The Quiet Girls: An absolutely addictive mystery thriller

by J. M. Hewitt

  ‘I’m not sure how much help he’ll be, but come on,’ she said, ‘I want to get these kids off this island too.’

  ‘Are we actually certain of this?’ Harry asked, holding onto Melanie. He would never let her go again.

  Alice stepped into his view, her face red and angry, still so angry at him. ‘He took Melanie, he forced her to go with him, have you not listened to anything we’ve told you, Harry?’

  He lowered his eyes. Yes, he had been listening, but he wanted desperately for it to be untrue. He looked at each of them in turn, at pale, sick Lenon, at Willow, who returned his stare coldly. His angry wife, his hurt daughter.

  The policeman in his running gear, official and professional and… haunted.

  ‘But, that’s why we came here, so she would be safe, away from all the danger.’ His voice broke in a sob and he turned away, the realisation catching up fast now.

  By removing Melanie from the city, he had led her here, straight into Gabe’s trap. His thoughts tumbled over themselves, bursting free no matter how hard he tried to keep them at bay. I did this, I took my daughter away from everything she knew for her own safety. Instead I invited a monster to come with us. I pressed him to join us, I convinced him to come here.

  Harry stared at what looked like a puddle of vomit near to where Lenon sat with Willow. He looked away, wondering whose it was. Any of them, he guessed. This revelation was enough to make anyone hurl.

  He shook his head a little, realising he was suddenly alert, suddenly clear-minded. He bit down hard on his lip, hating himself for thinking only about himself and how he had been feeling when these kids, his own wife and his daughter were facing horrors beyond imagination.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he gasped at last, shuddering, and covered his mouth with his hand.

  ‘You weren’t to know,’ Paul said.

  Harry hung his head. No, he wasn’t to know. Gabe Hadley was clever and skilled and that had been all Harry had needed. But would he have seen something else, had he not been loaded first on the Fluoxetine and then on Liz’s damn pills? He shivered. The pills Gabe had been feeding Liz to keep her complicit and unaware.

  Another thought hit him, a sudden realisation why everyone was just standing around and not doing anything.

  ‘Oh, God,’ he said, the blood draining from his face. ‘We’re trapped, that’s why you’re all still here, because there’s no mobile signal, and we’re cut off from the city.’ He looked at Paul. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, we’re trapped.’ It was Alice who answered, her voice controlled but with an underlying coat of steel. ‘You wanted to live without all that, no phones, no internet, no way of getting off this island.’ She smiled, but it was bitter and cold. ‘You got your wish, Harry. We’re stuck here.’

  ‘But we’ll get help soon, right?’ Melanie stood up, leaned the length of her body against Harry’s. ‘Ben will be coming back soon. He can take us all home.’

  It pained Harry to hear her refer to Manchester as home, even now, after everything that had happened, was still happening. She still thought of the city as home. His great plan had failed. He had failed.

  He gave her ponytail a gentle tug. ‘I don’t think Ben will be coming, we haven’t made any arrangements.’ It was harsh, telling the truth so bluntly, but what other choice did he have? The severity of the situation sat on his chest like a dead weight. He cast his eyes over the others, his cold, livid wife, the sickly Lenon, the stoic Willow, and the police officer who seemed to have stumbled across someone else’s living nightmare.

  Harry blinked. Detective Sergeant Harper, and another one, also a detective, both of them here. He stood up, keeping his hand on Melanie’s shoulder to steady himself. They must have got here somehow, they hadn’t swum.

  As he rose to his feet, Melanie spoke up.

  ‘Ben’s been coming to the island every week,’ she said. ‘He’s been coming to see Mum.’

  Harry’s first response was to laugh, and it bubbled up, a snort of mirth, and he looked at Alice, ready to share the moment with her, the hilarity that their daughter could get it so wrong. That creative, daydreaming mind of hers that he was so proud of. His laughter faded at the sight of Alice, her cheeks, neck and chest crimson. Not rage this time, but shame.

  And the dead weight crashed down again, the realisation heavy, the truth on his wife’s face, bare and naked for all to see. Harry lowered himself unsteadily back to the bench.

