Книга - The Girls In The Woods

The Girls In The Woods
Helen Phifer


‘Thriller lovers will be riveted by this novel. Beautifully written, good character description and that twist at the end… you’re gonna love it!’ – SerialReader on GoodreadsDon’t go into the woods. Because you’re in for a big surprise…In an old album there is a beautiful Victorian photo that captures three young sisters, staring silently at one another. Only the trained eye can see the truth hiding in plain view. One of the sisters is already dead.Annie Ashworth is currently off duty. With her baby bump growing fast, she is under strict instructions to stay away from police work and look after herself, especially as she has a history of leading danger right to her door. So when her police officer husband, Will, is called to the discovery of a skeleton buried out in the local woods, Annie tries to keep out of the investigation. But as another body is discovered and her own niece suddenly goes missing, staying away just isn’t an option.As Annie is soon to discover, a picture really does tell a thousand stories. But which one leads to a killer?The gripping new detective thriller that will haunt youLook out for more in the Annie Graham series:1. The Ghost House2. The Secrets of the Shadows3. The Forgotten Cottage4. The Lake House5. The Girls in the WoodsPraise for the Annie Graham series‘…the serial killer plot drew me in and I was able to read it in a day. The rest of the story was good with a few twists and turns that I didn't see coming.’ – Joanne on Goodreads for The Girls in the Woods‘If you haven’t read any of the books in this series yet, you don’t know what you’re missing!’ – Splashes into Books‘The Ghost House is the most exciting book I have read in a very long time, and would make an absolutely perfect Halloween read! Amazing début from Helen Phifer and I eagerly await more from her!’ – Judging Covers‘It was an atmospheric, spooky read, ideal for the season.’ – I Heart Reading‘The story constantly kept me on the edge of my seat. The Ghost House is a magnificent read and it's perfect for those who have a strong stomach and nerves of steel!’ – Librarian Lavender‘I was really impressed. … I was amazed how the author got inside of the mind of the serial killer and really showed you his psychotic thought processes.’ – Elder Park Book Reviews‘The twists and turns are fascinating.’ – A J Book Review Club










Don’t go into the woods. Because you’re in for a big surprise…

In an old album there is a beautiful Victorian photo that captures three young sisters, staring silently at one another. Only the trained eye can see the truth hiding in plain view. One of the sisters is already dead.

Annie Ashworth is currently off duty. With her baby bump growing fast, she is under strict instructions to stay away from police work and look after herself, especially as she has a history of leading danger right to her door. So when her police officer husband, Will, is called to the discovery of a skeleton buried out in the local woods, Annie tries to keep out of the investigation. But as another body is discovered and her own niece suddenly goes missing, staying away just isn’t an option.

As Annie is soon to discover, a picture really does tell a thousand stories. But which one leads to a killer?


Praise for HELEN PHIFER’s Annie Graham series (#ub55812e8-d377-564f-b748-c6da8b3ce765)

‘If you haven’t read any of the books in this series yet, you don’t know what you’re missing!’ – Splashes into Books

‘The Ghost House is the most exciting book I have read in a very long time, and would make an absolutely perfect Halloween read! Amazing début from Helen Phifer and I eagerly await more from her!’ – Judging Covers

‘It was an atmospheric, spooky read, ideal for the season.’ – I Heart Reading

‘The story constantly kept me on the edge of my seat. The Ghost House is a magnificent read and it's perfect for those who have a strong stomach and nerves of steel!’ – Librarian Lavender

‘I really found my heart thumping through some of the passages, and I blame Helen for sleepless nights when I was wondering what would happen next!’ – Amy (Amazon reviewer)

‘I was really impressed by this book. … I was amazed how the author got inside of the mind of the serial killer and really showed you his psychotic thought processes.’ – Elder Park Book Reviews

‘The twists and turns are fascinating.’ – A J Book Review Club

‘If you love paranormal and crime novels, then this series is the one for you! But not only that, Helen also manages to grip you from the start, with romance thrown in and a lot of suspense. The stories jump from past to present throughout which shows incredible storytelling as you do not get confused by this once, it really adds to the storyline.’ – Nikki xoxo (Amazon reviewer)


Also by Helen Phifer (#ub55812e8-d377-564f-b748-c6da8b3ce765)

The Ghost House

The Secrets of the Shadows

The Forgotten Cottage

The Lake House


The Girls in the Woods

Helen Phifer







Copyright (#ub55812e8-d377-564f-b748-c6da8b3ce765)

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2016

Copyright © Helen Phifer 2016

Helen Phifer asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9781474047432

Version date: 2018-09-20


HELEN PHIFER

lives in a small town called Barrow-in-Furness with her husband and five children. She has lived in the same town since she was born. It gets some bad press but really is a lovely place to live, surrounded by coastline and not far from the Lake District, where she likes to spend at least one of her days off from work. She has always loved writing and reading and loves reading books that make the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Unable to find enough scary stories to read, she decided to write her own.

You can contact or follow Helen on her blog at helenphiferblog.wordpress.com (http://helenphiferblog.wordpress.com), her website at www.helenphifer.com (http://www.helenphifer.com) and on Twitter, @helenphifer1 (https://twitter.com/helenphifer1).


Acknowledgements (#ub55812e8-d377-564f-b748-c6da8b3ce765)

This year has been an incredibly tough one for not just my family but so many others. I’m very touched and inspired by the amazing work of the wonderful, beautiful, inspirational ladies of the Lookin GOOD and Feelin GREAT charity group. These amazing ladies are all fighting or have fought cancer. In fact, they are not just fighting it but indeed kicking its arse and still managing to raise money for charity and give each other the support that anyone suffering from this dreadful illness so desperately needs. If there’s one thing this year has taught me it’s that you never know how strong you can be until you’re faced with no other alternative.



I’d also like to thank my lovely editor, Victoria, for putting up with me this year – it hasn’t been easy – and the rest of the team at HQ Digital.



Once again huge thanks to my friends Sam, Tracy, Tina, Caroline, Gail, Phil and Iain, for your support and making me laugh at times when we really should be tearing our hair out. Sam, I haven’t forgot about the mouse incident and it will appear somewhere along the line.



Thank you to the very funny Heath Tyson who wanted a bad man named after him. I just wanted to say that the real Heath Tyson is nothing at all like his evil counterpart.



I’m for ever indebted to my lovely blogging friends, The Write Romantics. You all keep me sane and understand how tough it is once you’ve made your dream come true. Thank you so much Jo Bartlett, Julie Heslington, Jackie Ladbury, Lynne Davidson, Helen Rolfe, Alex Weston, Deirdre Palmer, Sharon Booth & Rachael Thomas.



Last but not least I’d like to say to my family that I love you all very much. It’s been a hard year but the Phifers have proved how tough and strong we are. Without you none of this would be possible and I’m so proud of you all.



Love Helen xx


Dedication (#ub55812e8-d377-564f-b748-c6da8b3ce765)

For Gail O’Neil, Wendy Smith, Amanda Rawlinson, Diane Sullivan, Adele Dean, Gill Tyson & all of the other fabulous ladies in the Lookin GOOD and Feelin GREAT Charity Group.


Contents

Cover (#u3a6699f4-dcb0-5aa3-88ca-9a258452f51c)

Blurb (#u3336a2a4-ced2-5421-bcca-cbb0f1a8b63a)

Praise

Book List

Title Page (#u099f6939-a200-5b70-9ab8-d56532514186)

Copyright

Author Bio (#uac65e8d2-9e76-5eaf-8849-cb17f9e46624)

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)

Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher


Prologue (#ub55812e8-d377-564f-b748-c6da8b3ce765)

Summer 1895

The smell was always the big giveaway – no matter how many fresh flowers were placed around a room, the stench of decomposition would always seep through the cracks. Maybe not at first because the sweet scent from the roses or sweet peas, dependent upon the season, would infiltrate your nostrils with their heady fragrance, but after a few minutes you would realise that the underlying, more cloying scent wasn’t such a fragrant one after all. In fact you would more than likely wonder which flower it was that was giving off the almost too sweet, sickly smell. The black cloth covering the large ornamental mirror above the fireplace confirmed what you already knew. That this was a house of death. Upon further investigation as you looked around the room at the waiting subjects one would always stand out just that little bit more than the others; it was always the hands that would give them away. Those petite hands that had once been ivory coloured were now mottled purple and black. The rest of the body, underneath the layers of petticoats, pinafore dresses and thick tights, was probably turning the same colours – but the face you could disguise, if you worked your magic with the thick, heavy, cosmetic face powder.

The three girls were all dressed in identical long white nightgowns; the only flesh showing was their hands, necks and faces. He smiled at the two that were hovering to the side of their dead sister looking uncomfortable; he wouldn’t want to have to stand next to a dead person and smile for the camera even if it was his brother. The dead girl was on her own, standing tall in the middle of the room. He tilted his head to see if the heavy, black stand that was holding her decaying body upright could be seen but it was well hidden underneath her nightgown. Although her eyelids were closed someone had drawn open eyes on her lids so she looked as if she was still watching everyone. A life-sized, human doll that would probably be the cause of many years of nightmares for her siblings. Her mother was in the opposite corner being comforted by a much older woman. Both of them dressed all in black. He cleared his throat.

