by K. L. Slater
Juliet stared at her sister. The room swam before her eyes. Nothing felt real.
Chloe’s face looked strained but she looked at Tom and he nodded for her to carry on.
‘I’d followed you to the warren because Dad came back downstairs to moan at me for leaving you to take Corey up there alone.’ She took a breath. ‘When I got to the top of the hill, you were already asleep, so I lay in the sun for a bit. Corey started whining; he was bored because he couldn’t find his den. I chased him around for a while, but he was looking behind him as he was running and he… he just tumbled over the edge.’
He voice faded out.
Nobody said a word. After a few moments, Juliet spoke.
‘But when I woke up, you were at the bottom of the hill.’ Her voice sounded weak. ‘You shouted up, told me you’d just got there. You even asked me where Corey was.’
Chloe hung her head. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I panicked when he went over… I didn’t know what to do. I ran back down.’
‘You watched our brother go over the edge and you ran away rather than get help?’ Juliet was breathless. ‘He might’ve survived if the ambulance had got there sooner.’ She glared at Ray and Joan. ‘And you two… you’ve let her get away with this all these years?’
‘She didn’t tell us until after Corey had died, love,’ Ray said quietly. ‘We decided it was best to leave things as they were; no sense in upsetting everyone all over again. The coroner had documented his death as misadventure, and we didn’t want the police sticking their oar in if our story suddenly changed.’
Juliet turned to Tom. ‘You knew this? You’ve always known?’
‘No!’ Tom’s expression cracked. ‘I only found out recently. I asked Chloe to wait for the right time to tell you because I was worried about your state of mind. That’s what we were arguing about in the car. You have to believe me, Juliet.’
Juliet’s face seemed to turn to stone. She stopped blinking, seemed to stop breathing. She turned away from Tom.
‘Why? Why, after all this time?’ She whispered.
Chloe’s face darkened.
‘It… it was just time to say something,’ she stammered. ‘It’s really got to me lately.’
Chloe remembered the neighbours’ whispers and nudges after Corey’s accident.
There’s the girl who fell asleep while she was supposed to be looking after her little brother.
Juliet used to say that that was what they were all thinking, even though they never heard them say it exactly. Chloe would console her; it was easy. By that time, she had managed to entirely convince herself of the alternative truth.
After all, if Juliet hadn’t fallen asleep, she and Chloe could have helped Corey build his den together. He wouldn’t have got bored and Chloe wouldn’t have ended up chasing him.
Her parents had insisted on holding a private funeral for him, and Joan had declared she would not allow the girls to attend.
‘I can’t bear to look at you while my little boy lies dead in his coffin,’ she had told Juliet, and the two girls were sent to stay with Beth and her father for a couple of days.
Chloe had felt secretly glad. That way, she didn’t have to force herself to look at her brother’s coffin and face her own awful truth.
‘You left me to deal with the guilt and the blame for the rest of my life,’ Juliet whispered. ‘And now our girls have taken over that legacy.’
Fifty-Five
Juliet
When Carol interrupts us to tell me I can finally see my daughter, I’m glad of the diversion, glad to get away from them all.
I walk out of the room. Somebody calls my name, but I don’t look back.
Maddy is waiting for me, looking pale and weak, like there’s no fight left in her.
‘I’ll give you a couple of minutes,’ Carol says before leaving.
I put my arms out and Maddy sits down close to me, leaning her cheek on my shoulder. I can feel her shaking. It’s breaking my heart just to look at her.
I stroke her hair.
‘I want you to know that your dad and I love you so very much. We will always love you.’ She turns her face a little and looks up at me. ‘It doesn’t matter what you have or haven’t done. We love you. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ she whispers and gives the tiniest nod.
It’s so wonderful to hear her voice again, even if my heart is fractured.
Now that I know the truth about Corey, I understand that no matter what Brianna tells her mother or her grandparents about what happened in Bessie Wilford’s house, I will never get to know the truth, because they will all keep it from me and twist it into a story they can live with.
If I let them, they will lie to me and deceive me, just as they’ve done for the last fifteen years. They will let my daughter take the baton and be the new fall guy.
But I will never let that happen.
‘I’m going to share something with you, Maddy, and I want you to really listen to me.’ I shift in my chair so I’m facing her. ‘I’ve told you before about my little brother who died. His name was Corey and he had an accident and fell onto some rocks, remember?’
She doesn’t nod again, but I can tell she’s listening.
‘Well, what I didn’t tell you was that I’ve always believed it was my fault that Corey died. I dozed off, you see. I was ill and fell asleep when I should have been looking after him. But today I found out that it wasn’t my fault after all. Someone else was there that day, someone who could have stopped the accident.’
Maddy stares at me with wide eyes.
‘I took the blame all these years because other people said it was my fault.’ I sigh, realising I’m probably not making much sense to my exhausted ten-year-old daughter. I grasp her hand. ‘What I’m trying to say is that sometimes other people will do anything to get you to take the blame for something. They confuse you, lie to you until you really believe that somehow it is your fault. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘I know you better than anyone else in the world, and you’re a good girl, Maddy. I’d really hate for you to blame yourself because you think it’s the right thing to do.’ I squeeze her hand. ‘You’re kind and clever, and you have your whole life ahead of you.’
