couldn’t help but wonder about the man who lived there.
Would he really come back?
Was he inside it now?
Her heart jolted at the thought. She wanted to turn and walk away, but her feet remained planted. She took her hands from her hoody pockets and reached out slowly towards the wall. A voice made her snatch it away again.
‘Hi, Bella. I thought you might come calling now.’
Lizzie was parked just outside the church gate, eyes fixed on the entrance, her resolve wavering. There were no regular services on a Saturday – she hadn’t given that a thought when she’d decided the church was the best place to start. Perhaps the vicar would still be inside, though. There might’ve been a wedding. Or a funeral. Doubtful, though. Surely her luck wouldn’t be that great. If she didn’t brave it, get out the damn car and take a look, she’d never know. But a sudden fear that her faith in the vicar was misplaced – that he’d be unable to help her at all – caused her to hesitate. It was unlikely to be the same vicar as thirty years ago, and certain events tended to cause a tight community such as Mapledon to clam up, to decide it was too hideous, too abominable to ever speak of again. A new vicar might not have any knowledge of what had happened. And Lizzie couldn’t remember the name of the original one. Couldn’t remember many names at all.
Just the three.
She unconsciously pulled at her hair, collecting several short, black strands in her palm whilst berating herself for not having spent some time researching before jumping in her car and setting off. That was a mistake. Local vicar aside, who would she approach to answer her questions? She brushed the hair into the footwell and sighed, the sound loud in the quiet car. Maybe the how was something she should’ve also given more thought to. Lizzie hadn’t considered what effect her presence in Mapledon would have. She could be a “nobody” – her name was different now, after all – but that in itself wouldn’t help her. She doubted Mapledon had many random visitors. A stranger in the fold would spark interest, prompt caution. A closing of the ranks.
Outsiders are not to be trusted.
They wouldn’t knowingly divulge anything to an outsider. But, equally, she couldn’t tell anyone who she really was, either; who she used to be. She had the sinking feeling her trip here would be a waste of time. Where was she even going to stay? She was in the middle of nowhere and it didn’t seem as if Airbnb was an option. She really hadn’t thought this through.
Just drive back home, back to safety. Back to Dom.
Lizzie watched as two women emerged from the church gate, one holding a pair of shears. They’d likely been tending to a grave. A pain gripped her stomach. She pushed her hands into it, clutching at the skin with her fingertips, and closed her eyes. A vision of a woman swam inside the darkness: a blurry-edged picture void of facial features. Because she couldn’t remember any. Tears slipped over her cheeks and ran under her chin.
Her mother was buried in this graveyard.
Or, so she’d been told – she’d never seen for herself. A long-suppressed anger began to bubble. The details surrounding Rosie’s death were vague in Lizzie’s mind, what happened afterwards patchy at best. She just knew she’d experienced a lot of rage back then – an emotion she’d been unable to channel appropriately. Something she still struggled with if she ever came up against the red flags.
Maybe now was the time to change that.
Perhaps the need for change was what had drawn her back to Mapledon.
Wednesday 19th July – the day of, 8.25 p.m.
In the humid summer evening, circles of lights darted over grass, whizzed over hillsides, flitted under bushes and dotted the darkening sky – like a frenzied firefly dance. But the display didn’t come from a swarm of fireflies, it came from the illumination of dozens of torchlights.
‘Jonie! Joniiiieee!’
Jonie’s name was called again and again, each time more frantic. Desperate. One voice could be heard above others, its pitch ripping through the night, tearing through the eardrums of the volunteers, the police.
Tina Hayes’ legs were weakening; her voice was not. Sheer adrenaline kept her powering forwards, her desire to find her daughter overtaking her need to slow down, rest.
‘Tina?’ Pat Vern ran up to her, putting a sweaty hand on her arm to stop her marching on. ‘I’m not sure … it’s a good idea … for you to be here.’ The police officer panted, his shallow breaths diminishing his ability to form a full sentence.
‘What would you have me do, Pat? Stay at home like the good little woman, waiting to see if someone else finds her?’ Tina put her hands on the tops of her thighs, taking the moment to catch her breath, allowing the blood to flow through her limbs again. ‘Is that what you’d do if it were Daisy?’
Pat, recovered now from the acute exertion, couldn’t argue with her. He never had been able to put up a fight where Tina Hayes was concerned.
‘I know. I know you think you should be doing everything to find her, and I understand, I really do. But what if she …’ He paused. What he was thinking was: what if you’re the one to find her and she’s dead? He couldn’t bear that. The last image she’d have of her only daughter would be a horrifying one – one she’d never rid herself of. But why was he thinking that at all – why would she be dead? This was Mapledon for Christ’s sake. He’d been on the force ten years and nothing remotely bad had ever happened here, so this would end happily, he was sure.
Only he wasn’t.
His gut was telling him something else – something evil – was at play. He didn’t know why, but he felt it. He realised Tina was waiting for him to finish his sentence, impatiently stepping from one foot to the other as she stared at him, her eyes wide and red-rimmed. He pulled himself together. ‘What if Jonie goes home – who’s going to be there if everyone is outside searching?’
‘Do you think she’ll turn up at home, Pat, as though nothing has happened – like she’d just lost track of the time? Come on. We both know she didn’t just forget the time. Her friends are all home, we’ve checked. So, it’s not as though she’d been having too much fun or gone off with one of them somewhere and wandered too far out of Mapledon. She’s not a dumb kid, Pat.’
‘I know she’s not dumb.’ Pat dropped his gaze to his shoes. Now wasn’t
