‘A brief psychotic episode, they called it,’ I said quietly, before looking to Michael who smiled back sympathetically.
‘Sounds rough.’
‘We’ve all had it rough, haven’t we? And now two of us are missing.’
‘And the Drifter is back,’ he said, but I wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question.
‘I’m so sure I’ve seen him again, but I’m also aware I might just be imagining it as way of coping being back here. Or perhaps I’m having another episode. I don’t know. I didn’t heal from it; I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it. It doesn’t excuse leaving, but I suffered too, Michael. I still do.’
Standing up, I went to the bar and got myself another drink. Looking back to gesture to Michael to join me, he shook his head, telling me he was fine. He and I watched each other from across the bar, as they poured me a double shot this time, our looks conveying all of the things unsaid over the past two decades. When I rejoined him, he held my eye and we both took a large mouthful of our drinks.
From there, the conversation moved on to more positive things. Michael spoke of both Georgia and Jamie turning up, saying there had to be a rational explanation for what was going on – and for a while, I bought into it. The Drifter was a manifestation of my own guilt, Georgia was still pissed off that I was back and had left the village to clear her head, and Jamie would return, ashamed of his absence and worrying people. And I let myself imagine it would all happen soon, and then life would go back to normal.
As Michael got up to order my third JD and his second pint, I looked around the room. I watched the people who looked calm, happy, oblivious to what was going on. At the bar was a couple, probably a few years younger than me. I watched as the man leant in and whispered something in his partner’s ear. She giggled at his comment and swept her long, dark hair out of the way so she could feel his touch as he leant in to say more. She laughed again, louder this time and lifted her head up, exposing a small tattoo near her shoulder, three small waves. I wondered what they meant, if anything at all. Then, she looked at me and it was like she knew. Her expression became serious, penetrating. She gave me a smile that was full of empathy. One that told me she was like me somehow. I thought that maybe she recognised me, but it wasn’t that. It was something else, something that connected us. I smiled back, and she turned her attention to her partner beside her once more. I considered the couple a little while longer. Had they experienced trauma, grief, loss? It was hard to believe; they looked content in one another’s world. They looked happy. And then I thought of Oliver.
Michael came back with our drinks and I drank mine a little too quickly, the alcohol beginning to make my head swim.
‘I missed you after you left,’ he said, snapping me from my thoughts.
‘Did you? I missed you too.’
‘Bullshit,’ he said, smiling a sad smile. ‘I used to have such a thing for you.’
His comment caught me off guard. ‘What?’
‘Don’t make me say it again,’ he said, his cheeks reddening.
‘Why didn’t you say?’
‘Because I was shy I guess; besides, you and Jamie were…’
He stopped himself and took three big sips of his pint. The silence that hung between us wasn’t a comfortable one, but I didn’t know what to say. Thankfully, before I had a chance to speak, he moved on from his revelation.
‘It was a shit time back then,’ he eventually said, his eyes focusing on the space just above the top of his pint glass. ‘It brought out the worst in everyone. The village was a community, and despite the differences, people got on, people helped each other. But that place died when Chloe did.’
I took a breath to say something but stopped myself.
He continued, ‘Everyone was so angry.’
‘At who?’
‘At us.’
‘Why?’
‘Once it was clear Georgia’s dad wasn’t a killer, and when they couldn’t find out who the Drifter really was, they needed someone to blame, and as they started to think we were lying they blamed us. We made up a killer, we gave hope when it wasn’t there to give.’
‘But the Drifter was real.’
‘I know that, we all know that. But no one saw him but us, did they?’
I couldn’t help but feel he was accusing me of something.
‘You know the rest, the media lost interest, moved on to other stories in other places. But we couldn’t move on, we had nowhere to go. You know how weird it was to watch Chloe’s coffin be carried towards the cemetery, knowing there was no body inside?’
‘No, I don’t,’ I said quietly, ashamed I wasn’t there.
