I held my breath.
The main door burst open and in came Dad, suspended between two tall policemen. I glimpsed his pale face, his sunken eyes and his even more messy than usual hair. He was wearing one of the suits I’d put out for the charity pile. Grace must have given it to his lawyer, the thoughtless cow. Everyone was staring at him, some people standing on tiptoes to get a good gawp. He was led into the dock and stood there, his hands gripping the edge, knuckles turning white. From the back of the courtroom someone shouted ‘filthy paedophile’ and a murmur of agreement rippled through the auditorium; all the time the usher barking for quiet.
The charge was read out and Clive’s spotty minion; his checked suit peeping out from under his gown, entered a not guilty plea which made everyone gasp. The woman next to me tutted and elbowed me again. Then came the matter of bail and although the minion argued all of the reasons Dad should be allowed home, the Prosecution weren’t having any of it and the Mags, who’d obviously already made up their minds, announced that Dad was to be remanded in custody.
Before I could figure out what was happening, Dad was out of the dock and back through the double doors. I leapt out of my seat after him, not caring who I banged into or trampled upon. I flattened anyone in my way; spurred on by my disgust and hatred of the mob.
I arrived, just as Dad was being bundled out of the back entrance of the building and into an unmarked white van. I called out, Dad, and he turned.
“I love you,” I shouted. “I know you had nothing to do with it.”
The hug.
He muttered something, but I didn’t hear what he said and seconds later a police officer pressed his head down into the car and slammed the door shut.
I leant against the wall. A hand touched my shoulder and I smelt cigarette smoke.
“You okay?” asked Annie.
I couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down my face and when I opened my mouth, no words came out.
“Come with me.” She led me down the corridor into a small kitchenette; plastic chairs pushed up against the scuffed walls. Annie flicked on the kettle.
“He’ll be safer on remand,” she called out over the hiss of boiling water.
I blew my nose. “When can I go home?”
Annie held up a teabag and a sachet of coffee. I pointed to the teabag.
“Wouldn’t you be better to stay away a bit longer?”
I shook my head.
“You don’t take sugar, do you?”
“No. Thanks.” I paused. “Grace sent me a text to say she doesn’t want to see me anymore.” The words came spewing out of my mouth and left me breathless. “She says the evidence against Dad is too much.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Annie screwed up her eyes as she tried to scrape back the lid of a milk pod with her fingernails.
“I mean why would he put her shoes in the pond then tie them up with her knickers? It’s just ridiculous.”
“Panic.”
Annie handed me the tea and I muttered my thanks. “I want to sleep in my own bed. You’ve got my prints and DNA samples so it’s not going to matter if I’m there or not, right? All my stuff is at the house.”
Annie took a sip of her tea and blinked slowly. “Technically, I’m off the case.” She darted her gaze towards the door and took a step closer to me. She lowered her voice. “It doesn’t mean I’m not still keeping an eye on how things are progressing. But Flo, mate, it’s not looking good. There are a lot of things which point to Tom being involved in Amelie’s death. I mean, there’s Amelie’s DNA in the back of his car, he had a burner phone which he used to text her on.” She paused and took a deep breath. “That’s only the start of it. He visited kiddie chat rooms; he has a web history of looking at pornography.”
Hot tears spilled down my cheeks again.
“But…” said Annie.
I hiccupped and glanced up. There was a moment’s silence broken by the gurgling of the sink. “You don’t buy it, do you?”
“Let’s just say, it’s a little too neat for my liking.”
“There is one thing maybe you could consider looking into on the quiet.”
Annie raised an eyebrow.
“Lily was…” I swallowed. “She was really scared of Frank Fanshawe – Mum’s husband. I know it sounds weird, but for some reason she thinks he has something to do with what is happening to Tom.”
Annie tutted. “Ah! Flo, isn’t that just wishful thinking on your part? I mean, I know you don’t like the guy, but dragging him into it is kind of…childish. Especially as he’s funding Tom’s legal fees.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but just then a small, female officer poked her head around the door. “Ma’am?” With that Annie drained her tea and shot out of the door, leaving me a tear-stained mess though, at last, I did have something to cling to: Annie was still on our side.
