In My Wake: A Breathtaking Psychological Thriller With a Killer Twist

by Ruth Harrow

  A large hand between my shoulder blades pushes my head between my knees and a voice tells me to take deep breaths.

  The texture of the tiles is clear now and I see little scratches and chips on the edge of the nearest one.

  After a few moments, I remember where I am.

  I look around and see my father crouched by my side on the floor of our kitchen – no – his kitchen. I don't live here any more.

  I got away.

  Dad's cheeks are flushed, but the area around his mouth has gone awfully white. He looks like the pink and white coconut ice Mrs Blake would scoop into bags for me and April when we were children.

  'Dad? What's the matter? What's going on?'

  'Just take it easy, Hannah,' he says, his voice trembling in a way I have never heard before. 'Everything will be OK.'

  Dad's words do nothing to reassure me and in a rush of horror and panic, everything comes back to me. I look around for my phone and see it beside my father. The screen is black now.

  'Dad,' I say, trying to stand up. 'I need to call Will.'

  He keeps a firm grip of my shoulders. 'No, Love ... I don't think you can.' His eyes look glazed now and he swallows hard. 'Try not to move for a bit.'

  A lump forms in my throat and I sit up and lean my head back against the hard wood of the kitchen cupboard behind me. Images spin in front of my eyes as I screw them closed tightly.

  The mess of our car; Will's chaste parting kiss from last night; my mother sitting in the living room with Eva poring over photographs; Eva's room empty, her suitcase gone.

  The minutes seem to last forever until I can't stand it any more.

  In one swift movement, I catch Dad off guard and stand up swiftly, picking up my phone as I go.

  My slippery fingers tap clumsily and try to call Will's phone. I don't know what I expect, but I feel a crushing sense of dread when I don't get an answer.

  I slump down at the kitchen table and try again and again as Dad watches me sadly. I try Eva's phone once too but get the answer machine message.

  I don't need to look at the picture again to see the details. The image has been scorched into my memory forever. I know the only small country lanes between here and home are the ones that surround Little Bishopsford.

  With a horrible sense of defeat, I call the number for the nearest hospital; I had stored it after Dad's fall. That's where they would have been taken.

  I am informed the hospital is experiencing a high influx of calls and I am put in a queue. Loud, infuriating music blares down the line as I wait.

  The seconds tick by slowly. I am virtually holding my breath. How dare they keep people waiting for news like this?

  Perhaps there was more than one vehicle involved in the collision? I didn't see any. I can't bear to load the image back up on my phone either.

  I don't know how long I wait for, but after a while Dad's shaking hands put a mug of sweet tea in front of me. He prises my phone out of my hands and orders me to drink.

  I take a sip, and even though it is too hot, I take another. Then another. The burning in my throat feels good. The pain works nicely as a distraction, if only for a few moments.

  The sound of the front door opening causes us both to turn around and another wave of shock I am unprepared for rushes over me.

  My husband stands in the doorway.

  47

  The phone clatters out of my hand and falls noisily onto the oak table. I find myself out of my chair and throw my arms around Will, pulling him close.

  'Hannah?' He pulls me back and examines my face. 'What's the matter?' He gives his father-in-law a glance over my shoulder and drops his voice to a mutter. 'Has something else happened? Have the police been back?'

  I shake my head, confused. 'No. You were in an accident. Our car …'

  But then I glance over Will's shoulder and through the front door he didn't manage to shut in time before I threw myself into him.

  Our car is parked in our usual spot. Intact and whole. Not a mark on it. Just as it had been last night.

  I let out a low breath and squeeze my eyes shut. I move into the kitchen and snatch my phone off the kitchen table. Droplets of amber tea bead on the screen from where I dropped it a few moments ago. I rub them off impatiently and load the picture message up again.

  In the shock of seeing the image, I hadn't checked who it was from. Now I see things differently.

  The picture was sent from April's phone.

  Will appears at my side, looking over my shoulder.

  There is a pause as Will stares at my screen.

  'Hannah,' he says, an obvious bite of annoyance in his voice. He takes in my blurry eyes and his father-in-law's white-faced shock. 'I told you to block April's number. Why didn't you listen?!'

  'I – I didn't realise. I just thought …'

  Now that the fog of panic has lifted, I look at the image the other way up. The first part of the registration number is now visible. It is painfully clear that it isn't ours.

  How could I have been so stupid? My cheeks burn and I slip my phone into my pocket.

  My Dad looks between me and Will, a look of revolted anger on his face. 'Is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on here?'

  I ignore him. 'Where's Eva?'

  'I left her at her friend Sasha's house. She refused to come with me. She is still annoyed that you squashed her holiday with your Mum.'

  'I have every right –'

  Will holds up his hands and nods hurriedly. 'I know. I know. I don't agree with what your Mum did, OK? Do you want me to go upstairs and pack our cases? You can finish your tea.'

  'Oh … I've already done it,' I say, distractedly.

  The details of the day we had planned are trickling through to my subconscious slowly, as though I am waking up from a bad dream.

  'Actually, I don't think I've done the toiletries yet. I think everything is still by the sink.'