He held my eye for a little longer than perhaps he should. ‘Jamie really struggled with that aspect of it all. The empty coffin. It haunted him more than the Drifter ever could. More than that night down the mine ever could.’
There it was again: the darkness, the banging, blind panic separating us. The Drifter separating us. I fidgeted in my chair; Michael was talking of things we promised never to say out loud. I was about to open my mouth and stop him talking when his phone rang, breaking his stare. He turned over his phone, looked at the caller ID, and then back to me. ‘It’s Baz.’
I watched his face, reading the fine lines and micro expressions as Baz said something I couldn’t hear. I didn’t need to. The colour drained from Michael’s face.
‘We’ve got to go back.’
‘Why, what’s happened?’
‘They’ve found something.’
Getting up he put on his coat as he walked quickly to the exit and the car. I struggled to keep up and, stepping outside, I was stunned to see it had started raining. Dashing across the car park, using my coat as an umbrella, I climbed in beside Michael who had fired up the engine before I had even closed the door. Shifting it into reverse he aggressively navigated the car into the middle of the car park, before wheel spinning in the gravel to get his car moving forward.
‘Michael, what did Baz say? What’s going on?’
Focusing on the road ahead, the window wipers barely making any difference in the deluge, he replied, his voice shaking, afraid.
‘Georgia’s top… they found Georgia’s top, and it’s covered in blood.’
Chapter 30
26th November 2019
Night
As we drove back, the rain pounding against the windscreen was so loud Michael and I didn’t speak. Just before we entered the village, I could see blue lights ahead, their unmistakable hue cutting through the rain that hung like heavy mist in the night air. I was expecting Michael to stop as we approached the three police cars and ambulance which were parked in the entrance of the cemetery, but he didn’t. He slowed, looked at the commotion, just like anyone would, and continued.
‘Michael? Why?’
‘It won’t do us any good to stop.’
He was right – if we started to snoop around, the gossip would no doubt cast us in an unfavourable light. And we needed time to think, time to work out what we were going to do before the police started to look to us for answers we couldn’t give. As the cemetery disappeared behind us, we drew level with Chloe’s house. There was no light, no movement. But still, I couldn’t help but think Brenda was there watching.
‘Where are the others?’ he asked. I unlocked my phone and went to the group chat and posted the question. They were waiting for us, waiting to work out a good place to meet. Baz suggested we met at Holly’s, but she was adamant she didn’t want that kind of energy around her kids.
Besides, we don’t want people seeing us together, do we? Holly added.
She was right, we didn’t.
This place. This fucking place.
I guess there is only one place we can go really, isn’t there? added Baz in the chat.
Both Holly and I agreed.
‘Well, where are they?’ Michael asked impatiently, his eyes focused on the road ahead.
‘They’re going to the hut.’
He nodded, as if he knew that would be where we ended up. We passed the pub and turned right onto a residential road a few hundred yards from the lane that led towards it. Then, grabbing an umbrella from his boot, we walked onto the main road, turned right, and right again down the lane, making sure no one saw us.
Once inside the hut we used our phones to light the space and waited. There were a million thoughts going on in my head, and with it, a thousand more questions, but I didn’t speak, and neither did he. I watched him, his gaze barely lifting from the floor, completely lost in his thoughts. He must have felt my eyes on him as he finally flicked a glance at me. I saw a heaviness there, the same heaviness I felt.
Holly arrived first, calling out before she entered so we weren’t spooked, and shortly after that, Baz crawled through the hatch, his face pained, struggling to not crack and spill whatever he was thinking. And that was it. Just four of us.
‘Tell us what you know?’ Michael said to Baz, who slumped onto the coffee table. He didn’t respond. Instead he cradled his head in his hands, fighting a war inside his own head. ‘Baz!’
Baz snapped to attention, his expression confused – he was so deep in his own thoughts he hadn’t registered Michael’s question. ‘Tell us what you know.’
