The Vow: the gripping new thriller from a bestselling author - guaranteed to keep you up all night!

by Debbie Howells

  I shake my head. ‘Maybe one of the jars had been mislabelled.’

  ‘Maybe someone mislabelled it deliberately?’ DI Lacey’s voice is misleadingly light. ‘Maybe it wasn’t an accident. Maybe it was done intentionally.’

  I stare at him, a look of horror on my face. ‘Why?’

  Ignoring me, he goes on. ‘Tell me about the sisters. How did Kimberley and Emily get on? Were they close?’

  ‘Not particularly, but they didn’t dislike each other, either. As I said, Emily and I used to hang out together. And Kimberley had a boyfriend …’ I break off, silently cursing. Another mistake. No doubt DI Lacey will be straight onto it.

  He is. ‘Did that cause any problems between them? Jealousy, for example?’

  I hesitate. ‘Things were different, obviously, compared to before he was on the scene.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Kimberley was quite obsessed with him. He came to see her most days, but like I said, Emily and I had each other. It wasn’t a problem.’

  ‘Are you and Emily still in touch?’

  I shake my head. ‘After I changed schools, we drifted apart – like so many teenagers do.’

  PC Page looks at me. ‘I would have thought something of the magnitude of her sister dying would have meant you’d stay in touch.’

  I’m silent for a moment. ‘If we’d stayed at the same school, I’m sure we would have.’ Leaving out what I want to say, that it was directly because of Kimberley’s death, then my parents sending me away, that we didn’t drift apart, our friendship was severed.

  *

  ‘We need to try to trace her.’ I’m aware of their eyes scrutinising me. ‘You genuinely don’t know why the writer of the letter insists there’s something you know about Kimberley’s death?’

  I shake my head. ‘I’ve no idea.’

  Neither of them comments. Then as they get up, just as I think the interview is over, PC Page stops and turns to look at me. ‘It really is the most bizarre coincidence that all this took place in the house where Ms Reid now lives.’

  Not wanting to pursue this line of conversation, I just nod, wondering if she believes in coincidence, because I don’t. The timing of the anonymous letter is sinister, as well as far too inconvenient to put down solely to chance.

  *

  As I drive away, my sense of relief is temporary. If they question me again, there’s only one plausible option. I’m going to have to come clean, and tell them exactly what happened. That Emily was jealous of her sister, that she’d tried to make a remedy to break her and her boyfriend up, that went disastrously wrong. I imagine their questions. Ms Rose, can you explain why you didn’t tell us about this?

  Making my way through the centre of Brighton, around me the streets are busy, stirred into life by the bright sunshine, people hurrying to and from work, or to the shops and bars. When I first moved here, I imagined staying for years, but already I’m thinking about moving away, maybe changing my name. Leaving the past in the past, for good.

  Going on experience, I don’t suppose it will be long before the police are back in touch. There will be someone, somewhere, who will remember the family that was devastated by a death that should never have happened. Records of ownership of the house. It had been an error on my part not to tell them.

  The more I think about Matt, the more certain I feel about what transpired that last night. After he left my flat, the taxi dropping him back at Amy’s, he told her he was leaving her. A red mist would have fallen over her eyes as she overreacted, became furious, raging angrily as she lost control. She could have stabbed him, then he tried to get away. Maybe even drive away, desperate to get away from her. I haven’t heard anything about his car.

  Parking close to the office, I sit there for a moment. There’s a sense of control sliding out of my grasp, of time slipping through my fingers like grains of sand. Knowing the police will be making enquiries into Emily’s whereabouts, there’ll be more questions. But this time, I have to be ready for them.

  Jess

  As we drive away from the custody centre, my head is filled with a tornado of thoughts – about my mother, Matt, how they met, why they met. What reasons Matt could have for trying to hurt her.

  Cath’s friend Zoe lives in a quiet street off Dyke Road, by chance not far from where Amy is being held. By the time we get there, it’s almost dark, glimmers of light coming from behind closed curtains, where normal lives exist, undisrupted by police investigations. But as I know, appearances give nothing away about what’s inside. As we reach Cath’s friend’s house, parking right outside, I climb out, feeling myself shiver as the first spots of rain start to fall.

