by Ruth Harrow
I receive a shock when I see. A girl lies in the road. Her body looks small and fragile from here. As Will crouches down beside her, she sits up. Her hand moves to the back of her head and she moves it before her face to stare at it.
The bright headlights blur out the details, making the skin of the girl and Will glow white.
April continues to whimper in the cabin of the car. After a minute, she steps outside too, leaving her door open wide like Will's. She joins the pair in the road.
The motion of her departure rocks the car just once too many. The thing that I have been fighting for the whole drive rises up in my throat and I hurriedly fumble for the handle too. I rush around the back of the car and drop to my knees, leaning into the mess of twigs and wild grass beside the crumbling road.
I pant afterwards, wishing I had something to take the taste away. I'm covered in sweat head to foot. My denim vest clings to my back.
Some of the light from the headlights glows under the car and I notice something I recognise on the ground beside the back tyre. I reach forward automatically and snatch it up.
My panicky brain struggles to think where I've seen it before. It seems so familiar – a resin daisy pendant on a black cord.
Then I realise.
I force myself to my feet and around the car where Will tends to Paige Wakefield.
I am surprised to see her now on her feet. She seems dazed, almost as much as I feel.
Her ponytail flicks forward as she looks down at her body. She gives a sort of nod of confirmation and Will nods too. He straightens up still looking tense.
Paige backs away, still looking white and confused. There is no look of disdain, not a single sign of her usual aggression. She doesn't say a single word as she steps off the road and onto the soft dark earth of the woods.
We all watch her as she steps awkwardly over a mossy log and makes her way into the black woods. The headlights are so bright that anything outside of them seems overly gloomy. It isn't long before Paige's slight figure is swallowed up by the darkness.
'Hannah is shaking.'
April's nearby words deliver a new wave of fear into me. I jump and realise she is right next to me. She is right – I am trembling from head to foot. I step back over to the car and stumble, almost falling. My knees don't want to support my weight.
April catches me around my shoulders. Her fingers are icy cold and clammy. She forces me into the back seat and snatches up Will's leather coat, wrapping it around me tightly as though swaddling a baby.
Will's cologne hits me strongly, but I don't find it comforting as I am left alone to quiver in the backseat.
I continue to shiver and tremble as the pair outside mutter urgently to each other in the gloom before stepping inside the vehicle.
Will gets into his seat. His eyes seem glazed, distant. His skin is so white. It occurs to me how young he is all of a sudden as he starts the car along the lane again.
It seems to take forever to get home. And when we pull up in the lane I realise I'm not sad to be back. April gets out first, opening my door and pulling me out. She bids a loaded goodbye to Will, a fearful look in her eyes as they part.
Will says nothing to me. He watches as we disappear around the corner and onto our driveway. When I look back over my shoulder, his headlights glow through the gaps in the leaves, slipping further along the hedgerow and out of sight.
It is completely dark now. I wonder how much trouble we will be in for arriving home this late.
April keeps a grip on me as we enter the house. It is as though she doesn't dare let me go.
The hallway is dark and we are quiet as we step towards the stairs.
We are illuminated all of a sudden when the kitchen door is yanked open. It is Dad, silhouetted in the bright yellow light behind him.
His eyes are wild. Furious. His cheeks are red and all of a sudden I have the idea that he is about to strike out, break something or scream at us. Or all three.
I've never seen him so angry. April and I look back at him, even she seems terrified. I'm glad Will's coat largely covers my revealing outfit.
'Where is your mother?' he demands.
'What?' April's kohl-smudged eyes crease in confusion.
I notice a smell similar to the beer hangs in the air and I feel my stomach churn again. April grips me tightly to her side. Dad hardly ever drinks when it isn't Christmas.
Dad stares back at April furiously. 'You heard me, young lady. Where is she?'
April looks bemused. 'I – I don't know. She was here when we left. We have been out all afternoon, on – on our own.'
Dad chortles to himself, although he doesn't look at all amused. The effect is truly frightening.
What is happening?
'Get to bed,' he snaps at us. He picks up a glass from the kitchen table and slams the kitchen door, leaving us alone in the dark hallway.
'April, what's going –'
'Shhh! Just get upstairs.'
She pushes me in front of her on the staircase and my legs threaten to give way again before we reach the top. She steers me into my bedroom and pulls my pyjamas over my trembling limbs. It is as though she is dressing a small child. This morning I would have given anything to feel more mature. But now I feel older than ever before. I want to feel like a child again; free of responsibility and of the horror I witnessed earlier. I know I can't undo what happened. I can't ever not see it.
April pulls my duvet over me and I spot a sheen appearing through her usually flawless makeup. Her lipstick is faded and black makeup has worked its way into the fine lines beneath her eyes.
It distresses me to see her so discomposed when she usually appears so wonderfully perfect and glossy.
Mum isn't here either. And Dad is livid for some reason.
Everything is up in the air. It is all so strange.
The world feels upside-down. The life I recognise has slipped away from me in a few moments. I know that nothing I can do will bring it back.
