“He killed two people.”
“Not Martin. Your dad.”
“My dad is none of your business.”
Her hair was stuck to her face, but she refused to push it away.
“I saw his face, when he found you. When he saw what Robert was doing to you. He was scared, Sarah. Terrified.”
“So was I!”
“He saw his little girl with a knife to her face. He wanted blood. He loves you.”
“He hits my mum.”
A pause. “I didn’t know that.”
She stared at him. He stood in the doorway, only his chest wet. She ignored the water seeping into her shoes and through the layers of socks.
“There’s a lot you don’t know,” she said.
He stepped down from the doorstep, squinting against the rain. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. My mum’s right.”
“Right about what?”
“About Sam. He’s safe, dependable. He hasn’t killed anyone.”
“Who’s Sam?”
“Just a boy, at the village. A man. He loves me.”
“Martin loves you.”
The rain had worked its way through all her layers now. It felt like it might permeate her skin. She shook the strands of wet hair out of her eyes. “Martin lied to me.”
Bill stepped forwards. “He loves you. And you love him.”
“No I don’t.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“I don’t! How can you know how I feel?”
He stared at her, not speaking. She wanted to hit him.
“I don’t care what you think. I’m going.”
She turned away. She hoped there would be road all the way home, no muddy fields to traverse.
“Stop.”
She carried on walking.
“I said stop. I have a better idea. For you to get home.”
Chapter Forty-Two
The lanes were narrow and winding until they reached the main road to Filey. Martin gazed out of the window, trying to imagine what it would have been like to walk this route, as Jess and her friends had done to find Sarah.
The car slowed as they reached a turning to the right, in the direction of the sea. He pulled himself up, his hand on the window.
They passed through a gateway and along a road that held no other cars. On either side, small houses stared out at them, their facades giving nothing away. The rain bounced off the car windows and no one was outside for a soaking.
They proceeded to an open area then took a right turn. Martin felt his stomach flip.
He knew this place. This wasn’t Filey; it was Sarah’s village.
He sank down in his seat, glad of the rain obscuring the windows. He wondered if they’d come here to arrest someone else, to take them to Filey too. Or maybe they would let him out here, give the villagers a chance to mete out whatever justice they deemed fit.
He felt a small noise leave his lips. For the first time in almost five years, he was scared.
The car pulled to a halt outside Ben and Ruth’s house. The uniformed woman got out and knocked on the door, adjusting her cap to keep out the rain. Martin looked behind him; had the other car followed them? Yes. It was parked a few feet away, a marked police car like a beacon in this quiet, reclusive place.
The door opened to reveal a man in the doorway. The policewoman spoke to him and he leaned out to peer at the car.
Martin felt his chest stiffen: Ben. But where was Ruth?
Ben pointed along the road in the direction they’d come. The policewoman said something then returned to the car. Ben frowned after her and closed his door.
The policewoman brought cold and damp in with her. “She’s at her house, guv.”
“Where’s that?”
“Back by the road.”
“Shit. Turn round.”
The woman swung the car around the open square, ignoring the ruts in the tarmac. They glided back towards the entrance to the village, the detective counting under his breath as they passed houses. Martin imagined the people inside, staring out, wondering what was happening. He sank further in his seat.
They turned left, then quickly right, and stopped in a cul-de-sac. It was neat and homely, and reminded Martin of the kinds of places his school friends had once lived. He’d envied them their narrow lives of TV and football at weekends, the fact they weren’t expected to fix tractors and scrub concrete floors covered in pig shit.
The detective got out this time, leaving the uniformed woman with Martin. Once again, the other car stopped a short distance behind. Martin wondered who they were looking for. He still hadn’t seen Ruth.
The door to a house opened and Jess emerged. He clenched his teeth, waiting for her to spot him.
The detective exchanged a few words with her. She stepped out into the rain and held her arm over her face, sheltering her eyes. She peered towards the car. The rain was easing now, sunlight making an effort to break through the clouds. He had nowhere to hide.
She said something to the detective. She looked animated, shocked. He put a hand on her arm and she shook it off. She raised her voice.
Martin stared at her, confused. Had they sought her out in her capacity as steward, or as a witness?
The detective shook his head and Jess closed the door in his face. Martin smiled, admiring her courage. He’d never dare do that, despite the attitude to the authorities he’d witnessed in his father. Maybe because of it.
The detective opened the car door and slid in. He wore a pinched expression.
“None of them are talking,” he said. He turned to face Martin. “You should be pleased.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Sarah paused for a moment, then carried on walking. He was stalling her. She had to leave, now.
“Wait!” he called after her. “There’s a bike.”
She turned. “A bike?”
“Ben brought it. When he came for Ruth.”
“A bike?”
He nodded. “Easiest way for you to get home.”
She approached him. “You had a bike here all along, and you didn’t tell me about it?”
“You were intent on the boat…”
“You let me spend days fixing up that boat. You let Martin stay here, knowing the police might catch up with him, knowing that he could leave here on a bike?”
