“What are you doing, girl?” Rose called out, swinging her arms as she descended the hill. The day was already warm and her face was shiny, beetroot red. “Why are you standing on your own like a lonely lemon?”
Nat shrugged. Turned away as Rose stopped in front of her.
“Well, we’re just about ready to get going. Once those bloody kids work out which way front is. Don’t they teach them anything in school these days?” Rose winked. Then frowned. “What's wrong? You've got a face on you like a wet weekend.”
“I’m fine.”
Nat leaned out, staring past Rose and up the hill. Perhaps Rachel had overslept. Or she was in the middle of an argument with her parents, who no doubt wanted her to spend another day with them on another boring excursion rather than hang out with a new friend. The holiday park was just over the crest. It would take Nat just a few minutes to find out the truth.
“Be back in a sec,” she muttered as she started forward.
Rose held onto her arm. “Where do you think you're going?”
Nat didn't answer. Only glared as she attempted to shrug her off. When Rose showed no sign of letting her go, Nat blew air through her nose. “Rachel’s supposed to be here. I’m just going to find out where she is.”
“No, you're not,” Rose said. “The parade is about to start.”
“So? I'll be two minutes.”
“No. Absolutely not. You’re staying right here whether you like it or not!”
Nat glared at her, surprised by Rose’s sudden anger. She shrugged her off and rubbed her arm.
“Jesus, what's your problem?”
“I'll tell you my problem, Natalie Tremaine! You've put blood, sweat, and tears into this festival. Spent hours of your time creating all these wonderful designs and helping all those little kids to finish their own. And now you're going to turn your back on it all, just because you’ve gone all doe-eyed over some girl you’ve known for two bloody seconds!”
Nat stared at her, mouth hanging open.
“Oh, I'm not a bloody idiot!” Rose said throwing her hands in the air. “I’ve known forever that boys aren't your cup of tea and it don't make no difference to me, neither. But what does make a difference is the lack of respect you have for yourself.”
Nat could feel her cheeks burning, her heart pounding in her chest. “No, you’re wrong. It's because –”
“You're always putting yourself down, you are. Always making a joke of things. Always saying everything is terrible, like the world is at an end. And yet you filled those kids with smiles and laughter. You created all those bright colours and you made me proud. All those nasty thoughts you have about yourself just ain't true – you're a good person, Nat! A good person with a gentle heart – and for once, just once – I want you to stand here with me and watch all the good you've done come to life. Because you deserve it. No matter how bad you think you are, you deserve it.”
Her face was crimson now. There was a lump in her throat, rendering her mute and unable to defend herself. Tears were coming, welling up from the depths. Everything Rose had said was a lie. Nat was not a good person. She did not deserve to stand here, feeling proud of herself for a job well done. She was a freak and a loser, and she didn’t care about anything or anyone, least of all herself. Why was Rose even trying to convince her otherwise?
Nat glanced up the hill, heard the band starting up. She thought about making a run for it.
“Please,” Rose said, gently now. She leaned in closer and ran a hand over the back of Nat's head. Nat flinched, but didn’t shrug her off. “You've done me proud, girl. It breaks my heart to see you so beaten down, never giving yourself a break. When are you going to learn that what happened to Aaron Black isn't your fault? You didn't kill him.”
Here they came. The tears – welling in her eyes, blinding her, spilling down her face. Nat shook her head. Took a step back. Why was this happening now? In broad daylight, with the parade about to begin and all the neighbours out in force?
Stop fucking crying! Stop it now!
But they wouldn’t stop. There were years and years of grief buried inside her. Now, it was all coming up in one go.
“It is my fault!” she said, her voice breaking. “You don't even know what you’re talking about!”
“I may not know what happened that night,” Rose said, her voice soft and soothing, making everything worse. “But neither do you. Whatever happened between the two of you – whatever words were said – you’re not responsible for his death. Those people from that video are. The police know it. I know it. The only one who doesn’t seem to know it is you.”
At the top of the hill, the marching band started up, filling the air with a swooping traditional Cornish ditty.
