I nod. ‘Yes, we’ve been lucky,’ I say to be polite, but feel far from it.
‘Though the weather forecast says a storm is on its way, I wonder what they’ll name—’
‘Has the man been in again?’ Becky cuts in, looking up at the landlord.
‘Man?’
‘We asked you about him last time.’
He presses his finger to his bottom lip and furrows his forehead. ‘Ah, you mean the Scotsman?’
‘He’s Scottish?’
‘Mmm, I think so. Or maybe Welsh.’ He tilts his head. ‘Got an accent anyway.’ He shakes his head. ‘No, I haven’t seen him since you were last here, I’m afraid.’
‘He’s Scottish,’ I repeat to Becky, as the landlord walks away.
‘Or Welsh,’ she says with a roll of her eyes. ‘How the hell doesn’t he know the difference?’
‘Shh! He’ll hear you.’ I take a wet wipe from my bag and swipe it over the table several times.
‘I want to know why the man was staring at us, is all,’ Becky says, sliding down in her chair, and folding her arms tightly across her chest.
‘Perhaps he wasn’t. Maybe we’re a bit paranoid at the moment. Well I know I am. It’s not every day your sister goes missing and you end up searching for a killer.’ As I hear my own words, it confirms what I already know. I’m not only on a mission to find Willow, I need to find out what happened that night in 2001. I need to find out who murdered Ava Millar.
*
We’re back from the pub, and it’s much later. In fact, Becky is in bed asleep when, from the landing window, I see someone out in the darkness at the foot of the path. His hood is up, his face a blur of features. I realise I’m afraid, and acutely aware how isolated we are. My chest tightens. If someone wants to attack us, they can. If someone had wanted to abduct Willow, they could have.
I duck back as he takes sudden long strides towards the front door.
Heart thumping, I race down the stairs and thrust the three bolts across in time with his knocks. I can’t believe I hadn’t done so when we got back from the pub.
I dash into the kitchen and grab a carving knife from the kitchen drawer. Am I overreacting? But it could be anyone. It could be the man who hit me on the beach.
There are two more ways he can get in, I reason: the patio doors and the back door. I need to check both. I race to the back door, which is locked and bolted, and return to the lounge. The light is off, but the moon highlights the figure now standing on the patio. Within moments he’s thumping on the window, pressing his face against the glass.
The knife tumbles from my hand, and thuds onto the carpet.
I can see his familiar face now. Oh God, what the hell is he doing out there in the darkness?
Chapter 34
AVA
2001
Ava had been studying the bracelet for a while – it was made from heavy silver and studded with pretty coloured stones, beautiful and yet ugly – when there was a knock on her bedroom door. She could hear Willow making shushing noises and giggling, and Peter trying not to laugh.
She slipped the bracelet under her pillow and rose to open the door.
‘What have you got there, darling girl?’ she asked, trying for a voice that sounded somewhere near normal, as she crouched down in front of her daughter.
Willow looked at her with bright blue eyes, her golden curls making her look angelic. She handed Ava a handmade card, and a little box with spots on it.
Ava’s eyes filled with tears as she took in the scribbled colours, swirling spirals of love across the page, ‘Get Well Soon Mummy’ written in an adult hand, the words sharing the space with far too much glitter.
‘We made it,’ Willow said, squeezing her hands into fists and grinning up at Peter.
Ava opened the box. It was a necklace. She pulled it out. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, taking in the word ‘Mummy’ hanging on a chain. She put it on. ‘I’ll wear it always,’ she said, taking Willow in her arms and hugging her close. ‘I love you so much,’ she said, as she kissed her daughter’s hair, her cheeks, breathing her in. ‘Mummy will be better soon, I promise.’
‘Will you?’ Peter said, as she finally released Willow.
Ava rose. She didn’t answer him. She didn’t have the energy.
Willow trotted away and bounced down the stairs on her bottom. ‘Gran!’ she called out. ‘Drink, please.’
‘What’s happened, Ava?’ Peter whispered, searching her face for answers.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I’m fine.’
‘No, Ava, you’re not. You’re far from it. Talk to me. Please.’
