“You see that?” she said pointing as they stopped by the railings. “That's the Devil’s Gate.”
“Creepy. Why is it called that?”
“You already know that Porth an Jowl translates from Cornish to mean the Devil’s Cove – but it can also be translated as the Devil’s Gate. Legend has it that the archway is a gateway to hell. Hundreds of years ago, the gate opened and the Devil came out. He rose up from the water to stalk through the streets, taking the town’s children from their beds and leading them through the gate, straight down to Hell, where they burn to this day. People say that if you listen carefully at night, you can still hear the children crying for their mothers and fathers.”
She glanced at Rachel, who laughed.
“That’s fucked up. I like it.”
“It's why we have Devil’s Day once a year. The locals believe that the Devil’s Day ceremony helps to ward off the devil, keeping the gate shut and the town’s children safe from his clutches. It’s superstitious bullshit, but I think it's kind of cool.”
Nat finished her cigarette and stubbed it out on the sole of her boot, throwing the butt into a nearby bin. They got walking again.
“What does this Devil’s Day ceremony involve?” Rachel asked. “Because I've seen The Wicker Man and I know how that ends.”
Nat smiled. “Everyone in the town marches through the cove and down to the beach, where a sacrifice is offered to the Devil in exchange for him leaving the children alone for another year.”
“Sacrifice? Oh God, they don’t kill a chicken or something like that, do they? Because I don’t want to see that!”
“We're not complete heathens, you know. The mayor makes an offering of cider to the Devil. Everyone in the town drinks a toast and then more barrels are cut open and rolled right into the sea. Which is a waste of good booze, if you ask me.”
“I don’t know. Cider’s gross.”
Nat smiled. But only for a second.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Rachel was staring at her again, making her feel uncomfortable. No one ever stared at her like that except for Rose. “When I walked into the hall earlier, you looked like you’d just heard some bad news or something.”
Nat glanced away, watching a group of children playing badminton on the beach. It was nice to have someone to talk to. Someone who didn't treat her like a freak or take her for granted. But she didn't know Rachel. She didn't know how she would react if she told her what was really on her mind.
“Don't worry about it,” she said at last. “There's some stuff going on right now, but you're on holiday and I don't want to ruin the obviously great time you’re having.”
Rachel shrugged. “Yeah, I’m having the time of my life.”
“I should get back. Rose will be wondering where I’ve got to. And I have to make sure those miserable kids aren’t messing everything up.”
“Rose? Is that your mum?”
Nat tensed. She quickened her pace. “Yeah. I mean, sort of. Foster mum.”
“Oh. How come you don’t live with your own family?”
“It’s...a long, unpleasant story.”
They walked on in silence, Rachel shooting tiny glances while Nat pulled at the neck of her t-shirt. The scars beneath were beginning to itch, taunting her with bad memories.
“Sorry,” Rachel said. “I have a bad habit of asking uncomfortable questions.”
Nat shrugged. “It's fine. It’s just no one ever asks me about it, that’s all. But Rose, she gave me a roof over my head and she's been more of a mother to me than the shit head who gave birth to me ever was, that's for sure.”
Rachel was quiet, walking beside her.
“You're lucky to have her,” she said after a while. “My mum died when I was four. Slit her own wrists. I was the one who found her.”
“God... I'm sorry.”
“Yeah, well, Dad was so upset about it he remarried a year after her death.” A sneer twisted Rachel’s otherwise perfect lips. “Josephine. Talk about the archetypal wicked stepmother. You know, the only reason I’m on holiday with them is because Josephine thinks I can't be trusted home alone. I mean, Jesus, I'm eighteen years old. Old enough to vote, get married, and fuck!”
She flashed a grin at Nat, whose face flushed red. Stepping off the promenade, they crossed Cove Road and headed for the turning that led back to the town hall.
“Anyway, I’ll be getting my own place soon, so Josephine can go fuck herself. Hey, when are you moving to London? We should share a place! Think of all the trouble we could get into.”
