‘Auntie Ceecee!’ Olive screams, the pitch of it cutting through her like a skewer. The little girl drops down from her seat at the dining table and wraps her arms around Celine’s waist in an exuberant hug.
‘Yay, Olive-Roo,’ Celine manages weakly, and she ruffles the child’s hair with limp fingers, doing the same to Beebee when she stretches out her arms to be picked up. ‘Sorry, Bee, Auntie Ceecee is feeling a bit feeble this morning. Later, yeah?’
Pip is at the table eating her lunch. ‘Go outside and play for a while, girls. And tell me if you see the gardener, will you, Ollie? I need to pay him for this week.’ As they disappear, Pip gives Celine the side-eye, smirking a little, before picking up her second sandwich half and taking a bite. ‘Sleep all right?’ she asks.
‘Like the dead,’ Celine replies, brushing the crumbs from Olive’s seat and sitting carefully. Pip’s tuna sandwich smells vile.
‘Well, you look like shit,’ Pip says through her mouthful. ‘You look every one of your now thirty-seven years. Happy birthday, sis.’
Celine rubs her brow with the heels of her hands and groans. ‘Una’s got the hump with me.’
‘Has she?’ Pip looks genuinely surprised. ‘She seemed fine to me.’
And then it occurs to Celine that Pip seems fine too – that, despite her horribly bruised face, despite what she’s going through, she seems her normal chipper self. She’s behaving as though the whole appalling episode with Stefan never happened at all.
‘Are you OK?’ Celine asks her. ‘After, you know, the fight with Stefan?’
‘Celine! It wasn’t a fight as such, and don’t you dare say that in front of the girls.’ And there it is again, that light and sunny voice, masking the truth of it. ‘I wish you wouldn’t keep—’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Pip!’ Celine yells, and she doesn’t even care about the piercing stab of pain the volume triggers at the base of her skull. ‘You can’t spend the rest of your life sticking your head in the sand! When are you going to face up to the fact that you’ve got to deal with this – you have to admit to yourself how Stefan really makes you feel. You’re in complete denial!’
‘You can talk,’ Una says from the doorway. She’s holding two fresh coffees, and, while her words are challenging, her expression is not. She hands one of the cups to Celine and sits down between them, separating the two sisters. ‘You’ve spent most of your life with your head in the sand too, Celine, when it comes to dealing with emotions.’
Pip’s jaw drops, and Celine suspects her own expression is probably a mirror. In all the years they’ve known Una, she’s never criticised them like this, never openly judged.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Celine demands.
Una shakes her head. ‘Last night you told me how much you regretted not stepping in when your instinct told you to – not interfering in both your sisters’ affairs when you should have.’
‘I probably said all sorts of bullshit things last night,’ Celine retorts. ‘I was wasted.’
‘Don’t you dare put it down to the drink, Celine Murphy! You know better than that. If you leave now, it’ll be another thing for you to regret. You’ve got unfinished business here, and you know it.’
‘Like what?’ She throws her palms in the air, directing the question at them both. ‘I’ve certainly got unfinished business back at home. You know I’ve got a practice list to run, don’t you? You know I’ve got clients waiting for me in Bournemouth? I’m not retired on a great big effing police pension like you, Una. I’ve got real work to do.’ Her childish tone is ridiculous, and she feels nauseous and hateful and worthless and full of rage.
Pip remains silent. Una looks angry and puffy-eyed and older than usual.
‘Go on, then, Una,’ Celine goads. ‘You said I’ve got unfinished business. Like what?’
‘Like your mother’s funeral.’
‘I don’t need to be here to arrange that. We can do it over the phone. I probably won’t even go to the service – it’s not as if she’ll notice.’
Una sighs heavily. ‘OK. Like dealing with the house clearance, then. Like finding out what happened to Vanessa. Like talking your sister here out of returning to that bastard Stefan.’
‘Una!’ Pip gasps. ‘What do you mean, “bastard”?’
‘You’re as bad as she is,’ Una replies, huffing loudly, running her hands over her jeans. There are tiny beads of perspiration breaking out across her forehead, making her skin shine darkly. ‘How bad does it have to get before you leave him, Pip? Does he have to actually hit you first? Or maybe one of the kids?’
