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

by Ruth Harrow

  The next message comes back fast.

  Not a chance. I can't ever forget, Hannah. Neither will the police if I tell them what you have done. I will tell them everything if you don't show up within half an hour.

  I try calling the phone, but I am rejected straight away. I feel sick. My hands are cold and damp again, even in the warmth of the day.

  But I know what I have to do.

  55

  Prospect Terrace can be no more than a five-minute walk away but it feels as though it might as well be miles. Part of me would like nothing more than to never venture up that street again. The other half knows that this has to be put to an end.

  Up ahead, the Harts' house looms into view. A woman is hunched over in the hydrangea bushes of the front lawn. She straightens up as I pass and I catch a glimpse of expensive highlights and a pristine white blouse.

  Part of my brain tells me she must be the mother of the twins that Eva befriended. I wonder if she really was oblivious to the party her daughters were surrounded by.

  She gives me a prim nod when she sees me and I wonder if she knows who I am. 'Lovely day,' she says curtly.

  'Yes, lovely,' I smile without slowing down. I have no time to chat.

  Her words cause another head nearby to swivel around. The Reverend tends to his garden in the neighbouring church building, a watering can in one hand.

  'Hannah,' he says warmly, raising his free hand and waving it vigorously. He moves swiftly over to the front gate before I can pass and I find myself forced to stop.

  My heart strains in my chest – I don't have time for this.

  'Hannah. It's so wonderful to see you. Are you keeping well?'

  'Yes, very well. Thank you. I can't stop. I am going home today, got lots of packing to do.'

  'Are you sure you're well?' His eyes skim my face and they crinkle in concern. 'You are looking a little flushed if you don't mind me saying.'

  'I don't know … It's probably just this heat. Anyway, I have to go –'

  I take another step towards the other side of the village.

  'You can surely stay for a cup of tea?' The Reverend raises his eyebrows at me.

  'Oh no. I really can't. Too much to do. Sorry.'

  'Are you sure you are all right, Hannah? You really don't look yourself.'

  'Yes. I just have a lot to do before I leave. No time.'

  He glances over to Mrs Hart in the neighbouring garden. Despite the fact she has her back to us, she seems to have gone overly still, as though straining to hear.

  Reverend Walker places his hands atop the fence and leans closer to me.

  'Hannah – if you ever need someone to talk to, you know where to find me don't you?'

  'Yes, of course.'

  'You will come and find me, won't you?'

  'Yes, of course. But I'm sure I will be fine.'

  'You don't look fine, Hannah.'

  I'm aware of how strands of hair are stuck to my forehead. I feel my shirt clings to my underarms and my back; I wonder if he saw it when I turned to leave. Or is it my thumping heart that gave me away?

  'Honestly – I'm fine.' I take a step back and give him what I hope is a reassuring smile.

  He smiles at me sadly and takes a solemn breath. 'Those are the same words your sister spoke to me last month.'

  I stop my retreat and stare back at him, wondering if I had possibly misheard. 'April?'

  'Yes. She told me that she was doing just fine too.'

  'You went to see her in Peterborough?'

  'Oh no, she was in the village. I spotted her at the train station. She was sitting on a bench alone, staring into space. Forgotten the world, she had. We spoke for a little while. She seemed distracted, lost in thought. Just like you are now.'

  I shake my head. 'When was this?'

  The Reverend's friendly face suddenly looks more grave than I have ever seen it. 'Must have been just days before I got the call from Tony. Beginning of July.'

  He shakes his head sadly. His eyes look suddenly glazed. 'She told me she had never really said goodbye to the place properly. I tried what I thought was my best to reach out to her, but she had closed in on herself.'

  'So you just let her go?'

  He nods sadly. 'That visit troubled me so much that I barely slept that night. I couldn't forget the look in her eyes as she stared across the station platform. My gut had told me there was something more going on. The next day I called Tony and I asked if April was going through any particularly troubling times. I suggested he should try and reach out to her, but my fears were allayed when he told me that April had gone to him. After she had stayed the night in her childhood home, he said she seemed much more at peace than the day before.'

  I am aware that my mouth opens slightly as I process this new fact.

  'Dad never told me,' I manage, staring at the bright red geraniums that bob in the gentle breeze over the Reverend's shoulder. 'He never mentioned it at all.'

  Over the past few weeks, both my mother and myself have both pondered out loud how April's death could have happened. Dad has even said it himself a handful of times. Not once did he mention that April had been here just days before she died.

  Why didn't he say anything?

  April

  I decide to take the journey back to the village by train. There is something so romantic about old-fashioned railway stations. What a perfect way to make this trip one last time.

  I step out of the station and start down the path. Now that I am here, I realise how well I remember this place.

  It is like I never left.

  My feet carry me along the path which I know leads to his house. My teenage self left invisible footsteps I follow now. His house is just where I pictured. But what a state he has let it get into. He must be quite elderly now, I would imagine. I think of the hours I spent cleaning his car, picking apples from the tree which now looks weedy and defeated. He was always so proud. Always, he wanted his house to shine more than anyone else's in the village.