  ‘Let’s get out of this.’ Beside me, Cath is carrying the overnight bags I’d completely forgotten about. Taking mine from her, I follow her up the steps to the front door, then as she rings the bell, a light comes on inside.

  ‘Cath!’ The woman who opens the door has dark hair and warm eyes. Leaning forward, she hugs Cath. Then she looks at me. ‘You must be Jess. I’m Zoe. Welcome. Come in, it’s so cold out there. You’ve had a long day, haven’t you?’

  I nod, then think of Cath, whose day started in Bristol. ‘Cath’s has been longer.’

  We follow Zoe along a light hallway into her kitchen. ‘Come through. It’s just us tonight. Nick is in the Algarve playing golf and Lizzie’s away at uni. I’ve made pasta. After the day you’ve had, I don’t suppose either of you have eaten. Come and sit down. I’ll get you both a drink.’

  After the events of today, her warmth and kindness is comforting. The kitchen is big but still manages somehow to be cosy, with a colourful rug on the wide floorboards and a large oak table surrounded by eight chairs.

  As Cath and I sit down, Zoe brings over a bottle of white wine and three glasses. ‘Cath told me about your mum, Jess. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how upsetting this must be for you. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to.’ She glances at Cath. ‘Both of you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Touched by her kindness, I take the glass she offers me. ‘I don’t know what’s happening. Do we?’ I look at Cath.

  ‘Not right now.’ Cath takes a sip of her wine. ‘Hopefully we’ll find out more tomorrow.’

  The wine is cold and crisp, and as I drink, I realise how exhausted I am. Zoe serves up a huge bowl of steaming hot pasta. ‘It’s with olive oil and herbs,’ she says. ‘Cath told me you were vegan, so I kept it plain. I hope that’s OK?’

  ‘Thank you so much. It looks wonderful.’ In this warm house, in the company of a stranger, I’m grateful, but it’s another stark reminder of Matt’s lack of consideration. His arrival in our lives radically changed my own home until it barely resembled what it used to be.

  ‘Let’s eat. The food smells amazing.’ Cath tries to sound bright.

  But thinking of Matt, of my mother being held in custody, my appetite has vanished Taking a small portion, I push it around my plate, before putting my fork down. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not really hungry.’

  ‘Have a little.’ Cath’s voice is sympathetic. ‘You need to eat, Jess. Keep your strength up. Your mum’s relying on us.’

  *

  After we’ve finished eating, Zoe shows me up to one of her guest rooms. ‘I’ve put towels in the bathroom.’ She opens the door to a small en suite. ‘If there’s anything else you need, Jess, you only have to ask. Please make yourself at home.’ She pauses for a moment, concern written on her face as she speaks more quietly. ‘I really hope tomorrow brings you the answers you want.’

  ‘Thank you. This is so lovely.’ And it is, from the pastel patterned bedding to the heavy white curtains, a small set of toiletries thoughtfully laid out on top of the chest of drawers.

  The bed is comfortable, the noise coming from outside in the street unfamiliar as I lie there, grateful, but thinking of my own bed at home; where the sky is dark, the only sounds the occasional owl and the wind. But however tired I feel, sleep evades me. Gazing at the ceiling, I try to i
magine what my mother’s been through these last few weeks, since Matt disappeared. However Matt treated her in the past, she’s lost the man she loved and the future she believed lay ahead of her. And now, ridiculously, by the cruellest twist of fate, she’s being held in custody by the police.

  My mind wanders, as I think about what might have happened to Matt. Then I think of the bouquet of flowers in blood. It sounds as though someone was trying to get at both of them. Suddenly it strikes me, if there’s someone with a big enough grudge against my mother, that drove them to kill Matt, then leave the bouquet in blood for my mother to find, what next? Am I in danger, too? Maybe the other woman is behind it all. Maybe she’s killed Matt, before setting my mother up as a kind of revenge, out of some form of twisted jealousy.

