After they’d left, Cal had started coming to the house more and more, earlier and earlier, watching the closed curtains of the windows, hoping to see a glimpse of his mother.
Then Sally had turned up. At first, Cal hadn’t recognised her, but then a memory had floated up from deep down. A memory of being small, maybe four or five, and sitting on his grandmother’s knee as she read him a story. The memory had surprised him—he’d thought all those recollections had been lost.
But it hadn’t surprised him as much as when his mother had started leaving the house, night after night, passing him by just on the other side of the street. The first few times, she’d suddenly stopped a few metres along the road and looked back, as if she’d known he was there. Then she’d walked on and Cal had followed.
It had become a habit, although now he waited for her up at Briar Wood. Despite the camouflage of dark winter evenings, sneaking through the cove came with risks, especially if his mother left the house before the rest of the town had fallen asleep. It would only take a single person to spot him through their window and to call the police, then Cal would be sent away. Maybe locked up forever. That scared him more than Jacob finding out where he was going every night.
But it didn’t scare him as much as the thought of losing his mother forever. Even though she’d left him to rot in Grady Spencer’s basement, even though she’d replaced him with a new family, he knew she was filled with regret. He’d seen how lost she looked without him—how bereft—and it gave him hope that they would one day be together again.
But not yet. Not while there was still anger in him. Not while Jacob and the rest of the farm were breathing down his neck. Not while there were others forming a human barrier between mother and son.
Where was she?
You’re wasting your time. Forget about that whore. After all, she’s forgotten about you.
Cal shook the voice from his head.
Stepping out from the tree line, he checked the caravan park, then glanced both ways down the road. Satisfied he was alone, he darted forward, crouching down like a cat as he descended into the cove, heading for his mother’s home.
The streets were empty, but lights were still on in houses. He stole by each one, silent as a shadow, and turned onto Clarence Row.
His breaths grew thinner as he came up to his mother’s house and ducked down behind a stationary vehicle. Frosty air pinched his skin, but he was oblivious to its sting.
The living room curtains were open and the lights were on. His grandmother was sitting on the sofa, television light flickering across her face. There was tiredness in her eyes. Tiredness and worry.
His gaze drifted up to the top floor toward his mother’s bedroom window. The curtains had been drawn but a light was on. Cal closed his eyes, trying to sense her presence, to pull on the cord that connected them. He opened his eyes again. A silhouette was projected on the curtains as a figure moved inside.
She was there.
Cal’s chest grew hot and tight. Why hadn’t she gone walking tonight? What had changed? Had she rejected him again? Changed her mind about wanting him back?
She never wanted you in the first place, boy.
Cal frowned. That’s not true.
No, something else had kept her indoors tonight. Something else that was trying to come between them.
Or someone else.
Like that man. The one who’d been spying on her in the trees.
His mother’s silhouette was still at the window. Then it was moving away, vanishing into the room.
Nausea churned Cal’s stomach. Now he felt the night air’s icy touch and he shivered. Confused and anxious, he watched the house until Sally switched off the television and drew the curtains. He watched until the light went out in his mother’s bedroom. Until the cold pierced his flesh and numbed his bones.
Until he felt something small and lithe rub against his leg.
Glancing down, Cal saw the shadowy form of a cat curling around his feet. He stooped down and stroked its head with icy fingers. The cat purred contentedly.
Cal thought about the man. Darkness penetrated his body, puncturing his heart. He thought about his mother coming close to death at the cliff edge. He thought about how he would wait for her again tomorrow night at Briar Wood, and about what he might do if she didn’t show.
You should stick her like a pig. Open her throat and shower in her blood.
No, I can’t. She’s my mother.
Somewhere at the edges of his thoughts, he felt fur and muscle writhe in his hands, and sharp claws scratch at his skin. Hot blood spilled over his fingers, warming him against the night chill.
Cal smiled a strange smile.
You’re mine, boy, Grady Spencer whispered in his head. You’re all mine.
13
CARRIE WAS SILENT, her eyes fixed on the ground in front, the hood of her jacket pulled over her head as she walked through the Wednesday morning rain. Beside her, Sally grumbled about the British weather and how she longed for long, hot days like the ones she and Carrie’s father, Jeff, had spent sailing around the Mediterranean. Not that it meant she wanted to leave. No, of course not, she was staying right here for as long as she was needed, but wasn’t this constant rain just a weight on a person’s happiness and enough to drive anyone to despair?
She continued her strained monologue as they entered Trevithick Row, its fifties style housing a stark contrast to the rest of the cove’s two-hundred-year-old architecture.
Carrie remained oblivious of her surroundings. Inside, her mind was trapped in a tornado of fury and panic. That writer, Aaron Black, had followed her to Desperation Point and watched her almost end her life! Worse still, he’d tried to convince her that Cal had been watching, too. But it was a wicked lie. A cruel trick to get her to talk. She’d been too afraid to go walking last night, in case the man had been lying in wait again. She should have called the police and had him arrested. But she hadn’t. And she’d kept Aaron Black a secret from her mother, too. Why was that?
Because there’s a chance he’s telling the truth.