I can only hope that that’s still the case. Any kind of redemption is hanging by a mere thread now.
‘It’s not too late, Maddy,’ I add. ‘If you can tell us what happened in Bessie’s house, we can help you. All you have to do is tell the truth… your truth, not someone else’s.’
A single tear rolls down my daughter’s soft, pale cheek.
There can’t be a worse feeling than this. Desperately wanting to save your child and being so utterly unable to.
Everyone says the truth will always shine through and eventually it has. The truth about Corey’s accident is finally out. But at this precise moment, I’m wondering how something so ultimately powerful as the truth can be so easily hidden. So effortlessly, it seems, for all these years.
Most of all, I wonder if we will ever find out the truth of what happened in Bessie Wilford’s house.
Fifty-Six
The village
She was doing it again, failing to follow proper procedure. But what harm could it do now?
Dana liked and trusted Juliet Fletcher, and although it clearly irritated Lizzie every time she said so, she didn’t believe Maddy was capable of killing Bessie Wilford, regardless of Brianna’s accusation. It just didn’t stack up.
What harm could helping Juliet do, really? Dana knew that given a bit more leeway and time, Neary would be willing to explore other avenues of inquiry. But for now, the pressure to name a firm suspect was tremendous.
Legally, Neary had almost come to the end of his allowed interrogation time, and Superintendent Fry was gearing up to charge Maddy with manslaughter. Fry herself was bowing under pressure from her superior, who was subject to public outrage and press condemnation at the fact that they hadn’t already
charged the girl.
Dana found it both disturbing and intriguing that the community and the press were so willing to ignore the fact that the two girls were vulnerable ten-year-olds, instead casting them as wicked young murderers in the ilk of Mary Bell and the killers of little Jamie Bulger.
Although Brianna could well be released, the fact that she had been present when Bessie Wilford was attacked still condemned her in the eyes of the world and a later charge could be made when the details became clearer. Dana knew from experience that Brianna would probably be hounded and the family forced to move away from the area.
Despite her bleak thoughts, she smiled to herself as she got into her car and headed towards nearby Kirkby-in-Ashfield. She was looking forward to this evening. She and Lizzie had decided to have a pizza and movie night.
It felt so good to have someone to chew the cud with at the end of the working day, instead of staring at the wall with only a glass of red and a Spotify playlist for company.
Lizzie had said she liked spending time in Dana’s house, describing the small village terrace as cosy and comfortable in comparison to her own place.
Dana felt a warm glow when she said things like that. She liked being in a position where she could offer Lizzie a homely place to spend time together. Orla had been a high-flying lawyer with a fancy duplex pad in Nottingham’s expensive Lace Market district. Dana had never felt quite good enough, nor quite clever enough, when she’d been with her.
Now it was the other way around. Lizzie made her feel competent and protective, and Dana found she very much liked feeling that way.
She took a right turn onto a side road and pulled into a small parking area behind a new low-rise office building. The words Ashfield Angels were picked out in a fancy bronze-coloured script against the black background of the large rectangular sign that spanned the building. Quite unfortunate, Dana thought, that something about it was reminiscent of a funeral parlour.
She entered the building and walked across the small waiting area to a smart beech desk, where she announced herself to the young receptionist.
‘Dana Sewell to see Stephen Wade.’
She presented her lanyard ID, signed the visitor book and then took a seat as requested, looking around the foyer.
The walls were freshly plastered in sparkling white and hung with monochrome prints of various cities of the world. Leafy potted plants prospered and quality home interior magazines and Ashfield Angels leaflets were fanned attractively on low tables.
It occurred to Dana that home care for the elderly was the business to be in these days. She reached for a glossy leaflet.
Seconds later, a tall, rangy man with black hair and a grey-flecked beard appeared breezily from a door at the side of the reception desk.
‘Dana? Come through.’ They shook hands as she followed him through the door. ‘Stephen Wade, MD. Good to meet you, hope I can help.’
‘Thanks for agreeing to see me.’ They entered a spacious office to the right and Stephen indicated for her to take a seat. ‘I shouldn’t take up too much of your time.’
‘No worries. It’s nice to take a break from rota spreadsheets, if I’m honest.’ He wafted a hand at the giant slimline iMac monitor in front of him.
‘Nice place to work.’ She glanced approvingly through the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked fields at the back of the building. ‘Everything’s so nice and new.’ She gestured at the computer. ‘No expense spared.’
He nodded. ‘Business is good. People are living much longer, you see, and generally have a good quality of life. But they start to struggle with the day-to-day tasks like cleaning, laundry, light gardening. That’s where we come in.’
‘It’s a real need you’re filling,’ Dana agreed.
‘And I could fill it three times over if I had the staff.’ Stephen rolled his eyes. ‘That’s the rub, getting reliable people.’
‘Speaking of staff, that’s why I’m here today. I’m involved with the Bessie Wilford case.’
