off into space as though she’d forgotten where she was.
‘What? Yes. Fine.’ Muriel’s attention finally turned to Anna.
She gave a tight smile. ‘Trying to put things together in my head, that’s all.’
‘Maybe we should see what friends of yours are here.’ Anna
searched the room for Nell, or someone she recognised. ‘It would
be good for you to catch up and we could do a bit of gentle
nudging, see if they’ve been getting any unwanted attention too.’
‘Nell’s not here,’ Muriel stated, without looking up.
‘Well, I’m sure there are people here you could chat with.
Look, it’s filling up.’ By which Anna meant there were now more
than ten people. She had another sinking feeling. Mapledon
really was a dying village by the look of it – she’d yet to see
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anyone other than Rob, Nell’s son, and Lizzie, who were under the age of fifty. And even fifty seemed the lower end of the scale
– most of the people in the hall were approaching their birthday
card from the Queen.
Muriel mumbled something that Anna didn’t catch. She was
beginning to think this outing was just another waste of time
– her mother didn’t seem keen to mingle, and Anna didn’t
recognise anyone, nor did she feel confident enough to strike
up a random conversation with someone.
‘I’m going to get us a cup of tea, Mum. You want cake too?’
‘Yes, go on then. May as well now you’ve dragged me here.’
On the way to the hatch, Anna weaved deliberately slowly in
between the tables, hoping to pick up something interesting in
the conversations. She heard everything from, ‘I’m not able to
get in and out of the bath anymore,’ to ‘The cramp is terrible
in the night; I have to stand on a cold floor to ease it.’ But no mention of doll’s heads or Billy Cawley. Why weren’t people
talking about it? They seemed to be openly discussing him at
the shop on Saturday morning. Surely, he hadn’t already been
forgotten a mere two days later.
‘Haven’t seen you for some years, Bella,’ the woman behind
the hatch said, her large chins wobbling as she spoke. ‘I wasn’t
sure it was you at first, but I put two and two together when I
realised you were with Muriel.’
‘You have one up on me, then – I’m afraid I can’t place you.’
She was going to have to get used to people here calling her
Bella. Even though she’d encouraged the use of Anna before she
left, they’d known her as Bella for far longer here.
‘Angie. I’m a friend of Tina’s.’
‘Oh, yes. You do seem familiar now. I don’t remember you
being Tina’s friend though.’ Anna’s recollection of Angela Moore
was that Tina hated her. She wondered how, or why, they’d
become friends. Unless Angie was telling her own version of the
truth, of course.
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‘Friendships often grow from tragedy,’ Angie said. ‘And even adults have some growing up to do sometimes.’
Anna badly wanted to contradict Angie’s statement – she
hadn’t experienced a great deal of tragedy, but the one she had,
had lost her a friend, not gained her one. She did, however, agree on her latter point. Instead of debating it, though, she
thought she should take this opportunity to mention recent
events.
‘Yes, you’re right, Angie. And this village had the worst kind
of tragedy. I’m glad you and Tina were able to forge a friendship from it. I’m sure she must be especially grateful for it at the
moment, what with him being let out of prison last week.’
‘Oh, gosh, it’s terrible news, isn’t it?’ Angie leant towards
Anna conspiratorially. ‘I don’t like to speak out of turn,’ she
said in a hushed tone, ‘and I swore I wouldn’t say anything here
today – I don’t think it’s something the villagers want to talk
about – but I’ve got a very bad feeling about it.’
‘About Billy?’
‘Yes. I mean, he still has his place in Mapledon. I think he’ll
come back.’
‘I wondered that too,’ Anna said, matching Angie’s quiet
voice. ‘But I’d have thought he wouldn’t be allowed within a
certain distance of his victim’s family, wouldn’t you?’
‘Probably not, but do you think a murderer who’s been inside
for thirty years will do exactly what he’s supposed to?’
Which was just what had been bothering Anna. Billy might
have to attend meetings with his probation officer and comply
with certain conditions – but she assumed he wasn’t tagged, so
in between those meeting times he could go where he pleased
as long as he wasn’t caught.
‘But you haven’t seen him, or heard that anyone else has?’
‘No, not yet. But I’m keeping my ear to the ground,’ Angie
said, whilst tapping her forefinger on the side of her nose. For
a split second, Anna found it comical and had to suppress a
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laugh, though deep down none of it was in the least bit funny.
‘Do you remember that game us kids used to play?’
‘Oh, goodness, yes. Knock, Knock, Ginger – you little horrors
plagued the life out of Billy back then.’
‘I remember. As I’m sure he does.’