  38

  The silence was deafening. Carrie walked backwards and forwards, stopping only to pick up the rock that Willow had smashed his head with, turning it over and over in her hands. In front of her, Gabe watched her.

  ‘Do you remember my sister?’

  He regarded her with lazy, hooded eyes.

  ‘Mandale,’ he said.

  Carrie swallowed back the bile that filled her mouth. It was him. It was HIM!

  ‘Where – what did you do with her?’ Carrie managed, wishing Paul was here, but knowing if he was, Gabe Hadley might well not talk.

  Gabe remained silent, shifting slightly, uncomfortable, clearly in pain with his leg in the steel jaws.

  ‘I could show you,’ he said slyly, almost shyly. ‘I can draw a map for you, if you like.’ He lowered his eyes, and she noticed his lashes were wet. ‘I’d do that for you if you take my leg out of this thing. I can’t think with it cutting me. I wouldn’t do anything.’ He drew in a jagged breath. ‘I’d–I’d like to try and put some things right.’

  ‘How about you tell me instead?’ Carrie said roughly.

  His shoulders lifted before falling into a slump. ‘I can’t explain, not with this on me. The pain…’ he said hoarsely. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Carrie turned her back on him and walked the hundred yards to the edge of the cliff. She stared down at the water. It was still angry, wind-blown. Ben wouldn’t be coming any time soon. She passed her hand across her face. Her head, along with all her years of training, told her not to free him, that he was lying, that she needed to wait for Paul, get Gabe back to the mainland and into custody and then try to prise the information out of him.

  Her heart fluttered in her chest. It told her to trust him. Her head screamed at her not to be stupid. Her heart beat a gentle rhythm. In her pocket her fingers touched the crumpled paper that Ganju had given her, the point of the stubby pencil she always carried. He could tell her where Hattie was, put an end to the twenty years of suffering that she and her mother had endured. Because the not knowing was the hardest part, and the temptation to believe that Gabe would give her what she needed won out.

  With a deep shuddering breath, Carrie turned to face him.

  She walked back to him, moving behind him, his eyes following her, his body twisting to watch her. Behind him she spotted a large branch, bleached pale by years of sun, a dirty, bleak brown at the end. She stooped to pick it up.

  ‘I’m going to get this off you, if you try anything…’ she trailed off. Words of warning were pointless. He would either do as he had said or he would run, or attack her.

  He twisted his head in her direction. ‘I want to help,’ he said. ‘I want to put things right.’

  Her breathing was heavy, thick as though she’d run ten miles as she inserted the stick into the heavy jaws of the trap. She leaned on it with all her weight, praying the branch wouldn’t snap, praying he wouldn’t attack her. Not fear for her own safety, just a blinding anxiety that if he escaped, if he did anything to her, then the truth of Hattie’s fate would be forever unknown.

  Her face was wet. Sweat, she thought, though she knew by her blurry vision it was tears. Tears that fell as her fingers touched the body of the man that had touched her sister. Her sleeve grazed his hand. The hand that had taken her sister’s life.

  With a final yank she he pulled his leg free. He didn’t stand, but shuffled round to face her, rubbing at the place the jaws had held him captive. She watched as his fingers came away, red with his own blood.

  ‘Thank yo
u,’ he said.

  And as he pushed himself to a standing position he smiled. And with that single, charming smile, even before he had turned to run, Carrie knew she should have followed her head instead of her heart.

  She reached for the branch as his arm came up, ducked as it arced down towards her, not moving quick enough as the blow landed painfully on her neck, pushing the air from her lungs.

  Winded, she scrambled to follow him, pushing off on her hands and knees as he moved towards the cliff edge.

  He turned to face her once more and his meaning became suddenly, horribly clear. He was going to jump. She knew she should be thinking of Hattie, and justice for the little girl who never got beyond six years old, but something switched deep inside Carrie.

  He shouldn’t be the one to choose to end his life. He shouldn’t get to make that decision. She barrelled towards him, wanting now for it to be her that made that choice, to knock him over the edge of the cliff, and if he took her with him then so be it.

