After wiping the mask off your petal-soft skin, I did your hair. Put a braid in across the top. It looked lovely.
‘Which polish do you fancy?’ I asked. Trying to be light and playful. Trying to make it sound like any other fun night in together. Trying to pretend that my gorgeous girl wasn’t lying there, unresponsive.
‘I’ve got Glitterati Fashion Icon, which is the sort of purple-blue one you like. Remember? Or there’s Bedazzle, which has all different kinds of glitter in it. There’s reds, blues—’
‘I can see some silver bits,’ chipped in Jacob.
‘Oh, and I love the name of this one: Eyes Like Angels. It’s white glitter.’
‘Think I’ll have that.’
‘Right, Dad’s volunteered for that one. Oh, no, you said it, so there’s no getting out of it!’ We smiled, acting out our parts. The tears of clowns behind our jolly masks. ‘I think Bedazzle for you, Beth? Hmm? It’s your favourite, after all.’
I carefully did your nails, the pear drop smell of varnish filling the room. Glancing at Jacob, I barked out a laugh at the sight of your dad trying to do his. His left hand wasn’t too bad, but his right…
‘Oh my goodness, your dad looks like he’s been attacked by the sparkle monster! You should see the state of him!’ I grinned. Then had to turn away because of the tears.
You should have seen him. You should have opened your eyes, Beth.
Those days, the only time I saw your eyes, grey-green as the sea, was when a medic pulled your eyelid up to check pupil response. They were expressionless and unfocused, not full of the bright spark of your personality.
If I thought it would have brought you back, Beth, I’d have killed the whole world. Everyone. If I thought it would have brought you back, I’d have gladly given my own life, without a second’s hesitation.
I wiped my face, put my shoulders back and turned again to my family. Jacob gave me a look of understanding, his own eyes reddening. But if I acknowledged it, I’d break down. So instead, I grabbed up a nail polish.
‘What’s this one? Ah yes, Glitterati Fashion Icon. That’s the one for me because, well, I am, aren’t I!’ I leaned into Beth’s ear and stage-whispered: ‘Actually, don’t even look at what I’m wearing, Beth. Yep, it’s my favourite jumper, the comfy one you say makes me look like an abominable snowman.’
You were right; it was a thick cream Arran, but I loved it. It was snuggly and warm and comforting.
‘Well, you must be a bit of a fashion icon, because Beth does borrow your clothes sometimes,’ Jacob said.
‘Good point. Ha! Caught you out there, Beth. You’re much slimmer than me, so it’s a bit depressing seeing someone so young and gorgeous in my outfits – but then again, it makes me feel I must be a bit trendy still. Still got it, eh? “Like peas in a pod,” Granny Heather says, remember? Ha, I wish! Well, I’m not as slim as you, but you’re not as tall as me – yet.’
‘Yeah, but you’ll both always be short-arses.’
‘You’re not exactly massive yourself, Jacob!’
‘Well, neither of you are ever going to get near five ten, not even in your heels,’ he teased.
I gasped.
That was it. That was what was strange about what Alison had said to me the other day.
Sixty-Four
All those times I had tried to work out what was odd about Alison’s conversation, but it had eluded me. Then, like trying to remember a word on the tip of my tongue, it had come to me the second I stopped thinking about it. Now I had the answer.
Alison had said you were as tall as she was when you were wearing heels.
But you were short, like me, Beth. Even in heels I wouldn’t be able to look Alison right in the eye. She was about five feet nine inches, only around an inch shorter than Jacob. There was no way, even in heels, that you or I were as tall as she was.
Why was this bugging me so much?
Unless…
The last time Alison saw you, you were as tall as each other. Which meant that you were wearing more than heels – you were wearing your brand-new platforms, with the ridiculous two-inch sole and six-inch heels. That would take you up to a relatively towering five feet eight and a half inches.
And the only time you had ever worn those boots was on the night you were attacked.