Chapter Eighteen
Grace
I had searched all over for the earring, but it was an impossible task; it could have been anywhere.
What drama! No wonder I was exhausted. I decided to rest for a bit before I resumed my search.
I needed a drink – it would help me to get things into perspective. Losing the earring wasn’t the worst thing to have happened so far. I grabbed a vodka bottle, no need for mixer this morning, put on my comfy Juicy Couture tracksuit and went back into the snug.
They would be announcing Tom’s incarceration this lunchtime. I raised my glass; here’s to you Tom. I sank into the armchair, my mind whirring with plans. I knew I would have to keep a very low profile from now on and so had closed the café indefinitely, taking all the money from the business account. In spite of that, I was feeling positive. I don’t know if it was helped by the booze, but I’d lost all immediate sense of panic. My reasoning was this; if Frank had seen me, I would have known about it by now.
I sat in the study, laptop resting on my knees, Smirnoff on the coffee table. I was looking at places where Cassie and I could escape to. As long as the police could contact me, it wouldn’t matter where in the world we were. Over the next couple of days, I was going to claim public harassment and go into hiding. I had seen nothing and heard nothing – besides which, it wouldn’t come to a trial, he’d be forced to make a guilty plea just to avoid being butchered in prison.
I fell asleep and for the first time in what seemed like an age, he came to me in my dreams.
***
I was sitting dangling the tips of my toes in the water while the sun beat down on my forehead. I watched him from behind my dark glasses, drinking in every drop of his being. He was lying on his front, tanned arms hanging over the side of the jetty, fingers trailing to and fro upon the surface of the lake. His long hair tumbled around the tips of his shoulders and I heard his laugh bouncing off the water; saw the muscles in his calves quiver as he shunted himself along the wooden walkway.
He was humming the tune to a folksong; something about going down to a river to pray. He sang it all the time and was trying to teach it to Cassie.
Cassie had lined her jam jars along the very edge of the slats. They were filled with water, but so far were empty of livestock. She began to whine; it was like a mosquito in my ear. There was a splash followed by a scream. He laughed and she stamped her little foot. Suddenly, he pointed and whispered: there, over there. Cassie squeaked with euphoria and seized her net, dunking it into the water. He guided his hand on top of hers and they scooped, lifting the quivering nylon aloft. Something within flapped and wriggled, catching the sunlight and casting a spark into the cloudless sky. Cassie, now screaming with delight, wanted to know what they had caught and he, sitting back on his heels, lowered the mesh into the jar, declaring their prize to be a very fine specimen of minnow.
Cassie held the kilner jar to her eye and oohed and aaahed. Her small, sun-kissed body shivered with delight. Setting the fish down, she lowered herself onto her stomach; heart-shaped face cupped in her hands, dark eyes flashing, curls cascading down the back of her gin
gham pinafore.
He turned to me and grinned, showing the tiny gap between his front teeth. “What do you think of that, oh ye of little faith?” he asked and I gave a coy smile, one I had been practising in the mirror; forcing a dimple to my left cheek. I fluttered my eyelashes and gazed into the distance.
Cassie stated that she was hungry. A ravenous hunger which had hit her that very instant and had to be acted upon immediately. He looked at his watch and said it was a bit early, but why didn’t they all have a biscuit and some lemonade to bridge the gap until lunch. Cassie cocked her head on one side then announced that this would do.
I had to bite back my anger when the child came over, chubby fingers splayed around the jar, and plonked herself into my lap. He smiled and folded his arms in approval at our sisterly bond. Cassie demanded I admire her new pet.
Ah! I said, unable to prevent the mischief bubbling up inside me, but have you seen the mermaid yet?
He paused as he took a bite of his biscuit.
The little girl within my arms fell silent, her body tight with the desire to know more.
He finished his biscuit, his dark eyebrow arched, and took a swig of lemonade before handing me the bottle. My mouth trembled as it closed around the rim; how I longed for the taste of him on my lips. The weeping willow became a blur as the lake spun.