  Now look at him.

  I feel a grim smile pull on my lips and a small sense of satisfaction blooms in my chest.

  He must know as well as I do that he deserves what is coming to him. How did he manage to exist for so many years when the lives of that family were on his conscience.

  I ring the doorbell, my fingers close tightly around something in my pocket – Paige's necklace. I couldn't just give it away to my tormentor. They would have used it as evidence against us. They already somehow knew Hannah had picked it up.

  I've kept it safe all these years ever since I found the wretched thing in Will's pocket that night; after I had peeled the garment from Hannah's trembling shoulders.

  I can't explain why I didn't just dispose of it. It would have been a great weight from my shoulders, but I couldn't let it go for some reason.

  There was an innocence about the locket that I couldn't ignore. Perhaps part of me thought that if I kept hold of it, I would be keeping some part of myself that I thought I had lost that night.

  But I know now that was foolish. That night destroyed everything. I just hadn't realised straight away.

  There is rustling behind the door. He opens it and there is a pause before a look of recognition and then delight spreads across his rough features. He is pleased to see me.

  I wind my fingers around the black cord of the necklace.

  I'm going to make this count.

  56

  My head is in turmoil as I make my way to the very edge of the village. It takes all my resolve not to turn the other way and head back to Dad's house. I can't think of a reason why he wouldn't mention April's visit to anyone. Wouldn't it at least have given his ex-wife even just a little closure on a hopeless situation?

  My legs feel heavy as I make the final turn onto Prospect Terrace. If Will wasn't in his precarious legal situation, then I would never have considered coming here alone.

  There is a chance that Penny wouldn't go to the police, but I just can't tak
e the risk. Part of me is desperate to know what her interest is in all this. Not to mention how she got April's phone.

  As I ascend the street and approach the old house, there isn't any sign of Penny's car.

  For ten minutes, I hover about uncertainly on the pavement. I don't even wish to step onto the front pathway leading to the boarded-up old door.

  Another five minutes pass and I start wondering why I am still alone.

  What if she doesn't turn up? What if Paige turns up instead? Could this all be just a trap? Did she send me here and then call the police?

  I look over my shoulder and strain my ears for the sound of distant sirens. My legs shake so badly they are in danger of giving in.

  I pull out my phone and call April's number again. It just rings through this time. No answer, but not blocked either. Maybe Penny is driving?

  I bring up the map again and my eyes are drawn to the marker. It is fixed firmly above the house behind me.

  I turn around.

  The house looks empty, deserted. The boards are still in place, apart from the one on the lower ground floor window which looks as though it has been down for a while.

  I dial April's phone again. This time, I strain my ears for the sound of it ringing.

  Distant, tinny music reaches me and I recognise the tune. A song by Coldplay. April's favourite band.

  The call reaches voicemail and the music stops. I try again. No answer.

  Penny must have beaten me here.

  But why won't she answer the phone?

  Has she abandoned it? Wiped off her fingerprints to absolve herself of any wrongdoing?

  My pounding heart reaches a crescendo and I start to think that maybe she has called the police after all. Is this her revenge for what happened to Paige?

  Has Penny been acting on her behalf? Did the pair hound April together until her last day?

  Fury bubbles in my veins again and I tread my way over the thick, long grass at the end of the terrace until I am faced with the back of the house.

  My eyes fall on the back door which stands wide open. The smell of must and damp wafts out and warns me against going inside.

  But I ignore every instinct in my body and move forward anyway, stepping out of the warm summer day.

  57

  Inside, it is dark and the smell is awful; decades of damp and neglect presses in on me. Even in the dark, I can tell the floors and walls are black.

  I feel a sort of hush come over me and I wonder if it because I already know that several people lost their lives here.

  In the hallway, I illuminate my phone and move the beam around, taking in my surroundings.

  I feel as though I am in a shell of a house. The bare bones are barely covered with plaster. In many places, it is missing completely.

  There are holes in the walls here and there and some of them aren't blackened, as though they have been gouged since the fire.

  I move to the end of the hallway but don't venture into the sitting room. I can see there are glass bottles strewn all over the floor and a bunched up sleeping bag is surrounded by other debris; cigarette butts, syringes and tiny plastic pouches.

  The lounge is in a similar condition, except the walls are darker. I wonder if this is where it happened. Was John Wakefield sitting in here when it happened, watching television to unwind after putting his children to bed? Did the fire engulf him so quickly he didn't have time to react? Or was he upstairs, asleep and oblivious until it was too late?

  My parents had kept April and I shielded from the finer details at the time. Now my imagination is alive and whirs with the worst possible scenarios.

  With violently trembling hands, I dial April's number again as I stand in the remains of the Wakefields' lounge. I hold my breath as I wait for a response.

  The sound of April's favourite song reaches me. To my dismay, it sounds like it is coming from upstairs.

  I look up. The song pipes out from above the blackened ceiling over my head.

