Bad Blood

by Lily Hayden

  A bolt of anger burst through Will as he stared at Craig in disbelief. “Just go home, Craig! It changes nothing. All you’ve done is put pressure on me to do what you want to do. If you had any respect for me, you’d just go home and leave me alone!”

  Craig’s jaw dropped open, but Will brushed past him not waiting for his response.

  “But how will you get home?”

  “Craig, I can make my own way,” he sighed heavily as the adrenaline begin to drain away leaving him exhausted.

  “Does this mean we’re over?”

  The pleading tone made Will stop to look back at him. I don’t have the energy for this, he realised as he saw the hurt on Craig’s face. I’ll never be able to give him what he wants.

  “I think it’s for the best,” Will replied with a heavy heart.

  As Craig stiffened, Will paused anticipating the same never-ending argument that there could be no winner to, but instead Craig nodded coldly.

  “I’ll just get my things.”

  Will exhaled in relief as Craig retraced his steps to the hotel room, but the sense of respite was fleeting as his head turned back to the accusations that he had made. An uneasy dread settled into Will’s chest alongside the suspicion that it wouldn’t be the last he heard from him.

  Rose

  Rose didn’t hear the footsteps until they were right behind her, and her heart leapt into her throat in the split-second before her brain registered his face. Her panic faded away, and the smile she gave him was genuine as she stood up to dust the grass from her jeans.

  “Hey,” she allowed Gareth to fold her into an embrace resting her head against his chest, savouring the feeling of safety in his arms. “How did you find me?”

  “Your sister said you might be here,” he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head before they stepped apart and he passed her the takeaway cup he was carrying.

  “Thank you,” she pressed the cup to her lips to inhale the rich coffee aroma. “This is where we came to scatter our mum’s ashes.”

  “It’s beautiful up here,” he said softly taking her free hand. “You can see the whole of Bluebell Farm.”

  Rose nodded, glad that he understood.

  “I’m so sorry about your dad,” he said.

  The news of Frank’s death had clearly swept like wildfire through the village, but even through her sadness Rose felt pleasantly surprised that he had made the effort to seek her out.

  “It’s horrible,” she sighed. “I feel so sorry for Linda, but she doesn’t want to speak to any of us.”

  As Gareth regarded her quietly, she noticed for the first time the apprehension in his deep brown eyes, and she wondered if he was regretting what had happened between them last night. She’d had no choice but to admit to the police in the foyer this morning that she’d been with him until just before nine o’clock when he’d left for his night shift. It crossed her mind that he must feel embarrassed at having his personal life offered up to his colleagues, particularly the way she looked this morning red-eyed and unkempt.

  It must have been humiliating for him, her heart lurched at the realisation. And now he feels too sorry for me to tell me it was a mistake.

  “Look,” he started tentatively. “There’s a reason that I came to find you.”

  “About last night,” she cut in, mortification making the words come out in a tangle. “I had a lovely time, but there’s no pressure for a relationship. Everything is even more complicated, and I’ll be even worse company than I was before if that’s possible.”

  She attempted a self-depreciating laugh, but it came out as little more than a strangled yelp. She saw sympathy flash across his face which hurt more than any rejection.

  “Rose, I had an amazing time,” he told her earnestly. “That’s not what I came here to say though.”

  He puffed up his cheeks and exhaled like it was taking considerable effort to summon up the courage to continue, and icy fear coiled around her ribs as she waited for him to finish.

  “The police wanted to speak to your sister again, Rose,” he grimaced. “About her whereabouts. They’ll probably want to speak to you too if you’ve left anything out of your statement,” he looked away from her as if urging her to not confirm or deny anything to him. “I’m sure it’ll all be fine, but Belle has gone back down the station. Toby is with my sister. I can’t really talk about this to you because it’s a live investigation.”

  “Oh God,” she clasped her hand to her mouth, feeling a jolt of panic in the pit of her stomach. “I’d better go and find out what’s going on.”

  Gareth nodded grimly, but she noticed that he looked relieved when she didn’t press him further. He waited for her to get into her car before leaning down to push a strand of hair back from her face. Her jangled nerves made her pull away sharply from his touch before she caught herself mid-reaction. Clumsily she took his extended fingers in her hand and managed a half-hearted squeeze that she hoped conveyed her gratitude to him for being so kind.

  “Just let me know how you get on or if you need anything,” he said, his voice thick with concern. “I’ve explained to my sergeant that we’ve been dating, so I won’t be involved in the investigation at all, but I’m sure it’ll all be resolved pretty quickly and I’m here for you if you want to talk about your dad.”

  She nodded unable to trust her voice through the riot of emotions racing through her, and as much as she craved the solid comfort of him she was glad when he closed the door and stepped away from her car. With trembling fingers, she started the engine, her mind already turning to her sister and the police investigation. But before she turned the corner out of sight, she glanced into the mirror to watch him growing smaller and her heart ached with disappointment at yet another almost.