Nat shook her head, freeing more tears. She wanted to tell Rose. To tell her the truth about what happened that night. The truth that had been festering inside her like an infected wound, spreading poison through her veins, killing her slowly.
“What is it?” Rose urged, her face taut with worry. “What is it you're not telling me?”
“He called me!” Nat cried. “The night he died, Aaron called asking for my help. I didn't pick up, Rose! I sat there, angry at him and getting drunk. They killed him, but it’s my fault! He’s dead because I didn’t pick up!”
Her face was wet and stinging. Nat furiously rubbed her cheeks with the back of her hand, then flashed a glare at her neighbours, who were pretending they hadn’t seen or heard. Then she was sobbing uncontrollably.
Rose grabbed Nat by the shoulders and stared up at her. “Look at me! You'll never know if answering that call would have made any difference. You need to let it go. If you don't, it will eat you from the inside out.”
Nat stared back, felt her legs trembling, the fight extinguished as she wept. She was a child again, lost and terrified of everything in the world. Rose pulled her close, wrapping arms around her back. Nat melted into her embrace. But only for a minute. She was letting her guard down. Making herself vulnerable. Showing weakness.
Shaking Rose off, she turned away and wiped her face.
It was as if Rose had sensed it was enough. She dropped her hands to her sides and cleared her throat, then glanced up at the crest of the hill.
“They’re coming,” she said. “Now, stand here with me and watch all your great work come to life.”
Nat watched. A giant red devil was appearing over the crest of the hill, reptilian yellow eyes flashing in the sunlight. It was at least fifteen feet tall, with sharp, curved horns pointing up to the heavens and a maniacal grin that leered over the town of Porth an Jowl. Its papier-mâché body swayed from left to right as the six people carrying it struggled to keep it balanced. And then the devil was descending the hill, followed by a gaggle of schoolchildren in fancy dress, carrying bright banners ablaze with an explosion of colours; banners that Nat had designed. The colours seem to dance in the sunlight, swirling and spinning in a kaleidoscope. Behind them, the marching band continued to play, cymbals crashing, xylophones chiming, flutes and clarinets rising and swooping through the air. More people followed behind, all dressed in red devil masks and garishly-coloured rags, all skipping and dancing in wild rhythms.
Nat watched the procession draw closer. Saw the devil loom over her like a titan. Next to her, Rose reached out and squeezed her hand. Nat squeezed back, tears like diamonds on her skin, pride rising and soaring along with the music.
25
THE HIGH STREET WAS filled with hundreds of people, all swarming the pavements and jostling behind the metal barriers that had been erected on both sides of the road. Music, barely audible above the din of the crowd, played from speakers attached to streetlamps. Most of the shops were closed, their staff joining the gathering throngs in anticipation of the Devil’s Day parade.
Carrie stood at the edge of the square, arms clamped around her rib cage, a mild headache pulsing at the top of her skull. It was a hot day, but the sheer amount of bodies was turning the air to treacle. She
glanced up, nervously eyeing Dylan, who was standing next to her along with his parents, Joy and Gary, who were commenting on the growing crowd – a huge improvement on last year's turnout and hopefully a good omen for the town's profit margins this summer. Carrie hoped so, too. But Kye’s cheque would greatly lighten the burden.
She was still unsure how she felt about him turning up out of the blue and handing it to her after years of silence. She was even more unsure how she felt about having slept with him. She knew that the two elements were disconnected – the only trouble was no one had told her conscience. It wasn't that she regretted sleeping with Kye – she was a grown adult, who was currently separated and exploring her options – but she was afraid of how Dylan would find out. And he would find out, sooner or later. She was surprised that the news hadn’t already reached him; after all, twenty-four hours in Devil’s Cove could sometimes last a lifetime.
Shifting her weight, she turned her back on Dylan and stared down the length of the high street to watch the excited faces of the crowd. There were locals here, but most of the visitors were either tourists or came from nearby towns. It was good to see the streets of Porth an Jowl buzzing with excitement, which was infinitely better than the emptiness that pervaded the town during winter, made worse by all the terrible events of the last year. Perhaps this summer would bring the change that the town so desperately needed.