‘Where did you find it?’ Holly asked, and I couldn’t help noting how ‘it’ sounded so impersonal.
‘I went to Chloe’s grave. Earlier.’
‘Why?’ Holly questioned.
‘This whole thing about Jamie’s top and then Georgia… I thought about Chloe, and I realised I’d not been in so long. When I got there, it was on her gravestone.’
‘Shit!’ Holly whispered.
‘Fuck,’ Michael agreed. I didn’t say anything, but stood with my mouth agape, trying to understand exactly what this meant.
‘Baz, what do we do?’ Holly asked, her question greeted by silence. ‘What does this mean?’ she said, trying to force a conversation, a dialogue, a solution.
‘Neve,’ Baz said quietly. ‘Can I ask you again, how sure are you that you saw the Drifter?’
I had asked myself the same question. And now I knew a definitive answer. ‘Now, one hundred per cent.’
He nodded gravely.
‘Baz, what are you thinking?’ asked Holly, sounding startled by panic.
‘First Jamie, and now Georgia. He’s real, he’s back, and he’s picking us off one by one – and we all know why, don’t we?’
‘It can’t be…?’ said Holly, who hadn’t managed to catch up.
‘Holly,’ I started quietly, touching her arm, ‘he was there that night. He was there when Chloe went missing.’
Holly looked at me, shock and realisation setting in. She turned to Baz for reassurance, but he only exhaled loudly, his head back in the comfort of his hands once more. Next she snapped to Michael – I could almost hear her begging for us to be wrong – and Michael simply nodded towards her.
There could be no denying it now, no confusing what I had seen with something conjured from the back of my mind. The Drifter was back, and he was coming for us one by one.
Chapter 31
30th November 2019
Morning
News left the village quickly after Georgia’s top was found. And by the following morning, the media swarm had descended. There was no longer gossip of the BBC being here, no longer the wait for reporters to be banging on people’s door – they were here en mass. Part of me understood why. One bloodied top belonging to a man with well-known mental health issues was hardly noteworthy. But two within a week, in the same village where the infamous Chloe Lambert disappeared decades before – that’s a story. Four days had passed since Baz had found Georgia’s top. I had stayed inside Dad’s house the entire time. Still a prisoner of sorts. Nothing happened, nothing of note. Dad slept a lot; I wanted to drink but didn’t let myself. It was all a little bleak. Today was different. There was hope, light. He had a doctor’s appointment this morning. He wanted to go alone. I hoped that there would be good news.
True to my word, I kept Esther in the loop. She said that the village had been mentioned a few times on the news. This morning, she messaged saying that we had been mentioned; the connection had been made. Because of that connection, there were now live reports coming from the village centre, interviews with locals. Esther didn’t say either way, but I wondered if those interviews were about what was happening now, or the events of 1998. She told me about The Tea Tree and found it strange that the thing that was so important to me seemed an afterthought. Still, it was nice to hear that business was picking up. She begged me to come home, and I wanted to, I missed her and the business, and London, which was so big I could hide in plain sight. But I knew I needed to stay, for Holly, for Chloe. Before hanging up, I told Esther I loved her.
I turned on the TV to see the report she spoke of. Sure enough, a reporter was outside The Miners’ Arms talking to someone I had seen walking to and from the village only days before. It made me nervous. There were more eyes watching, more questions being asked not just of Jamie and Georgia, but of the past too.
I wanted to keep a low profile, wait for it to blow over. But the group chat had sprung to life. Michael speculated that now our names and connections were out, it would raise more questions if we all continued to hide away than if we were seen in public. If we didn’t act, they would hate all over again, like they did back in 1998. So, it was agreed we would meet in the pub, make sure we were actively involved, as a group, in the search for our friends. That made me nervous. Then, the TV screen filled with PC Hastings’ face, and my heart began to beat harder still.