‘Should we begin?’

The girls stared at each other, both of them holding hands. It was the older woman who nodded her head. He set his tripod up and placed the heavy camera onto it; a couple of photographs and he would be done. There was a certain beauty about death that he found very attractive but he had never told anyone this; it wouldn’t be the right thing to do or say. His wife would be mortified at the thought of him enjoying photographing corpses; she hated that he did it for a living anyway, but if she knew he enjoyed it she would make him stop.

‘Mabel, Flora, go and stand either side of your sister.’

He felt a little sorry for the girls, who both looked as if they were about to burst into tears. They were looking at each other and still holding hands.

‘Now, please. If you continue to fuss about it the longer it will take – what on earth is wrong with you both?’

Mabel looked the oldest out of the three of them; she implored Flora with her eyes. He folded his arms across his chest and watched them. Mabel stepped forward pulling the younger girl, who let out a sob.

‘Please don’t make me touch her; she’s cold and she smells. I’m scared – I don’t want to stand next to her. Why do we have to do this?’

Her mother looked up from her crumpled handkerchief, surprised by her daughter’s outburst of insolence. She didn’t need to speak because the girl’s grandmother walked across and slapped Flora across the face.

‘Stop that at once, child – that is your sister, not some stranger from the street. It is the very last chance your parents have to get a photograph of you all together. Now you will stand next to your sister and smile for the camera before she is taken away and buried.’

The girl stopped speaking but her hand came up and began to rub at the red finger marks that had appeared on her pale, perfect skin. She let Mabel take hold of her shoulders and position her next to the dead girl, then Mabel took her position on the other side. Neither of them looked at their sister. He put his head underneath the cover to take the picture but it was no good. Those red marks on her cheek would stand out on the still when it was developed and it wasn’t as if he could arrange to come back and do this all over again; he only had this one chance to get it right. He lifted his head up and walked across the room, taking hold of Flora’s shoulders.

‘I’m sorry but the mark on your face is too prominent, I need you to turn and face your sister. I promise I’ll be quick and you won’t have to stay there for very long.’

He didn’t think he’d ever forget the look the young girl gave him then; obviously this was a huge ordeal for her. This must be her first brush with death and an experience that would no doubt stay with her for the rest of her life – but her parents had made it quite clear when they asked him to call around yesterday. They could only afford to pay for two stills so he couldn’t make any mistakes; these two pictures needed to be perfect. He gently turned her to face the dead girl and could feel her entire body shaking; he then went to Mabel and turned her in a similar position so they were both staring at their sister with what he hoped would be assumed was loving attention and not abject horror. He then went back to his camera and buried his bead back underneath the cloth. Holding up the flash he snapped first one, then another still.

‘That’s it. Thank you for your patience, girls. You can leave now.’

Flora scurried away from the girl that she had no doubt shared a bedroom with for the last twelve years; they had possibly even shared the same bed. How sad that two such close sisters should now be so torn apart by death. Still it wasn’t his place to say anything; his job was done here. He would pack his equipment away and go back to his house so he could develop the films. He would of course keep a copy for his own records; he was getting quite a collection in his brown leather book. People were dying of all sorts of diseases, and more and more families wanted their loved ones photographed before they were buried. When he’d taken up photography as a hobby he’d never envisaged that memento mori photography would prove to be such a lucrative business move. He packed up his stuff and carried it out to the waiting horse and carriage; he lived too far away to carry his equipment around town. The grandmother walked him out to the front door, leaving her sobbing daughter alone with her dead granddaughter. The other two girls had run from the room as fast as they could once they had been dismissed; it was indeed sad to watch such grief day in day out, but it was also providing his family with a way of life they could only ever have dreamed of.

‘How long will it be before you can bring the pictures?’

‘As soon as they are ready I will personally hand deliver them; it should only take two days but it depends how busy I am tomorrow.’

‘Thank you for your time, Mr Tyson. It is very much appreciated.’

He nodded his head then turned and ran down the last few steps and climbed into the waiting carriage. As it pulled away from the side he looked up to see the two girls watching him from the upstairs window. Flora’s face was damp, no doubt with the tears she had finally been able to shed, but Mabel looked as if she was weighing him up. Embarrassed they had been caught staring, Mabel stepped back, pulling her sister with her, and he looked straight ahead, pretending he hadn’t noticed either of them.

1995

‘Beautiful, really beautiful – that’s it, hold that position.’ The camera flashed several times. ‘Gorgeous, you look stunning. So demure yet so damn sexy. I love it.’ Heath Tyson walked towards her and pushed her head to the left, just a touch. ‘That’s it, don’t move, we’re almost done. You’re going to love these pictures; I swear you’ve never looked so good.’ He snapped a few more shots then let his camera drop around his neck and clapped his hands.

‘Bravo, bravo. You have been the best model I’ve ever had. Thank you so much for your patience.’

He walked away towards his dark room, eager to develop his films and add these very special photographs to his secret album. Left lying on the chaise longue, she didn’t move to get up and change out of the long, cool, linen nightgown he’d dressed her in. She would stay there until he came and lifted her onto the makeshift trolley he used to push her to and from the freezer in his garage. When he was happy with his photographs he would undress her and put her back inside the cold blackness of the large freezer he’d bought when the village butcher had been closing down. Slamming the metal door, he would lock her in until he had no further use for her or until her body started to decompose too much, whichever came first. Probably the decomposition because he didn’t think he would ever get tired of staring at her. There was something so beautiful about death that was never present in the living. Her hands had already begun to turn black despite the freezing temperatures. He wondered why it was they did that – in his collection of Victorian mourning photographs you could always tell the deceased family member by the discoloration of their hands.

It had fascinated him the first time he’d seen a photograph of three sisters, all no older than fifteen – he had been eight years old when he found that photograph album. Heath had been sent to bed but he could hear his father whispering on the phone; he knew he shouldn’t be listening in because he shouldn’t be out of bed, but he couldn’t sleep. He loved his granddad but today’s visit had been playing heavily on his mind; his normally fun-filled granddad had been lying in a bed in the front room of his terraced house in the busy town centre street. The smell had been pretty bad; he didn’t know what it was but as soon as he’d walked in he’d had to screw his nose up and try not to breathe through it. His mother, who refused to come into the house because she was ‘not going to be there when he croaked’, was back at home and for once he wished his father had left him at home with her. His older brother didn’t care; he had gone straight into the converted front room which was now a bedroom and stood by the frail old man who was asleep. Heath watched the shallow rise and fall of his chest underneath the covers; the rattling sound of the breaths he was struggling to take would stay with him for ever. They could hear their father in the kitchen banging around; he turned away for a split second and when he turned back his brother, who had just celebrated his eleventh birthday, was stroking the old man’s hair. Heath shuddered; this wasn’t the happy, funny man he remembered and he wanted it all to stop. Their dad came in, his tear-stained face a mask of grief.

‘Right you two, go in the kitchen and get yourselves something to eat. I need to sort your granddad out.’

His brother leant down and kissed the man’s forehead and Heath tried to force himself to move towards him to do the same but he couldn’t. His legs wouldn’t move. As his brother walked past he whispered in his ear ‘Scaredy cat’. His dad came over and placed his hands on his shoulders, then pushed Heath out of the room and shut the door behind him. Finally finding his feet, he went into the kitchen where his brother was sitting eating a packet of crisps.

‘He’s going to pop his clogs any minute.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I just do. You wait and see.’

Sometimes he hated how his brother was such a know-it-all. It made him feel stupid and like a big baby. He got himself a packet of crisps out of the cupboard and they both sat on the high stools near the breakfast bar waiting for their dad to come back in. After what seemed like forever he finally did; his eyes were red and he’d been crying. Heath had never seen his dad cry. He walked over and hugged them close to him.

‘Your granddad’s gone to heaven now; you can both go in and say goodbye.’

This time it was Heath who wanted to go in first – he desperately wanted to see what you looked like when you were dead – and it was his brother who lingered behind. He jumped off his stool and went to the room where the door was ajar. The first thing he noticed was how peaceful it was now that horrible sound his granddad had been making had stopped. He stepped inside. The sheets were no longer moving and he walked closer to look at the man on the bed. The second thing he noticed was how different he looked; his skin looked yellow but it was no longer scrunched up and wrinkled in pain. It was smooth, his mouth was open and his false teeth had slipped down. He’d expected his eyes to be closed but they were open slightly, staring straight ahead. Heath marvelled at how wonderful his granddad looked now he was dead – how much younger. It was amazing. Did everyone who died look like this? His foot kicked something soft and he looked down to see one of the pillows from the bed there. It puzzled him how it had got there; it wasn’t there before when they’d been in the room and his granddad hadn’t moved at all. His dad must have taken it from under the old man’s head but he didn’t understand why. He picked it up and felt a warm patch in the middle; placing it on the chair next to the bed he thought nothing of it. It wasn’t until some years later when he replayed that last scene in his head that he realised that the pillow was warm in the middle because that was where his granddad’s last breaths had gone. He had known all along that the grief his dad had shown had been filled with guilt – but he hadn’t known why until his dad’s own dying confession had confirmed the sneaking suspicion he’d always held. His dad had been the one to end his granddad’s life that morning all those years ago; he could have gone to prison but he’d decided it was worth the risk. The only regret that Heath had was that he’d had no means to photograph how wonderful his granddad looked, more wonderful than he ever did when he was alive. It was as if his true inner beauty had been revealed and it was something Heath never forgot; in fact he thought about it an awful lot. When most kids his age had been playing with action men or cap guns, he had spent all his time locked in his bedroom wondering how he could see more dead people.

