“Mum, I know how to help Ruth. I can tell them the truth. Tell them that it was Martin who killed Robert.”
Dawn stopped stroking Sarah’s hair. “You can?’
“Yes.”
“You will?”
“Yes. I just need to find Jess. She must have a way of contacting the police.”
Dawn stood up. Sarah stared ahead, her eyes on her mother’s hands, red from household chores.
“Are you sure about this, love?”
Sarah looked up. “I’ll be quick. I’ll come straight back.”
“Well…” Dawn glanced at the door. “I don’t know when your father will be home. If you’re not here…”
Sarah grabbed her hand. “I’ll be quick. I’ll run straight there and straight back.”
“It’s a fair way to Jess’s house.”
“She’ll be at Ruth’s. With Ben.”
“Alright then.” Dawn stood back. Her eyes were wide with fear. “But be quick, please.”
Chapter Twenty
Martin was woken by movement outside the shed. He sprang to his feet and grabbed the nearest weapon he could find. A trowel. Fat lot of good that would do.
There was a knock at the door. He frowned at it.
“Sarah?”
“It’s Sam.”
“I thought you’d gone out to work.”
“I should have. But then I spotted them.”
“Spotted who?”
“Just let me in, will you?”
Martin eyed the door. He’d tied it closed with a length of garden twine he’d found.
Could he trust Sam? He’d want Martin gone, with the way he felt about Sarah. He might have brought Ted with him.
“Are you alone?”
“Yes. Get a move on!”
He untied the twine and shoved it into his pocket. He pushed the door open a crack, gripping its edge tightly so he could slam it into Sam if he needed to.
“What is it?”
“They’re after you.”
“Who?”
“Ted. Some others.”
“How did they find me?”
“They must have spotted you. You need to move.”
He leaned out of the shed and looked back towards the road. Sure enough, a small group of men was making its way towards them. Ted was at its head. His coat was draped over his bad shoulder; how did he have such strength, when he’d been stabbed?
“Shit.”
“Exactly. Come on, I can get you out of here.”
Martin let Sam pull him out of the shed and started running across the allotment. He muttered a silent apology each time his foot fell on something growing, but he didn’t have time to be careful.
At the far edge of the allotment was a track. Martin looked back. The men were almost at the shed now, struggling across the heavy soil. Ted yelled something. Behind him was Harry and two other men Martin didn’t recognise. They were all looking at Ted as if waiting for orders.
“Get back here, you little shit!”
“Run, now!” hissed Sam.
Martin ducked under a wire fence Sam was holding up and started to run. They sprinted along the track, dodging tree roots and potholes. He heard voices approaching from behind.
He looked round. They were coming under the fence now, Harry holding it up for the others to pass. Ted was yelling at them.
He felt Sam’s hand on his sleeve and was pulled sideways into the hedge.
“Ow!”
“Sorry! They won’t see us, this way.”
Martin stared at Sam, who was shoving brambles and bracken aside. Thorns rebounded behind him, hitting Martin in the face. He held his arms up to shield himself.
“Where are we going?”
“The boat house. It’s your only way out of here.”
He stopped running. “I can’t steal the boat!”
Sam turned. “I’ll take you along the coast a couple of miles. That’ll give you a head start. Now, run!”
Martin pushed down the questions and did as he was told. At last the undergrowth spat them out into a clearing. Ahead of them was a path leading to the boathouse. He looked at it, guilt eating at his insides.
“I can’t…”
“You bloody well can. They’ll kill you.”
“Is this about Ruth?”
“They don’t care about that. Ted doesn’t, anyway. It’s about Sarah.”
He felt his heart drop inside his rib cage. “Is she alright?”
“She’s fine. She’s in there, getting the boat ready.”
“What?” He ran ahead, careering through the door to the boathouse and almost falling into the boat.
Sarah was next to the boat, untying a rope.
“Hello.”
“Sarah? What are you doing here?”
She shrugged. “Sam spotted me, when he was coming for you.”
He stepped towards her. She took a step back. There was a bruise on her cheek.
“Did he hurt you?”
“Yes. But he won’t do it again.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I’ll look after her,” said Sam, closing the boathouse doors. Sarah flinched.
“Does she need you to look after her?” asked Martin.
“I didn’t mean it like that. She just needs to get out of that house.”
“Both of you, stop talking about me like I’m a child,” said Sarah. “Help me with the boat.”
Sam grabbed a rope off Sarah.
“I stole some food,” she said. “From home. I thought you might need it.”
“But you thought I’d left.”
She shrugged. “I wasn’t sure.”
He smiled at her. She seemed to know his next move before he did. “Thank you.”
Another shrug. “It’s nothing.”
“You know that’s not true. You have rations here.”
“My mum will cover for me.”
“Let’s hope so.”
They opened the front doors of the boathouse and tugged the trailer onto the beach. Martin scanned the path behind the boathouse. Sure enough, the men were close.
They pulled the boat into the sea, cold water making him wince. Sam was unfastening it from the trailer. At last it was in the water, its hull lightly wedged against the sand.