  Eventually I doze, only to wake with a start and a clarity of thought that yesterday escaped me. This has to be connected to the other woman Matt was seeing. I need to find out who she is.

  *

  After breakfast, Cath and I drive to Steyning. Although my house is off-limits, I want to see what’s going on there. The sky is a little brighter, the air dry, the rolling hills comfortingly familiar, until we arrive to find two police cars parked outside. When she sees us, PC Page gets out of one of them. Leaving Cath to park her car, I get out and walk towards her.

  There’s a frown on her face. ‘Morning. I’m sorry. As I explained yesterday, we can’t allow anyone to go inside.’

  ‘I know. I just wanted to come here.’ This morning, even the air feels different. Then I realise, there are no birds. Instead, there’s an eerie silence, and I realise the sense of peace my mother has nurtured is no longer part of the framework of this place; that the intangible serenity she’s tried so hard to preserve has gone.

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I take in the plastic tape cordoning off the front garden, presumably the extent of what they consider the crime scene, the second police officer sitting inside the other car. Gazing up at the windows, the house looks unfamiliarly cold and bleak. Tears prick my eyes, because when all this is over, life can never go back to how it was.

  PC Page’s voice breaks into my thoughts. ‘How did you sleep?’

  ‘OK.’ Still staring at the house, I shrug. ‘I was thinking about a lot of stuff.’ Turning to look at her, I pause. ‘I know my mother’s a suspect, but if she’s innocent, which I’m a hundred per cent sure she is, I was trying to think who else could be involved in Matt’s disappearance. The obvious answer is this other woman he was seeing. Maybe she ran out of patience when he didn’t leave Mum. She killed him because she couldn’t bear the thought of him being with someone else. The bouquet was to get back at Mum. Or maybe he was as awful to her as he was to Mum.’ My voice wavers. ‘Either way, she could have a motive.’ I hesitate before asking the burning question I need an answer to. ‘I need you to tell me what you think my mother has done.’

  PC Page is silent for a moment. ‘While the investigation is still going on, all I can tell you is that we have sufficient evidence to implicate your mother. I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more than that.’

  My stomach churns as she speaks, but it still isn’t conclusive. ‘Have you found his body?’

  ‘Not yet.’ She sighs. ‘There’s no easy way to say this, Jess. But as well as physical evidence, we have accounts of what was going on between Matt and your mother. Enough for us to build a fairly clear picture of what was happening.’

  ‘But you still don’t actually have a body.’ My voice is fierce as I challenge her.

  She doesn’t comment. Then she changes the subject. ‘I did want to ask you more about what you’ve discovered about Mr Roche – through Facebook. Is now a good time?’

  Nodding, I think of the pictures on my wall at uni. ‘I started looking through his friends. There was a woman called Mandy, who he was with before he met my mother. From the comments, I think he treated her quite badly. Before her, there were others, more short-lived – mostly wealthy women who led him to meet the next wealthy woman. It was through Mandy that he met my friend Sasha’s mum. And it was through her that he met Mum.’

  All the time I’m talking, she listens intently, a frown on her face. ‘I think you should show me. And we’ll try to contact Mandy. See what she has to say about him. If it was as contrived as you’re describing, it suggests there has to be a reason.’

  ‘He’s motivated by money – at least, that’s what it looks like. I honestly think he was after our house. He was adamant about selling and moving to Brighton. I think that’s why he hadn’t cancelled the wedding. Once they were married, wouldn’t he have been entitled to half the house? Or else …’ I stop, not knowing what to believe. ‘Unless Mum was his key to someone else – someone he’s already met. The next woman whose money he wants to get his hands on.’

  Quiet for a moment, PC Page gets out a small notebook and starts writing. ‘You mentioned your mother met Matt through your friend Sasha’s mum – can you give me her name and address?’

  Nodding, I tell her, watching her write it down, suddenly realising it’s me who needs to talk to Sasha’s mum, as soon as possible. ‘Are you going to call her?’

