To get to the side of the woods Tiggy was entering, I had to walk past a dustbin incinerator. A trickle of smoke circled its way out of the funnel and disintegrated into the slate sky. I tapped the metal with my fingers; it was hot, but not unbearable. I knocked the lid onto the lawn and the movement sent a cloud of ash mushrooming into the air. I picked up a stick and poked around in the soft grey heap, my movement stirring up a brief tangerine glow, but all that I uncovered were a few melting buttons and a zip. I turned to go when something caught my eye; not a button but a tiny face. A china head – the hair sizzled off, but nevertheless an impish face, grinning up at me.
Tiggy barked again and jolted me from my paralysis.
She was already disappearing into the undergrowth. I followed and the brambles clung onto my body, catching the sleeve of my blouse. I paused to unhook myself, flinging the springy branches back into place and my feet kicked against browning bracken and soggy stinging nettles which spilt large droplets onto my patent shoes. The air around me was laden with the scent of moss and wild garlic and, as the atmosphere grew heavier, so the tree trunks thickened.
Tiggy scampered along, kicking up clumps of fallen bark in her wake. As she gathered speed so every instinct in my body warned me to slow down. A pigeon in a branch overhead gave a mournful coo, but apart from that the wood was still – the only sound my footsteps and Tiggy’s scuffling paws. After a few minutes of brushing away overhanging boughs, I arrived at a circular clearing with a heap of earth at its centre. Pink worms straddled the soil whilst white roots combed their way through the rich chestnut wall, guarding what was behind it.
My eyes smarted with tears.
I didn’t want to look.
Tiggy’s whimpering was trapped at the back of her throat and I winced as the sound grated against my eardrums. I clenched my fists, willing her to stop. Then the pigeon chimed in and I put my hands over my ears, hearing the beat of my panicking heart pulsing through my veins. I saw a flash out of the corner of my eye and whipped my head around to see a shovel leaning against a lichen-crusted trunk. The blade was streaked with crimson lines.
When I looked back Tiggy had disappeared, her whimpering now muffled. She was behind the soil partition.
My knees trembled, but I dragged myself forwards until I was standing at the edge of a long, rectangular hole.
I looked down. It took a few seconds to make sense of what was in front of me.
Frank was lying there. A bundle of crumpled material had been flung on top of him leaving only the top of his torso exposed. Tiggy sat on his barrel chest whilst Frank stared up at the sky, his eyes wide open.
The top of his head was missing.
I retched, steadied myself and then promptly threw up all over my sandals. My body convulsed, like I was twitching on the end of a noose in my final death dance. I closed my eyes and as my memory splayed the image across my mind, I realised my mistake. It wasn’t a bundle of material which lay on top of him, but another body.
I tried to catch my breath; sucking in the air through my nose and holding it within my lungs for as long as I could.
Who was the other figure? Could it be Grace? The world was spinning. I sat down with a bump and hugged my knees to my chest.
Tiggy hopped out of the grave again with a fresh coating of redness glued to her fur; amethyst pearls decorating the tips of her white underbelly.
I held out my hand, overwhelmed with the need to make contact with the living. She came and stuck her body into the crook of my arm. I kissed her head and her coarse, warm fur tickled my nostrils.
More thoughts cannoned around my head. Had Grace killed Frank? Had it been like one of those cheap horror movies; that just when she thought she was safe, he, in his death throes, rose up from the grave and killed her.
I screwed up my eyes, but it didn’t stop the thoughts from tumbling into my mind. The voice inside my head whispered that it wasn’t Grace; that wasn’t what she left the house wearing. But the clothes were familiar. I was so frightened I was sure I could taste the metallic bitterness of my own blood upon my tongue.
I had to run for it. Run and get help. Tiggy would be okay – she was a dog. I had to run to the nearest road, flag down a car and throw myself on the driver’s mercy.
I was a child. I could use my voice and ask for help.
Suddenly I heard a soft moaning and I lifted my head, pulling at my earlobes.
