by A J McDine
Soon we were driving over the humpback bridge into King Street. I was surprised to see the wrought-iron fence in front of the house festooned with yellow balloons.
‘Who -?’ I began.
‘Mel,’ Stuart said. ‘She and Nate popped to Sainsbury’s on their way over. They’ve bought a cake, too. To welcome Immy home.’
‘Cake?’ Immy said.
I turned around in my seat and smiled. ‘Auntie Mel has thought of everything.’
For once, my voice wasn’t dripping with sarcasm. I was genuinely touched that Melanie was thinking of Immy, even though she must still be reeling from the shock of Bill’s death.
As if reading my mind, Stuart said, ‘I think she’s been grateful for the distraction.’
I undid Immy’s car seat, and she flew up the path to the front door. It swung open before she knocked, and Nate charged out like a hurricane. There was a faint trace of chocolate around his mouth.
‘Immy!’ he cried. ‘We got you a chocolate cake with chocolate fingers and sprinkles and everything! I tested a chocolate finger first to see if they were all right, then I had another one to make sure. But there are plenty left for you.’
‘Thanks for doing this,’ I said to Melanie. ‘And for looking after Nate. I really appreciate it.’ I looked at her closely. Her face was wan, and her eyes were puffy. ‘How are you doing?’
‘Not great,’ she admitted. ‘But I’ll be all right. There’s so much to do, but I can’t face any of it yet.’
‘Let us know if we can help with anything.’ I touched her arm and smiled. ‘I mean it.’
We took a pot of coffee and the cake into the garden.
‘Might as well make the most of the weather. It’s supposed to rain for the rest of the week,’ Stuart said. He cut the cake and handed us each a slice. The children crammed theirs into their mouths as if they hadn’t eaten for weeks, then disappeared into the garden.
I jumped up. ‘I should check the gates.’
‘Relax,’ Stuart said. ‘I double checked them earlier. They’re all fine.’
‘Why double check when you can triple check?’ I said lightly. I skirted the back of the house to check the side gate first. It opened with a click and I stepped onto the pavement and peered up and down the street, which looked strangely empty without the patrol cars and the search teams. On the other side of the road, one of the missing posters I’d stuck to a lamppost flapped in the breeze. Waiting for a dusty white van to pass, I crossed the road and ripped the poster down. Scrunching it into a ball in my fist felt vaguely satisfying. The dozens of other posters dotted around Fordwich could wait until tomorrow.
I was halfway across the road when the gate blew shut. I swore under my breath and went over to inspect the shiny new keypad that Stuart had had fitted. I tried 1218, Nate and Immy’s birthdays, but Stuart must have changed the code, too. Feeling silly, I phoned him.
‘I’ve locked myself out of the side gate. What’s the new number?’
‘Five-eight-six-four,’ he said.
‘Those aren’t anyone’s birthdays,’ I said, stabbing the code in and pushing the gate open.
‘They’re completely random numbers. I thought it was safer,’ he said. I raised an eyebrow. He must be more worried than he was letting on.
‘Good call. I’ll check the water gates and I’ll be back for a second slice of that cake.’ I wandered through the kitchen garden to the den and stuck my head through the door. Nate and Immy had a Matchbox car each and were making tracks in the dusty earth. Immy looked up, beaming.
‘Nate’s playing Paw ’trol, Mummy.’
‘That’s lovely, sweetheart.’ It was bliss to see them so happy in each other’s company, even though I knew it was only a matter of time before the novelty wore off and the bickering began again.
I crossed the lawn, picking up a couple of abandoned croquet hoops on the way. The scent of the mock orange on the far wall was stronger than ever, and as I tried the handle on the water gate, my head was filled with memories of Sunday afternoon. The anxious knot that had taken up residence in my chest writhed, and my heart raced, even though I knew Immy and Nate were playing in the den less than a dozen yards away.
The gate was locked, as Stuart had said it was, but I tried the handle again anyway, wondering at what point legitimate concern slid into full-on paranoia.
The water gate nearest the house was locked, too, and I rejoined Stuart and Melanie in the courtyard.