I gasped again, a drowning woman coming up for air, as the realisation came. Jacob wrapped me in a hug, comforting me, with no idea that I’d just had a breakthrough. But I couldn’t tell him. Not tonight, when we’d been the closest we had felt to a family for weeks and weeks. Not when he and my parents had spent time lecturing me on how worried they were with my investigation.
He would think it was my imagination.
But this business with Alison definitely meant something. I buried my face in Jacob’s neck, breathing in his wood resin scent, so that he couldn’t see my eyes. They weren’t sparkling with tears, but excitement. It was a minute before I trusted myself to come out of his embrace.
‘Hey, I think I’m about ready for a film now. How about we put Divergent on, eh?’
Jacob kissed me on the top of my head and gave a muffled ‘good idea’ into my hair.
But as we watched, my mind raced.
Alison saw you the night you were attacked.
That meant James had been there too.
I knew it! I’d been right in thinking I could find clues the police were missing. Thank God I hadn’t listened to everyone telling me to stop. Glenn had been the only person to have faith in me.
Perhaps Alison and James had ambushed you, like some modern-day Myra Hindley and Ian Brady. Perhaps she and James were running some kind of paedophile ring together. Drugging young girls and taking pictures and videos of them? I’d read a lot worse in the newspapers. It seemed crazy that something so depraved could be happening right under my nose, though, here in sleepy little Fenmere. Perhaps Alison had simply discovered your crush on James and had hit out in a fit of jealousy.
The credits rolled. As Jacob put Frozen on, I chewed over the riddle that Jill posed. Although Glenn and I had found nothing suspicious at the RAF lookout tower, something about that place worried her. That was why she had chosen to demolish me with a few choice words. She could be stern, but cruelty was not her usual style.
Running repeatedly through the confrontation the night before, searching for clues, I stroked your hand and silently begged you for inspiration.
* * *
When Jacob nipped out to the loo, I hurriedly whispered all my suspicions and questions to you, Beth. Did you hear me? I hoped hearing that I was edging closer to the truth would spur you on to come round again. Give you the extra impetus you needed.
The breathing machine held as steady as ever. The heart rate monitor remained constant.
‘If you can understand me, squeeze my hand. Did Alison hurt you?’
Nothing.
‘James?’
Nothing.
‘Jill? Aleksy?’
Not even a twitch.
I leaned closer.
‘Dad?’
I was appalled that I’d let my paranoia reach this height.
Jacob was virtually chivvied from the house as soon as he got up. We’d got home from the hospital at about 2.30 a.m., and he had managed to snatch some sleep before heading off to work. Although tired, he looked so much happier than he had the morning before. Just from the way he carried himself, the set of his shoulders was less tense; he positively radiated relief, convinced that he and my parents, along with a nudge from Flo and Jill, had got through to me.
He was so relieved he didn’t seem to notice my feverish desperation to shove him out the door. I forced myself to wait five whole minutes before getting into my own car.
The journey to Wapentake along the winding main road should only have taken ten or fifteen minutes, but I got stuck behind a tractor that threw chunks of mud off its wheels and onto my car. The landscape either side of the road was identical: a deep drainage dyke; fields of rich ea
rth with strips of some kind of membrane or plastic over the top that looked like stripes of water; the odd hedge or cluster of trees; and an occasional huddle of houses around a church. Everything monotonously flat. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere where I couldn’t see what was coming from miles away.
At the police station, I asked to see DS Devonport. After ten long minutes or more she finally came down and led me to a quiet side room.
I leaned forward, febrile enthusiasm radiating off me while relating the whole conversation I’d had with Alison Daughtrey-Drew.
‘Don’t you see?’ I finished. ‘It means she’s lied about her whereabouts that night. It means she saw my daughter, and must have been close by, too, not from a distance.’
DS Devonport looked perplexed by my logic, so I spelled it out for her. The whole huge platform thing – that was the only way you could have been tall enough to look Alison in the eye. The fact that you had never worn those bloody stupid boots before.
‘To your knowledge,’ the detective said.