‘He actually called the police on numerous occasions. Pat
Vern used to round the kids up and give them a stern telling-off, all the good it did. My, my, Bella. If it hadn’t been for you two playing that stupid game, maybe—’
Angie stopped speaking, her face turning pink. She didn’t
need to finish her sentence. Anna knew the ending. And Anna
knew Angie wasn’t alone in her thinking.
‘Well, hindsight is a wonderful thing, Angie. As well you
know.’
Anna hadn’t meant anything by her comment – she just
thought she’d add it for impact. But the look of guilt on Angie’s face told its own story. The villagers of Mapledon all had their
part to play in Jonie Hayes’ death.
‘Right, well, must get on. Did you want a cup of tea?’
‘Two please, and two chocolate muffins.’
As Anna placed the cups and plates on the table in front of
Muriel, Lizzie caught her attention from the next table.
‘Here you go, Mum.’
‘You were a long time chatting to Angie. Anything interesting?’
‘Not really. Didn’t know she was mates with Auntie Tina,
though.’
‘Ah, yes. Strange if you ask me. Would never have put those
two down as friends, not in a lifetime.’
‘I thought it odd too. But she said their friendship had “grown
out of tragedy”.’ Anna mimicked Angie’s voice.
‘Hmm. Or the need to stick together.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing, ignore me. Bitter old woman. Sour grapes. All that
stuff,’ Muriel said with a wave of her hand.
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9 11:31
‘Sorry to go off again, Mum, but I want to have a quick word with Lizzie.’
‘Yes, you do that.’ Muriel raised one eyebrow. ‘But take what
she says with a pinch of salt. She lies.’
Anna’s stomach dropped. What a strange thing for her mother
to say. Was it part of the suspected dementia – coming out with
odd things out of context? She needed to look into it, and make
a doctor’s appointment soon. ‘Will do,’ she said as she turned
and took a seat back at Lizzie’s table.
‘Hi, again. Sorry about Mum acting a bit . . . odd.’ Anna gave
what she hoped was an apologetic expression.
‘No worries. But I really think your mother believes she
recognises me, Anna.’
‘She might well do. It’s not as if Mapledon is a big village –
and back then everyone lived in each other’s pockets. She
probably remembers you even though you only lived here
briefly.’
‘You don’t, though, do you?’
‘No. But trust me, there’s a lot I don’t remember from my
childhood. We don’t tend to, though, do we? I mean, as adults,
there’s not a lot of recall from before the age of ten or so.
Personally, I struggle to even remember much about my teen
years.’
‘Oh, yes, I agree. But there’s something . . . more . . .’ Lizzie fiddled with her mug. ‘It’s the way that Muriel looked at me.’
‘Mum, Mum, come here a sec,’ Anna called.
‘Oh, no, seriously, don’t bother her now. We can talk another
time.’ Lizzie’s voice sounded panicky.
Muriel rose from her chair and, cup of tea in hand, wandered
across to them.
‘Mum. You remember Lizzie, don’t you?’
Muriel nodded very slowly, almost comically.
‘From when she lived in the village?’ Anna coaxed.
‘Yes. From when she lived here. With her dad.’
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‘Look, really – I’m sure I look like many other people. I wasn’t here long. I don’t think you really can – it’s probably someone
else you remember.’
‘No, no. I would recognise those eyes anywhere. And the fact
you’ve chosen now to come back makes me think I’m right. I
know who you are.’
In the pause that followed it was as though the whole world
had silenced itself – its breath held.
‘You’re Billy Cawley’s daughter, Eliza. And it’s obviously you
who’s been terrorising me.’
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Chapter Forty-One
2019
Lizzie
Muriel had now let the cat well and truly out of the bag. It
would be a matter of minutes, hours if she were lucky, before
the entire village knew her true identity. She wondered how long
it would take them to run her out of the place. Not long if
Muriel had anything to do with it, she guessed. The dark look,
the penetrating stare she was currently being treated to, was one that hurt – even though she’d predicted what would occur when
people found out she was Billy’s daughter.
She wasn’t the person who’d done wrong. She hadn’t taken
and murdered young Jonie Hayes. In fact, if anyone was to
blame, it was Muriel. And she was itching to tell her as much.
Lizzie turned away from Muriel’s death stare and looked at
Anna. Her face wore a shocked mask.
‘Anna, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you when we spoke, but,
well . . . it’s not the easiest confession to make. Under the
circumstances. And I think you understand really, because I got
the distinct impression you weren’t honest with me, either.’
Anna stuttered. Then, failing to utter a sentence, sat back
heavily on the chair.
‘I’m just a little . . . dumbfounded? That might be the word,’
Anna said, finally.
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‘I’m sure you aren’t going to be the only one,’ Lizzie sighed.