She touched his face gently. Could he cope with knowing?
‘Ava?’
‘I was raped,’ she said, as tears came. They always came.
‘Christ, Ava, who did it?’ His eyes flared with anger. ‘I’ll fucking kill him.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said softly, stepping backwards into her room. And with a quiet click, she closed the door.
*
A week later Jeannette put her head round Ava’s door. ‘Inspector Jones is here,’ she said. ‘He’d like to speak to you.’
Ava was curled like a foetus under her quilt. She didn’t move.
‘Is it OK to send him up?’
She didn’t reply. It wasn’t that she wanted him to come up, or that she didn’t. She didn’t care.
Moments later she heard soft footfalls on the stairs and across the landing – a tap on the door. ‘Ava.’ It was Gareth. ‘Ava, can I come in?’
She heard the knob turn, the door drag across the carpet, and felt the presence of him in her room, the smell of his citrus aftershave. ‘Ava?’
A silence seemed to stretch on forever, before she unfurled, and pulled back the quilt, to see him with his back to her, looking out of the window.
‘Please go away,’ she said, as he turned to look at her. ‘I’m fine. Honestly.’
‘It doesn’t look that way from here, Ava. You need support. Even if you don’t want to report what happened, you still need help.’
‘I said. I’m fine.’
‘Ava, have you any idea who might have done this to you?’
She shook her head, but her mind went to the bracelet tucked under her pillow. Should she show it to him?
‘Peter’s taking care of Willow,’ she said, moving her mind away from the bracelet, feeling as if she should explain her neglect of her daughter. She didn’t want social workers round the cottage, trying to take her darling girl. They used to come when she was a child. They made her mother cry.
‘Peter?’ Gareth looked surprised. ‘He’s certainly changed from the boy who ran away to Australia.’
‘He has,’ she said, believing in her brother.
‘You haven’t had it easy, Ava,’ Gareth said, putting some leaflets on her bed, the words ‘victim support’ jumping from the pages. ‘Call them please. You need help.’
After another lengthy silence he left, his feet soft on the stairs before the front door closed. She got up and looked out of the window. Beyond the windowpane, Gareth was at the foot of the path. Suddenly her mum dashed out of the house after him in her slippers, almost slipping on a patch of ice.
They stood by the gate for some time, Jeannette showing the inspector what looked like a photograph. He studied it, shaking his head several times, before she shoved it into her pocket, and headed back inside the cottage.
*
‘Mummy,’ Willow cried as Ava stepped into the lounge later that day. Her little girl was kneeling in front of the coffee table, colouring, and Ava stroked her curls as she drifted past.
There’d been some attempt at putting up Christmas decorations in the room – a tree in the window, a fancy garland around the shelf above the fireplace – but Jeannette had never made a big thing of Christmas.
Rory and Gail sat on the sofa. Ava hadn’t expected them to be there, and wanted to race back to her room. But if she did, she knew she might never come o
ut again, never move forward, and she had to think of Willow.
‘Mum told us you’ve been unwell,’ Gail said, looking up at her. ‘You’d better be OK for the wedding. I don’t want you ruining my big day.’
Ava sat down. ‘Where’s Peter?’ she said. He was her support, her rock, at least for the moment.
‘Gone to the shop for some cigs,’ Rory said. ‘You look very pale, Ava. Are you OK?’
‘It’s an infection or a virus, that’s all.’
‘Well, which is it?’ Gail said.
‘Does it matter?’ Ava looked down at her hands in her lap. They were trembling.
‘Well, you might need antibiotics, Ava,’ said Gail. ‘Have you seen a doctor?’
‘No.’ She’d never gone, despite her mum insisting she should. She didn’t want to be pulled about. Examined.
‘Mum said you haven’t been into work. If you don’t see a doctor, they won’t pay you.’
‘For Christ’s sake, what is this? The Spanish fucking Inquisition?’
Willow shot her head round to look at Ava, a crayon suspended in mid-air.
‘Sorry,’ Ava said, slipping from the chair onto her knees beside her daughter. She kissed Willow’s cheek. ‘Sorry. Mummy shouldn’t swear.’