Thankfully, the front door opened, Dad was home and his presence forced me to switch the TV off. He walked into the living room, slumped into his chair and turned it back on again, changing from the news to a documentary.
‘Dad? What did they say?’ I asked tenderly.
‘It’s fine, Neve. It’s all fine.’
‘What do you mean it’s fine?’
‘Well, they said my blood tests came back and it’s not, you know… that.’
‘Well, what is it then?’
‘Oh, I can’t remember these fancy names for things. All that matters is it will get better.’
Grabbing my phone, I googled what else could be causing his symptoms and saw that an underactive thyroid could be to blame. I asked if that was it. He nodded.
‘Sounds about right.’
I read more: apparently, an underactive thyroid could cause memory loss, confusion and sleep deprivation. All of Dad’s symptoms. I gave him a long hug and as I did so, I could feel myself start to cry. I expected him to push me away, but he didn’t – he held me, stroked the back of my hair, and as I cried into his jumper, he told me it was all right. Everything was all right. I cried because of Chloe, of being here, I cried because of the others going missing. But mainly, I was crying tears of relief.
Dad fell asleep in his chair shortly after, and I tiptoed upstairs to grab the car keys. I knew I wasn’t going to leave; I had known since we understood categorically that the Drifter was back, but I kept the car for as long as possible anyway. Because, if I was honest, despite knowing I would stay, I also knew I might still run. I looked at my travel bag at the foot of the bed – it would be so easy to pack it, throw it in the boot of the car and not look back. I could even ask Dad to come with me, but I already knew what his answer would be. I forced myself to leave my clothes untouched and close the bedroom door. Resting my head on it, I took a deep breath, forced down my need to run, and walked downstairs with just a key in my hand. As I approached the lounge, I heard Dad crying from within. It was clear what he’d been told wasn’t good news and he had lied to protect me. I announced myself, giving him a chance to wipe his tears and pull himself together.
‘Fancy a tea, Dad?’
‘That would be lovely, thank you.’
‘I’ve got to pop out soon; the car I hired needs to be returned today.’
‘Oh, do you
need to go back to London with it?’
I hesitated. ‘No, I can change my drop-off point online. There’ll be somewhere close by.’
‘Oh, that’s good.’
‘Yes, so, I’ll be off soon. And I’ll get an Uber back.’
‘Uber?’
‘A taxi. Do you need me to do anything?’
‘No, no, I’m fine.’
I googled the car rental company and saw there was a depot about ten miles away. One quick call, and the drop-off point was changed. To get to the car rental place, I needed to drive through the village and out east of it. And as I did, I had to move slowly. The roads were busy: vans and cars parked in the usually quiet parking spaces that lined either side of the street. I passed the cemetery, the white tent pitched over Chloe’s grave, bunches of flowers beside it. Then I passed Chloe’s house: Brenda stood on the front doorstep, wrapped in a dressing gown, smoking. I drove past the pub, its doors wide open despite it being only 10 a.m. and three degrees outside. Then past the lane, and despite not wanting to, I couldn’t help but look down towards the hut, towards the mine.
That was when I saw the shape of a person standing right near the bend in the road that led to the hut. I slammed on my brakes, the car behind having to do the same, and as she overtook, the driver flipped her middle finger at me. Reversing, I looked down the lane, expecting to see nothing, but he was there, in the distance, and I was sure he was looking towards me. I felt like a rabbit in headlights, unable to move, or even blink – until he started advancing. Panicking, I started to drive off, forgetting I had put on the handbrake, and removing it, I stalled the car. I fired up the engine again, too frightened to look, as I expected to see him charging towards me, and drove away quickly, nearly hitting a car coming in the other direction. I kept checking my rear-view mirror until I was a few miles away from the village. And only then did I slow down enough to catch my breath, and release the tears that pressed against the back of my eyes, desperate to escape. Pulling over at the next layby I took my phone and messaged the group.
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