‘What are you doing here?’ Muriel said. She’d also seated
herself back at Lizzie’s table. ‘Is it revenge you want?’
‘God, Muriel. Revenge for what? My dad—’ She lowered her
voice, sitting further forward, closer to Anna and Muriel. ‘My
dad deserved what he got. The reason I didn’t want to disclose
who I was, was because I assumed, and probably rightly, that
the people of Mapledon would want some form of retribution
themselves, and if faced with the daughter of child killer William Cawley, I might be the one they focused that revenge on. I’m certainly not after any form of payback here. Not from the
innocent villagers, anyway.’
‘What do you mean, innocent villagers? Do you think there
are guilty ones, and you just want them to pay?’ Muriel said, her voice rising in pitch. A woman on the next table gave them
a curious glance.
‘Please, listen. Stop all this revenge talk,’ Lizzie whispered.
She shifted in her seat again. ‘The only reason I’m here is to
find out if my father came back. And to face him. My being here has nothing to do with any of the others.’
Muriel looked unconvinced. ‘So, you think he’d come back
here, to Mapledon? Why?’
‘He still owns the bungalow. Where else has he got?’
‘But I’ve just had this conversation,’ Anna said. ‘He couldn’t
come back here even if he wanted to. There will be restrictions
in place – boundaries and whatnot. His victim’s family still lives in Mapledon. He wouldn’t be allowed within a certain distance.
His solicitor will probably sell his bungalow. Haven’t you been
contacted?’
‘Yes, I had a letter. But I didn’t read it all,’ Lizzie admitted.
‘Maybe you should, then. You’d be able to find out where he
is through the solicitor, too. He might be at the other end of
the country and we’re all worrying for nothing.’
‘Fair point. But I have this gut feeling – I can’t explain it. I
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was drawn here, like I knew deep down he was here, waiting for me.’
‘Did you never visit him in prison?’
‘God, no! He wrote some letters that were passed on to me
through the solicitor, but I haven’t set eyes on him since I was
taken away from him.’ Lizzie shot Muriel a sideways glance. She
had her head down, looking at her hands in her lap.
‘Social services took you into their care?’ Anna said, her face
softening. It was the pity look Lizzie always managed to elicit
when talking about her removal into care.
‘Yep. Accusations of neglect made them decide he wasn’t a
fit parent.’ Lizzie didn’t go into more detail, certainly didn’t
want to repeat what Rob had said about sexual abuse. That was
something she suspected had evolved from village gossip, and
despite the mention of it as she was growing up, she’d pushed
it to the back of her mind.
‘What about your mother?’
‘De
ad, as you know.’
‘Oh, yes. Sorry. Do you . . . well, remember much about it,
like how he . . .’ Anna stumbled over her words.
Lizzie cut in, helping her out. ‘Do I remember how he treated
me, you mean?’ No one ever really knew how to talk to her once
they found out the reason behind the authority’s decision and
she didn’t like talking about it because it might mean she had
to face up to the possibility he really had abused her. ‘No. I barely remember a thing from that time. Snippets of broken
memories, that’s all. I suppose I remember the feeling I had, though. It lasted for many years. Like a heaviness, as though
there were something sitting inside my stomach. And I sensed
a darkness: I could almost reach out and touch it, it was so
tangible. And something else . . .’
‘What else?’ Anna asked.
‘A missing link, or something that was present but which
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important, but don’t know how, or why.’ Lizzie looked up into Muriel’s eyes, then back to Anna. She caught the confusion in
her expression. Or maybe it was discomfort. Perhaps they both
thought her unhinged. ‘It’s very hard to put into words. I suppose what I’m saying is, I’m the one who has to put it all together. I know it. Like an incomplete jigsaw, I have to find the missing
pieces and make it whole. And once I do, I can move on. And
every fibre in my being tells me it’s here,’ Lizzie said, flinging both arms wide as she cast her gaze around her before allowing
it to settle back on Anna. ‘Here in Mapledon is where it began,
and where it must end.’ Even to herself, she sounded like a
crazed fortune-teller.
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Chapter Forty-Two
1989
Mapledon Churchyard
Sunday 25th June – 24 days before
Billy knelt beside the mound of earth. It was still raised, hadn’t had time to sink; to settle like the other grave plots. He hadn’t had time to settle either. It was hard raising a child alone. Hard to be the dad he knew Eliza needed, the dad Rosie would’ve
wanted him to be.
‘There’s too much to think about, Rosie. And I miss you so,
so much.’ Tears choked him. He regularly visited Rosie’s grave
in the dead of night – usually between midnight and two in the
morning. It was the best time: quiet, calm. Deserted by all bar
I Dare You (ARC) Page 13