There was a certain beauty in death which could not be achieved at any cost in life, even with the amount of plastic surgeons and cosmetic surgery available. When he was ten years old he knew that he wanted to be a photographer but he did have a backup plan. He would probably one day become a funeral director if his photography didn’t take off but his one passion in life was photography. What he really wanted to do was photograph the dead. He didn’t really want to have to deal with the grieving families; he just wanted to photograph their loved ones like his great, great grandfather had back in the Victorian days. It had been quite normal back then, but if you told anyone now that you liked photographing the dead they’d lock you up and throw away the key. There were some things you didn’t admit to and getting your rocks off over corpses was almost certainly one. He spent hours locked in his room studying the photos in the album they’d found when clearing their granddad’s house out. Luckily for him, he’d been on his own in the bedroom when he found the dusty album at the back of the wardrobe, wrapped in faded yellow newspapers. His brother had gone to the tip with his dad and a car boot full of their granddad’s belongings. At first he hadn’t realised just what it was he was looking at but he knew there was something strange about the pictures in the album. It had Memento Mori in gold letters engraved into the soft brown leather cover. He’d had no idea what that meant, but would try and find out. There was no one in the pictures that he knew and they looked as if they were very old. Not wanting his dad to throw it out on his next visit to the local tip, Heath ran downstairs and stuffed it into his backpack. It was his secret, and he wouldn’t tell anyone about it – not even his brother. Well, not unless he was going to help him somehow find dead people to take pictures of. That photograph album had started this obsession with death, be it in male or female form – although he much preferred females; they were so much more elegant and prettier than men. His warped obsession with death had now resulted in the dead girl in front of him.

She was his first and quite possibly his last; it was too risky. He’d briefly considered the implications before it all happened but he hadn’t realised just how seriously a missing teenager would be taken. He thought they’d assume she’d run away and that would be that – the reality had been far different. The police had been crawling all over the village, surrounding fields and woods looking for the missing girl who had been on her way to visit her friend who lived at the opposite side of the village. It had scared him, seeing the crowds of villagers that had gathered with their dogs and the many police officers who’d been drafted in to search for her. He’d known her since he had moved back to the village he’d lived in as a child and set up his business, taking her first photographs when she had been seven. Then every year since until she was seventeen. Sharon Sale had come to him alone this time, asking him to take some photos she could send off to a modelling agency, only he wasn’t to tell her parents because they would freak. She had told him she would pay him but he had shook his head, telling her that he would do it for her if she would do a big favour for him and she’d agreed. Perhaps if she’d known what it was he’d wanted she would have run away as fast as she could and never come back. He knew her by her name, just like he knew all the local children that the parents brought to him for their portraits to be taken.

It had been two weeks now and he deemed it safe enough to take her to the woods behind the cottage and bury her. He had already dug a deep grave in the early hours this morning; it had taken him hours but it had been worth it because the woods had been searched three times now, by police, the villagers (including himself) and then searched again with sniffer dogs. Yesterday they had publicly declared that they thought the girl had left the area. He wished he could keep her for ever but if they did come looking, how would he explain to them that he had a dead girl in the freezer in his garage? It was far too risky; he was a patient man and was happy enough to wait until the fuss died down, even if took a couple of years, before he tried it again. At least now he had started his own collection of photographs of the dead, and it was a work in progress – the best works of art weren’t achieved in a day. He would wait until the opportunity arose and it was the right time to do it all over again. He had no doubt that soon enough another girl with big ambitions of becoming a model would turn up at his doorstep and when they did he would be ready.


Chapter 1 (#ub55812e8-d377-564f-b748-c6da8b3ce765)

Annie Ashworth let out a sigh and turned on her side. The heat from the late afternoon sun was warming her skin and even though she’d tried her best to keep out of the direct sunlight she still had a warm, golden glow. Her husband, Will, had a deep, bronze tan, his normally clean-shaven chin was covered in dark stubble and his dark blond hair had lightened considerably with the sun. He looked the picture of complete health and happiness but she knew different. He was lying on his side with his back to her and her eyes fell on the angry, red scar which ran across his right kidney. It would take a long time for it to fade into oblivion and when it did she hoped the memories would go with it. She was so lucky he was still alive, that they both were.

She shivered at the thought of that man, Henry Smith, and his accomplice, Megan. What she would have given to have watched their bodies being brought up from the cellar of Beckett House in black body bags and wheeled out to the waiting private ambulances. But she’d had to go with Will; he had been so badly injured and she had needed to be by his side. Jake, her best friend and colleague, had stayed along with Cathy and Kav, their inspector and sergeant when they were both stationed back in Barrow, to watch on their behalf. They had brought Megan up first because her body had been the most straightforward to bag up. She’d fallen down the cellar steps from top to bottom at Beckett House and instantly broken her neck. Henry, though, had got what he deserved. That strange man/monster thing had sliced his throat open with its long sharp claws but not before Annie had watched the terror on Henry’s face as he had stuck his knife into its strange, grey body. Jake had told her when he came to see her in the hospital that even Matt the pathologist had been horrified to see the mess of blood and limbs. No one had ever seen anything like the strange creature that lived in the drains below Beckett House, and it had been badly injured by Henry because there had been a trail of blood which led to the huge drain in the corner of the cellar – but then it had disappeared. Search teams had been brought in with special infra red and thermal imaging cameras and apart from a trail of blood that stopped suddenly in the sewers there had been no trace of it. Annie suspected that it had gone deep underground to another lair and either died or gone into hibernation. She hoped for Martha Beckett’s sake that it had curled up and died. The last time she had spoken with the elderly woman she had arranged to have the drain filled in with concrete and the cellar door permanently sealed shut. She had told Annie about the long letter she had written detailing the history of the house and everything that had happened there. She had given it to her solicitor with strict instructions that when the day came that someone was eager enough to buy Beckett House they would be given a copy of the letter so they were fully aware of the circumstances. It had made Martha feel much better but Annie knew that the house would be snapped up by some property developer who wouldn’t be remotely interested in the letter or the history of Beckett House. They would turn it into luxury apartments and move on to the next project. Annie just hoped that history wouldn’t repeat itself and no one with small children moved in there. All of this had been kept hush, hush and out of the media for the sake of Martha who had kept the terrible secret of the thing hidden for years. One day they could make a film about what happened at Beckett House; it was that horrific no one would ever believe it was all true.

She picked up her Kindle. It was amazing how Will could lie there for hours and not get bored. Turning to face her he smiled as his hand reached out for hers and she held it tight. His fingers trailed across the baby bump and he let them rest there.

‘I thought you were asleep again.’

‘What do you mean, again?’ He opened one eye and winked at her, ‘I’m just making the most of the last day before we have to go back to reality. I’ve been thinking about it, and you know I’ll have to go back to work soon, don’t you?’

She nodded, wishing they could stay here – cocooned on this island for ever, away from the madness that seemed to take over their lives on a regular basis.

‘I know you do, but are you ready to go back? I mean they couldn’t exactly say no if you had a bit longer off, could they? You almost…’

She couldn’t say the words because it set her heart racing every time she thought about what had happened at the Lake House where she’d almost lost him.

‘I think I’m ready, Annie. As much as I love spending time with you I’m getting a bit fidgety, restless. I need to be doing something a bit more challenging with my life than pottering around pretending everything is okay.’

She knew how he felt – she was on restricted duties because she was six months pregnant and she was bored, bored, bored. Although she was glad to be away from the prying eyes of the public and every weirdo that seemed to be attracted to her, she still liked to do her job.

‘If you’re ready that’s fine; I’m just being completely selfish but I love having you around. Although I suppose you’re bound to start getting on my nerves sooner or later.’

She winked at him and he shoved her arm. Jumping up he bent down and kissed her lips then he moved further down and kissed her swollen stomach.

‘I thought I was already getting on your nerves; you were a right grump before we came on holiday.’

‘Well, maybe just a little; you know I like my own space and I was getting fed up of doing nothing myself. But I’ve forgiven you because you brought me here.’

‘So it was a good choice coming here?’

‘Yes, probably the best idea you’ve ever had apart from marrying me. I’d never even thought about Hawaii until you showed it to me on the internet. It’s so perfect, just how I imagined paradise to be. Could you imagine living here? It must be so wonderful.’

He smiled and she knew that he loved to please her and she also knew she was very lucky that both of them were still alive to be here enjoying this perfect holiday.

‘Come on, how about we take a dip then go and get ready for tea?’

She held her hand out for him to pull her up, tucking her Kindle under her towel.