‘We want to know you’ll be all right for a week Saturday, Ava.’ Gail gave a little squeal. ‘I can’t believe it’s so close.’
Ava rose to her feet. ‘Don’t worry, I will be there,’ she said.
‘And what about your plus one, Ava?’ Gail said. ‘I need to tell the caterers his name. Please don’t say it’s Justin.’
‘I’m not bringing anyone.’
‘I would have thought they’d be queuing at the door to go with you, Ava,’ Rory called after her, as she left the room.
Chapter 35
YOU
You told me you had raped her. Described it in detail. I ran home and threw up. But still I listened, pretending to enjoy your cruel words – just so you would love me.
‘She was walking along a lonely road near Crantock – it was dark,’ you said. ‘She was gagging for it.’
Later, reading the article in the local press, you said, ‘Recently married. Well that’s going to fuck up their relationship.’ You laughed, looked over at me narrowing your eyes. ‘I hope she didn’t see me,’ you said. ‘I need to be more careful next time.’
But nobody came knocking.
No one suspected.
No one would ever suspect you.
Chapter 36
ROSE
Now
Willow, dressed in yellow satin, screams as a featureless figure pushes her over the cliff edge. The trill of my phone snatches me from the vivid nightmare before she hits the ground. I pull myself up in bed, heart thudding, and answer the call.
‘Rose, is that you?’ Dad says, before I can speak.
‘Yes, Dad, it’s me.’ I rub my forehead, fighting off the panic I feel from the dream. ‘Are you having a good time?’
‘Yes, we’re staying in Inverness at the moment, it’s beautiful, Rose. You really need to visit. Sorry. I digress,’ he said, with a small laugh. ‘I’m calling to let you know we’ve finally heard from Willow.’
‘She called you?’ My heart trips over itself with relief.
‘No, no, not a call, love, a text message – this morning when I woke, but she says she’s OK, and staying in Newquay.’
My heart sinks. ‘Did she say where in Newquay? When she’d be back?’
‘No, no, just that she’s happy there for a bit, and will be heading to see you soon. That’s good, isn’t it? You sound worried, love.’
I drag my fingers through my hair, catching them in a tangle. ‘No, I’m fine, Dad. I just thought she would be here by now, that’s all.’
‘Well, I’m sure she’ll be back with you in no time.’
‘I’m sure she will.’ I’m trying to keep my tone even, cheerful, as though I believe Willow is exactly where the text says she is. But I don’t believe she’s in Newquay. I don’t believe it for a moment.
‘How’s Becky? Is she enjoying Cornwall?’ Dad asks.
‘She is, yes.’
‘Well that’s good.’ He pauses for a moment. ‘Rose, if you need us we can come home.’
‘No, Dad, honestly – we’ll stay here a bit longer and wait for Willow.’
‘Good. Yes. You’ve certainly got the weather for it down there. Scorchio, as they say. It’s a bit chillier where I am. Chunky jumpers all the way.’ He laughs – sounds in good spirits. ‘Well, I’ll love you and leave you, Rose. See you when you get back.’
‘Love you, Dad,’ I say before ending the call.
I rise, put on my robe and slippers, and shove my phone in my pocket. I go to leave the room, but I’m consumed with a sudden sadness. Once I would have turned to my dad. He was always my go-to in an emergency, or if I needed a good cry. Just after Mum died, he was always there, keeping me safe. Letting me talk until I ran out of words, telling me things would get easier with time. Now I wish I could pour everything out to him, and that he would put the world to rights. But I can’t. He needs this holiday. And I know the anxiety he would feel if he knew the truth about Willow could make him ill.
I open the bedroom door, and head downstairs to where Becky is sitting in the lounge showered and dressed. She pulls out an earbud. ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she says, and I know I need to tell her who I saw in the darkness the night before – who I hid out of sight of for half an hour, until they left.
‘I couldn’t sleep either,’ I say, padding into the kitchen. Before I can tell her, I need some coffee.
