The Secret

by Debbie Howells

  First thing on Monday morning, I wake up to overcast skies from which the first drops of rain are falling as I get into my car. By the time I reach the office, it’s become a downpour.

  Shaking the rain off my coat, I make my way to my office. I’ve been there less than five minutes when the DI calls, and my blood runs cold as he explains that the injuries to Hollie’s head don’t correspond with bruising she would have sustained from a fall.

  ‘We’re still checking it out, but there’s a wound to the front of her head that couldn’t possibly have come from falling against the edge of the pool. It doesn’t look like her death was an accident. You’d better get back to the Hampton house. It’s likely we’re looking for a murderer.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Elise

  The cause of Hollie’s death has yet to be announced, but when news of the post-mortem findings slip out, Andrew at least has the grace to call me.

  ‘I had a call from the coroner’s office. Apparently Hollie had injuries to her head. They’re opening a murder inquiry.’

  ‘God.’ Shock hits me, just as it did when her body was found, only this time, it’s laced with fear. I’d imagined Hollie missing her step, hitting her head on the side of the pool as she fell. Not someone killing her. ‘How can they be sure?’

  ‘There’s an injury to the side of her head, which would be likely if she’d simply fallen, but they’ve found a second. It’s most likely someone struck her with a sharp object, then she hit her head a second time as she fell into the pool. I have to go, Elise.’ He speaks coldly. ‘I have patients.’

  *

  I’m still struggling to take in the news of Hollie’s death when it’s time for me to tell Niamh later on. She listens in silence, then gets up and pushes past me on her way to the bathroom, making it just in time before she throws up.

  When she comes back, her face is ashen, her body slumped as I put my arms around her, wishing I could take the pain away. Lowering my head to rest against hers, I hate what this is doing to her, but there’s nothing I can say to change this most brutal of realities.

  She should be going to school tomorrow, but after this latest shock, knowing that word will soon get around, I want to protect her. As we stand there, the breeze ripples through her open window, the silence only broken by the gradual crescendo from outside as the rain starts.

  *

  Wanting to be home for Niamh, I take another week’s unpaid leave. As the rain falls relentlessly in the days that follow, I realise how little I know about the people around me. I’ve spoken to Ida Jones now and then, but never about anything other than the most trivial matters, and when I see our other neighbours, conversation is superficial, the briefest of exchanges. None of us open our hearts, bare our souls. Each of us has our own lives, just as each of us has secrets. Even Della, whom I’m closest to, only sees what I choose to share with her, as I hide the miserable truth from everyone.

  Nearly two weeks after Hollie’s body was found, a police car pulls up outside the house. As DS May gets out and hurries through the rain, I go to open the door.

  This time, she’s alone. ‘Sorry to turn up without warning. Do you mind if I come in?’

  ‘Of course.’ I’m already standing back to let her in. ‘Can I take your jacket?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  I wait as she slips it off before I hang it near a radiator, then lead her through to the kitchen. ‘Do sit down.’ Her long hair is rolled into a twist, and in a pale blouse and black trousers, she appears coolly confident. As I sit across the table from her, I feel I’m under scrutiny, uncomfortable even before she speaks.

  ‘What a day. Still, at least it puts the press off. Have they been back here since last time?’

  ‘No.’ I frown. She didn’t come here to talk about the press.

  Leaning forward in her chair, she looks at me. ‘I wanted to talk to you about Niamh’s friendship with Hollie. Was there anything about Hollie that made you concerned about them spending so much time together? It’s just that we’re getting a picture of quite a troubled teenager.’

  I’d never considered Hollie as anything but harmless, but I understand DS May is trying to establish her own picture of a girl she’ll never meet. ‘No more than anyone else.’ I meet her eyes. ‘I liked that she had a friend in the village. Hollie could be flighty, I suppose, but I didn’t worry about them spending time together. Niamh’s fourteen. You can’t watch over children forever – you have to let them grow up, be themselves. I think that’s one of the reasons she and Hollie got on. However unhappy she was feeling, Hollie was always herself. I think Niamh admired that.’