  58

  I eye the staircase with some trepidation. It can't be as unstable as it looks, because the white light from my phone illuminates dusty green bottles sitting along the railing that lines the landing.

  Besides, Penny must have been here very recently to bring in the phone. If the rotting wood could take her weight, it could certainly take mine.

  I tread carefully up the stairs. As I step along the landing, avoiding broken glass and litter, I note how much of the upstairs carpet has survived compared to downstairs where even the floors themselves were dipped into by the fire.

  Anyone on the first floor would surely have been further from the worst of the flames. It was likely the smoke that got to them. The chemicals would have infused with the air, destined for their lungs. Just like Reg.

  A new chill crosses me when I think of the old man.

  Was it his hand that was responsible for all of this?

  Dad thinks someone helped him but didn't say who. I should have pressed him. I can't imagine who else in the village would do such a thing.

  The music stops just as I reach the room above the lounge. But it doesn't matter – I catch the glow from April's phone ahead of me in the middle of the bedroom floor before it is extinguished in the gloom.

  I move forward quickly and snatch it up. I grip the device firmly in my hand as though it is a treasure I have been missing all my life. Mine at last.

  It is the last remaining thing of April's still out in the real world.

  The notification light flashes in the corner, still active in my hand. It is as though the gadget has only just left my sister's own palm for a moment and she will return soon to collect it. People can't be removed from their phones for too long.

  A noise in the corner snaps my attention back to the here and now.

  Someone is in the room with me.

  I have a split-second to register a figure in the corner of my vision, before it moves quickly to the doorway, blocking the light and leaving us alone in the gloom.

  I blink and realise that the figure isn't Penny.

  It isn't even Paige Wakefield.

  My heart gives a horrible throb as my brain registers the face that I now see before me.

  59

  There is the tiniest of moments where I feel a spike of foolish relief that I don't see either Penny or Paige in front of me.

  'David?'

  In the partial darkness, I blink. Penny's brother stands in front of me.

  'What are you doing here? Where is Penny?'

  He looks back at me flatly. 'Working, of course. Where else would she be?'

  There is an awkward moment and I realise that he is probably unaware that I tracked April's phone to Reg's street where Penny's car was parked. Of course, she always shepherds David around with her too.

  But I don't understand. Why would it be him?

  I take a half-step towards the door tentatively.

  'Look, it's dark in here,' I say. 'I can barely see you. Let's go outside, shall we?'

  'I think we will stay right here. The children didn't get to leave when the fire was coming. They wouldn't have had the chance. Why should you?'

  I stare back at him. He is all scruffy hair and wild eyes, bearing an expression of satisfied malice.

  'You've been the one sending me all the messages from my sister's phone. You caused the scene at her funeral.' I shake my head, trying to put it all together. 'Why?'

  'Why?' He laughs. 'I've already told you. You three are the guilty ones. You always have been. Not that there weren't others … But you lot were all directly responsible for Paige's death.'

  'No,' I whisper, shaking my head. Tears well up in my eyes. I glance towards the doorway. The door has parted from its hinges and rests loosely against the wall, but David's shoulders span the empty frame. I would never be able to pass if I suddenly bolted.

  'No? Are you saying your little trio didn't meet Paige in the woods the day she went missing?'

  'I – what? Of course we
didn't,' I say. 'I don't know where you would get such an idea. I never knew Paige. I never even spoke to her. I can't see what any of this has to do with you anyway. What possible connection do you and Penny have to Paige?'

  'Penny?' He snorts. 'Nothing at all. She isn't anything to do with Paige. You see, Paige is my little sister.'

  Silence rings for a few moments. Then reasoning catches up with me. I know that can't be true. 'But all the Wakefield children were killed ... in the fire, weren't they?'

  'Obviously not, because I am still standing here talking to you now, aren't I?'

  His palms pat his chest as confirmation.

  'It can't be true,' I say, determined that this is all a distasteful misunderstanding. This can't be happening. 'I heard my parents talking afterwards ... the emergency services didn't pull any survivors from the house.' I drop my voice to a whisper. 'They were all dead.'

  The quiet seems so loud in this house. As though eyes watch me from the surrounding darkness. The walls creak and snap around us.

  David stares back at me, now looking a little more distant. Is now my chance to take flight?

  'Yes,' he says. 'Everyone in the house was killed, but by chance, I wasn't at home that night. You see, all us children were taken into care when my dad was arrested. They had the nerve to accuse him of killing Paige – even after I had told them otherwise. When he was released, we were supposed to be taken back, but I refused to go with my brothers and sisters. I didn't want to go back. We never got along, see, me and Dad. I saw it was an opportunity to get out of there. That night I kipped over at a friends house, hidden in their parents' garage. I couldn't believe it the next day when I heard what had happened.'

  I say nothing, watching David as he reminisces. I don't want to believe any of this is true, but I know deep down that it must be.

  'Do you know what got me?' he asks suddenly.

  I shake my head tentatively, wondering why he wants me to hear all this.