I got to my feet. The moaning grew louder.
My whole body trembling, I peered back into the hollow. The person on top of Frank was alive. I stared at the clothes; taking in the diamante buckle, Burberry cap and sunglasses, caught in the clutches of a snaking tree root. I gasped. It was the woman who had come to the gate when we were having our tea on the lawn.
What had Grace done?
I scrambled down into the pit and my shoes made a gentle thud on the earth floor. It was a shallow grave. Did its lack of depth indicate it was unfinished or was Grace simply not bothered? Was she waiting for more bodies before she filled it in? Was this the fate she had in store for me?
I stooped down.
I touched the woman’s soft, powdered cheek. “It’s okay.” A sentence more for myself than her. I slipped my fingers under her chin, scanning her body whilst I felt for her pulse. The nape of her neck was wet; it was as if someone had tipped a tablespoon of damson jelly onto the top of her spine. The strands of her jet-black ponytail were clumped together. Her pulse was faint, but she was alive. I slid my palms under her stomach and rolled her towards me. Her eyelashes quivered then she opened her dark eyes and stared at me.
“Where…where?” she croaked.
My mouth fell open. “Nina?”
She groaned.
“Who did this to you?”
“Frank’s niece, Emily.” Nina sat up and yelped, placing her hands across her forehead and screwing her eyes shut. “You can talk?”
“It would seem so.” I put my hands on her shoulders, steadying her in case she collapsed again. Sweat shimmered on her forehead and a sudden burst of white light shone down through a canopy of leaves giving her olive skin a grey hue. She looked so fragile. Like one of the broken china figurines from the doll’s house.
I looked up. I could see the sun’s rays, filtering through the branches, creating a path of flimsy light. We were in the pit of hell, staring up towards heaven.
“Do you think you can stand?” I asked.
She coughed then all of a sudden, she yelped. “Frank.”
She leaned forwards and pressed her face onto his chest, her long fingers reaching up to stroke his beard. Her bright pink shellac nails were chipped and crusted with black soil.
Sadness sat upon my tongue and blocked the back of my throat. Here was Nina’s husband lying in front of her with half a head. She didn’t know the secrets he had been keeping, and I certainly wasn’t going to tell her. Not now. I touched her arm and gave it a gentle shake.
She sobbed; the noise stuck in her throat, grating – like a grasshopper rubbing its legs together.
“We have to go,” I said, my voice firm. “Gra– Emily will be back soon. We have to get out of here.”
Nina grabbed Frank’s lapels, mauve veins on the back of her knuckles rising to the surface of her skin. “No,” she growled.
“Nina – think of Flo. She needs you. Frank is dead, you can’t do anything for him. Come on. Now. Think about Flo.”
Nina drew in a large breath and shuddered. Meanwhile Tiggy had leapt out of the hole and was running around the perimeter of the grave, scuffing up the soil with her paws. She no longer wanted to be with Frank, perhaps the scent of decay was beginning to repulse her. His inky blue lips protruded from his ruby splattered beard. Those unblinking silver eyes. I shivered. I would have closed them if I had a shred of courage, not least because they seemed to be watching my every move.
I hooked myself under Nina’s arm and pulled her to her feet. She stood up then stumbled, crashing back down onto Frank’s stomach. I
almost toppled onto her.
“You’ve hurt your leg.” I pointed to a large rusty-stained tear in her jeans.
“I don’t think I can walk.”
She was struggling to catch her breath and her skin grew a deeper shade of ash. She spluttered and a maroon trickle ran from her ear canal and down the side of her neck.
Then I heard it and my heart stopped. In the distance – the faint whir and click of a rusty bicycle chain going around. I shot a glance at Tiggy, who was lying with her head on her front paws, her eyebrows twitching. I put a finger to my lips as though the dog would be able to understand. Nina opened her mouth and I clamped my sweaty palm in front of it. I pushed her down and flattened myself into the grave, snuggling my body into the cavity between Frank’s body and the soil wall. My head was aligned to his shoulder and blobs of gelatinous gloop burst against my cheek.