  DS May frowns. ‘Would you say she was often unhappy?’

  I sigh. ‘Not particularly. We’re all different, Detective Sergeant. Hollie could be volatile, emotional, high-strung. She was smart, too, but I think it’s fair to say she thrived on having a degree of drama in her life.’ It’s how I’d always seen her. She wasn’t the kind of person to be content with a quiet life. She should have been an actress.

  ‘What about her father?’ This time, DS May looks openly curious. ‘Can you tell me anything about him? He wrote a bestseller, didn’t he?’

  I nod. ‘He’s written other books since, though I don’t think they’ve done so well. But the family seems to have a nice lifestyle – and Stephanie has her salon.’

  DS May nods thoughtfully. ‘Hollie got on well with Stephanie?’

  I shrug. ‘As I told you before, I didn’t really spend time with them as a family, though I’ve been to Stephanie’s salon a couple of times. The last was just before Hollie disappeared.’ Pausing, I remember Stephanie seemed distracted. ‘I wasn’t aware of any animosity between them, but she said she was finding Hollie difficult. Stephanie meant well, but when she married James, she took on a grieving stepdaughter. Something like that doesn’t come without its challenges.’

  ‘You sound as though you knew Hollie quite well.’ DS May watches me carefully.

  ‘It’s a village.’ I sit back, looking at her. ‘There aren’t many of us here, and because Hollie spent so much time with Niamh, there was a certain familiarity between us. I don’t think there’s anything unusual about that.’

  She shakes her head. ‘Of course not. To be honest, I’m struggling to find anyone other than her father who knows Hollie more than just in passing.’

  I try to recall how Hollie was, the last few times I saw her. ‘I’m sure something was going on. It wasn’t just what Stephanie said. The last time I saw Hollie in the churchyard, she was definitely upset. She’d taken the day off school. In fact, I even asked her what she was hiding …’ I look at DS May, remembering Hollie’s agitation. ‘She said there was nothing. But she was lying. I’m sure of it.’

  DS May nods. ‘I’m seeing her form teacher tomorrow. She may be able to shed some light on whatever was going on. We need to speak to Niamh again, too, especially now that we’re looking at a murder inquiry. If Hollie was afraid of anyone, she may have confided in her.’

  Knowing Niamh doesn’t find it easy talking to the police, I’m torn between protecting her and wanting to help. I nod. ‘I’ll ask her. She’s very upset – she tends to bottle things inside.’ It’s happened even more so as she’s got older, but then, Andrew and I are hardly a shining example.

  ‘It might be really helpful.’ DS May gets up. ‘Perhaps I could come back later on? When she’s back from school?’

  My heart sinks. None of this is easy for Niamh. ‘She’s usually home around four.’

  *

  After DS May leaves, I stand at the kitchen window, watching her hurry across the drive and get into her car. As she drives away, I wonder who else in the village she’s talking to about Hollie. Shivering, I glance at the sky, heavy with rain that shows no signs of easing.

  In the quiet of the house, I wonder if I should have told her about seeing James in the woods. No matter, I can tell her later, when she comes back. But unwanted thoughts fill my head, until finally I
have to get out. It’s raining too hard to go for a run, so I pull on my coat, dash to my car and set off for Della’s.

  The road has flooded in places and I drive slowly through the water overflowing from the streams on either side. A torrent of water pours down the drive outside the Calders’ house. Managing to sidestep it, I get to the door.

  Julian opens it. ‘Elise! How are you?’ He speaks with his usual air of bonhomie, but he looks surprised to see me. ‘You must come in. Dreadful, isn’t it?’

  Unsure whether he’s talking about Hollie or the weather, I hover on the doorstep. ‘I was hoping to catch Della – is she around?’

  ‘Hasn’t double-booked again has she?’ Julian looks at me curiously. ‘She went to Chichester. Something to do with a fundraising lunch …’ Breaking off, he frowns. ‘At least, I think that’s what she said. I don’t know. I lose track of what she’s up to.’ He pauses. ‘Are you coming in?’