Martin climbed into the boat. Sam was next to it, pushing it off. Sarah helped him on the other side.
“Good luck,” she whispered.
He nodded. “I’ll turn myself in. When I get to the farm. Get Ruth released.”
She bit her lip; he knew she had to trust him.
There was a crashing sound as the door to the boathouse flew open. Ted stumbled in, followed by Harry. Sam and Sarah started pushing harder.
Ted ran through the boathouse and onto the beach. “What the fuck? Stealing our boat again?”
“I’ll bring it back!” Sam called back. “You want him gone, right?”
“Not like this.”
Sam nodded at Martin. “We need to get going.”
Martin nodded. He jumped out of the boat to help push, the water almost at his hips. Behind him, Sarah bent to push the boat, immersed up to her knees. She gave him a sad smile. He resisted the urge to ask her to come with him. Sam would be better for her.
“And as for you…” Ted ran onto the beach behind them, stumbling across the sand. He splashed into the shallows and made a lunge for Sarah. She shrieked and jumped into the boat. Martin felt it dip and touch the sand. He kept pushing.
Sam’s face was red, his muscles straining. He stared at Sarah. “Get out!”
She looked back at Ted. He was level with Martin now, screaming at her. Martin pulled in towards the boat, desperate to avoid Ted’s touch.
Ted turned to him and growled. Martin took a deep breath and jumped into the boat.
“You can get out now, Sarah!” he told her.
She took another look at her dad. His face was red with exertion and anger. Harry stood a few feet behind, water lapping at his f
eet.
Sarah turned to Martin. “I’m coming with you.”
“What?” cried Sam. He stumbled against the side of the boat.
“Its fine, Sam,” she said. “I’ll take him. Drop him off a few miles south then bring the boat back.”
“No you bloody won’t!” Ted cried. She ignored him.
“Are you sure?” said Sam. “You know how to sail this thing?”
Sarah nodded. “How hard can it be?”
Sam gave the boat a final push. A wave caught it and dragged them back into shore. Martin cursed and grabbed an oar.
“Start rowing!” he told Sarah.
She fumbled for the other oar and they started pulling the boat out to sea. The coastline was steep along here and it wasn’t long before they were deep enough to engage the outboard motor. Ted was behind them, screaming obscenities and waving madly despite the sling on his arm.
Martin took a look at Sarah. She was starring out to sea, her jaw set.
“You sure?” he asked.
She nodded, but didn’t meet his eye. “Let’s get going.”
He pulled on the cord and started the motor.
Chapter Twenty-One
Dawn stared out of the kitchen window. It looked out to the side of the house and if she leaned over the sink, she could see the square, or at least part of it.
Sarah, where are you?
She’d been gone for nearly an hour now. How long did it take to get to Ruth’s house four doors away and speak to Jess?
She washed her hands under the tap again, knowing she was wasting water but unable to resist. Her hands, like her home, were always scrubbed clean. Today they smarted, raw flakes peeling off between her fingers. She pulled at one of them then put it in her pocket. Better than letting it fall to the clean floor.
She heard a key turn in the front door. She rushed to it, ready to bundle the girl upstairs and back to her room.
The door opened, bringing a blast of fresh air inside. She pulled her cardigan tighter.
“What are you doing, lying in wait like that? Give a man a heart attack.”
“Ted. Sorry.”
“You look startled. Why do you look startled?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to. The door, your coming back, it just…”
“Hmm. Put the kettle on.”
She hurried to the kitchen and pulled the kettle out of a cupboard. She placed it on the stove and lit the gas. The blue flame warmed her hands; she held them close to it, glad of the metal heating up. This was the only time she used gas; it came from a bottle outside and was strictly rationed.
Ted was behind her, watching over her shoulder. “What’s the matter?”
She stared at her reflection in the kettle. “Nothing.”
“You’re jumpy.”
“No. No, I’m not.”
“You let her out.”
“No. I took her breakfast.”
“Turn round when I’m talking to you, dammit.”
His voice was low, calm. Dawn hated it when he spoke like this.
She turned, twisting her hands together against her apron. The knuckles were bleeding. Her head throbbed.
“Look at me.”
She lifted her head and looked into his eyes, then looked quickly over his shoulder. He put a finger on her chin and pulled it down.
“I said, look at me.”
She swallowed and did as she was told. Could she distract him, send him out again? Until Sarah came home?
“Why?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, I don’t…”
He took a step backwards. She watched him pace into the living room, angsty like a big cat. She stroked her knuckles, feeling blood on her fingertips.
He sat on the sofa, looking out of the window. The sky was white with cloud and the hedgerows at the top of the cliff were a dull, shadowless green.
She shrank back into the kitchen. The kettle whistled behind her, making her jump. She knocked it, spilling hot water onto her hand.
She yelped and thrust the hand into her mouth. She turned to run the tap, to soak it.
“Leave it. Come here.”
She shoved her hand back in her mouth. She shuffled towards the living room, feeling her pulse running through her throbbing fingers.