‘I’m starving.’

Will laughed, ‘Funnily enough I thought you might say that; after all it’s been, what, two hours since you last ate?’

‘You know I’m feeding for two; it’s the only time I’ll ever have an excuse to eat what I want without worrying.’

‘You could eat for three for all I care; as long as you’re happy then so am I.’

They walked hand in hand towards the crystal blue ocean which was gently lapping at the sand. She didn’t hear her phone which was at the bottom of her beach bag ringing; she’d switched it to silent – in fact she hadn’t bothered to look at it for days. She wasn’t bothered about telling the whole world on Facebook what she was doing every single second of the day, unlike most of her friends. They walked into the water, which made her yelp at the coldness. Will began to splash around and she sank into the water and began swimming, relishing the sudden change in temperature which cooled her warm skin. Further down she could see the beach was full of people but their hotel had its own private beach which was never busy. Even their ground-floor room had sliding patio doors which looked out onto a lush green lawn, with palm trees towering above to provide shade from the constant heat. It also had the shortest walk to the Pacific Ocean she could imagine. When Will had booked this holiday he had thought about everything, knowing that if it was hot she wouldn’t feel like walking far. Her phone kept on ringing in the bottom of her bag but oblivious to it she began to swim towards the floating sundeck not far from the shore, to work up an appetite before they went back to get ready to go out and make the most of their last evening together in paradise.


Chapter 2 (#ulink_8558cb3e-5576-58ed-be08-b9be9f92901a)

Matilda Graham had finally plucked up the courage after dithering for days and told her mum, Lisa, she was going with a friend for a job interview at a hotel in Bowness. She had known she’d object to it because she always did.

‘How ridiculous – you can’t drive, Tilly. How on earth do you expect to get up to Bowness day in day out and home again? It’s at least a thirty-minute drive there and back on a good day, without traffic or bad weather.’

‘It’s not ridiculous, Mum. They might let me live in – and if not I’m pretty sure Aunty Annie would let me stay with her. She has plenty of room in that big house and I wouldn’t get in her way. She wouldn’t mind at all.’

‘No, she might not mind but I certainly would; you never know who’s going to turn up knocking on her door. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Yorkshire bloody Ripper decided to pay her a visit.’

And so it had continued for the next ten minutes until Tilly had stormed out of the kitchen and up to her bedroom, slamming the door for good measure. They hadn’t spoken for the rest of the afternoon and when Ben arrived home Lisa was drinking her second glass of wine. He walked in, looked at the half-empty bottle of Chardonnay on the table and nodded.

‘Rough day?’

‘You could say that. Your daughter has got it into her head she can go for a job interview at some hotel in Bowness and live and work up there – for Christ’s sake, she can’t even keep her bedroom tidy.’

‘It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard, Lisa. At least she’s looking for a job.’

‘Are you having a laugh, Ben. She said if the hotel won’t let her live in then she’ll go and stop with your Annie. Which is never a good idea. I love your sister to bits but she has more nutters and serial killers chasing her than the bloody detectives on the television. No, it’s not a good idea at all – and you should go upstairs and tell her that.’

‘Yes, you’re right about Annie but she’s pregnant now and that man who was stalking her is dead. For all we know it’s not as if Tilly will even get the job; the least you can do is let her go there and have an interview. It will be good experience for her and if she does get it then we’ll discuss what’s going to happen then. How does that sound?’

‘Fucking ridiculous, Ben. The day you actually stand by me and my opinions I’ll probably drop dead with shock. Do what you want, but I’m not being a part of it. You can tell her and if anything bad happens then on your head be it.’

She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. Ben walked across and kissed his wife’s forehead, then he sighed. All he seemed to do lately was try to keep the peace between them but it was getting more difficult each day. Then he went upstairs to talk to his daughter, who had music blasting from her room so loud the floor was vibrating underneath his feet. No doubt it had been to drown out the noise of him and Lisa arguing. Tilly hated it when they argued, which seemed to be an awful lot lately. What she didn’t realise was that she was the cause of most of the arguments. He’d never imagined teenage girls could be such hard work.

He knocked on her door and waited for her to open it. She did and he followed her inside and sat on the end of her bed.

‘God, she told you to say no, didn’t she?’

Ben nodded. ‘Tilly I can understand where your mum is coming from. She’s only worried about you.’

‘No, she isn’t. She doesn’t want me to have a life – she wants me to be stuck in this crap town for ever and pregnant before I’m twenty-one. For God’s sake it’s only an interview, I probably won’t even get the job.’

‘When is it?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘How are you going to get there? Me and your mum are both at work, you know that.’

‘I’m not an idiot, Dad. I can get the bus or a train – and besides, Gemma is coming with me and her mum who isn’t a total psycho might be taking us yet.’

Ben started to laugh. ‘All right, you can go, but if you get stranded make sure you phone one of us, okay.’

‘Thank you, Dad, I promise I will. You do both realise I’m almost eighteen, don’t you?’

‘Yes, but you have to realise that whether you’re eighteen or fifty-eight you’re still our little girl and we’ll always worry about you.’

She rolled her eyes and lifted two fingers to her head, pretending to shoot herself.

‘Very funny. Now make sure you look smart and don’t be cheeky when they ask you straightforward questions. Look them in the eye and do your best to answer them.’

‘Argh, Dad, get out. Now you’re just being insulting.’

He stood up and grinned.

‘Just checking. Oh, and I wouldn’t mention that you’re allergic to the hoover or washing machine either.’

He walked out and as she shut the door behind him, she felt her stomach churn. She didn’t care about lying to her mum but she hated lying to her dad. But hopefully he’d never find out. She only had to meet the photographer, have her photoshoot and then come home again. Tilly had found his details through Facebook. Some of her friends had liked his page so she’d clicked on it and had been impressed with some of the photographs. There were lots of prom photographs and a few before and after makeovers; one of the women had looked like an old dog before so he must be good to have taken the after photo where she looked quite nice. There was a voucher on there for a free photoshoot, no obligation to buy the photos if you didn’t like them. He sounded perfect and he didn’t look like some sort of major pervert. He wasn’t based in Barrow, he was in Hawkshead – which was a bit far away and trickier to get to – but she could do it. There was a bus route and if she got stuck she could go and see Annie for a lift home. She would tell them she didn’t like the manager at the hotel and didn’t want to work there anyway, so that would put an end to this argument. Then hopefully she would be able to send off her portfolio to the modelling agencies in Manchester and London. Her mum would have a complete shit fit when she found out that she wanted to move away to a city, but she wouldn’t be able to stop her once she was eighteen. She would be able to do whatever she wanted and get out of this dead-end town. The last three years she had done nothing but dream about becoming a model and living a far more glamorous life than the one she did now. If she didn’t try she’d never know, and would spend the rest of her life regretting it.


Chapter 3 (#ulink_4ae503d6-c9d1-510d-be93-7313b3945aff)

Joanne Tyson opened her eyes and wondered why she was lying on a damp, hard, concrete floor. For a moment she didn’t have a clue as she blinked and her vision semi-cleared, then she remembered exactly where she was. One eye was swollen shut and she opened her good eye; he had gone, she couldn’t hear him stomping around. Which was good. She tried to sit up but felt queasy and lightheaded; he’d managed to really do some damage this time. Joanne wondered what it was she’d said to make him fly off the handle; she thought back but couldn’t think of anything that had warranted him giving her a black eye and knocking her unconscious. He was getting much worse – for a while everything had seemed okay and he seemed to have forgotten about using her as a punching bag, but lately… She shuddered. Well, lately it was getting more painful to be around him. The floor was freezing and she remembered where she was – she had come into the garage to ask him if he wanted some dinner, and he’d flipped. Now here she was. She heard his heavy footsteps as he came back through the door and walked towards her. She sat up, tucking her knees under her chin and wrapping her arms around them. She felt the air cool as his dark shadow loomed over her and she flinched once more; he bent down and stroked her head.

‘I’m so sorry, Jo, I didn’t mean it. You caught me off guard – you know I don’t like you coming in here when I’m working. It puts me off my stride; if you put me off I lose my momentum, then I can’t get it back – and the bills won’t pay themselves, will they?’

She whispered, ‘I’m sorry, I forgot. I just wanted to see you. I get so bored on my own all day.’

He reached down and stroked her hair like she was some kind of pet dog. ‘I’m nearly done for now. How about you go and clean yourself up and I’ll come inside, make us both a sandwich?’

He reached down, putting his hands under her arms, then pulled her to her feet. He brushed her down and she had to stop herself from flinching at his touch. Keeping her one good eye on the ground, she didn’t look across at the bank of steel fridges that were now lined against the back wall. She remembered now that she had stared at them when she’d come in and that had been why he’d hit her. She’d never seen them before and wondered why he wanted those monstrosities, which looked like something out of a television morgue. He must have seen the shock on her face and that was when he’d hit her. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind. They weren’t morgue fridges. What would her husband want with second-hand fridges that had been used to store dead bodies in? It wasn’t right and he had no use for them – he was a photographer, not a pathologist. Maybe they were for keeping his equipment in, or something to do with developing his films. She pushed all thoughts of them to the back of her mind and stored them in the little black box where she kept the flashbacks of the kicks and punches he had hurt her with previously. She would lock them away and forget about them. She had no right prying into his business. If she kept out of here and did as she was told then he would be happy with her. She cursed herself under her breath. What on earth had she been thinking, coming in here?