“Sorry.”
“Why?” She raised a palm. “Don’t tell me. Same reason you drugged me and dragged me onto that boat, I imagine.”
“No. I saw you and Martin working together. I thought maybe you had a future.”
“Martin’s a murderer.”
“No, he isn’t. Sarah—”
“So where is this bloody bike?” She wondered what her mother would make of her language; it felt liberating, to swear.
He sighed. “Come with me.”
She followed him to a door around the side of the house. It led to a shed of sorts, full of rusting tools and piled up junk. At the front, balancing precariously, was a blue mountain bike. It was scratched, and one of the tyres was low, but it would get her home.
“You bastard.”
“I thought I was doing the right thing.”
She pushed past him and grabbed the bike, hauling it out of the tangle. She lifted it up and heaved it out of the shed, not caring if she hit him.
“You weren’t,” she said.
“I’m sorry. Look, if you find Martin, I’d be grateful if you could—”
“I have no intention of going looking for Martin. I’m going to go back to my village to tell the police that it was him who killed Robert. Then they’ll release Ruth.”
“You know he did it for you.”
She shook the bike at him, feeling stronger than she ever had. The clouds had cleared; she needed to get on the road while it remained light.
She realised she had no idea how to get home.
“Are there any maps here?”
“Sorry?”
“Maps. Of the area. I do
n’t know the roads.”
“Oh. Yes.”
He dashed into the back of the house. She propped the bike against a wall and followed him inside. She stayed in the kitchen, suddenly uncomfortable being alone here with this man.
He was in a room deep inside the house, one she hadn’t ventured into. She listened to him banging around and cursing under his breath. Eventually he emerged, brandishing a torn Ordnance Survey map. “Here.”
She grabbed it, not stopping to examine it. She stuffed it inside her shirt and went outside.
He followed her out. “Don’t you want to check it first?”
“I know which way the police went. I can start that way. I’ll check the map when I’m safely away from here.”
“Sarah, it’s not like that. You know that.”
“I don’t know what I know anymore.” She wiped a tear away. Don’t cry. Don’t show your vulnerability. “I just want to go home. Put all this behind me.”
He nodded. “Good luck.”
She sniffed at him. Another man was being kind to her one moment, then lying to her the next. It was worse than being at home.
She threw her leg over the bike and cycled away, ignoring the chill that pierced her clothes.
Chapter Forty-Four
Ted threw the front door open and shot out of the house. Dawn hurried after him, wiping her hands on her apron. She’d almost dropped the plate she’d been washing in her shock at his sudden movement.
He ran towards the Parade. He was waving his arms, shouting. She watched, not daring to call after him. She scanned the surrounding houses; who would be watching?
He turned, his fist still clenched in the air. She slipped back inside, into the kitchen. She picked up the plate and began to scrub it, conscious of her heart pounding so hard she thought he’d hear it.
He slammed the front door and threw himself into a chair behind her. She flinched.
“What the fuck are they doing here?” he shouted.
She placed the plate on the draining board and inhaled.
“Who, love?”
She heard him shift in the chair. She could imagine him scowling at her back. Had she injected enough lightness into her voice?
“The police.”
She felt her chest lift. She turned.
“Have they found her?” she asked.
“What? No. Of course they haven’t.”
“I thought…”
He stood up. “We didn’t ask them to look for her, so why should they?”
“Oh.” She hated that no one trusted the police anymore. But she couldn’t go against Ted. Even if she dared to, how would she get to Filey on her own?
“They had someone,” he said. “In the back seat.”
“Oh.”
He looked at her like she was an idiot. “You don’t know what that means, do you?”
She shook her head. “Sorry.”
“It means they’ve arrested someone. Put him in the back.”
Maybe one of those men, she thought. But no one in the village would have trusted the police with enough information for them to come to any conclusions.
Perhaps Ruth had? It was her best defence.
“Could it be one of those men?”
He grunted. “Hopefully that little bastard Martin. I’d like to see him fester in a police cell.”
“If they have him, they’ll have found Sarah.”
“Not necessarily.” He balled his fists on his hips. “You haven’t got a clue, have you?”
There was a knock at the door. Ted strode to it. Dawn watched, her hands shaking.
“Is everything alright?”
It was Sam.
Ted stepped forward, almost touching Sam. Dawn followed her husband into the hallway and looked past him at the boy. She gave him a weak smile.
“Are you alright, Mrs Evans?”
Ted stepped forward again, out of the house. Sam took a step back, his eyes still on Dawn.
“Why wouldn’t she be?”
Sam looked back at Ted. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant. It’s just, I saw the police car. I thought they might have found Sarah?”
Ted drilled a finger into Sam’s chest. “And what damn business is it of yours?”
“I was just concerned.”
“She’d be fine and dandy if you hadn’t stuck your oar in.”
Sam’s broad face paled. He was staring into Ted’s eyes, his mouth wide. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Dawn stepped forward. “You were only trying to help.”