Pip is speechless.
‘I think it’s been going on for years, hasn’t it?’ Celine asks, her voice softening. She takes a sip of coffee; it’s good and sweet. ‘With your salary, before the kids, you should’ve been able to come away with me on holiday, those times when I asked – but you always had some excuse. You always pleaded poverty, but we both know that’s not true. He’s been controlling your money since the start, hasn’t he?’
Pip’s face is blank. She looks over her shoulder, out through the patio windows to where the girls are playing picnic on the lawn with their soft toys. Celine follows her gaze.
‘Has he hurt you before?’ Una asks.
There’s no reply.
Celine rears up. ‘You’re a grown woman, Pip! Why do you let him do it?’
‘Lethim?’ Pip hisses.
‘Yes! You let him do it. The whole time you stay and accept the way it is, you’re giving him permission.’
‘Permission to do what?’
‘To control your money, your movements, your job prospects, your children. What would it take for you to leave him?’
‘I love him,’ Pip mumbles. ‘He loves me.’
‘Love? Wow.’ Celine coughs. ‘You do know you’re spouting every bloody cliché in the book now, don’t you?’
Una puts a hand over Pip’s. ‘I’ve worked with a lot of victims of abuse in the past, Pip, you know that, right? Well, the stats tell us these women will return to their husbands an average of seven times before they gather the courage to leave for good. Now, I’ve had you and the girls stay over at mine at least six times in the past year, baby, haven’t I? And I’ve never pressed you for details, but I’m wondering, maybe you’ve reached your number seven? Maybe you’re ready to leave for good.’
Pip glances back at the girls outside, who are now tussling on the lawn. ‘I’m not ready,’ she says.
Pushing her cup away, Celine rises with a speed which sends nausea racing through her body. ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ she says. ‘Pip, if you end up dead like Vanessa, that’s your look-out. I hope you’ve got provision in place for the girls.’ She sees Pip wince at this, and she knows she’s gone too far, but she can’t seem to find the brakes. ‘I’m going upstairs now, to pack. You two can sort out Mum’s funeral – I’ve had it with you both.’
‘Don’t you dare!’ Pip screams as Celine reaches the door to the hall. ‘Don’t you dare throw one of your grenades into the room and just leave, Celine! You’re always so quick to slate Delilah for running away, but what do you think you’re doing now? I might be in denial about Stefan, but I’m here, aren’t I? You’re just like her, you know that? You’re selfish, just like Mum!’
In frustration and anger, Celine slaps a hand against the door frame. ‘Then you won’t be needing me, will you?’
‘Of course we need you, Celine,’ Una roars, ‘whether you like it or not! Pip needs you – and Vanessa needs you! Those little girls out there need you too!’
Something in Celine snaps. ‘What about me? Don’t I ever need anything? Don’t I ever need support? Do you think my heart doesn’t break every time I think about Vanessa and remember she’s never coming back?’ With no warning at all, Celine crumples in half, hunching down low and cradling her throbbing head as though struck. Sobs break out from her, uncontrolled and overflowing with grief, as two sets of arms rush to embrace her.
‘
Celine? Celine, stop it, please? I didn’t mean that about Mum, I really didn’t. You’re nothing like Delilah – nothing. I just wanted to get a reaction out of you. Of course you miss Vanessa. Just like I do. You and me – we’re the only two people who really understand how that feels, sis. It’s just, you’re so controlled and careful, I never really know what you’re thinking.’
From within the dark space of her huddle, Celine feels something like peace descending. Her sister is right, and, while it’s not something she really wants to hear, there is comfort in knowing that there is this one other person walking the earth who knows her, inside and out. ‘I’m sorry, Pip,’ she says, allowing Una to wrap an arm around her shoulders, to help her to her feet.
‘Let your sister get you in the shower,’ Una says, holding her firmly. ‘I’m going to make myself useful and put the frying pan on.’
By the time Celine returns to the kitchen table, Pip is busy with the girls at the table outside, while Una serves up a late cooked breakfast for the two of them: bacon, eggs, sausages, the works.