  Tim

  Tim drove towards the police station for the second time that day. Eleanor had been asked to provide a statement to corroborate his whereabouts, and he felt sick to his stomach as they drove through the village to the manned station in the nearby town.

  “I’ve never given a statement before,” she licked her lips anxiously as he drove. “What will they ask?”

  “Just our whereabouts in the last twenty-four hours,” he replied exasperated at her nerves. “It’s just procedure. Nothing to be worried about.”

  “What did you say to them?”

  “I told them where I was,” he responded. “We got to the hotel about two-thirty, checked in. I went to my dad’s for about a couple of hours, came back and we were at the hotel until this morning when they phoned. Honestly, Eleanor, don’t worry so much.”

  “But what if they ask if you left the room?” She looked at him uncertainly. “You were gone for a good two hours last night.”

  “I was in the hotel bar,” he stated with irritation. “You know that.”

  “Did you say that?” She shot back with uncharacteristic impatience.

  “I just said I was at the hotel,” he replied with ease as if it hadn’t been eating at him all day. “That covers it. There’s no need to go into detail. We’re hardly suspects.”

  Eleanor pressed her lips together in a thin line, but Tim pretended he didn’t notice her apprehension. He pulled into the car park wishing that she’d listened to him and left the children at home with her mother.

  Although, he thought of his whereabouts over the last twenty-four hours, that would have made it harder to get anything done.

  While he waited for Eleanor, he took the children over to the small enclosed park across the road. She returned forty minutes later looking anxious and stressed out.

  “You were ages!” He exclaimed, already fed up with the children’s constant demands. “Did they keep you waiting too?”

  She shook her head. “No, but they were pretty thorough, Tim. They asked a lot of questions.”

  He frowned in annoyance. “I’ve half a mind to put a complaint in when all this is done. We’ve lost our father today; they should be leaving us alone to grieve.”

 
Eleanor retrieved a whining Bea from the swing setting her down on the ground. “Should we stay tonight or just go home?”

  Tim had been hoping she would be the one to propose going back to London, and he perked up at the suggestion. “There’s nothing more we can do here,” he said as though the thought had only just occurred to him. “It’ll be better for the children if we go home. They’re very unsettled.”

  “You should probably make sure the police don’t need anything further first,” she said as they crossed the road back to the car. “And check in on Will and your sisters.”

  As he was buckling Bea back into her seat, a squad car pulled up. He squinted in disbelief as his youngest sister emerged from the back.

  “Belle!” He called hastily clicking the straps to secure the infant before rushing over to the car. “Is everything ok?”

  She looked pale, but she nodded. “Yeah, they just had some more questions that they wanted to ask me.”

  Tim looked over at the officer for confirmation, and the young woman who’d been driving nodded. “Miss Hudson is just helping us with some further enquiries.”

  “So, you’re not in trouble?” He looked at his wayward sister doubtfully.

  “No, of course not,” she replied scornfully. “Are you all coming to The Red Lion for food? I’ll see you back there.”

  “No,” Tim shook his head. “We’re going to head back to London. The children are unsettled and there’s nothing more we can do here.”

  The officer that was escorting Belle glanced back at him questioningly, and he eyed her with irritation. “Is everything ok?”

  She nodded, before walking away, and his sister rolled her eyes at the officer’s back before following her into the police station. “I’ll call you later, Tim.”

  “Ok,” he nodded slowly. “But if you think you need a solicitor…”

  She shook her head. “No, of course not!”

  He turned back to his car, feeling baffled and irritated by the whole process when he heard his name being called.

  “Is everything ok?” He asked to the more senior-looking officer who had appeared in the doorway. “I take it you have everything you need from my wife and I?”

  “Actually, Mr Jones,” the officer replied with an apologetic smile. “We do need to go over your whereabouts with you.”

  “I’ve been through this,” he felt his temper rising. “I really do need to be getting back. I’ve got small children with me, and this has been a very difficult day.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr Jones, but I am asking that you cooperate on a voluntary basis to avoid unnecessary delays in the investigation.”

  There was something in her tone that broached no arguments, and Tim felt a flicker of dread beneath his irritation.

  “Of course,” he said as calmly as he could muster. “I’ll just let my wife know to go ahead back to the hotel without me.”

  Bloody Eleanor, he thought as he waved her off through gritted teeth. She must have given every last detail and then some.

  Belle

  The interview room didn’t look anything like Belle had expected when she slipped into the stuffy, windowless room. It looked more like the soulless, budget office of an inner-city headteacher whereas she had been expecting something a little more like the interview rooms from American cop shows with one-way glass and bars covering the peephole in the door. The friendly officer who had driven her down to the station had disappeared, and two more serious-looking detectives took seats opposite Belle. She looked up to meet their eyes with a polite smile, feeling a flash of panic in her chest that was stronger than the jittery nerves she’d felt in the back of the police car.

  You’ve done nothing wrong, she reminded herself even as her pulse quickened.