She smiled at Nat again, who stuffed her hands inside her jeans pockets and avoided Rachel’s gaze. The town hall was up ahead. Someone was walking towards it from the other side. A mother and child.
Nat stopped in her tracks.
“What is it?” Rachel asked. She followed Nat’s gaze and her eyes grew wide. “Is that who I think it is?”
“It depends on who you think it is,” Nat replied, hunching her shoulders, trying to make herself invisible.
“That’s Carrie Whatshername! The mother. I recognise her face from the news.”
They stood, watching Carrie mount the steps then disappear inside, Melissa’s tiny hand grasped securely in hers.
“Shit.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I don’t...I don’t really want to see her right now.”
“Oh?” Rachel was staring, eyebrows raised.
“Long story.”
“Everything’s a long story with you.”
Nat was still standing, rooted to the spot. She hadn’t spoken to Carrie in months, somehow managing to avoid her – which was remarkable in a town this size, not to mention that Carrie was one of Rose’s closest friends.
“So, are we going inside or what?” Rachel asked. She leaned back on her feet, her fingers drumming on her thighs.
Nat stared at the town hall steps. There was no way she was going in there while Carrie was inside. She hadn’t been able to face her since handing Aaron Black’s videotape over to the police. Guilt pressed down on her shoulders. She tried to shake it off, but it was stubborn and relentless, feeding off her like a vampire.
Now Aaron’s smug face was staring at her again from the shadows. Oh God, Nat! They’re coming! I’m up at Desperation Point. Tell the police to –
“I guess I should probably go?” Rachel said. She was frowning at Nat, who had drifted away, with no clue how long she’d been standing there, blankly staring at nothing.
An idea came to her. One that Rose would lose her mind over. She glanced at Rachel, wondering if she would be game.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
“With you?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure. But what about your painting?”
“It can wait,” Nat said. Her pulse was racing now, a heady mix of fear and excitement making her giddy. “How do you fancy a spot of dark tourism?”
Rachel’s eyes glittered in the sunlight. “What's that?”
“You know, touring murder sites, places where people died, that kind of thing.”
“You mean like Grady Spencer?”
Nat flinched. “Something like that. But not here.”
“Where? Do they have beer?”
“I’m sure that can be arranged.”
Rachel broke into a grin. “You’re a sick, sick puppy. Count me in.”
Returning her smile, Nat held out a hand. “After you.”
They got going, hurrying past the town hall and on towards the high street, Nat glancing back over her shoulder every few seconds. She’d tell Rose that she’d lost track of time. She’d put in extra hours on the artwork tomorrow. And if Rose asked where she’d gone, Nat would tell her she’d been giving her new friend a tour of the land. Because if Rose discovered where they were actually going, Nat would never be allowed to leave the house again.
10
BY THE TIME CARRIE and Melissa walked into the town hall, the day had grown hot and
sticky. The coolness of the spacious, wood-panelled room should have brought welcome relief, but there were more townsfolk here than Carrie had expected – and they were all staring at her. For a brief moment, she considered turning around and going back home, but Melissa was already waving at a few of her school friends, who were busy painting banners in bright colours, and Rose had already seen them come in.
Forcing a smile, Carrie came to a halt at the centre of the hall; close enough for prying eyes to get a better look, but not close enough for keen ears to solicit any gossip-worthy information. She met a few of the stares as Rose waved. Some turned away, while others gave polite nods. Which was something, she supposed.
“Mummy, can I go and paint?”
“Of course you can, sweet pea.”
Ruffling Melissa's hair, she watched her skip across the room towards her friends, then drop to her knees and pick up a paintbrush.
“Well, don't you look like a hot mess?” Rose said with a beaming smile. “I've got a jug of lemonade over there. Homemade and everything.”