Everything has changed forever.
35
Once I'm out of the house and halfway down the lane, I feel better. It just feels odd having my parents under the same roof, pretending to be civil. It reminds me of that summer again; the summer they agreed to divorce. I feel like the past is creeping over me in ways I could never have imagined.
I want to keep on going. I want to break into a run and put some real distance between myself and that house.
The village centre comes into view and I realise for the first time just how much I hate this place.
After Paige Wakefield, Little Bishopsford was never the same. It was no longer home. Just a place I longed to get away from. I remember in full colour now how I counted down the days until I left for University. How I made excuses not to come back and visit for the holidays. After getting on that train, I never came back, not even to collect the rest of my possessions. I had only what would fit into a suitcase and built my whole life on that.
In a way, I regret staying on after April's funeral to support Dad. He clearly won't let me help him. At least he won't end up alone like Reg if he has Penny. Although I'm not sure her influence is something to be desired.
I hesitate on the bollard-lined path leading into Tesco Express. Penny said she had heard about my husband's arrest from someone who works in there. I could do without the gossip.
Instead, I step towards the newsagents down the road. April and I often liked to buy sweets from there. When I walk inside, I hear rustling in the back room and I'm thankful there is no one behind the counter to see me as I wander down the sweets aisle. It is so nice to be out of the house that I take my time perusing the selection of chocolates.
Perhaps a box of his favourites would distract Dad from wanting anything stronger, I think to myself. I pick up a box of Black Magic just as an elderly lady enters the shop and, with her back in my direction, starts talking to the unseen assistant still in the stockroom.
From where I stand I can just make out
the fabric of a floral summer dress and overly-bleached hair. In a moment's panic, I think it is Penny, but then I realise the person is a stranger to me.
I don't take much notice of their conversation until something they say causes my ears to prick up.
'… Reg always used to say that William was no good.'
I peer through the gap between packets of jumbo marshmallows and strain my ears, listening hard.
'Always said he was one of the bad ones. Then one day he changed his tune, he did. I suppose now we will never know why ...'
'What I can't understand is why the police have rounded on him so fast.'
'Well, Iris saw him, didn't she? He went over to poor Reg's house late one night before the weekend. Goodness knows what business he would have with Reg at that hour ... I could probably take a good guess. Although I can't say for sure.'
'What is it?'
The elderly woman drops her voice lower and speaks in an urgent mutter. 'Actually, it was Vivienne who told me – you remember Reg's wife, don't you?'
'Yes, just about. She was still around when I started working here. Lovely lady. She used to come in for her husband's paper and a packet of Parma Violets for herself.'
'Well, anyway, she confided in me one day. Told me Reg had helped young William out of a fair few tricky situations. He was no stranger to trouble, that lad.'
'What kind of thing did he get up to?'
I taste blood and realise I am chewing on the inside of my cheek again. I'm virtually holding my breath so I don't miss a word.
'Oh, all sorts,' the elderly woman continues. 'Some of it was only trivial, but then there were the other things ... nasty stuff.'
'Like what?'
'Well, you have heard of Paige Wakefield?'
'Yes, of course. I heard the story. How awful. Hard to believe that could happen in our village.'
'Well, a few people were questioned. But the police seemed to stick on William Peterson. Must have known something we didn't. I'd love to have known exactly what it was. Anyway, the police dropped the boy from their inquires. And do you know why?'
'No?'
'It was Reg. He vouched for William's whereabouts to the police, he did. Got him off the hook.'
'No!' The assistant's voice drops to a scandalous whisper now too. 'That's news to me.'
'And that's not all,' the old lady continues, clearly pleased her gossip has had the desired effect. 'He was arrested again, you know, before all that Wakefield business had died away, for molesting some young girl from his college. Shocking business. Of course, Reg came to his rescue then, too.'
'Again? What did he do?'
'Reg knew the girl's father from his days in the forces, didn't he? Liam Davies's girl, Katrina, it was. They agreed it was probably a misunderstanding and she dropped the charges.'
'My goodness ... Was it a misunderstanding?'
'Well, that's the thing, isn't it? We will never know, I suspect. She moved away after that, dropped out of her studies, haven't seen the poor thing since then.'
The assistant lets out a low hiss.
'Oh yes,' the old lady says. 'Reg knew all William Peterson's secrets. That would certainly give the boy a motive. It probably seemed easy to knock a pipe out of place on the pretence of a visit.'
'You think he killed Old Reg? But why? He must have kept his secrets for years.'
'Ah, but Reg has been becoming forgetful lately, going senile he was. Maybe William realised when he came back and went to cover his tracks before it was too late. And besides, he is a family man now. Got more to lose, hasn't he?'
The assistant in the stock room speaks again, her voice moving and becoming louder. 'Well, if you ask me, I think ...'
I realise too late that the assistant has moved out onto the shop floor. She spots me and her voice trails off.
She gives the other woman a warning look and turns to me, speaking loudly. 'Need any help there?'