“Hey.” She felt Dylan’s lips brush her ear in that intimate way reserved for couples. Startled, Carrie pulled away. “Everything okay?”
“Sure,” she said, her skin prickling as she winced at her non-committal tone. “I didn't sleep well, that's all.”
“The heat keeping you up?”
“Something like that.” She turned away, sure that her cheeks were glowing and poker-hot. “It’s those murders in Falmouth. I’ve been worrying.”
“About what?”
She stole another glance at his concerned face, then at Gary and Joy, who, to her relief, were deep in conversation of their own. She could only imagine what they had to say about her behind closed doors. The separation had sparked all manner of gossip around the town. Gary was a private man; Joy, popular among the women. Carrie was sure everyone had something to say to them about their son’s disaster of a marriage and train wreck of a wife.
“About what?” Dylan repeated.
Carrie shrugged. About the fact that the police still hadn’t released the identity of the child found dead in the woods. About the fact that DC Turner had yet to return her calls. About the fact that she’d had a terrible, cloying feeling in her stomach since turning on the news yesterday morning. Which could be guilt, she supposed. But she wasn’t convinced.
“Forget it. It’s just flashbacks, that’s all.”
“Well, I think this is good for us all being here together today, don’t you?” Dylan said. “I mean, for Melissa’s sake. It’s been a difficult year for everyone, especially her. She's so young, probably doesn't understand even half of what's going on. It will be good for her to see her mum and dad getting on so well.”
Carrie smiled, avoiding his hopeful gaze. “I guess.”
She only hoped that Melissa seeing her parents together like this didn't give the wrong impression. Expelling a deep breath, she glanced across the road. Dottie Penpol was on the other side of the barrier, hands twitching in the air as she chatted to Mabel Stevens, who ran the post office, and Jack Dawkins, proprietor of Porth an Jowl Wine Shop. Carrie groaned. The three biggest gossips in town conspiring together, with Dottie no doubt filling them in on every juicy detail of who she'd seen leaving Carrie’s house early yesterday morning.
Her mind wandered back to the cheque, wondering if she should just cash it in and get out of this town before the rest of her life finally imploded.
She felt a hand on her arm, gently squeezing her.
“Are you sure you're okay?” Dylan said, closer now, the vein in the centre of his forehead gently pulsing. “You seem...I don't know...distracted or something.”
“I’m fine.”
“Actually, I thought we could talk later. Tonight maybe. About us.”
Carrie shot a glare at the gossiping trio across the street. Dylan was going to find out about her encounter with Kye one way or another. She could either tell him herself, then watch the hope die from his eyes and any chance of a working relationship, parent to parent, die with it, or she could sit back and let Porth an Jowl’s Gossip Brigade do the work for her. She didn't know which would be worse. Either way, the end result would still be the same. She and Dylan would not only be over, but their co-parenting would be reduced to monosyllabic greetings on handover days and snide comments made behind each other’s back.
“Carrie?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you hear what I just said?”
Their marriage was over. She knew it now. If she was honest, she'd known it for months. But what else was she supposed to do? Stay with him for the sake of Melissa? Smile and laugh in all the right places, attend dinner dates and family gatherings, pretending everything was okay when she was dying inside? How could that be better for Melissa? Or for Dylan? Or for herself?
Shoulders heaving, Carrie stared up at Dylan's deep, brown eyes. How could he not know that it was over? How could he bear the uncertainty or the hope? The right thing to do was to tell him face-to-face. To save him the indignity of finding out through a bitter chain of embellished whispers.
But not now. Not here. He deserved more than that.
Marching band music suddenly soared over the din of the crowd.
“They're here!” Joy exclaimed.
Relief pouring through Carrie's body, she turned towards the junction where Cove Road met the high street. The music grew louder. The crowds bristled with excitement. Then gasps rang out from the throngs as a huge, lumbering, red devil emerged straight out of a monster movie. Cheers and applause ran up and down the street. The devil towered above them, yellow eyes glinting, white, pointed teeth flashing.
