Willow Walk

by SJI Holliday

  to whom can we turn for help,

  but to you, Lord, who are justly angered by our sins?

  He’s not religious. He’s never believed that a higher power has the ability to govern a person’s life. But words said inside a church seem to take on a deeper meaning, even for the atheists and agnostics, and the plain-old apathetics: to whom can we turn for help?

  A wave of loneliness washes over him. Coldplay come on the sound system, telling everyone to look at the stars, and the crowd starts to filter outside, squinting into the bright daylight. Davie follows, to the small area set aside at the back of the churchyard where six new graves wait patiently. There’d been a special council meeting about all this. The section they’d dug up wasn’t part of the original graveyard. It was a small garden at the back, a peace garden. They’d rearranged it, replanted the flowers and shrubs into the borders, and left the space in the centre, three by two. The workmen had been fast. Efficient. Davie hopes that the memorial garden will help bind the community even more closely. Make them realise what they have. Davie scans the crowd. Most of the faces are familiar, some more than others. He senses someone at his side.

  ‘Have you seen who’s here?’ Callum says.

  ‘You’ll need to give me a better clue than that.’

  ‘Over there, standing under the willow. Maybe you won’t recognise her. It’s been years since I’ve seen her, but you never forget a face. She was in my year at school. She’s Sean Talbot’s cousin. I couldn’t work out the connection at first, but when I saw her talking to Sean’s mum, I remembered.’

  Davie looks. Sees a tall, blonde woman standing with her arms crossed. Her face is cold, distant. A man is talking to her. He can’t hear, but he can see his lips moving, fast. Hands gesturing. The blonde is trying to tune him out. She must sense his gaze, and her eyes shift. She stares at him. Looks away.

  ‘That’s not . . . Polly McAllister?’

  ‘Yep,’ Callum says. ‘Never expected to see her back in town. Wonder if I should go and speak to her. She keeps glancing over at me, trying to catch my eye. It’s like she wants me to recognise her.’ He pauses, waiting for Davie to say something, but he just shrugs.

  ‘Maybe she’s just here for the service, Callum. Leave it.’ Davie wonders if Polly’s here to stir up trouble or to make amends. Anyway, he’s not getting involved. Best to keep the rumour mill shut for the day. It’s the least they can hope for.

  ‘Maybe she’s planning to stick around,’ Callum persists. ‘People seem to gravitate back here. It’s like a magnetic pull. You can try to escape, but it’ll drag you back eventually. Look at Graeme Woodley. He wasn’t even from here, but somehow he was drawn in . . .’

  ‘He came here for Marie.’

  ‘Yeah. How is she, Davie? I can’t believe the life she’s had. Poor cow. Saying that, though – you’re becoming a bit of a magnet for nutters.’

  He’s right. But Davie is struggling, too. He isn’t without blame. He’s not as innocent as Callum thinks. If he’d gone to Marie when he found out that Graeme was her brother . . . stopped her from going to that party. Maybe Graeme could’ve been safely locked up, unable to hurt anyone again. But now Marie’s life is ruined, and any chance they had of a life together was lost the minute she mixed those drugs into that drink. But he can’t say any of that. He can’t let anyone know how he really feels. Responsible. This is a burden he’s going to have to carry alone.

  Forever.

  ‘She’s coping. She’s at Cornton Vale on remand. I’m not sure what’s going to happen to her.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll stay together? She might get out – if the judge takes her circumstances into account?’

  ‘He might. But Marie’s going to have to live with what she did, whether she’s in prison or not. I don’t think she’ll want to be with me. I’ll only remind her of how it all went wrong. I think I’m destined to be on my own, Cal. I think it might be easier that way.’

  Callum looks like he wants to say more but changes his mind. He pats Davie on the back, then makes his way into the crowd that is huddled around the graves. Davie glances across towards Laura and Mark. They have their arms wrapped tightly around each other. She senses him looking and smiles shyly at him. He needs to talk to her about all this. Soon. But not now. He’s about to walk away, thinks a walk by the river might help clear his head, when he is stopped by a hand on his arm.

  ‘Are you coming over for the sandwiches, Sergeant Gray?’ Bridie Goldstone, Laura’s grandmother, has appeared at his side. She is looking at him with the flashing eyes of someone eager for gossip.

  ‘Ah, thanks, Bridie. But I think I’ll just get myself home. It’s been a tiring time—’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she says, ‘Especially with your lady-friend being involved in it all. Awful business with that brother of hers . . .’ Her sentence trails off. She looks disappointed. She can tell she’s not going to get much out of him.

  Davie smiles and turns away. It’s best not to respond at all. Let her chat to her cronies about it all. He can’t stop them. All he can do is avoid adding any fuel to their fire. He puts his hat back on, adjusts it at the sides. Smooths hair down behind his ears. He scans the crowd once more. They would pull together now, this community. They were strong. Resilient.

  He’ll just have to be the same.

  No one knows about his guilt. No one knows about the part he played in it all. And that’s the way it has to stay.

  Secrets.

  Everybody has one.

  And just like old bones, sometimes they’re best left buried.

  Acknowledgments

  As always, there are many people who help turn an idea into the finished book that it becomes. This time, I’d like to give the biggest thanks to my agent, Phil Patterson, for the never-ending help and encouragement. Huge thanks again to my fantastic editor, Karyn Millar, for the perfect insights that really made this book shine, and to Debs Warner for the copy-edit that made Graeme even creepier than he already was. To all at Marjacq and Black & White – thank you for everything you do.

  A few people got to read an early draft of this: Steph Broadribb, Ava Marsh and Jenny Blackhurst. Thank you so much for your encouragement at the exact time that it was needed. Thanks also to James Law and Graeme Cameron, whose brainstorming brought Lego and Twitter into my Graeme’s reign of terror and helped me see whose story I was trying to tell. Oh, and Graeme – thanks for letting me use your name to create the creepiest character I’ve ever written. You did give your consent, didn’t you?

  I am very lucky to be part of a great network of fellow authors, bloggers, readers and crime aficionados, both online and off – thank you all for making my first year as a published author life-changing and memorable.

  To my family and friends, whose support is unwavering – thank you. I hope I’ve made you proud.

  And finally, to JLOH, my tea-maker, my travelling companion and my partner in crime: One Love.