I held my breath.
The cycling slowed down. Was she going to stop? Tiggy stayed where she was, eyebrows still twitching from side to side.
There was the squeak of brakes and the clatter of the bike being lowered onto its side. Then there were footsteps. Grace was chuntering to herself. I couldn’t make out the words, but the tone sounded angry. I heard the rattle of metal being shaken, heavy breathing then the creak and clank of the bicycle disappearing into the distance.
I gulped.
She would be home very soon.
She would find I wasn’t there.
She would find the blood and broken glass.
She would begin her search, probably starting with the woods…
I put my head under Nina’s armpit and with all my strength heaved her up to her feet. By now she was barely conscious, spit collecting at the corner of her mouth. I dragged her out of the hole, hooked my elbows underneath her armpits and pulled her through the undergrowth causing a jumble of muddy leaves to ride up the legs of her designer jeans.
After a few minutes, my back bounced against something, forcing me to stop. I turned and was faced with a large meshed-wire fence which stretched both ways as far as I could see. This was why Grace hadn’t come any further – she couldn’t. I stuck my fingers through the holes and rattled it. The track on the other side led to the road, I was certain of it and I wanted to be on it. I could follow the bridleway, keeping parallel to the fencing, but there was no way of knowing if, when we reached the exit, I would be able to find a break in the fence – it seemed fairly impenetrable.
There was nothing for it, we’d have to go back to the boat house and barricade ourselves in there.
“Is there any chance you can get to your feet?” I asked. Nina gritted her teeth and nodded. I draped her body around my shoulders and dug my shoulder blades in. My breath was ragged with exertion whilst hers rattled with frailty. Tiggy danced around our feet, as though we were playing a game, the rules of which we hadn’t made clear.
After ten minutes I could see the lake glistening through the thinning undergrowth. We came out into the open and I stood there, my face burning and sweat trickling down my spine. About a hundred metres to our left was the boat house. My former prison. I saw a flash of gold underneath the wooden structure which dissolved into the dark water behind the steps, like a star twinkling in the night sky.
I began to sing through gritted teeth; one of Flo’s favourites; So wonderfully, wonderfully, wonderfully, wonderfully pretty, You know that I’d do anything for you. Nina coughed a smile of recognition onto her face and I felt my neck moisten with her blood. I clenched my fists. I had to do this for Flo. I had to get her mother to safety. Shingle crunched under my feet whilst Tiggy dipped in and out of the water, still curious as to the game we were playing.
“Flo,” whispered Nina.
“Yes – that Flo’s song. You’re going to see her really soon.”
It felt like there was steel band circling my stomach, forcing an inner strength to expand into my tired limbs – dredging up energy from my body’s reserves.
I heard a scream. An angry scream followed my name.
“Cassandra,” came the roar.
Tiggy barked.
“Tiggy,” I hissed. “Be quiet.”
Then there was silence on the airwaves, apart from grating shingle and the gentle lap of water.
We reached the boat house and I paused for a few seconds, my back flat against the soggy wooden stilts which the structure sat upon.
Grace’s voice was now full of melody. “Tiiiiiiiigy, Tiiiiiiigy, where are you? I’ve got bic-bics.” That was it. Tiggy gave a giant woof and scuttled away, back to the path which led to the cottage.
I shut my eyes. This wasn’t going to work – Grace would be able to break down the door. Then I heard it; a gentle knocking sound; tap, tap, tap.
I peered into the underbelly of the boat house and there, nudging against the panelling bobbed a small rowing boat. My heart soared.
I sat Nina down against the steps and she slumped forwards onto her lap.