She tried to push the thought away. But it was too late. She pictured her son hiding in the scrub of Briar Wood, watching her teeter between life and death. Was he really out there, hiding on the outskirts? If it was true, why hadn’t he given her a sign? Why hadn’t he come back home into her waiting arms?
Because Cal was gone forever. And yet it was as if she could still sense him. As if she could feel his loneliness like it was her own. Carrie shook her head. She didn’t know what to believe or what to do about it.
A gentle squeeze of her hand brought her back to reality. She looked up to see her mother’s concerned face. They had arrived at their destination.
“You look tired,” Sally said. “But I’m glad you decided to change your mind.”
The front door opened. Gary Killigrew greeted them with a solemn smile. “Morning,” he said, standing to one side.
Sally went in first, immediately bursting into a flurry of nervous chatter as she disappeared into the living room.
“Coming in?”
Gary stared at her patiently. It was a familiar look, one she had seen on her husband’s face several times. The phrase ‘like father, like son’ was very fitting for Gary and Dylan Killigrew; they were carbon copies in both looks and temperament.
Carrie nodded, avoiding her father-in-law’s gaze as she entered the modern bungalow and made her way to the living room.
Thoughts of Cal momentarily melted away.
“Mummy!” Melissa barrelled forward, latching onto Carrie’s thighs, her mass of blonde hair falling across her face.
Carrie gently removed her daughter’s hands then crouched down and kissed her on the cheek.
“Hello, sweet pea. How’s my little star?”
“Come and see the picture I’m drawing with Nana Joy,” Melissa said, bobbing up and down. She tugged on Carrie’s sleeve, pulling her toward Joy Killigrew, who stood up from the couch. Sh
e smiled at Carrie but kept her hands by her sides as the women exchanged hellos. Joy’s gaze wandered to the side of the room.
“Melissa, aren’t you going to say hi to Grandma Sally?” she said.
Melissa turned and glanced over her shoulder, to where Sally stood by the fireplace, arms wrapped around her ribcage.
“Hello,” the girl mumbled.
“Well hello there, angel!” Sally said, a smile rippling across her face. “It’s very nice to see you again!”
Melissa stared at her new grandmother, whom she’d only met last week, before refocusing her attention on Carrie.
“Come and see!” she said in a voice bright as sunlight.
Carrie remained where she was, watching her daughter race to the couch and pick up a sketchbook.
“I’ll make some tea,” Joy said. “Everyone want some?”
Carrie nodded.
“I’ll help.” Sally sprang to life and followed Joy out of the room. Gary, who was still hovering in the doorway, stepped to one side.
“Look, Mummy!” Melissa held up her sketchbook. “I drew you, me, and Daddy.”
Carrie took the sketchpad and studied the picture.
To her relief, she saw a park scene. Trees and flowers glowed in bright colours. Carrie and Dylan stood to one side, stick figures with cherry red smiles. Unlike a certain picture her daughter had drawn not so long ago, their heads were still attached to their bodies. Melissa had drawn herself leaping through the air like a ballerina.
Cal was not in the drawing.
Carrie wondered if Melissa had already forgotten him, or if she was consciously attempting to erase him from her memories so that normal life could resume once more. It seemed to Carrie that her entire family wanted her to do the same. But she couldn’t. Especially now that Aaron Black had offered her more false hope to cling to.
Melissa was up on her tiptoes, desperate to be acknowledged.
“It’s lovely, sweet pea.”
“I drew it for you. So you can take it home.”
A crease appeared in the centre of the girl’s forehead. Her large blue eyes stared up at her mother.
Carrie turned away. “Where’s Dylan?”
Gary, who was busy staring at the floor, shifted his weight. “He’ll be home soon.”
A tug on Carrie’s sleeve pulled her attention back to Melissa.
“Mummy, are we coming home today?”
The weight in Carrie’s chest grew heavier.
“Not today, sweet pea. But soon, I promise.”
“Grandpa Gary said you’re sick.”
Carrie glanced at Gary, who cleared his throat but kept his gaze fixed firmly on the carpet.
“You don’t look sick,” Melissa said, studying her.
Carrie opened her mouth. She closed it again. How did she explain to a four-year-old what was going through her mind? What sick meant in a situation like this?
Gary broke the silence. “Your mother just needs a little time to figure things out, that’s all,” he said. “You’ll be home before you know it. In the meantime, you’ve got Grandpa Gary and Nana Joy to run rings around, haven’t you?”
Joy and Sally returned with tea trays and welcome chatter. Her shoulders relaxing a little, Carrie watched as Sally picked up Melissa’s sketchbook and fired questions at her granddaughter. Melissa replied in monosyllabic whispers. It would take a while for her to adjust to having another grandma, Carrie thought, but it would take Sally even longer to get over the guilt of staying away.
Her thoughts turned to her own guilt. To the hurt in her daughter’s eyes when she was told she couldn’t come home. To the look of betrayal on Cal’s face just moments before he’d disappeared forever. You should have found me years ago, his expression had said. You should have saved me from a life of hell with Grady Spencer.