  I’m not in the mood for Julian’s small talk. ‘Don’t worry. She wasn’t expecting me. I was just passing. I’ll catch her another time.’ I start backing away towards my car. ‘Tell her I called?’

  Back in my car, I watch him close the front door as I start the engine. Pulling away, I avoid the worst of the puddles, but even with my windscreen wipers on full, I have no choice but to crawl along, barely able to see the road ahead until I reach the dual carriageway. Accelerating, I drive aimlessly for a while, playing loud music, trying to shake off the uneasiness I feel. Hollie’s death has got under my skin, dredging up emotions I don’t want to face even as I try to bury them.

  I end up at Stephanie’s salon, driven there by a need to be anywhere other than my home. But when I go inside, I stop thinking about myself. Stephanie’s eyes are red, her shoulders slumped, the salon filled with an atmosphere of sadness. Her efforts to rally herself evaporate when she sees it’s me.

  ‘Elise.’ Even her heavier than usual makeup doesn’t hide the paleness of her skin.

  ‘How are you holding up?’ Instantly I regret asking. ‘I’m sorry, that’s a stupid question. It’s such a horrible day, and as I was driving past, I thought I’d just pop in.’

  She nods. ‘It’s nice of you. Everyone else is staying away. I haven’t had a customer for days. I could put the kettle on – if you have time?’

  It’s what people do – stay away – because they don’t know what to say, when what’s needed most is basic human contact. Being up close to someone else’s grief can be too much of a reminder that death can happen, at any time, to any one of us. ‘Thanks.’

  She looks mildly surprised. ‘The kettle’s through here.’

  I follow her through a doorway behind her desk into a smaller room. There are photos on the walls of brides with elaborately styled hair, presumably some of Stephanie’s work. In one corner, there’s a compact kitchenette, with a long table covered in buckets of spring flowers set against the wall.

  Stephanie sees me looking at them. ‘I got them from next door. They’re for the funeral.’

  ‘They’re beautiful.’ The flowers are fresh shades of lemon, white, pale blue and pink, and I recognise the scent of narcissi and hyacinths. But at the mention of a funeral, shock hits me. After Hollie’s disappearance, the discovery of her body, then the police involvement, and now her funeral, everything’s moving so fast. ‘Have you set a date?’

  ‘Next Thursday. It’s early to get the flowers in, but the florist said it would take a few days for them to open …’ Her voice wavers. ‘She’s going to help me take them to the church. Oh God … Hollie’s dead and I’m talking about flowers.’ As she looks at me, her face is etched with grief.

  Going over to the worktop, I finish making the tea. ‘Why don’t you sit down? I can do this.’ Wiping away her tears, she doesn’t argue as she goes and perches on one of the chairs. A minute later, I hand her one of her mugs.

  ‘Thank you.’ She takes a sip of tea. ‘The day after her body was found, I had to come in early to do a bride’s hair – and her bridesmaids’. She was having the kind of fairy-tale wedding that every girl dreams of. All I could think was, Hollie will never get married, never have children …’ Her voice breaks as more tears stream down her cheeks.

  Hollie may not have been her daughter by blood, but Stephanie’s clearly heartbroken. A feeling of powerlessness overwhelms me that I have no words of comfort to offer, but at times like this, there is nothing to say, nor is there anything I or anyone else can do to help her. I gently touch her arm. ‘I’m so sorry.’ I’m silent as she drinks her tea, then quietly ask, ‘How is James bearing up?’

  ‘Honestly?’ She raises her tear-stained face to look at me. ‘He’s a mess. I’m trying to be there for him, but he’s all over the place. Losing his first wife when she was so young, now Hollie … it’s too much for anyone.’

  ‘He has you,’ I say gently. But she’s right. Hollie’s death is too much; the worst, most unnatural kind of loss.

  ‘I don’t know how he’ll get over this.’ More tears roll down her face.

  I don’t say anything, because I don’t believe people do get over a loss like this. What happens is that you get used to living with the grief as time passes, somehow assimilating it into your life, as it changes the way you see everything.