‘Happy to report the perimeter’s secure,’ I joked.
Stuart looked as if he was about to say something, then thought better of it.
Melanie handed me another slice of cake and topped up my coffee cup. ‘I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to take Nate to school this morning,’ she said. ‘But he was so desperate to see Immy.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t. I think we could all use a couple of days off, don’t you?’
‘You’re not going into work?’ Stuart asked, surprised.
I shook my head. ‘Roger’s happy to look after things for now. The place has run like clockwork without me all week. I’m not sure I’m as indispensable as I thought I was.’ As if on cue, my phone, lying face down on the table, started vibrating, and I frowned and said, ‘Famous last words.’ Only it wasn’t Roger, it was DC Sam Bennett.
‘We’ve found Sheila’s car,’ she said after a brief exchange of pleasantries.
‘What about Sheila?’
‘Not yet.’
I glanced at Stuart and Melanie and shook my head. ‘Where was it?’
‘In the car park at Stodmarsh Nature Reserve. A concerned birdwatcher noticed it and phoned it in about an hour ago.’
My heart skipped a beat. ‘Stodmarsh?’ Stuart had frozen, his cup halfway to his mouth. ‘Jesus, Sam, that’s only about three miles from here!’
‘I know. But you mustn’t worry yourself.’
‘Easy for you to say.’ I paused. ‘You said the birdwatcher was concerned? Why? People park there all the time.’
‘The windows were open, and the key had been left in the ignition. He assumed it had been abandoned by joyriders. And we can’t rule out the possibility that it was. Sorry, I’m going to put you on hold for a minute. Someone has an update for me.’ The line went quiet, and I was starting to wonder if she’d hung up when she came back on. ‘Right, we have a dog unit down there and the dog handler has radioed in to say they’ve found an empty wine bottle and packets of Temazepam on the banks of the Stour about a kilometre from the car park. Looks like she may be in the river.’
My hand tightened around the phone. ‘You think she’s killed herself?’
‘It’s certainly looking like that, yes. The DI’s about to recall the search teams to look for a body.’
‘She wouldn’t,’ I said, with sudden certainty, even though a matter of days ago I’d feared just that. ‘She’s playing with us. With me. It’s like some sick game of cat and mouse. Can’t you see? Staging a suicide by the river we thought Immy had drowned in? She’s twisted.’
‘It’s totally understandable you’re feeling anxious after everything you’ve been through, but all the evidence is pointing towards the fact that she took an overdose and jumped in the river,’ Sam said.
‘Look past the evidence,’ I begged her. ‘She’s cleverer than you think.’
Chapter Fifty-Two
After lunch the sky darkened as slate-grey rain clouds blew in on a stiff westerly breeze. When the first fat drops of rain splashed onto the patio, I called the children inside and we decamped to the front room. Before long the rain was lashing against the windows and I pulled the curtains closed while Melanie found popcorn and Stuart scrolled through the channels looking for a feel-good film.
I sat on the sofa with Immy curled up like a kitten on my lap and Nate on a beanbag by my feet, and as the opening credits of The Jungle Book rolled, I began to relax.
Perhaps Sam was right, and Sheila had decided she would rather kill herself than face the rest of her life behind bars. I pic
tured her pulling into the nature reserve car park as dawn broke, the wine and Temazepam on the passenger seat beside her. Popping the pills out of their blister pack, one by one, and washing each one down with a mouthful of wine. Had she waited for the sedatives and alcohol to take hold before she’d let herself out of the car and staggered to the Stour? What was going through her mind as she’d stood on the bank watching the river drift lazily past?
I hoped she felt remorse for taking Immy and killing Niamh, and that she realised her actions had pushed Bill over the edge. By stepping into the river and letting the water envelope her, was she admitting her guilt and repenting her sins?
On my lap, Immy shivered.
‘What’s wrong, chicken? Are you cold?’
‘Mmm,’ she said, her eyes glued to the television. I lifted her off my lap and settled her on the sofa. ‘I’m going to get a cardie for Ims. Anyone want anything while I’m up?’
‘More cake please, Mum,’ Nate said.