“Sit with me.” He patted the sofa next to him.
She shuffled in and lowered herself to sit, keeping to the end of the sofa.
“Closer. You’re my wife, dammit.”
She shifted a millimetre towards him. He sighed and turned to her.
“Why did you lie to me?”
She stopped sucking her hand. She felt her pulse pick up.
He leaned in. “I said, why did you lie to me?”
“I don’t… I don’t know what you mean.”
He drew up his chest and she shrank back. Then he turned away from her, sinking into the sofa.
“She got away.”
Dawn felt her body go heavy. She said nothing.
He turned to her. His face was softer now, less angry. She knew that meant nothing.
“How was she in the boat house, when you had her locked up here?”
Stupid girl. Sarah had promised that all she was going to do was to find Jess, then to hurry back.
Dawn shook her head.
“Well?”
“She told me she could help Ruth. She was going to find Jess.”
“Well, she didn’t, did she?”
Dawn shook her head. She lifted the tips of her fingers to her lips. The spot on her thumb where she’d spilt the water was throbbing.
“Take your bloody hand out of your mouth, woman.”
She plunged her hand into her lap. She clasped the other one over it. It would be raw, later. Like the rest of her skin.
He stood up and crossed to the window. “She’s out there somewhere.”
“What?”
“She buggered off in the village boat. Took it.”
He turned to face her, daring her to remind him of the time he’d stolen the village boat, with Harry’s help. She said nothing.
“Is she alone?”
“No, of course she’s not bloody alone! She’s got Martin with her. Sam Dyer helped them.”
“Sam?”
“Yes. Sam.” He advanced to stand over her. “This is all your fault. You and your busybody matchmaking. She’s nineteen. You’ve no right to go making some lad think he’s got a chance with her.”
“Nineteen is old enough to—”
“Are you not listening to a word I’ve said? She’s gone off with that Martin, and Sam’s helping them!”
Dawn looked at the window. The village boat was tiny, just a leisure craft with a tiny cabin for the driver and open benches at the back. If they were out on the North Sea…
She stood up and pushed past Ted, not caring now what he did. She leaned on the glass, cupping her hands around her eyes.
She turned to him. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did they go? Did you threaten her? Did you hurt her again?”
She’d promised herself. If he hit Sarah, she’d leave. But now it had happened, she was too scared.
His face clouded. She hurried past him to the front door, not stopping to grab her coat. She flung the door open and ran for the beach.
Chapter Twenty-Two
They travelled in silence, the only sound the hum of the boat’s engine and the occasional bird swooping overhead. Sarah took the wheel after a few minutes, determined to accustom herself to this thing. Ahead of them the sky was dark, thick clouds pushing their way up the cliffs.
After perhaps twenty minutes, Martin broke the silence.
“Shall I go into shore now, carry on on foot?”
“What?”
“That was Sam’s plan. He was going to let me off a few miles south then take the boat back.”
“Oh.” She thought of Ted, chasing her down the beach, into the waves. Sam’s plan meant her steering the boat back home. Taking it back to him.
“We can push on a little further,” she said. “So you don’t have to walk as far.”
“You sure?”
She nodded, staring ahead of them. The clouds were lowering now, scudding along the horizon like a threatening black army.
Martin shifted towards her. “Maybe we should pull ashore for a bit,” he said. “Wait for that storm to pass.”
“No.”
“This boat is tiny. I know it’s seen worse, but there’s no point in—”
“I said no. We keep going. If it gets rough, then we head in to shore.”
He sighed. “Let me take over for a bit. You’ll need your strength for the trip back.”
She let him take the wheel and shifted to the seat behind, careful to avoid physical contact. She stared at his back. Was he remembering the first time they’d been together on this boat? She’d been unconscious, but he would have known exactly what was going on.
She pulled her sweater more tightly around her. Spray hissed up from the water, coating the boat. The bottom was swilling with it. Should she bail it out?
She searched around for some sort of receptacle. A bucket, cup, anything.
All she could see in the bottom of the boat were ropes, and the food she’d brought for Martin. Bread and apples. The bread would be soggy.
She pulled it out of its paper bag. It was like a sponge, dripping and blue. She chucked it back to the bottom of the boat.
‘What’s that?”
“Bread. I brought you food, remember.”
“Where did you get it?”
“We’ve got a bakery.”
He watched her for a moment, calculating. She wondered what they ate on the farm. Oat biscuits were all she’d been given when she’d been imprisoned there. Stolen, probably.
“You grow wheat, up here?” he asked.
“We buy the flour. In Filey.”
“How?”
She frowned. “Some of the men go out to work. At the reclamation works.” She paused. “Sam’s one of them.”
Sam. She hoped her father wouldn’t blame him.
Martin looked towards the shore. “I think you should drop me off now. It’s getting choppy. There’s a stretch of beach just there.”
“It’s still safe enough to continue.”
He turned the boat. “I want you to go home.”
She placed a hand on the wheel. “Not yet.”
Sea of Lies Page 8