“Thanks. I think.” Carrie ran fingers through her damp hair. Her gaze flicked to the group of adults sitting around the long galley table at the far end – older women mostly, because heaven forbid a man might take it upon himself to help out – who were busy stitching and darning costumes for the parade. They were all talking in low voices and not one of them was smiling.
“Everything all right, dear?” Rose asked,
Carrie stared at her. There was something hiding behind the woman’s jovial smile. Concern? Worry?
“You hear the news?” Carrie asked, dropping her voice to a hushed whisper. “About the family that was murdered?”
“We all have,” Rose said. “Nasty business.”
They both glanced at the gaggle of children who were laughing and chatting away.
Carrie said, “They’re talking about Cal on the TV. They think the murders are connected to ... well, to that councillor and his missing son.”
Rose shook her head. “But they don’t have any proof, do they?”
“Similar circumstances, I guess. They brought up that video; the one that Nat found. They're suggesting those kids are responsible for killing that family.” They both glanced at the children again. “Rose, I'm worried. They’re still out there. They broke into my house, abducted me and took me to that farm. The same place where Cal...” She still couldn't say it out loud; after all these months, the words still got stuck in her throat. The same place Cal murdered a man. “What if they’ve come back? What if they're not done with me and my family?”
She could feel the tears stinging her eyes, could hear her voice growing loud and shrill, making the children look up.
Grasping Carrie’s arm, Rose led her through the hall, past the table of staring townsfolk, through a door and into a tiny kitchen tucked away at the back.
“Melissa...” Carrie protested.
“She'll be fine. Now you sit down and take two minutes.”
Rose pointed to a spindly looking table and chairs. While she filled an electric kettle and set about making tea, Carrie perched on the edge of a chair and sat, wringing her hands and glancing at the door behind.
Neither of them spoke until Rose set down two mugs of steaming tea on the table and positioned herself in the opposite chair.
“Go on, drink up,” she said. “Tea will always calm you down even on the hottest of days.”
Carrie did as she was told, picking up one of the mugs and taking a sip.
“The way I see it,” Rose mused, “even if it is those same strange folk behind those killings, the police will find them soon. It's a terrible business and I’m praying for that poor girl they've taken – praying that she’s still alive. But there's nothing you can do about it, Carrie. You have to live your life and goodness knows you have enough to deal with already.” She paused, wrapping her fingers around her mug, but not lifting it to drink. “I know that sounds harsh. I know it probably doesn't help at all, but the trouble is that once you let those thoughts get inside your head, they’re going to eat you up. You’ve been through so much this last year and it's not over yet. The trial’s still to come. The divorce, too, if that's still happening.”
“It is,” Carrie said, a little too quickly. “I think.”
“Well then, even more reason not to get yourself worked up about things beyond your control. Have you spoken to the police?”
“They can’t tell me anything.” She stared at the table, lines wrinkling her brow. “That video – Nat was working with Aaron Black, wasn't she? Helping him to find Cal and those people. Maybe she knows something and doesn't realise it. A clue about where they could be. If she could –”
“No.” Rose’s voice was stern and sharp, making Carrie flinch. “Natalie told the police everything she knew. They questioned her, over and over, until there was nothing left to tell. That girl's been through enough and she hasn't been the same since Mr Black was found dead, God rest his soul. She blames herself, you know. I don't know why or how, but she does. So the last thing she needs is for it all to be dragged up again. To be honest, it’s the last thing I need, too. I swear, that girl is going to be the death of me!”
“Where is she, anyway?”
“She was here a minute ago. Went off with some new friend.” The older woman heaved out a sad sigh. “I feel for you Carrie, I really do. No one in this town can understand how you must be feeling. Oh, there may be naysayers who think they've got it all figured out, but they don't. I'm begging you, for the sake of your sanity and for the sake of your family: let the police handle this. Try to focus on what's in front of you, not on what could be.”
Leaning forward, Carrie pressed her face into her hands. She was quiet for a moment, trying to centre herself. “I’m tired, Rose. Sometimes I think I should just take Melissa and go. Somewhere miles away, where no one knows us. Somewhere we can start again.”