‘I suppose another slice won’t hurt.’ I bent down and ruffled his hair. ‘Won’t be a minute.’
I climbed the stairs and crossed the landing to Immy’s room. The curtains were still drawn, so I tugged them open and stared out over the garden. Rain was falling in torrents from a leaden sky. Stuart, an inveterate weather watcher, had been right about the forecast. But being stuck indoors while it poured for the next three days sounded pretty appealing right now. I dug about in Immy’s chest of drawers looking for the JoJo Maman Bebe stripy Fair Isle cardigan I’d bought for her birthday back in March. With a hint of cashmere, it was soft and snuggly, the perfect antidote to a wet summer afternoon.
I left the cardie folded on top of the chest of drawers and spent five minutes picking toys off the floor and tidying shelves before fetching clean bed linen and Immy’s favourite Paw Patrol pyjamas from the airing cupboard. Downstairs I could hear Stuart and the children singing along to I Wanna Be Like You, and I was smiling at their exuberant oobie-doos as I pulled Immy’s duvet off her bed.
My smile froze. Nestled in a dip in the pillow was Peppa Pig. The Peppa Pig I’d seen in the reeds the afternoon Sheila had taken Immy. The same Peppa Pig she’d planted in the river so we thought our daughter had drowned. The last time I’d seen it, it was in a plastic police evidence bag. So how could it be here, in Immy’s bed, looking like new? It didn’t make sense. Unless… unless Sheila had forced her way into our house and put it there as a warning.
My hand flew to my mouth, and I took a step back, cannoning into the door. I was right, and the police were wrong. Sheila wasn’t dead. She would never have killed herself. The woman wasn’t remorseful - she didn’t have a conscience. This was all a game to her, and this little stunt was the latest move. Advance notice that she was coming back for Immy.
As the realisation sank in, a wave of nausea gripped me. My head felt floaty, as if it wasn’t fixed to my neck, and the sound of Stuart and the children faded away. My world contracted until it was me and the pink toy with the glassy eyes. Then the room started spinning and everything went black.
‘Cleo, are you all right?’
Footsteps pounding up the stairs.
An intake of breath.
The swish of displaced air.
A warm palm on my forehead.
‘Oh, my God. What happened?’
‘She must have fainted. She feels cold. Clammy.’
‘Do you think she hit her head?’
‘Christ knows.’
‘I’ll make her a cup of tea. Lots of sugar.’
A hand stroking my hair.
More footsteps. Lighter ones this time.
‘Why’s Mummy on the floor?’
‘She’s having a little lie-down.’
‘But she was getting my cake.’
‘Take Immy into your room, Nate. Just while we wake Mum up.’
‘But - ’
‘No arguments, kiddo.’
A squeal of delight.
‘Peppa’s back!’
‘What?’
‘In my bed. Look!’
A creak of floorboards and another caught breath.
‘Holy fuck.’
When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the floor with a pillow under my head, Stuart and Melanie kneeling either side of me. I clutched Stuart’s hand.
‘Sheila’s been here,’ I croaked. ‘Press the panic button. Quickly.’
When he made no attempt to move, I tightened my grip. ‘Stuart, listen to me. I found Peppa Pig in Immy’s bed. Sheila put it there. She could still be here, in the house. You need to call the police. Now!’
They exchanged a look, and I pinched the bridge of my nose and said slowly. ‘Do you understand? Sheila’s come back for Immy!’
‘Let’s get you onto the bed,’ Stuart said, helping me up. As I stood, my head spun wildly, and he took my arm and guided me across the room.
‘Drink this,’ he said, holding a mug to my lips. It was as sweet as the tea Sheila had used to drug me, and I shoved it away so forcibly it slopped all over his hand. He didn’t flinch.
‘Cleo,’ Melanie said, sitting next to me. I squinted at her, surprised to see her face was all blotchy. ‘It wasn’t Sheila. It was me.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I bought another Peppa in Sainsbury’s to replace the one Immy lost. Nate and I hid it under Immy’s duvet because we thought it would be a nice surprise when she went to bed. I’m so sorry,’ she said, her eyes glistening with tears. ‘I popped it into the trolley without thinking. I should have realised it would totally freak you out.’