Carrie shot a glance at Dylan, who had turned away from her, the sting of disappointment still lingering on his face.
“Look at that!” Joy cried, clasping her hands together. “What a fright!”
Beside her, Gary nodded appreciatively. The devil rounded the corner, turning onto the high street. The rest of the parade followed, rounds of schoolchildren waving brightly-coloured banners in the air, the marching band blowing trumpets and banging drums, and dancers dressed as smiling demons all spinning and twirling.
Carrie felt nothing but sorrow. Her heart grew heavy in her chest. Her breathing, thin and shallow. Her relationship with Dylan was over. She didn't know why the grief was hitting her now. After all the trauma they'd experienced this year, all the pain, and betrayal, the end had been a long time coming. She stared at him, watching a smile light up his face as he pointed at the parade.
“There she is!”
Carrie followed his gaze, searching the painted faces and brightly-coloured costumes of the schoolchildren. There were butterflies and ladybirds, pirates and parrots, and two children dressed as Cornish pasties. Melissa was dressed as a pirate, a patch over one eye as she and her partner held up a fluttering banner with a skull and crossbones. She glanced up as Dylan called her name. A smile, bright and joyful spread across her face. She freed one of her hands from the banner, making it wobble, and waved in her family’s direction. Carrie and Dylan both waved back, followed by Joy and Gary.
“What a smile!” Joy laughed. “Butter wouldn’t melt!”
“That's my sweet pea,” Carrie whispered. She owed it to her daughter to work things out with Dylan. Not to get back together. Not to lie. But to find some amicable middle ground so that Melissa always felt safe and loved.
Someone was watching her.
She felt eyes on the back of her neck. Prickles on her skin.
Carrie turned around in time to see a young woman disappearing into the crowd. She only saw a glimpse of her face, but she was struck by a
n uneasy feeling of familiarity. She stared at the empty space that the young woman had occupied just moments ago, then scanned the crowd.
“Mummy! Mummy, watch me!” Waving her hand wildly, Melissa almost dropped her end of the banner, earning a cutting glare from her partner.
Carrie smiled and waved back, a sudden and inexplicable dread chilling her to the bone.
26
CHAPERONED BY ALISON and Kit, Lindsay carefully made her way along the wide stone causeway that led from the sandy beach to the tiny island in the distance; a slab of rock with a small village sitting at the base of a sloping, tree-covered hill. Protruding from the top was an impressive-looking castle. St Michael's Mount. Lindsay had visited it before, a few years ago on one of the annual family holidays. She thought the Mount itself was cool, but the castle interior was stuffy and boring, filled with old things that held no interest for a young child.
What were they doing here now?
They had travelled from the compound in a battered old car, Kit driving, even though she didn't think he was old enough, Alison in the back seat with Lindsay lying across her lap and Alison’s firm hand making sure she stayed there. They’d driven for what seemed like a long time, parked the car on a stretch of gravel overlooking the long strip of beach, then Alison had made Lindsay put on a wig of thick, dark hair. Getting out of the car, they’d made their way through the dunes, Kit and Alison dressed in dark clothes, their heavy boots kicking sand over sunbathers.
Now they were walking along the causeway. The last time that Lindsay had visited St Michael’s Mount, the tide had been in and they'd had to take a boat along with a bunch of other sightseers. Although she’d enjoyed the brief journey across the bay, she’d been looking forward to walking the causeway, which could only be crossed at low tide. In other circumstances, she would have been enjoying herself right now, dodging the slimy knots of seaweed and picking up shells that littered the walkway. But something was wrong.
She had a feeling that she’d witnessed something terrible. Not what had happened to her family. Something else. Something new. Her memories were foggy at best. She remembered being filed into a room with the others, eating something from the palm of her hand, and then the rest was a haze of scary images that seemed better suited to a bad dream. She remembered screaming. Remembered a terrifying shape convulsing on the floor. Nothing else. It was as if her mind had pulled a steel shutter down, protecting her from the truth.
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