She walked out of the garage, through his workshop and out through the studio, keeping her head down. He had been so busy lately and she had been so restless it had seemed like a good idea to come and see him. He hadn’t hit her for at least six weeks; what a fool she was, thinking that once again he had realised how cruel he was being to her and was a changed man – the same old stupid dream which had kept her going year after year. It was never going to come true. Now they were back at square one; she wouldn’t be able to go out of the house until the swelling had gone down and it was the height of summer, the weather was glorious. She supposed she could potter around the garden and there was nothing stopping her walking through the woods at the back of the house, although she didn’t really like them. On the rare occasions she’d gone walking out there she had always felt as if someone was hiding in the trees watching her and it freaked her out even though she knew it was just her imagination running wild. She didn’t need to go into the village really; it was easy to do an online shop now that every supermarket did home delivery, and the swelling would go down before she knew it. She went straight to the downstairs cloakroom to look at her reflection in the mirror. Her swollen eye was already turning blue; she’d never learn. Running the cold water tap she put the flannel underneath it, wrung it out, then sat down on the toilet and pressed it against her eyelid. ‘Ouch.’ She stayed that way until she heard the loud footsteps coming down the hallway towards the toilet. They paused outside the door and she felt a cold shiver run down the entire length of her spine, making her drop the flannel into the sink. She picked up a towel and patted the water from her cheek.

‘I’m coming, sorry, I won’t be a minute.’

Then she flushed the toilet, blew her nose and opened the door. There wasn’t anybody outside; she could have sworn she’d heard him walking towards the bathroom door. She looked around, not daring to call his name in case it made him angry again. Maybe she’d knocked her head when she hit the floor and was hearing things. Turning to wring out the flannel and fold it up, she put it back so it didn’t look untidy. She glanced into the mirror one last time, and screamed. There was a much younger woman watching her from inside the glass. Her face was pale, with huge dark circles under her eyes. Her long dark hair hung around her face and the left side of her head was covered in thick, almost black, dried blood. Part of her skull was showing where the flesh had been eaten away. Jo gasped and stepped away from the mirror; terrified the woman was behind her, she turned to look… but there was no one there. She looked back at the mirror, hoping she had gone – but the woman was still watching her. The fear which filled Jo’s heart was different to anything she’d ever felt. It was a cold, creeping feeling, like her entire body was freezing itself from the inside out. The woman in the mirror watched Jo for a little while longer then lifted her hands, which were bruised purple and black, and slammed them against the glass of the cabinet. The glass bent with the force of the blow and Jo turned and ran, expecting it to shatter everywhere. Slamming the door behind her she ran into the kitchen to see him coming through the door which led from his studio.

‘What’s the matter with you? You’ve gone white.’

Instead of telling him like she wanted to, like she should have been able to, she shook her head and tried her very best to make her voice not shake.

‘Nothing, sorry, I just gave myself a bit of a fright.’

He looked her up and down.

‘Well, that’s hardly a surprise. I mean you’ve had better days. Have you looked in the mirror lately?’

She bit her lip. Yes, she bloody well had and the mirror had looked back at her. Who was that girl and how did she get in there? It wasn’t possible – that mirror was hung on a plasterboard wall, and on the opposite side of that wall was the garage, so there was no way someone could have been standing there watching. Her heart was racing. All she wanted to do was go outside and get some fresh air, get away from this house, from him. But thanks to him and his twitchy fists she couldn’t even do that. Willing herself to calm down before he got angry again she opened the cupboard and took a loaf of bread out. He walked across and took the bread from her.

‘Sit down. I told you I’ll make lunch. I have no idea what is going on with you but you need to sort yourself out.’

She sat down, crossing her hands so he wouldn’t notice how much they were trembling. Then she began to recite a prayer in her mind over and over again. She didn’t know if she had really seen that woman or whether she was hallucinating because of the knock to her head, but she prayed to God to make it all go away. Her gran had been a very spiritual woman and when Jo had been little she would watch her through the crack in the curtains which separated Gran’s front room from the living room. Her gran would have people come around for readings, or to speak to their dearly departed. They’d sit around the small round table in the front room and dim the lights, the glow from the candle making them all seem very eerie. Jo’s mum didn’t believe in any of it and once, when her gran had told Jo she had the gift and one day she would be able to do what she did, Jo had gone home crying and her mum had gone mad. She’d stormed round to her gran’s house – which was a few doors up the street from them – and told her not to scare Jo and to keep her rubbish to herself. Jo’s mum never believed any of it and Jo definitely never believed in anything remotely paranormal; she hated horror films, much preferring to watch a nice feel-good film where the girl always got the guy and he would turn out to be the kind of man every woman fantasised about. No, her own life was a big enough horror story – so she didn’t want to add any further distress to it than she had to.

He slid a sandwich across the table to her and she thanked him, not wanting to eat because she felt sick, but not daring to turn it down because he would go mad at her for wasting his time and food – so she picked it up and began to nibble on it. He began to chatter away; when he did occasionally talk to her there was no stopping him, but today she couldn’t be bothered. Her eye was throbbing and her head hurt, not to mention that her heart was having palpitations because she couldn’t get the image of the woman from the mirror out of her mind. Jo wanted to scream at him to shut up; she wanted to pick up one of the pans from the hanging rack and smack him across the head with it to see how he liked it, give him a taste of his own medicine. Instead she listened to him going on about what a fabulous photographer he was and how he had this idea for a great project, something which no modern day photographer had ever done. She nodded and agreed with him whenever she thought it was necessary, anything to keep the peace and stop the pain.

When she looked up from her plate to face him, she felt her blood freeze. The rack of pans which hung down from the ceiling behind him was moving. The pans were swaying from side to side; they were heavy-based copper pans which she struggled to lift most of the time so how they were moving like that was beyond her. She glanced across at the window to see if it was open and letting in a breeze but it was shut tight, as were all the doors. Even if she did leave the windows and doors open she had never seen them all move like this all at the same time, ever. He looked at her.

‘What the hell is the matter with you today? What are you looking at?’

Jo shook her head.

‘Nothing. I don’t feel well. I must have banged my head when I fell over in the garage.’

She emphasised the ‘I’, careful not to accuse or throw any blame his way – even though it was completely his fault. The pans were still moving behind him. Why weren’t they making a noise? They should have been clanging together but they weren’t. She began to cough, choking on a bite of her sandwich, and the breath that came out of her mouth was surrounded by a plume of white smoke as if it was a crisp, frosty December day – not the end of August. He looked at her as if she was mad, shoved the last of his sandwich in his mouth, then stood up to go back to his studio.

‘I have clients in this afternoon Jo. I do not want you to come in or disturb me – do you understand?’

She nodded her head. She was going to go upstairs and lie down.

‘Good, I’m glad we cleared that up – because if you disturb me again when you’ve been told not to, I’ll fucking kill you.’

And with that he walked out of the door, turning the key in the lock from his side. She looked up at the pans which were now still, then towards the door that he’d just locked. Putting the plate on the side she stood up and forced her hand to reach up and touch one of the pans; her fingers brushed against the cold metal and she pulled back – it felt as if it had been in the freezer for an hour. She turned and stumbled her way upstairs to her bedroom… she needed to lie down. She wasn’t well at all.


Chapter 4 (#ulink_866a3c65-ba99-5703-ad6f-7cc48c796ca6)

Will loaded the cases into the back of his car then took the trolley back; it was drizzling in Manchester and the airport behind them looked grey and gloomy. Annie was sitting in the front passenger seat not quite believing that they were back in England after such a perfect holiday. She pulled her phone out of her handbag and rooted around in the glove compartment for the charger. As it vibrated back to life she saw that she had twelve missed calls from her sister-in-law. She also had a message box full of texts saying ‘ring me’ but not what it was about. If it had been urgent then she would have said there was something wrong. Annie liked the woman but she was a bit too tightly wound up for her – she made a huge fuss over everything and insisted on sharing every trial and tribulation over her social media accounts, which drove Annie mad to the point where she had unfriended her. Annie didn’t want to know about every argument that Lisa had with her brother and her niece and neither should anyone else. She pressed the green button to ring her back, hoping this wasn’t going to be a thirty-minute phone call about Ben being late for dinner three times this year. Will got in the car and she mouthed the word ‘Lisa’ to him, and he smiled and turned the key. By the time they got back to Hawkshead the conversation might have finished.

‘Well, I’m sorry, Lisa, but I agree with both Ben and Tilly this time. You don’t know if she’ll even get the job.’

Annie held the phone away from her ear and Will laughed a little too loud, making Annie slam it back against her ear.

‘What no, it was the radio. You know she’s welcome to stop with me and Will if she does get it. I don’t mind driving her to work and picking her up. That’s no problem. Look, if I was you I’d just let her go and see what happens and then I’d start to worry about it. Okay, bye.’