‘Eat,’ Una instructs her, taking a bite herself.
It’s good. Exactly what Celine needs for this monstrous hangover. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’ she asks, remembering that Una had put away her own share of alcohol last night.
‘Like a camel slept in my mouth,’ she replies, and they laugh, and wince, and it feels OK.
Beyond the patio doors, there’s a sudden clamour and Pip returns with the girls, who are hopping with glee. Olive thrusts a bunch of fresh garden flowers at Celine and, after prompting, little Beebee hands over the hand-drawn card she’s been concealing behind her back. Auntie Ceecee we love you, it says on the front in shaky letters. There’s a drawing of the five of them: the two girls, one curly and dark, the other tiny and blonde; Una’s face coloured with a crayon that’s more orange than brown; and Pip and Celine, who have been given skin the tone of prawn cocktail.
‘Happy birthday,’ Pip says, crushing her sister in an unrestrained hug.
The sunlight flows fully through the glass doors, and Celine’s eyes fall on the shadow cast across Delilah’s parquet floor. Just like the picture on the girls’ card, they’re all there, a shadow family and a bunch of flowers.
‘I’m sorry I’ve been such an idiot,’ she says, looking to each of them in turn and wiping her nose on the sleeve of her jumper. ‘I had a good think while I was in the shower, and I’ve decided: I’m not going anywhere.’
‘You’re not?’ Una asks, her face lighting up.
‘Course not. We’ve got unfinished business, haven’t we?’
‘That’s just as well, isn’t it, Una?’ Pip says, releasing her.
‘Why’s that?’ Celine asks, frowning as Una reaches for her mobile phone.
‘Because,’ Una says, holding the phone out so that Celine can view the screen, ‘this message came in from Dave Aston while you were in the shower.’
Celine reads the message.
HANDWRITING ANALYSIS JUST LANDED IN MY INBOX. THE NOTE THROUGH YOUR DOOR IS A ‘HIGH PROBABILITY’ MATCH FOR JEM FALMER. LOOKS LIKE HE’S BACK IN THE AREA.
29. BRAMBLE
Present day, Two Cross Farm
Seed sits at the head of the table, a handsome vision in fuchsia scarves, her expression of serenity masking her inner turbulence.
Her response to threat is so very different from Fern’s, and over the past decade none of us have missed Fern’s sudden flights of passion or rage, which in hindsight signposted her slow decline into dementia. Thank God we’ve had Seed at the helm for these past ten years; whatever happens next, we can at least trust her to protect us all – to do the right thing. In the warm glow of early evening, she looks up to take the bread basket from the person to her left, breaking off a piece and passing it over the stark empty cross where Robyn should be, into the hands of the next sister. Her pain pulsates through every one of us; we feel it, and we weep for her in our hearts.
Since the horror of the press intrusion yesterday morning, the police have phoned several times, to question Seed further and to warn her again that they could be arriving within twenty-four hours with a search warrant – giving them full access to Two Cross Farm. There are certain questions they’d like to ask us, they say, face to face. Questions about Robyn and Susan and Vanessa. Questions about those three good women who passed through our lives and never made it to old age. As though channelling my thoughts, Seed meets my eye across the length of the table, and she brings her fist to rest over her heart. She knows what will come next.
They’re closing in on our secrets, and now, all we can do is prepare for the end.
30. CELINE
Present day
‘Aston has confirmed we’re pretty much off the case,’ Una explains as Celine steps up into the camper van and starts the engine.
She glances along the side of the house, to where Pip is engaged in conversation with Harry the gardener, her head thrown back in laughter with no sign of the stress Celine knows her sister is really feeling.
‘I know the police have Falmer firmly on their radar since the letter,’ she says, indicating towards the pair at the far end of the lawn. ‘But I still think that one’s a bit strange. And he’s definitely got a thing for Pip.’
Una follows her gaze. ‘I think he’s fine,’ she replies. ‘Let her enjoy the attention, I say. She’s had a shitty time of it lately, and she could do with a confidence boost.’
