‘She called me a runt.’
‘You don’t know the trouble that caused. Her father came round and threatened me with a baseball bat. Ray had to pay him off. No one messes with the Powells.’
I wonder how much more trouble I’ve caused over the years that Dad’s never told me about.
‘I couldn’t believe it,’ he says. ‘But Edie was dead. And Becca said you’d admitted to it.’
It’s the first time I’ve had a conversation with Dad when he hasn’t been holding a cigarette. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands and keeps rubbing his hair.
‘You never thought it could be her?’
‘She loved you two, like you were her own. That’s what she always said. And I wanted you to have a mother of sorts, after Gina died.’
‘I’m sick of hearing that from Ray and Becca. I loved you as much as if you were my own. It’s a lie that’s been repeated so often, everyone believes it. Ray only loves himself and Becca hated Edie, too much like Mum.’
Dad’s eyes soften.
‘Yes, she was so much like Gina.’
‘You knew she hated Mum, didn’t you?’
Dad looks down.
‘Didn’t you care?’ I ask. ‘Your own brother and your wife?’
‘It had stopped,’ he says. ‘As far as I knew. Sometimes I thought there was something going on, but Ray would never do that to me.’
‘Because it was easier to believe. Like me killing Edie? I’m pretty sure Ray did know the truth and kept quiet.’
‘No, Tess, Ray has his faults but he’s not like that.’
There’s no point pursuing it.
‘Becca will have told him by now,’ I say.
‘Yes,’ Dad says.
‘Why didn’t you just go to the police, tell them what I’d done?’
He looks at me as if I’m stupid.
‘You were all I had, Tess. All I had left of my girls. I let you down. I should have been there, protected you, not wrapped up in my own problems, but it was hard knowing Gina loved Ray, never me.’
‘She did love you, Dad, I know she did.’
‘No,’ he says. ‘I know she tried, but it was always Ray.’
I think of Max. It was always Edie. I tell Dad about it.
‘You deserve better, Tess,’ he says. ‘You’re not going back to him, are you?’
I shake my head.
Dad nods.
‘I’m going to sell this place. I never liked it. Got it for you and Edie.’
‘I never liked it, either.’
‘I’ll find something smaller, get a gardening job maybe, who knows.’
I go and hug him. It surprises him and he takes a moment before reciprocating.
‘I love you, Tess,’ he says.
‘I know, Dad.’
Chapter 74
Tess: January 2019
Becca died alone on Christmas Eve. Ray got the call at our house on Christmas Day morning. To Dad and me it felt like a release. But Ray wept until the evening. I guess, at some level, he must have loved her. I’ll never understand who loves who and why. She confessed to DS Craven a few weeks before and he came to see us with Vilas.
‘A trial is out of the question, what with Mrs Piper’s illness. We will be closing the case, though. Mrs Piper proved to us she knew enough details for her involvement to be irrefutable.’
Vilas was less satisfied.
‘We’re still at a loss for a motive and Mrs Piper refused to be drawn,’ he said, his face pinched with sourness. ‘Have you any idea?’
‘No,’ Dad and I said simultaneously.
‘And then there’s the removal of the body. Edie was a full four inches taller than Rebecca Piper and must have been carried at some point. How did she manage that? All in all, there’s too much in this case that doesn’t add up,’ Vilas said.
‘So you’ll not be closing it? It will remain unsolved?’
‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘We’re closing it.’
After they left Ray came to see me and gave me the photograph, the one of the family that Edie kept in her bag.
‘I found it, when I was clearing out the house,’ he said. ‘For once, it’s me who wants to move.’
‘Was Edie your daughter, Ray? Am I?’ I asked.
‘The truth is, I don’t know.’
Ray’s told so many lies over the years, I’m not sure he knows what the truth is, but that day, he had the swagger of a drunk, not a liar.
I’ve framed the photo, Edie’s shot of our family, she and I on our parents’ laps, Dad and Mum far younger than I am now. That the span of five years could take both Mum and Edie from us was unthinkable to the smiling faces in the picture. The only one not smiling is me. I like to think it’s because I was a wise child and knew what would become of the photo and the people in it. In truth, it’s far more probable I spotted something that caught my attention, which took me away from my family in those precious seconds.
I wrap it in tissue and place it next to Edie’s old records. We’re moving. Dad’s selling up and buying a cottage in Malvern, high up on the hill, overlooking the Worcestershire plain. I’m going to help him with the marketing to set up his own gardening business, I’ll ask Raquel for advice. I’m hoping he’ll find another woman; although he assures me no one could ever replace Mum.
Most thirty-five-year-olds would be horrified at the thought of moving back in with their father, but it’s only temporary until I work out what to do with the rest of my life. I’m going to enjoy living with Dad. I’ll always call him Dad, whether he is or not, because he’s always been a father to me, when he must have questioned if I was his child, when his own mental health was failing and even when he knew his wife loved another man, he stayed.
I look around at the house none of us ever wanted to live in and open a cardboard box and place the photo inside, the first of Edie’s possessions I’m going to pack. We will start again, Dad and I, in a new place, with no more secrets and no more lies.
Chapter 75
Edie: June 1998
It was no longer cold. Mum was singing to Edie, her voice swimming through the water and wrapping round her. She didn’t want to leave Tess. She wouldn’t leave Tess. She’d always be there for her twin.
Barbecue smoke wafted up her nose and the sweetness of the sugar flower lingered on her tongue from their birthday long ago. A perfect day, when she and Tess were ten years old. Double digits. Nearly grown up.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank my agent, Kate Burke, for all her hard work and for seeing my potential. Thanks also to my editor, Katie Loughnane, and the whole team at Avon for their enthusiasm and dedication.
Syd Moore and Barbara Zuckriegl deserve a mention for patiently reading through earlier drafts of the novel, and giving me encouragement.
A special thank you to Keith Haworth for reading the manuscript, putting up with endless writer’s angst and always believing in me.
And finally I owe my parents a huge debt of gratitude for their many years of support.
About the Author
In addition to writing novels, Olivia Isaac-Henry is a crime drama lover, occasional keyboard player, and backing vocalist in the band The Protaganist. She grew up in Worcestershire but now lives in London, where she loves the theatres, food markets and festivals.
About the Publisher
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