  Because she had left Hattie too, she had let her sister down, and perhaps Carrie needed the punishment just as much as Gabriel Hadley.

  She sprang at him, primal, feral, twisting her arms and legs around him, staring through a red haze at his shoulder, animal, as she lowered her face to it and closed her teeth around the pale, bony skin.

  ‘Willow, you keep an eye on everyone. DC Harper and I will be back as quickly as we can,’ Alice instructed.

  Willow nodded, her grey eyes serious as she sat between Harry and Lenon on the bench.

  Alice turned away, furious that out of four adults on the island she had to resort to leaving a fifteen-year-old girl in charge. Harry put out his hand, she brushed it away, unable to speak to him, unable to even look at him.

  ‘Come on,’ she said to Paul. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  ‘Be careful!’ Harry called, his words still slightly slurred.

  She ignored him. And even as she walked away with Paul she realised she should feel shame, guilt. All she had was distaste for the man she had loved for so long. She had cheated on him, been unfaithful, and still he told her to be careful.

  I should hate myself, but it’s all aimed at him, she thought, and it was a bitter taste the thought left in her mind.

  ‘How are you holding up?’ Paul asked, as they made their way across the field towards the cliff top.

  ‘Okay,’ said Alice. She heard the bitterness in her voice, and wondered if she would ever feel anything other than anger again.

  ‘What are you going to do when you get back to Manchester?’

  Alice stared down at her feet as she walked. Bare feet, she noticed still. Absolutely filthy now, and there was a good chance her second toe was broken. She pressed her weight on it and felt nothing.

  ‘You sold your house, right? Are you going to be okay renting for a while, the three of you?’

  It was a simple question, but it set off little fissures of light in Alice’s mind. An epiphany, she thought, and suddenly all the white hot fury melted away. She turned to Paul, offered him a little smile.

  ‘I know exactly what I’m going to do.’

  He nodded. ‘Good,’ he said.

  They walked through the underpass in silence, the only sound Paul’s trainers creating an echo around the dank, graffitied space. Alice moved silently, relishing the feel of the damp concrete on the soles of her feet. She looked at the spray-painted art as she passed, allowed herself to smile at the thought that soon she wouldn’t have to see this ever again, or face the deadly, unearthly silence of the island any more. Soon there would be sirens, the sound of the bottle banks being emptied at an ungodly hour, the noise of the residents complaining about it.

  Her smile faded. All that would be hers if Ben came back for them.

  She turned to Paul. ‘Hey, Ben’s not in trouble is he, for coming here? I mean, you two didn’t scare him off, did you? He will come back, right?’

  Paul summoned a smile, but to Alice it looked forced. ‘We know where he lives,’ he joked. ‘If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll come and get us.’ He hesitated, words ready on his lips, and she nodded at him to let him know whatever he was going to say was okay. ‘He seems to care a great deal for you,’ he said. ‘I’m sure––’

  A yell pierced the air, travelling down the concrete underpass, bouncing off the walls. The echo hadn’t even faded and Paul was off, pounding the ground now, leaving Alice in his wake.

  Alice paused, let the chill of the inhuman noise pass through her, before picking up her skirt and racing after him.

  They were on the ground now, Carrie trying to ignore the pain in her cheek from Gabe’s blows, her only purpose to keep hold of him, no longer trying to push him, no longer trying to pull him back from the edge. Just holding, just keeping her fingers, arms, legs wrapped around him.

  Finally, after a lifetime, she heard pounding feet.

  Her body went slack with relief. She knew that sound, she knew those feet.

  Paul.

  Beneath her Gabe felt her body weaken. He bucked and writhed, shaking her legs loose, and his shirt slipped through her fingers until she was holding onto nothing but air.

  She let out a ragged shout of anger, clawed her way after him, seeing the blood that sprang from her ripped nails, ignoring it, calling for Paul to catch him, to get him. And the feet pounded closer, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the billowing sails of Alice’s skirt and she lifted her head, tried to find Gabe in her sights, and she saw him for a second, free of her, running loose limbed, arms raised, his body as straight and poised as an arrow as he skidded off the side of the cliff, and then she was looking at nothing but blue sky, an empty space where he had been.