‘Hmm,’ Celine murmurs, turning the van around and setting off.
‘He said he’d give Pip and the girls a lift into town later,’ Una adds, as Celine turns out of the driveway. ‘If Harry had anything to do with this, I doubt he’d be making himself so visible. At any rate, Aston’s team have interviewed him now, haven’t they?’
‘Have they? We haven’t heard back from Dave to say he’s in the clear, have we?’
‘He was never in the frame, Celine!’ Una laughs. ‘Anyway, back to my update with Dave – as expected, Seed says we’re not welcome back since the press débâcle on Friday. She’s convinced our visit there prompted all this media speculation, and Dave says there’s no persuading her otherwise. I updated him on what small details we managed to uncover – that Bramble is Brenda Harley, and that we located the records for the periods when Vanessa and Susan stayed. And those images you took of the residents’ log – as expected, the names match those five missing women from 1976, which is a whole other investigation, for sure.’
It hardly seems real, Celine thinks, winding down the window to feel the spring breeze on her skin. ‘Did you tell him Vanessa’s leaving date is marked down as the day before she was found?’
‘I did – also that Seed and Robyn were in next-door bedrooms during her stay. He was particularly interested in that; he thinks if we can prove they were involved in some kind of relationship together, they’ve got stronger grounds for a warrant. That’s partly what today’s about.’
The day is warm, the sky a surreal mottled blue over the river as they pull into the car park of the Black Rabbit pub, where they’ve arranged to meet Robyn Siegle’s father, who flew in from the US just last night. They arrive ahead of the Sunday lunchtime rush, and pick a bench overlooking the river and field landscape, just yards from where Robyn’s body was discovered on a wooden jetty among the reeds and bulrushes. As Una fetches their drinks, Celine wonders if her mother had ever sat in this spot, looking out over the horizon, with its river and wetlands to one side, castle and hills to the other. When they drove in, she’d noticed the pub had fresh lobster chalked up as a special; it’s certainly the sort of place Delilah would have approved of. Refined. Attractive. It’s only now that Celine has begun to realise that all her mother’s compliments to her three daughters were about these kinds of things – always the external, never the internal. ‘You look divine when you make an effort,’ she’d say. Or, ‘My, what a marvellous long neck you have, darling.’ Pip had ‘the best legs’. Vanessa enviable eyelashes. Celine a small boso
m ‘to die for’. She couldn’t care less what talents her daughters possessed, so long as they looked good and presented themselves well.
Una emerges from the pub, holding two pints of orange juice and lemonade, since only yesterday they’d both, in varying states of fragility, vowed never to drink again. She’s carrying a bag of crisps in her mouth, which she drops on the wooden table with a jerk of her chin.
‘Una, how on earth did you and my mother become friends?’ Celine asks as Una takes the seat beside her on the bench, overlooking the view. ‘I mean, you couldn’t be more different.’
Una rips the crisp packet wide, and pushes it towards Celine. ‘God knows. We had absolutely nothing in common. I mean nothing. She was from a rich landed background; I was a second-generation upwardly mobile immigrant. She had kids; I had a cat. She was all about the glamour. And well, I was a detective constable when we first met, and you know I don’t even own a lipstick. I’ve never been one for making much of myself.’
‘Don’t talk stupid. You’re one of the best women I know, Una. Make-up or not. I reckon that’s one of the things Mum most envied about you, now I think about it. You’re brave. You don’t need to preen and primp to be who you are – the same couldn’t be said for Delilah. I don’t think I ever saw her not “put together”, as she’d call it. She was terrified of being found out.’
‘Found out for what?’
‘For not being interesting, beneath the veneer.’
‘Of course, there was another reason she liked me,’ Una says, pulling her cheap sunglasses down over her eyes.
‘What’s that?’
‘I was good with kids.’
‘Ha!’ Celine smiles. ‘Someone had to be.’
‘After she left you like that, though …’ Una says. ‘I didn’t hear from her directly for, oh, must have been two years. She knew I wouldn’t approve of her taking off like that.’
33 Women: A gripping new thriller about the power of women, and the lengths they will go to when pushed... Page 21