She looked at Will.

‘Bloody hell. Tilly wants to get a job living in at some hotel in Bowness.’

‘And I take it Lisa doesn’t agree.’

‘That’s putting it mildly. I also got the distinct impression that she doesn’t want Tilly to live with us either if she does get the job. You wouldn’t mind, would you? It might stop me dying of boredom.’

Will nudged her in the side.

‘Families, eh? Of course I wouldn’t, although I kind of understand why Lisa wouldn’t want her daughter to live with us.’

Annie looked at him. ‘Why not?’ She paused then nodded.

‘I guess not. She probably thinks she’ll be sending her off to join the “serial killers anonymous” group. Which also reminds me – I don’t want our baby being dragged into that world either. Do you think everything will be okay? Is it definitely all over with him… you don’t think he has any kind of revenge plan organised with someone in the event of his death?’

She didn’t want to think about him but now Lisa had forced her to.

‘I bloody well hope not. Look, he’s dead. We know he’s dead – I even went to his post mortem. I didn’t tell you because I was still in hospital and you had more than enough to worry about, but Matt sent Stu to come for me. I watched as Matt sliced his body open and removed his internal organs. To be honest I was surprised the man had a heart inside there, but he did. They all got shoved in a plastic bag and sewn back up inside him. Then I watched as he was cremated. I had to make sure he wasn’t coming back to get you, to get us. Henry Smith is definitely dead. I promise you, it’s over with him for good.

‘Why did you not tell me about any of this before?’

‘I let you down, Annie. Twice that man got the better of me and twice you almost died. I wasn’t going to wait on the sidelines and pretend it was all okay. I had to make sure it was over, to make sure that I didn’t let it happen a third time.’

She reached over and stroked his arm, feeling terrible that he blamed himself when the only person to blame was finally dead and out of their lives.

‘None of it was your fault, but thank you, Will. I didn’t want to go back to reality just yet – we’ve only been in England for an hour and boom, back in the room. Thanks a lot, Lisa.’

‘I’m afraid so. Never mind, don’t worry about her – let her sort her own mess out for a change. How many missed calls have you got off Jake?’

‘None. He knew we needed that holiday and a break. For once he hasn’t had any dramas that he couldn’t cope with himself. I’m beginning to feel a bit redundant.’

‘I wouldn’t worry about that too much. You know as well as I do Jake will be on fine form. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t waiting for us to get back to the cottage.’

She smiled. She missed Jake – although not quite as much now that she had Will – but her best friend was funny, fiercely loyal and a complete drama queen. She was looking forward to catching up with him, his equally-as-handsome husband, Alex, and their gorgeous little girl, Alice. In fact she was going to invite them up to have a meal and stay over, although she’d better clear it with Will first seeing as how he was the gourmet cook. Her burnt pizza was legend amongst her circle of close friends. They could invite Kav, who was more like her dad than a boss and had been the one to give her away at her wedding, and Cathy. They were now in a steady relationship, thanks to Annie throwing them together. They had even gone public, much to her and Jake’s delight. If it hadn’t been for all of their friendship she and Will might not have been here to tell the tale of what happened at the Lake House six months ago.

‘Penny for them?’

‘Sorry, I was thinking about… you know… everything that happened. It was easier to block it out when we were lying under the tropical sun. It was so far away from here.’

Will reached out, squeezing her fingers.

‘I know, it was much easier to forget the whole nightmare ever happened. Now we’re back here it seems as if it was only yesterday. We need to push it to the back of our minds. It’s over and done, that bloody man is dead and hopefully he went straight to hell because even that place is far too good for him.’

She squeezed his fingers back.

‘Yes, you’re right. It is far too good for him. I agree – no more thinking about him or talking about him. Let’s concentrate on us and the baby. We need to think of names. It can’t come out and be called baby It.’

Will began to chuckle.

‘I’m easy, as long as you don’t want to call it Horatio or Ermentrude – whatever you like, I’m sure that I will.’

‘Don’t you like Horatio? I thought it had a nice ring to it. Horatio Ashworth.’

She began to giggle and Will smiled. It was his favourite sound in the world. The turn off for Newby Bridge came into sight; they were almost home. Twenty minutes of some of the most beautiful, lush, green scenery and then they would reach the small lane which led to Apple Tree Cottage. Annie loved her home. She had dreamt about living in a house like it since she was a small child and knew that she was very fortunate that her dream had come true.

‘I can’t wait to show your dad and Lily the photographs. She’ll definitely want to go when she sees how perfect it was.’

‘I bet she’s already made him book the flights.’

‘I bet she has. Your dad marrying Lily was better than any fountain of youth. She keeps him young, a bit like me and you. I’m much younger than you. I hope I have the same effect.’

She winked at Will who began to laugh.

‘I wish I could say you were, Annie, but somehow you seem to be having the opposite effect on me. Have you seen the grey hairs that have come through, and the worry lines across my forehead? You, my little cupcake, are the complete opposite. But I wouldn’t have you any other way.’


Chapter 5 (#ulink_d52fd94b-73f0-5b3e-bdff-68fab52a7d01)

It was dusky when Jo opened her eyes. The light had faded fast and she was surprised she’d slept that long, not to mention shocked because she hadn’t made Heath’s tea. Crap, he would go mad with her all over again. He’d made the sandwiches at dinner time; if he had to cook his own tea she’d know about it. Her head felt a little better but her eye was sore. Throwing back the covers and sitting up she waited a moment, listening to see if she could hear where he was, but there was no noise. The house was completely silent – it was strange; he must still be working. She looked at the clock and almost had a full-blown panic attack. It was quarter to nine; she’d been asleep since two o’clock. She was never going to sleep tonight – that was if he let her off with staying in bed so long in the first place. Jumping up, she ran to the bathroom then downstairs, relief that the house was in darkness flooding through her. Thank God for small mercies. Whatever he was working on was keeping him busy and for that she was eternally grateful.

She began to pull some pots and pans from the rack and thought about earlier when they’d all been moving on their own. Don’t be stupid, he knocked you out cold – it was just a figment of your imagination, concussion. She carried on chopping onions, garlic, chilli and peppers; she would make his favourite chilli and rice for tea – that would hopefully keep him in a good mood. Before long, the mince was frying and she tossed in everything else whilst waiting for the pan of water to boil. At least it would be almost ready by the time he came back in, so he wouldn’t be mad because he was hungry. Her own stomach started groaning. She hadn’t eaten much apart from nibbling on the sandwich earlier and for once he hadn’t even moaned about her leaving most of that.

Whilst the tea was cooking she went into the living room and switched the television on to his favourite programme. She didn’t understand why but she still loved him, even though he hurt her, and she wanted him to be happy – because when he was happy he didn’t get as violent. Therefore, as much as possible, she would do things to make him smile. He was so much fun when he was happy; they used to have such good times when they first met. It was just a shame that the anger seemed to be a much bigger part of him now than the love and laughter he rarely showed.

As she turned to walk out of the room the television, which she had just turned on, switched off. She turned around and stared at the black screen which seconds ago had had Sky News plastered across it. Thinking that she hadn’t pressed the on button right in, she walked back and pressed it again – the newsreader filled the screen. This time she got as far as the hallway when she heard the click of the power button being pressed in to turn the screen off; whipping her head around, the screen was black once more. Jo frowned, wondering if the television was broken – that was all she needed. Apart from taking photographs, the television was his life and he would be in a foul mood if it wasn’t working. No doubt he would blame her and then her life wouldn’t be worth living.

She strode back in, this time using the control to turn the damn thing on. It came on but this time it was on a completely different channel. It was on one of the documentary channels and there was what looked like a dead body laid out on a steel mortuary table. Jo shivered; she hated these sorts of programmes. A small voice whispered in her head… I’ll tell you why you hate them. It’s because one day you’re going to end up on one if you don’t get away from him. She shook her head, blocking the whispering out that was echoing inside her brain. She pressed the remote to put the news back on but it wouldn’t turn over; it was stuck. She shook it then slammed it against the palm of her hand, but nothing. She took the batteries out and reinserted them… still it wouldn’t move off the damn autopsy programme. Angry now, she bent down and switched the socket off, so finally the television turned off. Cursing it, she was walking out of the room towards the kitchen to check on the chilli when a loud noise filled the entire house. It was so loud she put her hands across her ears. It was coming from the living room. Her heart raced; she didn’t want to go back in there but if he came in and saw that she’d broken the television she would pay for it. Making herself go back into the living room, she stepped into the doorway and shivered – it now felt like the inside of an ice box in there, when moments ago it had been warm. She stared at the black and white fuzzy screen which was emitting white noise so loud she couldn’t hear herself think. Goose bumps broke out all over her arms; as she forced herself to walk toward the television, she heard a voice call her name. It wasn’t his voice. This was a woman’s voice and it was coming from inside the television. Her feet did not want to move any nearer to it, but she didn’t have much choice; if he heard the racket he would come storming in and go mental with her. Running the last few steps she yanked the plug from the socket and the room was silent once more. Her hands shaking, she heard the door from the workshop which led into the kitchen slam shut.