“Don’t worry, I won’t be long,” I said, wading into the water. I gave a sharp gasp as the freezing water hit my shins and within seconds my pinafore skirt had ballooned up around my waist. The air was putrid and, as the blanket of dark water moved, a sheen of algae lolloped towards me, draping my midriff with a coating of bright green. In the corner was a rectangle of golden light – the narrow corridor leading out towards the lake. Is this what I had seen? Not my guardian angel but an optical illusion? What the heck was I doing? There was no going back now. Soon I had reached the boat and I clapped my hands with delight to see that the oars were inside. My fingers shaking, I undid the knot which tethered the nose of the vessel to a rusting metal hook on the wall.
Then I heard barking. Joyous barking. A reunion.
“Cassaaaaandra. Cassaaaandra. Where are you?”
Breath hissed from my lungs and the splash of water echoed around the wooden planks. I pulled the boat towards the steps, ignoring the carcass of a decaying rat which came floating towards me.
“Nina,” I hissed. “You have to help me.” She groaned and opened one eye. “You’ve got to get in here and lie down.” I pointed at the boat and she nodded.
My name was growing louder and louder.
She was coming.
I almost threw Nina into the boat. I heard her joints knock and slap against the inner shell. I pictured the colour of the bruises she would get, if we were lucky enough to survive.
I pushed the boat back into the dark water towards the golden passage.
Grace’s voice was upon me; she was screaming with rage. I waited for her to grab hold of me, but she didn’t stop and thundered up the steps into the building, making the walls shudder. There was still a chance. Ever so slowly, I pushed a path through the water.
I sensed her.
I looked up and there she was, standing above me, her breathing shallow. Tiggy woofed and pawed at the floorboards; certain this was a game of hide-and-seek.
Grace knelt down and pressed her face to the floor.
Our eyes met.
“And where,” she said, her voice silken with laughter, “the fuck do you think you’re going?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Flo
I checked my watch again – it felt like it had been almost two o’clock for ever. Why did time drag when you were waiting for something? The sky had gone dark and big black clouds were stacked on the horizon. I was in the courtyard of Paget Castle, pressed up against the cobbled wall, waiting for Annie’s signal.
We had a plan.
As soon as we’d left Dad, Annie tried Grace’s phone again and this time the status next to her message showed she’d read it. Annie kept the tone breezy. Said she simply wanted to tie up a few loose ends. It was all her fault, bla bla bla, and she was terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but she really did need a signature. Annie let Grace come up with the meeting place and she had picked The Reading Rooms in Great Morton, which was some sort of museum. I’d found Toad Cottage on google maps – it was only a twen
ty-minute drive from the town centre.
So far so good.
The plan was sound. We would split, but both watch Grace arrive. Annie was going to get inside The Reading Rooms early and wait for Grace while I hid in the entrance over the road. Plan A: if Grace had Lily with her then I would go inside too and hide behind the stone pillars in the hall. Annie would pass Lily a note telling her to pretend she needed the loo and then, as soon as I saw her, we’d run to the nearest police station. Plan B: if Grace showed up alone then I would get a taxi from the market square and go straight to Toad Cottage to find Lily while Annie stalled Grace for as long as she could.
Annie wasn’t massively happy with the plan. She had wanted to go straight to Toad Cottage with police back-up and confront Grace there, but I knew we had to find a way to get Lily on her own. We didn’t have any proper evidence to connect all the bits and what we did have – the earring, didn’t exactly make things look good for Lily. Even Annie agreed that there was no way the police or CPS could take action until the photos had been verified and even then, what did it prove? Annie said the police already knew that Grace and Lily had changed their names because of an incident in their past. So what? No one had made the connection between Dad, James and Frank – the time lapse between James’ suicide and Dad’s treatment of Lily was too long plus Lily had been treated under a false name. Add to that the fact the police had closed the case because of all the solid evidence against Dad.
We needed to hear the truth from Lily. If the police went crashing in now with our theories, then Grace would be spooked and still have plenty enough time to snatch Lily and do a runner. This way, though a bit risky, meant we could get Lily to safety, figure out what exactly was going on and then act.
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