'Erm, no,' I say. I look down at the box of chocolates in my hands and move over to the counter. 'Just these, please.'
She rings through the sale on the till as the elderly woman drifts further into the shop, deliberately taking her time out of my range of vision.
I take my purchase and leave the awkward silence quickly, now regretting I ever left the suffocating situation at my father's house at all.
36
I want to go on a long walk, clear my head. I want some distance, but the only place to go is to the village centre or the houses. I could follow the narrow country lanes without proper pavement, but I would have to walk very far to get to anywhere else.
This place is so hemmed in. A settlement in the middle of nowhere. I never quite realised how cut off the village is before, especially as a pedestrian. There is nowhere to run.
In the end, I follow street after street, just walking past rows of houses.
With limited options, I take a second lap of the tangled circuit I find myself weaving. On the row of terraces I know Penny cleans, I notice a curtain make an obvious twitch and I turn at the end of the street and take a detour.
I let my legs carry me, aching to get away from nosy neighbours and prying eyes. There are spies everywhere, unseen witnesses that report directly to the police.
Eventually, I realise I am following the road that leads to Prospect Terrace but there is very little I can do about it other than turn around and face more stares.
I take care not to linger on this street. Even though I know the house is coming up on my left I am unprepared for it and find my eyes drawn to the hole in the otherwise pretty postcard village the other residents have tried to forget.
The building looks bigger today, more foreboding. As I pass by, I am aware of how much I sweat. My blouse clings to my back and stomach, as though I have been dusted by tepid summer rain.
I think to myself that more boards are kicked through, but I can't be sure. My memory must certainly be playing tricks on me because I distinctly remember there being an obvious amount of litter here before. Now I can't see any.
Before I step into the trees at the top of the street, I pause and look at the sign with the street name in black stencil lettering.
Rusted and as decrepit as it was more than a week ago, it stands resolutely upright in the overgrown grass around it. I could have sworn it had been nestled in the yellowing grass facing skywards and waiting to disappear for good into the overgrowth.
The green gloom of the woods seems overly dull on such a sunny day. But somehow the dark and quiet are comforting. The well-trodden muddy path is littered with black bags of dog mess that didn't quite make it to the bins provided and I take care to watch my step, avoiding that which didn't even make it into a bag.
As I step, I notice a lesser trodden path veering to the right. The trees are thinner that way and it looks brighter. My memory strains as to where the route might lead, but comes up with nothing.
My canvas shoes sink annoyingly along the unknown trail as I follow my curiosity. I'll turn around as soon as I see what is down here. That will give me some extra time away from the house, away from the tiny little shops of the village and the even smaller minds of the residents.
This place is unfamiliar. My heart flutters with a little unexpected excitement at discovering a new part of the village. April and I never ventured down here in our youth. We had assumed ourselves knowledgable with every inch of the place, but for some reason, we never came here. As I explore further, I wonder why.
The path beneath my feet steepens and my thighs strain. Then hot sun forces its way through the shrinking branches of the trees and I step out onto a grassy clearing into the glorious light. For a moment, my breath is taken away.
The view up here is incredible. The row of terraces I just passed is gone, blocked by the trees and all that is visible up here is the railway station and the prettiest cottages. The supermarket is also in sight, but it seems so far away up here.
A spotted rotting old bench sits in the middle of the clearin
g and I sit down, enamoured by the view.
I finally find myself able to take a deep breath and feel my shoulders relax. My worries are far from gone, but up here they feel at least a little further away.
The sound of snapping twigs brings me instantly back from where my mind flits in the furthermost fields.
My head snaps in the direction of the noises as they grow louder and closer.
Someone is approaching from the thicket of trees.
Suddenly I regret my detour and long to be back on a busier road with other villagers, no matter how much they may stare.
My heart reaches a crescendo just before the figure of a broadly built man appears in the clearing.
'Will?'
He moves forward, panting slightly and takes in my face. 'Hannah, what's the matter?'
'Nothing. You scared me. I thought you were ... someone else. The police let you go?'
'Yes, without charge. Although, they've asked me the same questions over and over again. They had to let me go though. It isn't like they have any evidence either.'
'Are you sure?'
He looks at me. He hasn't joined me on the bench. 'Of course I'm sure. I didn't kill the man, Hannah.'
He looks out at the view darkly, his thick eyebrows tensing. 'What are you doing here, anyway?'
'I just came for a walk. I needed to get out of that house. Mum came back – with Paul. The house felt crowded. Then I ended up in the local shop. There were people in there, gossiping about you ...'
'So what? It's a small village. You know how people love telling tales in this place. Leave them to it. We are going home soon, Hannah. Don't forget that.'
I bite my already sore lip. 'You didn't tell me you were questioned about Paige Wakefield's disappearance. Did they think you were involved? I thought we were all sticking together back then, keeping each other informed over what was happening? Why did you never tell me?'
'What difference does it make? I wanted to tell April and you as little as possible. I didn't want you getting upset and I don't know … cracking under the pressure, or something.'