‘Jo…’

She was afraid to tell him what had just happened because he would think she was lying, and if he thought she was lying it didn’t bear thinking about what he’d do. Instead she pushed the last five minutes to the back of her mind and ran to the kitchen where she greeted him with a huge smile.

‘Are you hungry? Tea is almost ready. Sorry I fell asleep for so long.’

He hadn’t answered straight away. ‘Have I got time for a quick shower?’

‘Yes, I think so. No, you have, you definitely have. I’ll just turn the rice down.’

He’d walked past her and gone upstairs for a shower and she’d breathed out a sigh of relief that he wasn’t angry with her for a change. When he came back down they’d eaten in silence and when he’d told her he was tired and going to bed she’d followed him upstairs, afraid to be alone downstairs even though she wasn’t tired and didn’t want to be with him. She had no choice, because she didn’t know what was going on and she was terrified of her own house.

Jo didn’t sleep all night. She tossed and turned – afraid that if she did doze off the woman from the mirror or the voice from the television would haunt her dreams. Finally, when it was light enough and she couldn’t stand listening to him any longer, she crept from the bed and went downstairs; he was still snoring. She picked up the phone with hands that were shaking so much she couldn’t press the buttons on the keypad and had to redial twice. There was something wrong with her – ever since he’d pushed her to the floor and she’d hit her head on the concrete yesterday lunchtime, things had been happening to her that had never happened before. She would make an appointment with the doctor and tell him that she’d fallen off her ladders whilst cleaning the windows. That should be enough to ward off any awkward questions. All she wanted was reassurance that she wasn’t losing her mind. Pots didn’t shake and televisions didn’t turn on of their own accord – well, they didn’t before he made her lose consciousness, and she wanted to know why they were now. The receptionist was surprisingly helpful which threw her off course; usually the woman had a brusque manner that made grown men quake in their shoes when they were speaking to her at the desk in the surgery. She couldn’t tell Heath she had a doctor’s appointment – he would go mad – so she would have to say she needed to nip into the village for some more coffee and milk. Opening the fridge door she poured some of the milk down the sink, leaving enough for his cereal but nothing more – at least now she had a good excuse to leave the house, even if she did have to wear sunglasses.

***

Mrs Bates turned to the rowdy group of teenagers, lifting her hands in the air.

‘Now I know you are all quite capable of walking through the woods without getting lost; at least I hope you are. I also know that you lot make more noise than a gaggle of geese so if you do get separated from each other we’re bound to hear you. But – and this is a big but – look out for each other. This is part of your exam so let’s do it right. I hate walking, and if you mess it up and we have to come back and do all this again I’m going to not be very happy with you all. Understood?’

They all nodded and chorused.

‘Yes, Miss Bates.’

‘Good, now let’s get going. The sooner we start the sooner it will be dinnertime. Scott, I’m watching you and Becky – if you think it’s a good idea to have a crafty fag behind a tree and I won’t know about it, you’re wrong. So don’t go sneaking off for one and setting the woods on fire with your dog ends.’

Scott, Becky and Jessica all giggled.

‘As if we would, Miss. You know we wouldn’t do anything like that.’

Miss Bates rolled her eyes at them but smiled. There was something about the bad kids that she liked. She always had done. Some of the kids in this class had had the worst upbringings imaginable. Most of their parents were addicts, criminals, dealers, or just plain useless and didn’t care for their kids. Left to fend for themselves from an early age, at least the kids had one thing going for them – they were self-sufficient and streetwise. She found it far more rewarding working with these teenagers than with the ones in the private school where she’d worked previously, where the kids were rude, arrogant and selfish. These kids might have been dragged up but most of them were honest, polite, looked out for each other and generally did as she told them.

The walk leader nodded and they all heaved their heavy backpacks on and set off walking. Becky – who had decided to wear her new trainers with a thick black heel, the ugliest shoes Miss Bates had ever seen – soon began to lag behind. The ground was soft and the heels kept sinking into the soil.

‘Trust you, Becky. Why didn’t you put your old skanky trainers on? You’re going to ruin them and we’re not going to get finished until teatime at the rate you’re walking.’

‘Fuck off with the others then, Scott. No one told you to wait for me. I didn’t think it would be like this, did I? I thought there would be a path like the one in our woods back home – not soil, mud and leaves for ever.’

Jessica began to giggle.

‘Listen to you both, arguing like some married couple. I think it’s really sweet.’

Scott gave her the finger and Becky grinned. They could see a house through the trees.

‘Do you think we should go there and ask if we can use the toilet?’

‘Are you serious, Becky? We’ve only just set off, and not only can you not walk, but you want to pee already.’

The rest of the group was already quite some way ahead of them.

‘When you got to go, you got to go.’

‘What’s wrong with squatting behind a tree?’

‘Eugh, what’s right with squatting behind a tree. It’s all right for you lot; men can just whip it out and piss anywhere.’

Scott stood shaking his head. As much as he fancied Becky she was a complete pain in the arse. Jessica, who thought the whole thing was hilarious, was still smiling.

‘Just go behind that big tree, Becky. I’ll stand guard and make sure Scott doesn’t try and perv on you. You don’t know who lives in that house; it might be some crazy cat lady or a creep.’

Becky knew her friend was right; she broke away from them and began heading towards the tree. Scott was shouting something after her and she turned to give him the finger; missing her footing she fell forwards, landed on the soft ground and dislodged a mound of leaves. She began cursing, as the sound of her friends’ laughter filled the air around her. There was something white sticking out of the ground in front of her. She looked at it, trying to get her mind to process exactly what it was. When it finally decided that what it was seeing was real, she opened her mouth to scream and didn’t stop until Miss Bates and the others were standing next to her.

‘What on earth is the matter, Becky. Have you hurt yourself?’

They were all too busy looking at her to notice the skeletal hand that was sticking up from the ground. She lifted her finger and pointed to it.

‘What is that?’

Miss Bates looked down at it and felt her blood run cold. She looked at Scott.

‘Is this some kind of joke, Scott? Because if it is it’s not very funny.’

He shook his head.

‘No miss, I swear down. She wanted a pee and was going behind that tree, I’ve been standing with Jessica the whole time.’

Jess nodded in agreement with what her friend had just said. The man who was leading the walk bent down to take a closer look, prodding at the bones with a stick.

‘It seems real, but how would someone’s hand get out here?’

Scott pulled Becky up from the floor and she grabbed onto him.

‘Miss, if there’s a hand – there might be an entire body under there.’

‘Yes, you’re right, Scott. There could well be. I think we need to move away now and I’ll phone the police. Before I do I’m asking you all one last time – do any of you know anything about this? I’m not angry, but if it’s some toy Halloween prop that you got at the pound shop then I need to know because I don’t want to look like an idiot and phone the police for nothing.’

Nobody spoke. They all shook their heads at her. Most of them were still staring down at the hand with morbid fascination.

‘Right, then I’m trusting you on this – I’ll phone the police. I think you should all go over there and sit down. I have a feeling we might be here for a while yet.’

The normally rowdy kids were silent for once and she was glad that she could hear herself think. She walked off away from them so they couldn’t hear her conversation with the operator.


Chapter 6 (#ulink_f2da9f9b-df06-5c7a-ae85-8db49254674c)

Annie locked the door to the cottage and stared at her car, which she hadn’t driven for almost three weeks. Then she decided that by the time she’d driven the short distance into the village of Hawkshead and found a parking place she could walk and still be in time for her doctor’s appointment. It was a warm day but there was a gentle breeze which made it bearable. She walked to the gate and heard the two different voices giggling softly. Looking up at the bedroom window that she’d left ajar she saw the outline of twin boys standing there; she waved, unsure whether they could see her, but they both smiled and waved back. Annie, who had been able to see and communicate with some ghosts after the horrific head injury Mike inflicted on her two years ago, didn’t mind her ghostly occupants. They were much friendlier than the woman who’d murdered them back in 1732. Thankfully Betsy Baker was no longer haunting the house, not since she and Jake had dug up her grave in the front garden and, after an awful fight, had managed to bury her in consecrated ground. The boys she could cope with, but that woman had been evil through and through. Before long she reached the main road which led into the picturesque village. She walked past one of the coffee shops, which had the biggest cake Annie had ever seen in the window, and her stomach let out a loud groan. She rubbed her hand over her bump. Oh no, you love the look of that cake as much as I do, kid. At last a partner in crime. If I haven’t put on three stone in the last couple of weeks when the midwife weighs me I’ll treat us both to some. She walked into the surgery and was surprised to see it so busy. There wasn’t a chair free but she didn’t mind; she was used to standing up for hours on end whilst at work guarding crime scenes. She booked in at the receptionist’s desk and turned around to see a woman, who was around the same age as her, stand up.

‘Please, you can take my seat.’

The woman didn’t make eye contact and kept her head bowed; she did, however, smile.

‘Thank you but I’m fine, I can stand for hours – I’m used to it.’

‘Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of it. Please take it.’

Annie didn’t want to offend the small, quiet woman so sat down in the chair.

‘Thank you.’

She looked at Annie and nodded.

‘You’re very welcome.’