What if Aaron Black really was telling the truth? Did it mean Cal had been watching her all this time? That her son was still out there somewhere, longing to come home? If it was true, then all was not lost. If it was true, there was one last chance to save her boy. Was that why she had kept her encounter with the writer to herself?
“Daddy! Look, Mummy’s here!”
Carrie pulled herself back to the room. Her heart raced as she saw her husband enter and sweep Melissa into his arms. Their eyes met. Dylan offered Carrie a cautious smile. She smiled back. Neither made a move toward the other.
“Hello handsome,” Sal said and held up Melissa’s drawing. “You’re officially a work of art.”
Dylan gave her a nod, his cheeks flushing as he eyed the picture.
“Gary, fetch another cup,” Joy said.
Dylan held up a hand. “Actually, if you don’t mind—Carrie, can I talk to you in private?”
Carrie’s throat ran dry as she became aware of the sudden silence. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to go home, to crawl inside her bed and hide from the world.
But this was Dylan. Her husband. The man she’d asked to leave their home and take their daughter with him. Not because she didn’t love them anymore, but because being around them reminded her of everything she had lost. The least she could do was listen to what he had to say.
JOY AND GARY’S KITCHEN looked as if it had been frozen in time since the fifties.
“How are you doing?” Dylan asked, staring at her from across the Formica table.
Carrie shook her head. “How are you doing?”
“Missing my wife. Wondering when we can come home.”
“Dylan. . .”
She could see from his eyes that he had no idea how to handle the situation. How to handle her. Carrie looked away, noticing more of Melissa’s sketches fixed to the refrigerator door.
“I’m sorry,” Dylan said, his hands clasped together in front of him. “Melissa keeps asking. I don’t know what else to tell her. She’s so confused.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Silence fell between them. Dylan heaved his shoulders.
“She’s having nightmares. Really bad ones.”
More guilt. More pressure. Carrie gazed at Dylan’s hands, suddenly wanting nothing more than to have them around her waist.
“Nightmares? About what?”
Now it was Dylan’s turn to look away. He bit his lower lip.
“She says they’re about Cal.”
“Oh?”
“She says he comes into her room at night. That he climbs through the window and watches her. I’ve told her it’s just a bad dream, but she’s convinced it’s real.”
Carrie felt blood drain from her face. The air in the room grew thick and heavy.
I saw your son. He was watching you.
“It’s a dream,” she said. “Of course, it’s a dream.”
“I know that,” Dylan said. “But how do you convince a four-year-old that . . . that her brother isn’t coming to get her like some boogie man? I’ve even started locking her window at night but she’s still terrified.”
Their eyes met, and just for a second, Carrie thought she saw a flash of accusation.
As quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.
“I’ll talk to her,” she said.
“And tell her what? That she still can’t come home and be with her mum? Because honestly, I think that’s the only thing that’s going to stop these nightmares.”
They were both silent. A sick feeling took hold of Carrie. Sickness mixed with fear. She glanced at Dylan, who looked sad and alone, confused by what their family had become.
What if Melissa’s dreams were not dreams? What if Aaron Black was telling the truth? The thought made Carrie shiver.
No, Cal was gone. Even the police had more or less given up looking. He had left Cornwall, gone far away. Or he had ended his life like the rumours suggested.
The possibility that her son was dead knocked the air from her lungs. She stared at Dylan, who placed his hand over hers.
“When will this be over?” Carrie said, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. “How
do we make it stop?”
Dylan shook his head.
“Perhaps you should both move back in and I should go somewhere. Rent a hotel room with my mother.”
“No.” Dylan was grave, insistent. “I’d be afraid you’d never come back.”
“I’d never do that to Melissa.”
“Would you do it to me?” The question hung between them like stale air, until Dylan could no longer hold Carrie’s gaze. Until, slowly, his fingers slipped from hers.
“Anyway, Melissa’s nightmares aren’t the reason I wanted to talk to you,” he said.
“Oh?” Unease crept into Carrie’s voice.
“A few of the boys were talking down at the harbour. There’s a writer in town. He’s been asking questions, wanting to know about Grady Spencer . . . and about Cal. He’s been asking about you, too. Apparently, the asshole’s writing a book.” Dylan’s nostrils flared as he drew in a breath. “Has he been to see you?”
Carrie froze, staring hard at the table.
Your son is still here.
“Carrie? I need to know—I won’t let some money-grabbing prick harass my family.”
You could have a life with him again.
Carrie looked up, staring directly at Dylan.
“You know what Sally’s like,” she said. “She’d go down for murder before she’d let some journalist through the door.”
Dylan relaxed a little. “Good, that’s good. Because the past is the past, you know? We all need to leave it behind and start looking forward. That’s how we make it stop, Carrie. That’s how it all goes away.”
She couldn’t speak.
You’re wrong. The words repeated, over and over in her mind. You’re wrong because it will never stop. Not if my son is still out there. Not if there’s a chance to save him. I owe him that.
Carrie forced a smile to her lips.
“We’ll get through this,” Dylan said, reaching out and taking her hand again. “You, me, and Melissa. The three of us. Together.”
The smile wavered. Carrie fought to keep it steady.
14
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