He was all smiles and curiosity. Do tell, he said with a nod of his head.
Cassie hopped off my lap and settled herself so she could see my every expression. I shrugged, threw back my head and knowing full well his eyes were upon me I began my tale of Myrtle the mermaid, who lived deep within the belly of the lake. I told the story, stretching and elongating the details until they could expand no more. Lovesick Myrtle, with her crown of forget-me-nots, radiant skin and long flowing hair.
After the story ended Cassie remained silent. She got to her feet then with fairy steps went to the edge of the jetty and peered over.
Cassie was no longer hungry.
The pet fish was no longer wanted.
He told me I was clever then followed it with a touch to my shoulder. He smelt of exotic spices; dark and mysterious. I longed for him to pull me towards him and plant a kiss upon my lips.
Had I put sun cream on? I needed to sit in the shade. Here! He disappeared for a few seconds and returned with his arms full of cushions from the boat house. He arranged them under the eaves of the slanting roof then took my hand and guided me over. He winked then declared he must get back to Cassie duty. He stood in front of me and through his linen shirt I could see his stomach; the gentle channels which separated his muscles.
He patted my head.
The next minute he was alongside Cassie, cajoling her into reading for him, but all that mermaid talk had made Cassie restless.
Tell, her Em, he called, tell her you can only see a mermaid at night, if there is a full moon. I pretended I had fallen asleep.
I started. Cold water was dripping onto my bare skin. He stood over me laughing and dropped something onto my tummy. I sat bolt upright. It was a garland made with water forget-me-nots. And who shall wear the starry crown, Good Lord, show me the way, he sang.
He winked. “A crown for the Lady of the Lake,” he said, before bowing and returning to Cassie. I held the icy flowers to my palms trying to extinguish the fever which burned underneath my skin.
“Ahoy there,” shouted a deep voice from across the water.
His whole body tensed then he turned, eyes wide, voice jagged; I thought your father wasn’t going to be here today.
Chapter Nineteen
Lily
I sat in the car breathing in a musky, salty aroma which I couldn’t place. I leaned my head against the tinted window, its surface cool and hard against my temple. My thighs stuck to the bucket-like, leather seats and the seatbelt sliced into my waist. Tiggy paced around, sniffing each patch of floor to find a comfortable spot. Frank sat to my left with one elbow perched on the rectangular armrest which divided us. His fingers were curled into a fist and a signet ring on his pinky finger blinked at me. It had a tiny, sparkly diamond surrounded by deep grooves which spread out from its central position and were arranged like the sun’s rays. Frank was overweight but he was also tall with long limbs and broad shoulders. He was a giant of a man; the sort who spilled over boundaries.
There had been no other option but to get into the jaguar with Frank. He was persuasive and charming; deeply concerned about my health and, in his very humble opinion, I had to go straight back home to bed. Nina had accompanied us to the wide entrance porch of the hotel to shower us with air-kisses and to wave us off with cheery toodlepips. Frank’s thin lips were stained with red wine which matched the colour of his trousers and before he clambered inside, he had put an arm around Flo and kissed her on the cheek. She wriggled out of his grasp and bolted down the steps to the car.
Flo stared in at me, her eyes wide and unblinking. She couldn’t do anything apart from run her fingers through her hair and mouth sorry over and over again. I stared at her and, holding one palm up to the window, I hid my index finger which I was jabbing towards Frank.
Flo nodded.
My window closed.
Frank tapped on the tinted partition which separated us from the chauffeur, and it slid away to reveal the shaven back of a man’s capped head. “37 Orchard Close, Far Langton,” said Frank with a grin; a ball of spit had gathered at the corner of his mouth. The driver nodded then closed the window and the locks on the doors clicked. I was a prisoner in a moving darkened cell with absolutely nowhere to run. Thank goodness Tiggy was there, her warm body curled up next to my feet, wiry fur tickling my ankles. I thought of poor Barney and shuddered.