  Or is it? I can't remember either way now.

  He disappears upstairs and activity in the bathroom tells me I had indeed overlooked that area.

  I sink down at the table where Dad has slumped, his face in his hands.

  As soon as Will leaves the kitchen, Dad lifts his head and looks at me. An expression like thunder settles on his face. 'Why did Will mention April's phone? And why did I see her name attached to that picture message?'

  I drain my tea and sigh. There is no getting around it. Dad won't let this one drop and I haven't the energy to come up with an alternative explanation that would satisfy him.

  'Someone has found her phone,' I say. 'They have been using it to send me messages since the funeral.'

  Dad looks horrified. 'I don't understand … Why didn't you say anything?'

  I shrug. 'Will thinks it is people who have heard rumours ... playing a prank.'

  His voice rises sharply, making me jump. 'A PRANK!'

  'Dad, calm down.'

  'I will not! It is no joke when someone sends messages like that! I thought … I thought they'd had an accident. I thought they were dead!'

  Dad's emphasis of the word makes me cringe. I had thought the same thing.

  'And how did this person get hold of the phone in the first place? Who has it?'

  'I don't know,' I whisper. I feel so very tired all of a sudden. My energy is sapped and I would like nothing more than to lie back and never think or feel again.

  I close my eyes. Will seems to be taking a long time upstairs ...

  Dad rounds on me again. 'And what do the police think of the fact someone has commandeered a dead woman's phone?'

  I wish he would stop using that word. It chills my insides. It normally wouldn't have bothered me so much, but ever since I knew April was gone, I haven't been able to stand it.

  I get to my feet, carrying my empty teacup over to the sink.

  'Hannah? The police have been informed, haven't they? It's not like you haven't had the opportunity to speak with them now, is it?!'

  Dad slams his fis
t down on the table and I jump again. I've never seen him so angry … apart from the night Paige Wakefield went missing. He had been livid that night. Something was eating at him; something he was unwilling to say to us children.

  'It's not that simple,' I mutter.

  He makes an indignant noise behind me. 'Do you know what? Your mother has been on the phone to me several times this past week. I've had to sit there and listen to her conspiracy theories. All the odd little things about April's death have been niggling at her and she said she needs to talk it over with me.'

  'You didn't tell me that.'

  'I didn't want to upset you. Perhaps it was just her way of dealing with it, I thought. I believed it was all nonsense. But your mother insisted April had a stalker. She was starting to talk like April had been murdered. What if she has been right all along?'

  'I'm sure there is a reasonable explanation for it all. Will is convinced that it is just teenagers from the towns.'

  He appears not to hear me. Lost in thought, he grabs the landline phone. 'With everything your mother has said and now I find out someone has April's phone. I'm calling the police.'

  'Dad, please. Don't do anything rash. Think about how it all sounds. It can't be true.'

  'If I had received messages of that sort, the first thing I would do is go to the police.'

  'We can't get the police involved, Dad.' I despise the begging note in my voice as I watch his aged fingers navigating the buttons on the phone. 'Please.'

  He stops and stares at me.

  'Does this have anything to do with the fact that Will spent a night at the police station? Or that he went off somewhere until the early hours of the morning one night? Is there something you want to tell me, Hannah?'

  I shake my head, my heart in my throat. 'You can't call when you are angry. Look – your hands are shaking. How will it sound if you repeat the things Mum has said? Wouldn't you just put it down to a grieving parent's conspiracy theory, too? And what if this person does something more serious? You need to remain credible if we have to report a real crime. I'm angry too – I don't want these people to get away with it. Please, Dad.'

  He pauses for what feels like forever before slamming down the kitchen phone into its stand and storming from the kitchen without saying a word.

  I hear him stomp upstairs and his bedroom door shuts noisily, his action reverberating through the entire house.

  48

  Will gives me enquiring glances as he loads our suitcases into the car. We can discuss the connotations of Dad's mood swing on the long drive home without being overheard.

  The last time I left the village with suitcases, it had felt like a truly clean break. I was young, full of hope for the future. I could have done anything in the world. But above all, I was certain I would never return to this place again.

  My fingers slide into my pocket for Dad's keys and as I move towards the front door it opens and my father's stony face appears. I was hoping his half-hour upstairs would have calmed him somewhat, that we could say goodbye more civilly, but it seems that isn't the case.

  Something odd burns behind those eyes that are the same shade of hazel as mine. But I don't have time to recognise what it is, as a fresh set of tyres roll onto the driveway.

  I spin around and see a police car pull in and park. They just about block the entranceway and I'm not entirely sure if it is unwitting or not.

  Two uniformed officers get out and I recognise them as PC Hayward and PC Richards. The next few moments seem unreal, as though I have slipped into a nightmare.

  They approach my husband where he has just slammed our boot shut.

  He is told he is under arrest for Reginald Green's death and start reading him his rights.

  I feel like I am stuck in a nightmare, one where I am screaming but no one hears me. I am more than ready to wake up now.

  'No!' I move towards the scene. I glide forwards, but my legs are numb and my clumsy feet collide.

  'You can't do this,' I say to PC Hayward who looks away indifferently.