“Trying to meddle, you mean!” Ted turned to glare at her. She shrank back.
“He wanted Martin out of the way as much as you did, love,” she said. “He was trying to help Martin leave.”
Ted turned back to Sam. “Fat lot of good he did.”
“I’m sorry, Mr Evans. I just wanted the best for Sa—”
Ted raised an open hand. Sam clamped his lips shut. He lifted his chest. “You can’t threaten me.”
“Can’t I?”
“I’ve done nothing wrong. I care about your daughter, that’s all.” He peered round Ted. “Mrs Evans, please can you tell me if she comes back?”
Ted’s face turned from red to violet.
“Yes, Sam,” Dawn said. “Now I think you should leave.”
“Right.” Sam gave Ted a last wary glance then hurried towards his own home.
Ted slammed the door shut. “What the fuck was he doing?”
“He was just concerned, that’s all.”
“Why would he be concerned?”
“He cares about Sarah.”
Ted careered into the kitchen, pushing Dawn with him. She came to a stop against the stove, glad she’d turned the gas off.
“He’s what she needs,” she said. “Keep her away from that Martin.”
“She needs to be with her family.” He looked back towards the door. “Maybe that little runt knows more than he’s letting on.”
“Sam?’
“He helped her get away. He’ll know where they were heading.”
He pulled back. Her hips were sore where they’d been pressed into the stove.
“Don’t follow me,” he said, and grabbed his coat.
Chapter Forty-Five
Dawn sat at the top of the stairs, watching the road through the small window. She’d been up and down the stairs for the last hour, alternating between watching for Ted’s return and busying herself downstairs, distracting herself with polishing Ted’s old golfing trophies that lived in a wooden cupboard. Trophies that he’d insisted on carrying all the way here, despite forcing Dawn to leave family photos behind.
She’d never been to Sam’s house, but Ted had. He knew this village better than she did.
Sam’s parents were good people who kept themselves to themselves and did more than their fair share of work to support the community. They’d sent their two oldest sons, Sam and Zack, out to work as soon as they were old enough, knowing the risks. Sam had told her that his mum liked Sarah, that she thought he’d be a good match for her son. And now she’d be punished for that by having Ted bowl up at her door.
It wasn’t right. Sarah was nineteen; she needed to live her own life. She needed a boyfriend, a husband one day. She couldn’t stay here forever, picking her way through the tense atmospheres and stony silences.
Dawn’s legs were numb. She stood up and stretched, her eyes on the road outside. A small team of men was working on the shrubs outside her house, pruning them. She wondered if they could hear through her front door; if they ever listened in.
She felt her chest cave in with the shame. Everyone knew about her, the quiet mouse who let her husband terrorise her.
She slid into Sarah’s room. Like the rest of the house it was tidy, the bed made. A small cuddly toy sat against the pillow; a panda Sarah had brought north with her. Snuggled up next to it was her beloved cat Snowy. He’d been a stray who’d taken a liking to Sarah, refusing to leave and eventually being accep
ted as a member of the family, albeit one Ted wanted nothing to do with. Only the childhood toy was a link with home. Would they ever return home? She doubted it. This was home now, for all its failings.
She sat on the bed, stroking the cat between the ears. He purred in his sleep. It was warmer in here than in her own room, with the low sun slanting through the window. She stared out towards the sea, watching the distant waves.
She thought of the rope, hidden under Sarah’s bed where Ted would never think to look. But Sarah might be coming home now. She would take it back up to the loft.
She couldn’t stay here like this. She needed to be ready, when he came home. She returned to the top of the stairs and hesitated, her hand on the banister. More cleaning, to keep her busy? Once the trophies were gleaming she’d scrubbed the kitchen floor and swept under the cabinets, piling chairs onto the table to give it a proper job. Everything was back in its place now; neat, ordered, pristine. The Lord looked down at her from his crucifix next to the door. She crossed herself and muttered a prayer for her family.
Her limbs tingled with nervous energy. She’d lost count of the days she’d spent like this, shut up in this house, hardly daring to emerge for fear of their stares. Waiting. Cleaning and tidying to distract herself. Cooking. She could make the rations stretch further than anyone else here, she was sure of it.
But today, she’d had enough.
She pursed her lips and stepped into the hall. She took her coat from its peg, questioning herself. He would be angry if she wasn’t here when he returned. But she had to go after him, to still the waters.
She took a few breaths, her hand on the doorknob. What if he was outside already, coming home? She would pretend to have seen him from upstairs, to be welcoming him home.
She clenched and unclenched her free fist then pulled the door open.
The men pruning the shrubs looked up and nodded in greeting. She offered up a tight smile in return and they dipped their heads back to their work.
She looked past them, towards the Parade. Sam’s family lived near the edge of the village, in a house that would barely contain two hulking sons and three younger siblings, as well as the parents. She thought of her own house, too big for the three of them. Maybe it would be the perfect size for a more lively family.
Sea of Lies Page 15