  They watched for a while, all three of them, lying on their fronts, peering over the edge.

  The current washed over the rocks below, but Carrie knew they were there, deathly, just beneath the surface. There was no sighting of Gabe Hadley’s body. Had the current taken him?

  ‘Can you sit up?’ Paul asked eventually, and Carrie started at his voice, half-forgetting he was there.

  She did as he asked, rolling onto her back, using her elbows to push herself up. The area around her kidney hurt, but she didn’t show it. Paul came to crouch beside her. Carrie looked at him, wondered why he was such a strange colour before realising it wasn’t him, it was her eye, something on it, or in it. She scrubbed at it and peered at her fingers which came away red.

  ‘Need to clean you up a bit,’ said Paul, leaning close, inspecting the cuts and scrapes and bruises.

  ‘Here.’ Alice yanked at the seam on her skirt, ripped a length of it, using her teeth to cut away the loose threads and passing it to Paul.

  Carrie stiffened as Paul came at her, dipping the material in the rainwater puddles beside them, brushing it gently across her face. But the stiff posture hurt her already beaten joints and muscles, and she forced herself to relax. Alice pulled more ragged strips from her clothes, and moved up to sit beside Paul.

  Together they tended her, patched her up, cared for her, and Carrie let them.

  There was no rush any longer, none of them spoke, until Alice broke the spell.

  ‘Look,’ she said, her voice a whisper, as though if she spoke any louder she might frighten whatever it was away.

  Carrie twisted her body around to stare in the direction Alice was pointing. It hurt too much, and she gave up, leaned back on the rocky boulder against which Paul had propped her while he soaked her cuts. She looked at Paul, and he nodded, put down the last piece of cloth and stood up.

  Carrie waited, closing her eyes against the bright sunshine. She tilted her head back, welcoming the warmth on her face. When she opened her eyes again Paul was close to her, putting his hands underneath her arms, heaving her to stand upright.

  ‘Ben’s here,’ he said, and the relief was evident in his voice. ‘Ben has come back for us.’

  Epilogue

  Six Weeks Later

  Carrie raised
her hand and knocked sharply on the door. She looked around while she waited for someone to answer it, appraising the area.

  It was nice, not flashy or showy, just a standard but spacious terraced house, with views over the Heaton Park Reservoir. Peaceful, Carrie noticed, but residential at the same time.

  The sound of multiple locks scraped on the other side of the door and Carrie turned, expectant. Finally, the door opened. Carrie smiled.

  ‘Hi, Melanie, how are you doing?’

  Melanie grinned, opened her arms and ran at Carrie. Carrie let out an oomph of surprise, her hands hovering in mid-air before settling on the young girl’s back.

  ‘Melanie, let the detective in!’ Alice appeared behind her daughter, a loaf of bread in one hand, the other resting on the door frame. She gave a little wave. ‘Come in!’ she said.

  Carrie allowed herself to be led over the threshold, Melanie’s hand pulling her along. Alice came down the hall.

  ‘Mel, get your shoes on, nearly time to go.’ She regarded Carrie, head tilted to one side. ‘Come in, excuse the mess, it’s a madhouse in the mornings.’

  Carrie blinked at Alice’s choice of words. Madhouse. But it had been said so easily, so breezy, that Carrie smiled and nodded and followed Alice into the kitchen.

  Carrie stood in the doorway, looked around, impressed by the interior. Open-plan kitchen diner, the counters covered in juice cartons, milk, and now the bread that Alice had been holding which she tossed onto a board at the side of the sink. At the breakfast bar sat Lenon, his head bent over his phone, right hand clicking and swiping the screen, his left hand moving spoonfuls of cereal to his mouth. He glanced up; a smile as he recognised the visitor.

  ‘Hello,’ he said.

  Carrie grinned back at him, in awe at the change in the boy. No longer was he reed-thin, he was thicker, fleshier, his skin had tanned as the summer went on. He looked… normal, probably for the first time since Gabe Hadley had entered his life.