“What about Dylan? He’s Melissa's father. Doesn’t he have a right to see his daughter?”
“I didn’t say I’d do it. But even if I could just get out of this damn town... I don’t know, move to Penzance or something, like Tess Pengelly.”
“Except she’s moving on, I hear. To Wiltshire.”
“She is?” Carrie was surprised. It was hard to remember that she and Tess had once been friends. Harder still to remember that she’d once lived a normal life. She looked up, stared up at Rose’s soft, kindly face. “Being here in the cove makes things so much harder. Everyone’s always pointing fingers, whispering behind my back. With Cal in the hospital and the trial coming up, I feel like I’m going crazy.”
Rose reached out and grasped Carrie’s hands in her own, then gently lowered them to the table.
“Then take a step back,” she said. “We don't know anything about that poor family in Falmouth, or who’s responsible. True, the circumstances are similar, but let the police take care of it. Take a step back or you really will lose your mind.”
Carrie slowly nodded, rubbed her eyes. She felt like she’d lost her mind months ago. “I just wish I could make sense of it all, you know? But if I’m honest, I’m starting to think I never will. If only Cal would say something. Just one sentence so I could understand.”
“Carrie, love...as awful as it sounds, you may never know the truth. You know that, don’t you?”
“Funnily enough, I do. Still doesn’t stop me from hoping.”
Rose let go of her hands and took a sip of tea. “How is the boy doing?”
“I...I don't know.” Carrie dropped her gaze to the table. “I haven't been to visit.”
“Since when?”
“A few weeks.”
“Oh, Carrie...”
“I know, I know.” There it was again. That stab of guilt puncturing her heart. “Everything’s changed. Before, Cal was my little boy who was abducted by that son of a bitch, Grady Spencer. And yes, he did some terrible things. But then he tried to kill Melissa. He stabbed my mother in the chest. And
when that video came out and he...”
Tears slipped from her eyes and splashed on the table.
Rose stared at her, mouth half open. “You haven't watched it, have you?”
“God, no! I could never... But Cal’s solicitor has. He described it to me. My son stabbed Councillor Beaumont to death in front of a group of children. He was coerced into it by that man. The one that looked just like Grady Spencer. The one they believe was his son. And I know he made Cal do it. That whatever he whispered in his ear left him with no choice. But that doesn’t change the fact that my son is a killer. I just can't get past it and I hate myself for it. That’s not my little boy anymore. It’s his body, but that’s not him inside.” She paused, the pain in her heart snatching her breath away, bringing tears to her eyes. “Cal is gone. He was gone the day I lost him at the beach.”
They were both silent, staring into their mugs of tea. The children's chatter floated in from the hall, filling the silence.
At last, Rose looked up, her eyes wet and glistening. “I honestly don't know what to tell you except I'm here for you. We all are.”
Carrie snorted. “Not everyone.”
“Those that matter are. Screw everyone else!” Rose leaned forward. “You remember when Cal was, I don’t know, maybe four or five? We went to the woods for a picnic – you, me, Cal and your mum – and when we got there, Cal saw that big old tree that grows right in the centre of Briar Wood, and he decided he was going to climb right to the top. Except he was so small he couldn’t even reach the lowest branch. You remember that?”
Memories flooded Carrie's mind and she found herself smiling through her tears. “He stamped his little feet and got all angry. Even kicked the trunk a few times. But he wouldn’t give up.”
“No, he wouldn’t. He kept trying and trying, jumping up and stretching out his fingers to reach that branch, until he got so tired that he lay down and fell straight to sleep right there on the picnic blanket. He was always a stubborn little bugger, just like his mum.” Rose leaned closer still, staring straight into Carrie’s eyes. “That's Cal. That's your son. He’s still inside there somewhere, Carrie. There’s still hope for him. After everything he’s been through, there has to be.”
The Devil's Gate Page 8
