath my feet, the ground is cushioned by a carpet of pine needles and I run faster for a couple of miles before slowing to a walk, pausing to catch my breath and stretch for a couple of minutes.
Breaking into a run again, I see a car parked a few hundred yards ahead. It’s familiar and as I watch the driver get out, I recognise James. Hanging back, I watch another car come into sight, one I don’t recognise. Not the press again, surely?
As the car slows down and stops, James goes over, leaning down to talk through the open window with the driver. I’m too far away to hear what they’re saying, but from his body language, the exchange appears to become hostile. Suddenly it escalates further and James starts shouting obscenities, then thumps his fist several times on the top of the car.
Behind me, a pheasant takes flight, shattering the silence with its distinctive call. Momentarily distracted, James fleetingly glances towards me. Quickly shrinking back into the shadows, I stay out of sight as I carry on watching.
After a couple of minutes
, James is forced to step back as the other car drives away. As he paces back to his car, I wonder if this could in some way be connected to Hollie’s death. But if James suspected anyone, he’d have talked to the police. This must be about something else. But the question is, what?
Uncertain, I stay out of sight. I haven’t spoken to James since Hollie died and after what I just witnessed, now isn’t the time. As he gets into his car and drives away, I slowly come out from under the trees, then as his car disappears out of sight, I break into a run.
Carrying on, I head in the same direction the two cars took. Then, just before the track meets the main road, I see James’s car again, parked to one side. Through the window it looks as though he’s on his phone – pleading with someone – clearly upset. But then, he’s lost his daughter and has every reason to be. As I run past, I raise a hand in greeting, but when he sees me, he looks horrified, lifting his hand briefly in response before looking away.
Living in a house the press are hanging around, with the police omnipresent, in a village where suddenly everyone’s watching him, he’s clearly come out here to find privacy, not expecting anyone to see him. It’s understandable.
There could be any number of explanations for what I saw – and anyway, it’s none of my business. There’s every reason for his behaviour to be erratic. The death of their child breaks a parent’s belief in the order of everything. For a moment I imagine how broken-hearted he must feel. Despite the flurry of well-wishers and neighbourly support around them in these early days, in their grief, James and Stephanie are alone.
Chapter Fourteen
Jo
For the Hamptons, as for us all, it’s been over a week of waiting to find out more about how Hollie died. I try to imagine how James Hampton must be feeling. I’ve never lost a child, but I do know how it feels when the unthinkable happens and your life shatters into a million pieces. For him, however, I imagine it’s far worse.
The Secret Page 8