Stephen’s expression turned grim. ‘I know all about it. Heartbreaking stuff. Bessie was one of our regulars, and none of the staff had a bad word to say about her.’ He frowned. ‘You know I’ve already spoken to the case detectives about this? I gave them a list of names, staff who’ve visited Bessie in the last three months.’
‘Yes, and I appreciate you giving us a bit more time. Did she have a named employee who was her regular home help?’
‘No. We can only guarantee the same person if they book someone at least three times a week. Bessie was more ad hoc than that. In fact, she hadn’t put a help request in for about three weeks.’ He pressed a button and the printer behind him began to whirr. ‘Here’s the list I gave the police. There are only four names on it, and I’ve included their work mobile numbers.’
‘Thanks so much.’ Dana was delighted he’d volunteered the list without her having to ask or be creative about the reason she needed it. ‘I won’t take up any more of your time.’
In the car park, she looked at the note in her hand.
Four names that meant nothing to her and the police had already spoken to them all. But she’d done her bit for Juliet.
Maybe they would mean something to Juliet or Chloe.
Fifty-Seven
Dana sighed as she took in the queue of traffic in front of her. The council had been working on widening this stretch of the road for what seemed like months, and yet there appeared to have been little progress. Every time she drove by, three or four workers in reflective jackets seemed to be standing around having some kind of tea conference.
She had about an hour to herself before she had to get back for Maddy Fletcher’s final interview. Before joining the gridlocked traffic, she’d stopped off at the small artisan bakery in Papplewick village and bought one of their delicious four-cheese pizzas, which she’d plate with a tomato salad later. She hadn’t been able to resist a rather splendid-looking lemon drizzle cake for dessert although she knew Lizzie would put up a weak complaint about the calories she’d be consuming.
Lizzie had been working at Dana’s house all day. She was trying to get a new business venture off the ground, something to do with a referral service for health professionals. She had fully explained it, but to Dana’s shame, her mind had been too full of the case to take it all in properly. She’d make it up to Lizzie tonight and push the case out of her head. There was nothing more she could do for Maddy Fletcher after today.
Infuriatingly, when Dana drove into her road, she saw that the guy who’d moved in next door about a month ago had again parked his Kawasaki motorbike in front of her house. He had a black BMW motor too, which was taking up the space in front of his own house.
Muttering to herself, she parked a few doors down and walked back, opening the front door quietly and shutting it softly behind her so she could surprise Lizzie, who’d set up her office for the day on the kitchen table at the back of the house.
She crept past the stairs and was just about to shout out comically, ‘Honey, I’m home!’ when she realised Lizzie had her phone clamped to her ear.
‘I’m so sorry, Juliet,’ she was saying, her voice breaking with compassion. ‘It sounds like you’re going through hell.’ She fell silent again as she listened. ‘Yes, I suppose so, but it’s like dripping-tap torture, isn’t it? It just keeps going, never stops… OK, well if you don’t want Josh to come to the juvenile centre, then you could pick him up from my place. Shall we say in twenty minutes? Are you coming alone? I really need to speak to you about something anyway. It’s time… it has to be today.’
Dana stood for a moment, speechless. Trying to piece it all together.
Lizzie and Juliet knew each other? How could that be? Possible connections wouldn’t come.
Lizzie made another call.
‘Hello, is that the Herald? Can you put me through to the news desk, please? I have some new information on the Bessie Wilford case.’
Dana stepped back into the shadows, spotting L
izzie’s handbag on the hall table. If her heart continued pounding at this rate, it would surely burst. She felt sick to her stomach as she heard Lizzie’s bright, confident voice speaking again.
The way the press seemed to get to know everything about the case in record time… Dana herself had fed Lizzie the details. Why on earth had Lizzie got herself embroiled in the case like this? Why was she playing a double game with the press and Juliet? More to the point… how did the two women even know each other?
She started putting together seemingly unrelated incidents.
The day Dana had met Lizzie at the spinning class had been a complete accident… hadn’t it? She was a psychologist, for God’s sake, she would have known if someone was pretending to be genuine. Besides, that had been at least two weeks before the attack on Bessie Wilford, so it couldn’t possibly have anything to do with it.
Maybe Lizzie was just one of those people who found intense pleasure from playing the puppeteer role. Controlling events from behind the scenes and then reacting to them, like tipping off the press and then appearing to be as shocked as anyone else and offering comfort to Juliet. Had she engineered ‘bumping into’ her at some point, too?
Dana picked up the handbag and moved stealthily back into the front room, where she checked that her own phone was on silent and wouldn’t give her away.
Lizzie’s handbag was well organised, unlike Dana’s, which she’d been threatening to clean out for the past year. A hairbrush, another phone, which she saw was locked with a passcode, a bunch of keys, a black leather purse and a foil packet of paracetamol tablets. She fished out the purse and quickly unfolded the front section. Nothing unusual there: credit cards, debit cards – and a driving licence.
She pulled it out and glanced at it. Elizabeth Chambers.
Strange seeing Lizzie’s full name like that, and something buzzed in her head, like she’d heard it before.
A strap of some sort had hooked itself around the purse, and Dana shook it free impatiently. It was attached to a laminated lanyard. She extracted it from its tangle and inspected it. It featured a familiar black and bronze colour scheme.
