by Ruth Harrow
'I noticed that too. What could he possibly have that is of interest to anyone?'
Dad shrugs. 'He is a very private person, old Reg. Always was. He seemed to clam up even more after all that business with ... well, what happened all those years ago. It really affected him.'
'He mentioned it again when I was there just now. He went off on one a bit, talking about the past. He said something odd, actually.'
Dad looks around at me suddenly as he cuts the potatoes. 'What do you mean? What did he say that was odd?'
I shrug. 'He mentioned that he needed to do something to stop the Wakefields ruining the town. I don't know what that –'
I stop and look at the chopping board in front of my father. 'Dad, you are bleeding!'
He looks at his hand. 'Oh dear. I didn't notice,' he says vaguely, as I snatch a wad of kitchen paper from the roll and squeeze Dad's index finger inside. The cut looks deep.
'It's all right, Love. It isn't that bad. I think I might just take a seat for a second though. I've gone a bit woozy. Never liked the sight of blood …'
I pull out a chair for him at the oak table and clean up the mess before I take over the cooking.
I glance over my shoulder at my father as he keeps pressure on the wound. 'As I was saying, Reg seemed to know something. It was like he wanted to tell me something important about the Wakefields.'
'Hannah –' Dad suddenly says, warningly.
Eva appears in the corner of my vision, standing in the doorway. 'Mum, is lunch ready yet? I'm starving.'
'Not yet,' I say, sounding a little snappy. I soften my voice. 'I'll let you know when we are about to eat, OK?'
She drifts out again into the lounge and I shut the kitchen door behind her.
Dad looks at me, serious. 'Hannah, I know that business got brought up at the funeral, but you have to let it go. Don't go worrying yourself about the past, now. It won't do any good.'
'What do you mean? Do you think Reg had something to do with what happened … all those years ago?'
Dad bites the inside of his cheek the same way I do. Whether by nature or nurture, it is from him that I inherited the habit.
'Did you know her,' he says. 'The girl that went missing?'
I think of the day our hands reached into that bag of sweets in the village centre.
'No,' I say. 'We never seemed to cross paths.'
Dad looks at me thoughtfully for a few moments. He drops his voice to barely more than a whisper now and I sit down at the table in order to hear him over the hissing of the boiling potatoes.
'What you have to understand,' he says quietly. 'It was a culture shock for everyone to have the Wakefields move into the village one day. Especially for someone like Reg. He is old-fashioned. He took it upon himself to get involved in their business, trying to drive them out of the village.'
I think of the old Wakefields' family home, now little more than a vandalised ruin. 'Well it worked,' I say. I drop my voice to a whisper now. 'Do you think he was involved – in what happened to Paige Wakefield?'
Dad hesitates, adjusting his bloody tissue. 'There was something odd about the whole business. A lot was going on at that time – on top of your mother and I deciding our marriage was over. You wouldn't have known too much about it all, though, you were only young back then – the same age as the girl.'
'What do you mean? What kind of thing was happening?'
'Well, I know Reg got himself into a fight with the father, John Wakefield, one night at the local. Old Tom was still with the police at the time. Being pally with him helped Reg out of any serious trouble. I think he swung it so that Wakefield didn't press charges. And then there were other things too ...'
'Like what?'
'I don't know. I shouldn't really say anything ... It was all so long ago. Best not drag up the past, eh?'
'Tell that to whoever messed with the order of service booklets,' I say. 'What else did Reg do, Dad?'
He shakes his head. 'Things didn't add up about his story the day the Wakefield girl went missing. Later on, he said he was somewhere else entirely, gave a different version of events. He had completely changed his alibi by the end.'
'He was a suspect?'
'Everyone was.' Dad presses down on his wound with renewed vigour. 'That family weren't exactly popular, were they?'
'But it was the father that was arrested in the end, wasn't it?'
'Yes, he was. Everyone in the village was satisfied the police had caught the culprit.'
I study my father's face carefully. 'Were you?'
'Reg did things he shouldn't have,' he says finally. 'He was lucky to retain his freedom.'
'So you think he was the killer?' I ask, breathlessly. My heart pounds in my throat. I was in that man's house less than an hour ago.
He shakes his head. 'I'd bet anything John Wakefield didn't take his own daughter's life.'
The taste of blood reaches my tongue and I realise I have been biting the inside of my cheek too.
I want to tell Dad about how Reg was at his house just now; about the cold feeling I receive in his company; about the wild look in the old man's eyes.
Anyone could believe these things the traits of a killer.
21
A toilet flush from upstairs announces Will's emergence partway through the afternoon.
When I open the bedroom door, I find he has sunk back onto the bed with his hands over his face, as though unable to face the glorious sunlight coming in through the window.
'Morning,' I say, shutting the door behind me.
Will removes his hands, squinting at me. 'Is it?'
'No. We all had lunch ages ago.'
Will groans. 'Sorry.'
I sit down on the bed beside him. 'So where did you disappear to last night?'
Will folds his arms across his chest. 'I think I told you, didn't I?'
'You told me you had been with Dylan Brown. I assume that was where you were drinking?'
'Yes, it was,' he sighs.