“I suppose, by now, you must be wondering who I am?” he asked, and he rubbed his whiskers making a scratchy sound. “I must say, I do find it extraordinary that even after all these years you still choose to play dumb, but then again, you always were a stubborn little bitch.” The insult came from nowhere, as though someone had punched me in the back of the knees causing me to fall flat onto my face.
He lifted the lid of the armrest and pulled out a small pad of paper and a silver-lidded pen. I was hit by another whiff of something which conjured up the image of seaweed pasted onto a shiny, wooden groyne; me running along the beach with a bucket full of seashells swinging from my hands. I wrinkled my nose and he snapped the lid shut, placing the pen on top.
He tapped a fat finger onto the paper. “This is for you. I expect you will want to ask me some questions.” He winked and then, in a swift movement, he reached over the divide and placed a clammy palm onto the back of my hand. Immediately I peeled it off, throwing it back onto his own lap. Fear and anger churned inside my stomach.
He threw back his head and laughed; a rich, throaty chuckle showing all his tomb-stone teeth. He licked his lips. “Feisty. Just as I expected. Good. I like a challenge.”
I twisted my head and looked out of the tinted window as the world whizzed past, all cloaked in midnight blue. Frank repulsed and scared me – I wanted to tear the pad up into little slivers and stuff them into his purple mouth, but I dug my fingernails into my palms and resisted the urge. I had to know who he was and why he had suddenly appeared in our lives.
“I’m very happy to do the talking,” he said, guffawing. “But it’s hard to know where to begin. You see, once upon a time I knew you, your father and your sister very well. Do tell me, how is dear Emily?”
That name again. He knew who we were. I swallowed and concentrated on interlocking my fingers, one by one. I had to stay calm. He wasn’t going to attack me or do anything bad with the chauffeur sitting just behind our heads. I may not have been able to speak, but I could thump my hands against the glass to get his attention. Just then the car jerked and Tiggy jumped up onto the seat, curling herself into my lap. I tickled the underside of her pointed snout and she closed her eyes.
“Tiggy likes you. I wonder if she remembers you after all these years. She’s quite an old
lady now, you know. I bought her for you when your father went crazy. Do you remember? Poor Tiggy was terribly upset when you both ran away.”
Tiggy’s breath was warm against my thigh. I would have remembered a puppy, wouldn’t I?
Frank clapped his hands together. “Enough of that. Let’s talk about you, shall we?” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Ah! But you were such a wild little beast. You have a lot of my sister’s spirit in you. Your father, bless him, had absolutely no idea what to do with you, but then again, poor old James wasn’t exactly cut out for parenthood.”
Frank was my actual uncle?
He turned to me. I sensed his eyes drilling into my skull. He waited, his breath catching at the back of his throat. Eventually I turned my head and stared back at him.
“Do you remember Daddy Dearest?”
I shook my head. Even if I had wanted to, I wouldn’t have been able to unravel my tangled thoughts; to pull out what was a memory and what was a wish.
Sparkly eyes, strong arms lifting me high in the air and spinning me around; laughter; fishing with nets in a big lake.
Frank crawled his fingers along the edge of the window. “I remember how much you loved mermaids. Emily told you there was one in the lake, didn’t she?” He sucked in his breath and tapped his index finger on the shiny wood on the inside of the door. “Now, let me see. What was she called?”
I dug my fingers into the soft folds of skin behind the dog’s ears.
“Myrtle wasn’t it?”
I closed my eyes and willed myself not to think of the mermaid, enticing me down to the deep, but it was too late. She was already there; hair swirling out behind her and tangling itself between the strands of emerald weeds, begging me to help her.
“You caused quite a fuss that night when you clambered out of bed and went down to the lake to try and find her. Quite. A. Fuss.” For a few seconds he chewed his lower lip. “You were a wild mouse before that, scampering about the place, doing your own thing, but, after Myrtle-of-the-Lake, you became intolerable.” He scuttled his hand through the air, fingers dangling like little crawling paws. “That’s when James’ addictions spiralled out of control.”
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