  Then Stephanie shocks me. ‘The thing is …’ Breaking off, she’s tense as she looks at me. ‘Please don’t tell anyone this, will you? It isn’t just Hollie – though that’s terrible enough.’ Swallowing, she shakes her head. ‘I think there’s something else going on. It might sound paranoid, but I’m sure James is hiding something.’

  Thinking of the day I saw him in the woods, my ears prick up. ‘To do with Hollie, you mean?’

  Her eyes widen, then she tries to backtrack. ‘Oh no … Nothing like that. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m probably just on edge. We both are.’

  I think about telling her that I saw James while I was running, but I don’t want to add to her burden when I don’t know what the exchange I saw was about. There’s no question Stephanie suspects something – and I know from experience that there are gut instincts you can’t ignore. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She looks evasive. ‘Why does anyone suspect someone’s keeping something from them? Private phone calls, hiding what he’s looking at on his laptop … he’s drinking far more than he used to, too. But this all started a long time before Hollie disappeared.’

  A chill comes over me. ‘Have you asked him about it?’

  ‘I’ve tried …’ Her voice wavers. ‘He pushes me away. Tells me more lies.’ She shakes her head sadly. ‘James and I used to be so close. But that’s gone. And now poor Hollie …’ She pauses. ‘I’ve tried so hard to make up for Hollie losing her mother. To be a rock for James. For a while, I even thought the three of us were happy, but nothing ever stays the same.’

  I think back to something Stephanie said the last time I was in the salon. We become expert at hiding things. Maybe even then she was alluding to what James is keeping from her.

  As for being happy … I try to remember when my life was happy – when Andrew was faithful, when there wasn’t anything to hide. Before Niamh was born? Days after, I’d discovered Andrew was having an affair – his second, as far as I know. Having forgiven him for the first, it had cast a shadow over the joy of Niamh’s birth. Thinking back further, I stop myself, because for as long as I can remember, life’s been dominated by Andrew’s bullying and infidelity.

  I turn to Stephanie. ‘You need to talk to James. Ask him what he’s hiding from you. But you have Hollie’s funeral coming up. Maybe it would be better to wait. If you and James are good, as you hope you are, you’ll get through this.’ I watch her take it in. ‘Try to take one day at a time, Stephanie. This is the hardest part – for both of you.’ I pause for a few seconds. ‘If I can do anything, you know where I am. Call me – or come over. Any time.’

  I’m already regretting my offer as I leave the salon. Not just because I inst
inctively protect my privacy, but because Andrew hates people turning up uninvited. The more people who know his whereabouts, the harder it becomes to hide his indiscretions. He likes to maintain the illusion that we’re the epitome of the perfect family. He has no intention of letting that image slip.

  Niamh

  In death, as in life, Hollie takes centre stage in my mind. On the bus, everyone’s talking about her. At school, it’s the same. But bad news travels faster than good.

  Through the bus window, I stare at the rain painting everything grey, settling on the roads in oily puddles, while all I can think of is Hollie.

  Hollie standing in the churchyard among the headstones, staring at the ghosts. Hollie running across a field, her long hair flying out behind her. Hollie’s lifeless, floating body, cold in death.

  In the time it takes to run from the bus stop to my house, my clothes are soaked through. In the kitchen, my mother’s talking on her phone, looking up briefly as I go upstairs and change. When I come down, she’s waiting for me.

  ‘How was your day?’ She looks anxious.

  ‘OK.’ I shrug, then go to the fridge for a drink.

  My mother’s voice comes from behind me. ‘Niamh, the police want to talk to you again. They have this idea that Hollie may have told you something that might help them get to the bottom of what’s happened to her.’

  Opening the can, I take a mouthful, turning around as my mother goes on.

  ‘DS May was here earlier. She wondered if Hollie might have confided in you.’

  Raindrops on the window scatter the beam from a car’s headlights into a thousand tiny shards, as it turns into our drive. My mother says from behind me, ‘That’s probably her.’

  I feel myself frown. She has no idea how impossible this is. That I have to lie to the police because I made a promise. There’s stuff Hollie told me I can’t tell anyone.