THIRTEEN
The chill of the wind caught Connie across her face and made her eyes water. She touched the back of a hand to her right cheek and winced.
‘Shall we make our way back down to the car park?’ Lindsay’s arm reached out, giving Connie’s a tug.
‘Sorry. This outdoor life’s still taking some getting used to.’
Lindsay shook her head – a gentle mocking of Connie’s fragility.
‘Yes, your ability to survive on the moor in adverse conditions is questionable. But you’ll become hardy, eventually.’
‘If you’ve got anything to do with it. Even if it kills me.’ Connie slumped against a large rock, catching her breath. Her walking boots were heavy, clogged with mud, making her feel a stone heavier when she walked. On the plus side, she thought her thighs had started looking less chunky. But today was a bit much. They’d walked further than they’d done before and the weather was bitterly cold on the high ground. Dartmoor was one of the most beautiful places she knew. It was Lindsay’s idea to spend more quality time there, despite it being an area her professional life had brought her to on a few horrible occasions. She wanted to make good memories on the moor. Replace the bad ones. Or at least, diminish them.
‘Ready to go back down?’ Lindsay offered an arm.
‘Oh, yes. I’m ready.’ Connie gave a grateful smile.
Connie sat in the passenger seat and shivered, the North Face jacket Lindsay had lent her rustling with the small, jerky movements.
Lindsay poured a coffee from the flask, and handed it to her.
‘That’ll have you warmed up in no time,’ Lindsay said. She poured herself a plastic cupful as well and leant back in the driver’s seat. ‘What do you reckon to eating out tonight, save either of us having to cook?’
Connie shrugged. ‘Sure, I’m up for that. Where do you fancy?’
‘I thought maybe the Italian in town, we could walk there?’
‘More walking?’ Connie raised her eyebrows, but smiled. ‘Sounds good. We’ve not been out for ages.’ She drained the cup of the warm liquid.
With Lindsay’s recent work pattern being so erratic, they hadn’t seen a great deal of each other in the evenings. Often, Connie spent the hours of darkness alone. Her previous irresponsible, single-life antics had all but ceased weeks before she’d met Lindsay, so she’d got used to the quiet, lonely evenings prior to her moving in. But then she’d had a period of time with Lindsay being home with her more, her hours almost sociable. It’d been comforting; she enjoyed Lindsay’s company – her friendship had become important to her. Now, again, she was having to accustom herself to it being just her and Amber, her ragdoll cat, most evenings. This weekend had been a rarity – they’d spent the entire time together, uninterrupted by work.
Connie knew it was likely to be a one-off. Something was bound to crop up – some big case that would take all of Lindsay’s focus; her time, even at weekends. For now, though, Connie would make the most of it.
She followed Lindsay’s gaze – her eyes were intense, focussed on the rocks of Haytor looming in front of them.
‘You okay?’
Lindsay didn’t take her eyes from the tor. ‘Still plays on my mind. This place.’ She sighed.
‘I can imagine.’ Connie placed her hand on Lindsay’s arm. Even she had bad thoughts about Haytor: of Steph, one of her clients last year, and her son – but she hadn’t had to witness it first-hand like Lindsay had; the broken bodies at the foot of the rock, the shock of seeing an innocent child taken to his death by his own mother in what was, as far as the police were concerned, a terrible suicide. Connie took some comfort in the fact that she wasn’t the only person troubled by her past and wanted to support her friend just as she’d been supported herself. ‘New memories, though – remember? We both need to attach positive feelings to this place, I think it’s the only way we can move on.’
‘Yep. Absolutely. Thanks, Connie.’
‘You don’t have to thank me. That’s what friends are for.’
‘That, and half-killing them in the name of fitness,’ Lindsay laughed.
‘Yeah, don’t push it. Friendships can turn nasty, you know.’
It was hard to get out of the house this morning. Every time I was about to leave, something dragged me back.
One more chore.
One more check.
One more problem.
I’m out now, though, and I’m trying to stop my mind wandering as I walk to the bus stop. I want to be thinking about what’s ahead, but what’s behind me appears to be dragging me back. I need to talk myself out of it – keep my goal firmly in my mind’s eye.
I concentrate my thoughts on her. I know where she lives, and now I’ve found out where she works. It didn’t take much. The internet is both a curse and a blessing. It’s so easy to find out details with a few clicks, some clever searches using key words. Most people would think I’m mad, given how the internet brought my life crashing down. But it’s like most things, there is good and bad in everything. You just have to be careful – treat it with respect.
As I approach the bus stop at The Plains, opposite the Seven Stars Hotel, pain in my palms alerts me to my clenched fists. My nails have left crescent-shaped imprints where they’ve dug in. I can’t believe she’s still working. I wonder how she’s managed that when I was barely able to drag myself out of bed – the amount of sedatives I was taking for my anxiety, together with the drinking, turned me from a bubbly, chatty customer assistant at Marks & Spencer into a drowsy zombie not fit to be employed. A small part of me is jealous she’s continued with her life. She’s kept her job. I lost mine. She’s kept her husband. I lost mine.
But our sons. They’re a different story.
She won’t agree we’ve both lost them.
Maybe she doesn’t have to agree on that point. There is a truth in her denial. But we’ve both suffered, and I need to show her that. I can help her to come to terms with what happened. She’ll realise I am like her, that we can both support each other. I must help her. Then, in return, she’ll help me achieve my goal.
It’s the only way I can be free.
I cross the road quickly as the bus is there already. I pay my fare and take a seat halfway up – a window seat. The glass is smeared. Dirty. I don’t want to contemplate what with. I shuffle into