'I remember you telling me that he didn't even live in the village any more. Didn't you say he had bought a cheap house in Hungary? I'm sure you told me that, Will.'
He shrugs, still horizontal. 'I don't remember.'
'So how did you come to be at his house last night?'
'I took a walk around the village like we all did together. I wanted to clear my head a bit. You had just left me with your Dad. Thanks, by the way.' He shrugs again. 'I wandered a bit further and it turns out Dylan still lives here, he must have changed his plans about moving.'
'Dad said you didn't go back. I didn't see you when I walked back with Eva, either,' I say, watching him carefully. 'I think you went straight over there as soon as we parted. You must have known Dylan was there.'
There is a pause. 'Maybe, I did.'
'Why did you tell me he had moved away?'
He doesn't answer. Instead, he rubs his temples.
I voice something that has been troubling me all night. 'Have you been back to Little Bishopsford without me?'
Will sighs. 'Not into the main bit of the village. Just to Dylan's, that's all.'
'When? Why would you lie?'
'I know you don't like Dylan. I didn't want you to be upset.'
'I didn't say that. I don't know anything about him. All I've ever heard were the rumours that he assaulted some girl just after he finished college. He was arrested wasn't he?'
Will looks out at the cloudless blue sky outside the window, running a hand over his beard. 'Yes,' he says. 'But he was never charged.'
'Well, did he do it?'
'How should I know?'
I smooth the floral bedspread down distractedly with my palm. 'April told me he was your best friend ... She said you were at that party where it happened.'
'Look, it was a long time ago. I don't remember, Hannah. It's all in the past now.'
Will sits up abruptly, rubbing his temples. The discussion is over.
I won't let him get away without explaini
ng his behaviour from yesterday, however.
'Will,' I say. 'I don't appreciate the note you left on our windscreen. What if Eva had found it?'
'What note?'
'The one that said, “Go home, Bitch”.'
He looks at me with an odd look in his eyes. 'Where is it? Let me see it.'
'I don't have it any more. I threw it away, of course. I figured you were angry with me and I didn't want to keep it.'
He turns away from me and looks again out the window, this time across the fields. 'I'm sorry, Hannah. I shouldn't have done that. You know what I'm like when I'm drunk.'
'Yes, unfortunately, I do. That's another thing. Last night, you were so out of it, you thought I was someone else. Who did you think was picking you up?'
Will pauses as if trying to decide upon which answer to give me.
I scrutinise his back. I have always thought one can pick up so much from body language from the back of someone.
'When I first got there, you said you thought I was my sister,' I press. 'Did you mean April? What made you say that?'
He sinks back down onto the bed with his face in his hands and I can't read his expression. 'I guess she has been on my mind lately.'
'Yes, I can understand that. But the way you said it ... it was just odd. Like you didn't think anything of seeing her. And you spoke about me like … like I'm a burden or something. I only ever try and get you to participate in this family. Sometimes I feel like I'm the one who has to be the boring grown-up that makes important decisions and you only join in with the fun stuff ...'
'I know, Hannah. I'm sorry. I'll try harder, I promise.'
I sigh. This rhetoric is so familiar.
'Will,' I say quietly, as though afraid of what I'm about to say. 'It turns out you have sneaked off to visit your old friend behind my back. Had you seen April since you two split up?'
'Sure. We saw her at Christmas.'
'No, not like that. You know what I mean. Did you see her alone? Without me?'
'Of course not. Hannah, let's not start an argument. Please? You know how you get.'
Anger flares in me that he is trying to turn this around on me. I'm more than used to it. These days I can dodge his baiting, most of the time.
'Look, Hannah,' he says when I don't rise to his comment. 'I've got a killer headache. I need to get some water, some painkillers.'
'Fine. But shower first and get out of those clothes. You still smell of alcohol. Dad complained. I'll go find you some paracetamol.'
As soon as I open the bedroom door, I am aware of hurried scuffling and Eva's bedroom door snaps shut loudly.
I pad over and knock on her door, but don't get a response. 'Eva?'
I push down the handle and find her perched on the side of her bed, a book is halfway open on her lap. She looks up at me and asks politely, 'What is it, Mum?'
'Eva, I know you were listening at the door just now. I caught you.'
She closes the book and her shoulders slouch into their usual poise. 'Sorry.'
'Why were you trying to listen to your Dad and me? What did you think you were going to hear?'
'I don't know.' She shrugs, pulling her sleeves over her hands. 'I just didn't want you two to start arguing like on New Year's Eve again.'
I sigh. So she hasn't forgotten about that at all. 'New Year's Eve? Why do you think we would argue like that now?'
Eva reddens and starts flipping aimlessly through the pages of the book again. I notice now it is a Bible left for guests in the bedside drawer.
'I don't know,' she mumbles finally, avoiding looking me in the eye.
22
My phone starts buzzing with a call in my pocket. I look at the screen. It is my mother. I should really answer it; I haven't heard from her all week.
I wondered just this morning how she was doing. If Will hadn't disappeared last night, I would have called her myself today.