As the kettle boils, I send a message to Willow:
Give me a call, Willow. We’re worried about you. Or tell us where you’re staying in Newquay. Who with? When you’ll be back? Please! Rose X
I press send as the boiling water reaches a crescendo, knowing already it’s a waste of time. A sudden surge of anger pulses through me, and tears rest heavily in my chest. Why had Willow come here alone? Got embroiled in the mystery of her mother’s death? Not asked for my help from the start? But I pull myself round. I love her, my silly, stupid stepsister, and there’s no way I will ever abandon her.
‘Do you want a hot drink?’ I call through to Becky, but she’s zoned out, listening to music as usual. I make her a cup of tea anyway, carry the mugs through, and put them on the coffee table. She pulls out her earbud once more, and smiles.
‘Something happened last night,’ I say, sitting down, resting my hands in my lap. ‘When you were asleep.’
Her eyes widen as she waits for me to go on, but I’m suddenly unsure whether to tell her. Is she safer not knowing, or will she be on her guard if I tell her?
‘What is it, Mum?’
‘The man we saw in the pub,’ I go on.
‘Scary-man?’
‘Yes, if you must insist on calling him that. He was here last night. He knocked at the front door and later I saw him on the patio, banging on the window.’
‘Oh my God. You need to call the police, Mum. God, I’ve gone all wobbly.’ She pulls out her other earbud. ‘You will call them?’
‘Well, I’ve got to go there to give a statement later today, I’ll tell them then.’ I take a gulp of coffee, and wince as it burns my mouth. ‘Also, Grandpa called. He said he received a text from Willow.’
‘Do you think it’s from her?’
I shake my head, ridiculously close to tears. ‘I honestly don’t know anymore.’ I fiddle with the handle of my mug, as a silence drops between us. It hangs there for some moments before I go on. ‘I’ve been thinking about Justin Havers too. I thought I might call the nearest hospital. See if he’s been admitted. I mean I saw an ambulance, didn’t I?’ My mind is taking detours, racing down different roads, arriving at dark dead ends.
‘Good idea,’ Becky says, nodding her head in approval, and picking up her mug of tea. ‘This is all too weird.’
‘I know, love. In fact, I’ve been thinking … ma
ybe I should take you home.’
‘What?’
‘I can call Grandpa and Eleanor. They’d come home in an instant. Or perhaps you could stay with Tamsyn. I’m sure her mum—’
‘But I don’t want to go home, Mum,’ she cuts in. ‘I want to stay here with you.’ Her eyes glisten with tears again. ‘Please let me stay,’ she goes on. ‘Please. I feel safer with you.’
‘Please don’t cry, sweetheart.’ I’m always sucked in by Becky’s tears. I pull a tissue from my pocket and hand it to her. ‘OK you can stay. But if anything else happens, Becky, we’re leaving. Now make yourself useful and look up the number of the nearest hospital.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ she says.
I wonder what Aaron would think of me letting Becky stay on here, but I know the answer. He would be horrified. But then she’s not his daughter. I push the image of his concerned face from my mind, as I watch Becky’s fingers dance on the screen of her phone. Soon she’s reading out the number of the hospital.
I tap it into my mobile, and press call.
‘Yes, he’s on Ward 8,’ the woman on the phone says, once I’ve asked if a Justin Havers has been admitted. ‘Do you want me to put you through?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
I sit with the phone pinned to my ear. The ringtone seems to go on forever, before a woman picks up. ‘Ward 8, how can I help you?’
‘I’m ringing to enquire how Justin Havers is,’ I say.
‘Are you a relative?’
‘No, no, I’m …’ Who the hell am I? ‘A friend.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t give out information over the phone unless you’re a relative,’ she says.
‘Oh. But he’s OK?’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t give out information over the phone,’ she repeats, almost robotic.
‘OK. Well thank you.’ I end the call.
I look at Becky. The sun shining in through the patio doors highlights the shadows under her eyes, and despite agreeing she can stay, I hear Aaron’s voice in my head. ‘Take her home, Rose. This is no place for either of you.’
*
We’ve broken free of the winding country roads and I push down on the accelerator as we meet the main road heading into Newquay.
Traces of Her: An utterly gripping psychological thriller with a twist you'll never see coming Page 16