  She avoids eye contact and puts a hand on my husband's shoulder, urging him into their car.

  'You already arrested him,' I say in a voice that sounds like it belongs to someone else. My hands ball into fists of frustration at my sides. 'He was released. Y-You can't take him again. You know he didn't do it!'

  'Hannah,' Will urges from his seat. 'Calm down. Let's just go through the motions, OK? Go home without me and take care of Eva. Do that for me, all right?'

  The door is slammed shut between us and Will gives me a questioning nod with his eyebrows raised, as though he is asking for confirmation that I will behave myself; that I'll do what I am told.

  'You can't do this,' I say to PC Richards as he moves towards the driver's seat.

  He glances at me, also avoiding eye contact. 'Sorry. New evidence has come to light.'

  'What new evidence?' Another door slams shut on my words. 'This can't be happening …'

  PC Hayward's door shuts noisily too and the car moves forward.

  I trail behind it, watching from the hedgerow as it moves faster, turning away from the village, and then out of sight.

  49

  A voice close to my ear makes me jump. 'Maybe it is for the best, Love.'

  I spin around and find myself alone in the driveway with my father, who doesn't look at all surprised to see Will being driven away in the back of a police car again.

  My mouth drops open. 'You!' I shake my head in disbelief. 'You called them, didn't you?'

  I press my hands to my cheeks, wishing this was really all as unreal as it feels.

  'You had no right …' I take a deep breath. 'What did you tell them!?'

  The only sign of Dad's betrayal is the rouging of his cheeks; otherwise, he looks calm.

  'I've only told the truth, Hannah. Everything I know, or suspect about your husband. If the truth hurts, Love, I think you need to take a good hard look at your marriage …'

  I open my mouth several times to say something, but I am so livid, I don't trust myself to speak.

  'I also told them the pair of you have been receiving messages from April's phone,' Dad says, turning on his heel. 'So I expect they will want to speak to you at some stage too.'

  He ambles back to the house. I watch a foolish old man step over the threshold, oblivious to the destruction he has just left in his wake.

  He leaves the front door open, as though expecting me to follow him.

  If Will hadn't been taken to the police station in the local area, I would have loved to storm into the driving seat of our car and go home, leaving Dad eternally waiting for me inside his house.

  My heart sinks as I drift inside and step onto the wooden flooring of the hallway I now physically hate. I never want to see this house again.

  My mind races as I contemplate the consequences Dad has obliviously triggered.

  The police will most likely want to examine my phone. They will read the messages. They will guess what they mean, no matter how vague. As soon as the context is realised, it would surely be obvious to anyone ... They will know of our involvement in Paige Wakefield's disappearance.

  What has Dad done?

  In the kitchen, I find Dad sitting at the kitchen table solemnly. He gestures for me to sit down, but I remain stubbornly on my feet. I am half torn between staying to hear an explanation and storming out the room just as he did earlier. My fingers slide into my pocket for my car key, my fingers squeeze the fob and I am reassured by the fact that I have a route out of here.

  'I'm not sitting at a table with you when you went to the police behind my back. How could you do such a thing?'

  His chest swells and I think for a second he is going to scream at me. I'm not far off.

  'How dare I?!' His eyes widen as he stares at me. 'You and your family have been staying in my home for almost two weeks and I find out you've kept important information about your sister's death from me. How dare I?!'

  'We only stayed to
give you some moral support! We were going to leave, but then you had to go and have an accident and land yourself in the hospital, didn't you?' I shake my head furiously. 'I'd much rather have gone home, trust me!'

  Tears well up in my eyes, and not just of frustration. I am angry with myself for taking this out on my father. I know I will regret saying these words to him, but he has touched a nerve and my thoughts spill out, raw and unfiltered. He only has himself to blame.

  I pace around the kitchen, too beside myself to rest.

  'Maybe you should have gone, Hannah. It hasn't been a picnic hosting you and your husband. You would think he would be more respectful towards me, wouldn't you? It is more than just bad manners if you ask me. I always knew, right from the start ...'

  Dad rambles on but I hardly hear him. I'm trying to think what to do … I could delete the messages from my phone, block the number as Will had said in the first place ...

  What if I get rid of my SIM card completely? I'm sure, however, that the police might still be able to access the message record if they catch who is at the other end and retrieve April's phone.

  A small part of me would like to see the person caught, unmasked just for my own peace of mind. I want my sister's phone snatched from their unscrupulous grip.

  But there wouldn't be any peace. This person may be persistent, but only from the safety of the shadows. They haven't done much wrong in the eyes of the law. As Will said, they would probably only end up with a telling off. I don't believe they physically harmed April. Certainly not like how the three of us clashed with Paige that day.

  This person is certainly less guilty than we are. We would surely come off worse legally.

  I stop at the sink and stare through the window sightlessly.

  I need to get hold of that phone.

  Behind me, Dad still laments on whilst I wonder if I should confront Penny directly. I have no solid reason to suspect her and something in my gut tells me I'm wrong, but I don't have any other leads and I am desperate. One thing is certain though – she knows just about everyone in the area. Maybe she could at least point me in the right direction?