I still felt light-headed. Discombobulated. As if I’d been taken apart and put back together again like a piece of self-assembled furniture, only someone had left out a crucial screw.
Once again, I’d jumped to conclusions. Once again, I was wrong. Melanie had put the stupid toy in Immy’s bed, not Sheila. It hadn’t been a warning, it had been a small act of kindness from Immy’s fourth favourite person in the world.
‘It’s fine,’ I told Melanie.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely.’ I smiled. ‘And I bet Immy’s over the moon.’
Stuart said nothing, but I could feel the anger coming off him in waves. Being married for a decade did that to you. Whether Melanie had picked up on it I had no clue, but when they left me to rest, I heard him having a go at her in the kitchen, words like “thoughtless” and “crass” drifting up the stairs.
The whole incident had really shaken him up.
Unlike Stuart, I could see the funny side. Truth was, I was just relieved it wasn’t Sheila.
Chapter Fifty-Three
TUESDAY 22 JUNE
The rain was relentless. In three days, a sodden Kent saw two-and-a-half times its monthly average rainfall for June. The Met Office issued amber flood warnings and council workers in white vans delivered sandbags to every home fronting the river. According to the searches carried out by our conveyancing solicitor when we bought the place, Stour House hadn’t flooded in a hundred years. But we took the sandbags anyway, just in case.
We spent the days hunkered up indoors, building train tracks, doing puzzles and making our own playdough, to a soundtrack of rain pattering against the windowpanes. Melanie popped over most days, but the minute she arrived Stuart made himself scarce, muttering about an ecological impact survey he needed to finish.
I sensed something was troubling her, and I tackled her about it on Sunday morning while the kids were playing upstairs.
‘What’s up, Mel?’
‘I had a call from the coroner’s officer this morning. The coroner won’t release Bill’s body until they’ve carried out the postmortem examination. He told me there’ll also be an inquest.’ She bit her lip. ‘I can’t bear the thought of everyone knowing our business.’
‘I suppose it’ll all come out at Sheila’s trial anyway. Not that it’s much consolation.’
‘You still think she’s out there somewhere?’
‘Until th
ey show me her body, yes.’ DC Sam Bennett phoned every day with an update on the investigation. ‘Sam says the rain has made the search almost impossible,’ I told Melanie. ‘A witness has come forward to say he saw a lone figure sitting on the riverbank close to where they found the wine bottle and empty Temazepam packets. He assumed the person was a fellow twitcher and thought nothing of it until he saw the story on the local news. Sam says it corroborates their theory that Sheila jumped in the river. I say it proves diddly squat.’
‘You don’t really think she’d come back for Immy, do you?’
I shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t be sleeping on the camp bed in Immy’s room otherwise, would I?’ I ran my finger over the panic button on the underside of the kitchen island. It was my talisman, my lucky charm, and the knowledge it was there, ready to summon help whenever I needed it, went some way towards soothing my anxiety.
‘Anyway,’ I said. ‘We were talking about you, not me. I know you’re still coming to terms with what happened to Bill, but there’s something else, isn’t there? Something that’s troubling you.’
Melanie stared out of the window. Her shoulders rose as she took a deep breath, and I thought she was about to tell me what was bothering her when Nate bowled into the room asking when lunch was ready, and the moment was gone.
The days slipped by, comforting in their familiarity, and slowly the strain of the last week seeped away. The fact that Immy seemed unfazed by her ordeal helped. Perhaps when she was older, the time she spent drugged in Sheila’s bungalow would haunt her dreams, but for now she was as carefree and exuberant as she’d always been.
On Tuesday afternoon Stuart and I ventured into the garden to inspect the river levels. Nate and Immy watched from the kitchen window as we squelched across the lawn to the nearest water gate.
‘Bloody hell,’ I said as I watched the swollen river surge past. ‘I’ve never seen it so high.’
‘It won’t take much for it to burst its banks. I think we should lay the sandbags,’ Stuart said.