  ‘We may well do.’ She pauses, frowning. ‘Going back to what you said just now, about Matt eyeing up a potential partner … Have you found anything to suggest who that might be?’

  I shake my head. ‘Not yet. It was a hunch. But as far as I can see, there’s a pattern. It seems to fit.’

  She frowns again. ‘I wanted to ask you about your mother’s workshop. Do you know what she keeps in there?’

  ‘Mostly her herbs in labelled jars. It’s the most potent form, from which she dilutes them. It’s very precise.’

  ‘I need to take another look.’ Then as we start walking back towards Cath’s car, I ask her, ‘How much longer will this be cordoned off?’ I want the plastic tape gone, my freedom back.

  ‘I can’t say, Jess. But I’ll let you know as soon as we’re done. I’m going to look into the Facebook thing. I’ll let you know if I find anything.’

  As Cath gets out of her car and walks towards us, her face is anxious. ‘Are you OK, Jess?’

  I nod. ‘Yeah. We’re done here.’

  ‘You want to go?’

  Nodding, I walk over to her car and get in. After a brief exchange with PC Page, a couple of minutes later, she joins me.

  ‘Did you find out what you wanted to?’

  ‘Not really.’ My voice wavers, while a tear snakes its way down my cheek. ‘She said they have evidence, but she wouldn’t tell me what it was. She also said they have a clear picture of how things were between Mum and Matt. I don’t know how, exactly. And after the way Matt’s treated her, then met someone else, they probably think she has a motive. It’s completely and utterly shit.’ My voice is bitter, my brain desperately casting around for other answers – the right answer, because at the moment, the police are missing something.

  1996

  After. Grief. Sadness. Ripples multiplying. One death leading to another death – the boy you wanted for your own. Not one, but two devastated families, all because of you.

  How long before you shrugged it off? Telling yourself it was an accident – how many hundreds of times, until you believed your own lies? I wonder if when you look back now, how you’d tell the story of what happened that day. Who you’d blame. Knowing your mind has distorted it and turned it into something more palatable; because even a heart as twisted as yours has become, somewhere deep inside you must know the truth.

  And when it comes out, the whole world will know your game and it will be over. The pretence, the lies, the hiding behind false names. Because I know who you are. I’ve always known. And I’ll make sure you pay for what you did.

  Amy

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Each session of questioning conspires to lower me further. Maintaining my composure in the interview room, it’s only when I’m back in my cell that I allow my tears to fall, holding on to the only fact I’m sure
of: that I’m innocent. None of this should be happening to me.

  When I’m next taken to the interview room, instead of DI Lacey, there’s another woman with PC Page.

  ‘Amy, this is Dana. She’s a police psychologist. She wants to talk to you about …’

  My frayed nerves already stretched to breaking point, I snap. ‘You think I’m mad, don’t you? I’m not. I know I’m not. I won’t let you section me. Please.’ Agitated, I turn to my solicitor. ‘You’re supposed to be on my side. Can’t you do something?’

  But he doesn’t respond. For a moment, no-one speaks. ‘Amy?’ PC Page’s voice is calm. ‘Please sit down. No-one’s accusing you of being mad or trying to section you. We know you’ve struggled with depression before – we’ve spoken to your GP. We’ve also been talking to your daughter and your therapist, Sonia Richardson. The point is we think Matt’s been playing mind games with you.’

  My eyes flit between PC Page’s and the psychologist’s, as I take in what she’s saying, frowning as I wonder why they’ve spoken to Sonia.

  Dana looks at me. She’s pretty, with reddish hair and pale skin, the kind of looks no doubt Matt would have found attractive. ‘Have you heard of gaslighting, Amy?’ When I shake my head, she goes on. ‘It’s when a man – usually it’s a man – starts altering the reality of the woman he lives with. It starts in small ways, such as him telling her she’s forgotten something he never asked her to get, or reminding her about a conversation they’ve never had. Gradually it escalates, until she starts to doubt herself. Eventually she thinks she’s going mad.’

  As I listen, there’s an uncomfortable familiarity to what she’s saying.