Talking on the phone I find my feet carrying me outside into the garden; to the rose arch April and I were always drawn to as children. I'm proud it is still standing after all these years, despite the fact Penny probably wants it to go the same way as mother's touches inside the property. I wonder if she would call these wild blooms “organised chaos” too. She seems only to have made her mark inside the house, leaving the garden untouched.
For the moment.
Mum is still distraught. In my opinion, she has gone past the denial stage. Now she seems to be hovering between the anger and bargaining phases Will warned me about.
Why is she further ahead in the process than me?
I seem to be stuck in denial. I feel almost numb, disbelieving, going through everyday motions in a sort of trance. I don't know what else to do. I can still almost see April's shadowy silhouette sneaking up on me beyond the thorns now as if we were playing a game of hide and seek.
Surely it is much harder for a person to lose a child, rather than a sister? Yet Mum is working her way through the psychological steps much more normally, as though she is pre-programmed to do it. Why can't I be like that?
Losing my daughter would be unimaginable. I couldn't even bring myself to start to picture it, not even to help me understand what Mum must be feeling now.
On the other end of the phone, Mum cries. I feel terrible that I am not there with her now. I want to hug her, make her a cup of tea and take her a box of her favourite chocolates. But she is far away in Milton Keynes. Dad needs me too. He doesn't have a partner to confide in, to support him.
I wonder where Paul is now. Is he beside my mother, rubbing her shoulders quietly in the background?
Or is he sat in front of the television in the other room, oblivious? I don't know my mother's new husband well enough to guess.
'Why didn't we have any warning, Hannah?' Mum demands in between her sobs. 'Shouldn't we have been there? Shouldn't we have known something was going to happen to her?' Mum takes a deep breath. 'Why weren't we there for her when she needed us?'
My chin begins to tremble, threatening to give. Mum has got me. The same question has been floating around the back of my mind for weeks. All-day, every day. It is my very last thought before I go to sleep.
The answer haunts me.
On my part, I had let April drift away. When I'm being honest, Will was the main thing that drove us apart. Then there was the other thing. What happened all those years ago when I was a child was easier to ignore when I didn't see April.
I have managed to convince part of myself that Will was just a man I met in a bar years later. We never speak of the past. Ever.
All my current friends were made in University and beyond, far removed from Little Bishopsford. They see Will and I as a chance couple brought together like so many others – with the help of alcohol and music. No past history.
I tell Mum now that what she is feeling is normal, simply part of the grieving process. There wasn't any sign that April had any troubles. She had plenty of people she could have reached out to. Her colleagues were just as shocked as we were and they saw her every day. 'Just like us, they didn't have any warning, either, Mum,' I say.
'That's just it, Hannah. Earlier, I spoke to the girl who worked in the cubicle next to April. She tells me that April didn't show up for work in the last few days before –' Mum takes a deep breath. '– Before it happened. Somebody should have picked up on that. What did she do during those last few days? Is that when she got rid of her phone?'
'What do you mean, “got rid of”? I think she must have lost it, Mum. It must have become separated from her in the – in the water. Or as she fell ...'
'No, Hannah. I'm convinced now. I think she threw it away.'
'Why would she do a thing like that?'
'Jenna – the girl from April's office – she said that April was getting messages from an ex-boyfriend. He was harassing her. They were coming every hour or so on the last day Jenna saw her.'
I shake my head, trying to take it all in. 'I don't know, Mum. You think April was being stal
ked?'
'Something was going on, Hannah. The April I know wouldn't hurt herself. She wasn't the type. I have been saying it all along. I'm going to go back to the police with this.'
'Mum,' I say, warningly. 'Don't go storming off without any evidence. This is all just hearsay. It could even just be office gossip. Besides, aren't you forgetting about the witnesses? The couple who saw April on the bridge … they said she must have been alone. They didn't see anyone else. Neither did the jogger who saw her fall moments later … You don't know anything else for sure.'
Even as I say the words, I feel Mum has a point. April wasn't the type, I am sure of it. Or is this fresh bit of news just supporting my denial?
I stare off across the fields towards the woods. They stand resolute, but I don't take in the dark cluster they form on the otherwise luscious landscape.
Instead, I see the image of my sister from the backpacking snap; so full of life, so confident as though nothing would phase her. Again, she was surrounded by a group of friends – all male. Was it one of them who was responsible? Or was it the mystery photographer that captured her likeness for her Facebook profile image? Or were they one and the same?
Mum tells me she is leaving the country at the weekend for a break she and Paul planned months ago for her birthday. They had already paid for the flights and accommodation. Now though, she tells me she is thinking of cancelling to remain on hand, should the police start an investigation.
'Mum, you should go,' I say, with a firmness that surprises me. 'It will do you good. Give you some perspective.'
'What about Eva?'
'What about her?'
'Would she like to come with us? We can get to know each other better now she is a bit older. I haven't seen much of her lately. I feel like time is running out before it is all, I don't know – boys and loud music!'
'I don't think so, Mum. You will have some time when you get back.'
'The summer holidays will be almost over by then, Hannah. Let her come with me and Paul. It will be my treat. You and Will can have some time to yourselves. What do you say?'
'Sorry, Mum. We can't. Maybe another time.'