‘Excuse me?’
‘To your knowledge, Beth had never worn those boots before. But, Mrs Oak, Melanie, you didn’t realise she was wearing them that night, either.’ She was doing her special leaning forward at an angle thing again, her head on one side in just the right place to be sincere and not patronising. Which made it all the more patronising.
I spluttered, trying to think of a reply. ‘That’s… not… the point. The soles weren’t worn, so that night must have been the first time Beth had put them on.’
‘You must stop telling us what to do, Mrs Oak. You’re upset. You need to concentrate on Beth.’
‘Don’t tell me how to be a parent!’ I jumped up, the chair’s legs screaming their own protest across the floor.
DS Devonport smoothed her skirt then met me with her steady gaze again. ‘We will look into this. At some point. Right now we’re following up some other leads that—’
‘Oh, “other leads”. You always say that, but nothing ever comes of it, does it? As far as I can tell you’re twiddling your thumbs,’ I shouted, and stormed from the room.
No matter what anyone said, I knew I was on the right track at last. After that conversation it was clear no one, not even the police, could be trusted to find your attacker, Beth. It was down to me. I would never listen to anyone who told me to stop. I would never give up.
Sixty-Five
The frenzy grew inside me. The only thing keeping me under control was how well my plans were advancing. My next target was lined up; it was simply a matter of time.
My previous victim had run like a frightened rabbit, but there had been nowhere for her to hide beneath that huge moon. Chasing her down had been exhilarating. She had been well worth the long months I had invested in coming up with the perfect plan, the time spent carefully putting everything into place beforehand, grooming my unsuspecting little helper. My mask of normality hadn’t slipped once the entire time.
I needed to feel that power, for someone to stare into my eyes and know they were about to die. Not much longer now. Just a tiny bit more patience.
Sixty-Six
I couldn’t go home. I was too furious, too desperate to prove I was right and the police were wrong. Tears threatened to overwhelm me, but I smashed my fist against the steering wheel until they subsided, the car wobbling dangerously across the road. There was too much to do to give in to my emotions and fears. I would do that once you were better and this nightmare was over.
With no clue of what to do next, I found myself driving once more past James Harvey’s house. Let the car crawl along the crescent of road, rounding the corner just in time to see Alison getting out of her car and opening her boot. She must be going to see her boyfriend; so she really had been telling the truth about that. Rooting around in the boot, she didn’t see me edging by, but I craned my neck to take a good look at her. She was rearranging a bag. An overnight bag? No, a plastic one. Stuffing a coat into it. A black, padded coat with distinctive reflective chevrons on the front and back.
Your coat, Beth.
Adrenaline punched through me, making me shake as I put the car into gear. In my eagerness, I stamped on the accelerator harder than I should have. As I sped away, in my rear-view mirror I saw Alison turn and watch me go.
Racing along the streets, I was barely keeping to the speed limit, screaming in frustration at red lights. Finally I was back at the police station, sprinting up the steps, then demanding to see DS Devonport again. When she appeared, her eyes were hard, but I didn’t pause to let her get a word in.
‘I’ve got proof that Alison Daughtrey-Drew and James Harvey hurt Beth. You’ve never found my daughter’s coat, have you? That’s because Alison has it in her car. If you go now, right now, to James’s house, you’ll find it in her boot.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘Absolutely!’
My heart was pounding as the detective grabbed another member of her team and sped to her car. I followed behind, feeling as if I were flying. At last, we were getting somewhere! I’d get justice for you, Beth, and everything would be okay.
At the flat, there was no sign of Alison’s car, though. And no answer from James’s flat. I shrieked my frustration into the air.
‘Mrs Oak, go home. We’re going to Alison’s house,’ DS Devonport ordered.
No chance. I hung back for ten minutes, then followed. I wanted to be there to see Alison and James arrested.
A smile played on my face as I pulled over onto the verge and crept up the Daughtrey-Drew’s sweeping drive.
Alison doubled over in tears. James in handcuffs, face ashen. DS Devonport reading them their rights.