  “Thank you for coming down, Ms Hudson,” the older of the two started after a brief introduction. “We appreciate that this is a difficult day for you and that you’ve already spoken with one of our officers this morning at The Red Lion.”

  Belle nodded but remained silent.

  “Could you just talk us through your whereabouts in the last twenty-four hours?”

  “Yes sure,” she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, instantly regretting the unconscious movement. She’d watched enough detective films to know she should be aware of her body language. Was that meant to be a sign of guilt? Or nerves? Or were nerves a sign of guilt? “So, I stayed with my friend Steph Thursday night. I had a job interview in the morning. Steph dropped me to meet my sister at the B & B about three-ish and then we went to our dad’s house. I was there until about five or six with my brothers and my brother Will’s partner. We went back for food, and then went up to our rooms.”

  “Back to The Red Lion?”

  “Yes.”

  “You arrived back there about six?”

  “Around then,” Belle shrugged hoping she looked casual. “I didn’t really pay much attention to the time.”

  The woman glanced down at her notes. “You were sharing a room with your sister Rose Connors and your son?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you both said neither of you left the room until the following morning at around eight?”

  Belle shook her head. “No, I didn’t say that. The police this morning only asked if we’d left the pub.”

  “So, you left the room. Was that together?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “My sister came back about nine-ish and went straight to sleep. I left them both sleeping to go outside for a cigarette.”

  “What time would you say that was?”

  “I don’t know,” Belle shrugged. “After ten.”

  “And who were you with?”

  “Myself.”

  “Did you see or speak to either of your brothers?”

  “No.”

  “And did you leave the pub grounds while you were smoking your cigarette?”

  “I sat on the grass bank behind the pub,” she replied as calmly as she could muster. “I don’t know if that’s technically the pub grounds, but I could see the pub from where I was sitting so I would class that as not leaving.”

  “How long were you outside?”

  She felt her heart sink. “Maybe an hour. I don’t really know.”

  “An hour,” the woman pressed her lips together in a thin line as she shuffled her papers. “Can I ask how your relationship with your father was?”

  Belle shrugged. “We weren’t close.”

  “But you had agreed to go to his wedding?” The woman pressed on. “And you had been down to the area three times in the past few months?”

  “Yes,” Belle nodded.

  “Prior to learning about your father’s engagement, when was the last time you had been back to visit him?”

  She swallowed nervously. “I think maybe ten years before. Maybe longer.”

  “And you had recently lost your job after an accident, is that correct?”

  “It is,” Belle agreed before straightening in her chair. “Can I ask why this is relevant?”

  “We’re just looking to determine the facts,” the woman replied. “You spent time with your father and his fiancée yesterday at Bluebell Farm. How would you say that visit went?”

  “It was fine,” she responded cautiously. She could feel the change in the detective’s tone; the unspoken accusations hanging in the air between them. “My brother helped them set up the gazebo for the wedding. I couldn’t really help because of my leg.”

  “You’d recently raised the subject of the sale of some land to your father,” the woman continued. “And the will.”

  “He raised it,” she shrugged. “He said he was going to sell the fields.”

  “Did you speak to him about how his marriage may change the will?”

  “No.”

  “I understand the farm was passed to your mother from her parents, and then to your father on her death,” the woman moistened the tip of her finger to leaf through her notes. “At the time she made her will, it wa
s on her understanding that on his death it would pass completely to her children.”

  “I don’t really know much about wills, and I was fourteen when she died,” Belle replied struggling to keep her tone level. “But that sounds about right.”

  “So, did you believe that on his marriage your inheritance would reduce or disappear altogether?”

  “I don’t know,” Belle let her eyes rest just over the woman’s shoulder. “I didn’t like to ask.”

  “You said that you were outside for maybe an hour?” The detective swiftly changed tack surprising her. “Long enough to walk to Bluebell Farm and back?”

  “No!” The abrupt change of subject made her exclaim before she could stop to think about her reaction. She felt a flush creep up her cheeks at her outburst, and she quickly added. “I can’t walk that far,” she gestured to her foot.

  “Really?” She turned back to her notes. “Do you wear that walking boot at all times?”

  Belle winced inwardly, but she sat up straighter, conscious of not physically shrinking away from the onslaught of questions. “Most of the time.”

  “Have you worn it constantly since you were in Hampton Dale?”

  “No,” she admitted. “I put it back on when I came back to The Red Lion to meet my sister.”

  “And you kept it on since then? Including at your dad’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you weren’t wearing it before your brothers and sister came to town,” the detective stated coolly. “You didn’t wear it to your job interview.”

  “No,” she agreed. “I didn’t want my new employers to think I wouldn’t be fit and well for my start date.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  Her mouth felt too full of saliva, and even though she didn’t want to she couldn’t fight the reflex to swallow. “Yes.”

  “And your sister didn’t actually know that you left the hotel room last night?” The detective continued. “You don’t have anyone who can confirm how long you actually were outside for?”

  “I was about an hour,” she replied. “I’m sure the pub has CCTV or something.”