That was the tableau of my imagination. Instead, Alison looked furious, the detective apologetic. There was no sign at all of James.
‘What’s going on?’ I demanded.
Ellen Devonport didn’t appear surprised to see me, but from the way she ran her hand through her hair and sighed, she was exasperated.
I didn’t care.
‘Well? Why haven’t you arrested her?’ My finger impaled the air in front of Alison.
‘Mrs Oak, calm down. We’ve checked the coat in Miss Daughtrey-Drew’s car. It isn’t Beth’s.’
‘I saw it. It’s identical to my daughter’s.’
‘Mrs Oak!’ Alison’s voice cut the air. ‘Here. Take a look yourself.’ She held up a jacket. Black, padded.
I took it, shaking my head.
‘No, this isn’t the one I saw. It had chevrons on it. Reflective strips. It was Beth’s coat.’
‘It was this coat, Mrs Oak.’ Her long nose crinkled in sympathy that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
I whirled on the detective. ‘She saw me drive away. She must have realised I’d seen the coat and dumped it before you got to her. Don’t look at me like I’m mad! I’m telling you the truth!’
A firm grip on my elbow pulled me away, and after a few paces Ellen Devonport glared at me and spoke. ‘If you don’t let us do our job, you’re going to get yourself into a lot of trouble. You’re upset. You’re seeing things you want to see.’
‘It’s not my imagination.’ But the force behind my words was burning away like mist in sunshine. Perhaps I was imagining things…
As I was led back to my car and ordered away, I glanced over at Alison to apologise. She bit her lip. But not fast enough to hide the small smile of relief that had been there a second earlier.
Back at home, I was still furious. I paced up and down, Wiggins following me at first, then lying down with his head between his paws, big brown eyes so sad.
The house felt claustrophobic. Tendrils of sorrow escaped from under your closed bedroom door, trickling down the stairs, then curling around my ankles, ready to trip me up. I couldn’t breathe.
Throwing open the front door, I called Wiggins to heel and strode towards my usual haunt, the marsh. I slowed as I approached the old council houses, spotting Glenn talking to little Roza Jachowski. Why wasn’t
she at school? Then I realised, of course, that it was half-term. Already I was losing touch with such things. The world carried on as normal, but I was separated from it by my own bubble of horror.
Glenn must have been talking to Roza to try to get information on Aleksy for me, just as we’d discussed on the marsh yesterday. Damn, I was supposed to have tracked down Davy for another chat, but had been sidetracked by the intervention staged by my parents, then my revelation about Alison. I didn’t want to stalk past Glenn, especially not in the state I was in. It might distract him. Instead, I hid behind Bob Thornby’s overgrown hedge.
I peered through the foliage, praying no one would spot me – particularly not Phyllis Blakecroft, because she would give me a lecture on the disgraceful state of the hedge and how Bob should trim it. I wasn’t in the mood to face that.
Roza was a pretty little thing of seven, with olive skin and dark brown hair, who spent most of her time upside down against the front wall of her semi-detached home doing handstands, or practising dance moves on her own. I’d always thought she must prefer her own company, but for the first time it suddenly hit me that there might be something more sinister going on. Perhaps the poor girl was finding it hard to make friends because of village bigotry.
She looked happy talking to Glenn, though.
Watching them together, I could see how great he was with kids. Just like his ex, Marcie, had said. He had an easy charm around them that he kept more hidden when with people his own age. Glenn didn’t let many people in, except me.
As they spoke, Roza showed him something on her phone. He put his arm around her to have a closer look. Mrs Jachowski opened the door and called to her daughter. Glenn looked up and beckoned her over, showing her his phone. She shook her head, bemused, while Roza chatted away again, all smiles that gave her the cutest dimple on one side. She pointed at her phone, and Glenn nodded. Mrs Jachowski made a dismissive gesture with her hands, laughing and shaking her head as she went back into the house and shut the door.
The Darkest Lies: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist Page 22