The receptionist shouted Jo Tyson and, still keeping her head down, the friendly woman scurried along the corridor towards the doctor’s room. Annie picked up the magazine from the table next to her; she had noticed the blue bruising under the woman’s left eye and the way she avoided eye contact and kept her head down. It reminded Annie of the woman she used to be three years ago. She shivered; the thought of her dead husband, Mike, and his violent outbursts made her feel ill. She had no idea how her life had changed so dramatically into the one she was living now but she knew it was all thanks to Will. He had stumbled across her when she was at her lowest point and like some scene from her favourite film, Pretty Woman, had come to her rescue, falling in love with her when she was battered, bruised and technically homeless. And now look at her; she had never been so happy. She so wanted to tell that woman that her life could get better if she found the courage to make the break away from her violent partner but it wasn’t her place because she didn’t know her. Hopefully the woman would realise it herself before her partner hit her too hard and killed her… the midwife shook Annie’s shoulder, waking her up from her world of painful memories.

‘Sorry, Annie, I called you a couple of times but you were miles away.’

Annie laughed.

‘I was. Sorry about that.’ She stood up and followed the midwife along to the room which she shared with the practice nurse.

The doctor felt Jo’s head, shone a light in her eyes and asked her how many fingers he was holding up.

‘Four.’

‘Good. I think you might have a slight concussion but everything seems okay. Have you vomited or passed out since?’

She shook her head.

‘No, but I’ve seen things… strange things. This is going to sound really crazy but I’m not, I swear I’m not. The pans started to shake on the rack in the kitchen when there was no breeze and I saw a woman I didn’t recognise looking back at me through the mirror – she was bleeding from her head. And then the television wouldn’t turn off.’

The doctor sat down and began typing on the computer. Jo knew she sounded exactly like she was crazy but she had to tell someone.

‘How long was this after you fell and hit your head?’

‘Pretty much as soon as I came around.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t worry too much. I think you must have knocked your head too hard and it messed around with your vision. Concussion can be a strange thing. Now I want you to take it easy for a couple of days, take paracetamol if you have a headache and get plenty of rest. I’m sure you’ll be back to normal in a couple of days. If you start to vomit or black out then you need to go to the nearest accident and emergency department as soon as possible.’

Jo nodded. She wasn’t about to disagree with a doctor who had spent years at medical school. At least he hadn’t told her to wait there while he called for a van and the men in white suits to come and take her away in a straitjacket to the nearest mental hospital.

‘Thank you so much, doctor. I’m sorry to have bothered you.’

He smiled at her.

‘Just one more thing, Jo. I couldn’t help but notice the bruising under your eye. Is everything okay at home. Do you need to talk about anything else?’

She shook her head, standing up.

‘Everything is fine, thank you, and no, I don’t have anything else to discuss.’

She turned to walk out of the room but he gently took hold of her arm, tugging her back inside and shut the door.

‘I know you don’t want to hear this but it needs to be said. I’ve kept quiet about it for far too long. I’ve watched you come in here the last few years and you hardly speak. What happened to the Jo I used to know, the fun, loving girl who would go down to the pub for quiz night and lose miserably every single week and still have a great big smile on her face? I can’t stand to see you like this – it’s as if all the stuffing has been knocked out of you and been replaced with cotton wool. When was the last time you went out with your friends to the pub quiz? Do you even have any friends now, Jo, or are you just a dutiful little housewife to Heath? We used to have such a good time all those years ago, and I miss the old Jo. My girlfriend Jo, even though it was only for six months, who once kissed me so hard under the mistletoe on New Year’s Eve that I couldn’t catch my breath. I still think about that kiss every single New Year.’

Jo looked at him. Her cheeks had flushed red and she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She had fancied him so much when he’d first moved here, fresh out of medical school. In fact, half of the women in the village had fancied him, but he’d turned them all down and had chosen to go out with her for six glorious months – until Heath had come along and blown her away with his charm. What a complete fool she’d been, giving up Paul for Heath. Christ, she still fancied him – but he was the one who had said it would be far too unprofessional of him to have a serious relationship with his patient. He’d let Heath steal her away from under his nose… and now look where she was. What would she give to turn back time and start all over again? Her soul probably; where was the devil when you wanted to make a deal? Shrugging her arm away from him she walked away without looking back, not wanting him to see her cheeks, which were burning, and her eyes, which were full of tears desperate to be shed. She didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her; it was her sorry mess and one day she would sort it out – but today wasn’t that day.

She walked out of the doctor’s room with her head down, not looking where she was going. Annie, who was also leaving, was talking on her phone to Will, telling him about her appointment and wasn’t paying attention either. They both reached the main doors at the same time, bumping straight into each other. Jo, who was tiny, lifted off her feet and landed on the floor. Mortified, Annie bent down, reaching out her hand to help her up. Jo began to laugh.

‘I’m so sorry. Are you okay?’

‘I’m sorry, it was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine. I keep forgetting about the size of my stomach. This bump is made of strong stuff and so am I. It’s a gorgeous day, isn’t it? Do you mind me asking – are you a local or a visitor?’

Jo took hold of Annie’s hand and she pulled her to her feet.

As they walked outside into the warm summer sun, Jo nodded.

‘I’m local. I live in a cottage on the edge of the woods. Have done for the last twenty years, since I got married. How about you?’

‘Ah, you almost qualify as being a true local. I’ve only lived here just under a year. We live at Apple Tree Cottage which borders the woods, but it must be on the opposite side to you. I’ve never really got to know anyone in the village because I was always working – well, until I found out I was pregnant that was. Now I’m on doctor’s orders not to get stressed, so I’m not at work at the moment.’

She held out her hand and Jo grasped it; her touch was so light it tickled. Annie smiled at her.

‘You know I’ve been fantasising about a slice of that monstrous cake in the coffee shop window. Do you have time for a coffee and cake? My treat. It’s the least I can do to make up for almost flattening you into the floor. It’s been so long since I sat in a café, I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like.’

She watched as the woman looked down at her watch, biting her lip. Then she looked at her properly, for the first time making eye contact.

‘Me either. You know what, I would love to – but I can’t stop for too long. I have to get back.’

Annie didn’t ask who, or why the rush. She got the sense that the woman was taking a huge risk by making a decision of her own. They walked the short distance to the café and Annie pointed to a table outside.

‘Would you mind if we went inside, out of the way?’

‘No, of course not. I’d get too hot anyway.’

They went inside where it was cool and much darker. Annie let Jo pick the table, wondering if she would pick the one at the back in a dark corner, and she did. Annie didn’t feel like gloating; she really felt for her. They were like kindred spirits, as if there was some unseen connection between them. Annie smiled. Where was this bullshit coming from? She’d turned into a right soppy wreck since she’d got pregnant. They sat down, chatting about the weather, the village fete that was being held in two weeks’ time, and the baby.

‘I always wanted children, really wanted children, but my first husband never did and to be honest I’m glad we didn’t now. It wasn’t a very good relationship. This one was a bit of a surprise but my second husband was delighted when he found out. Do you have any?’

The woman laughed but it was a short laugh.

‘No, Annie, we don’t and I suppose it’s a blessing in disguise. I wouldn’t want to bring a baby into my life.’

She stopped talking and bowed her head, furious with herself for almost letting slip about what a shitty life she led.

Annie changed the subject, feeling embarrassed for her – yet at the same time wanting to hug her and tell her it was okay, her secret was safe with her. But they barely knew each other and Annie hadn’t even told her best friend, Jake, about the abusive relationship she was in at the time, so there was no way that Jo was about to confide in her when they’d only just met. They finished their cake and sipped their coffee; Jo looked at her watch.

‘Oh gosh, is that the time? I really need to get going, but thank you, Annie. It’s been great talking to a neighbour even if we do live a couple of miles in the opposite direction from each other.’

Jo began to dig around in her pocket and Annie pulled out a ten pound note.

‘I told you, this is my treat. I’m so relieved to have some adult, female conversation it’s the least I can do. You can buy them next time.’

She winked at her and Jo laughed, turning to leave. Annie let her go. She was tired now she’d sat down and that huge slice of cake was weighing her down. Now all she had to do was walk home, or should that be drag herself home. She couldn’t stop thinking about Jo and wondered if her husband was a big man like Mike had been – they weren’t always. She’d arrested men before who were short and weedy but had fists like bars of steel. Annie knew she should keep out of it, that this was nothing to do with her. But she liked Jo and wanted to help in any way that she could.


Chapter 7 (#ulink_a1e08627-3431-574e-9ead-4913c5f18175)

Jo hurried home; she’d been far too long and he would be furious with her, but it had been worth it. Annie seemed lovely; it was so nice to speak to another woman. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been out for coffee, it felt so civilised and made her realise exactly how crap her life was when going out for a coffee felt like a huge adventure. As she opened her front door she kept her fingers crossed that he wasn’t waiting for her. She was in such a great mood for the first time in months. It would be just like him to be waiting behind the front door to spoil it all. It was almost too good to be true – he was nowhere to be seen and she felt her shoulders relax as she let out a long sigh of relief. Closing the door as quietly as possible she kicked off her shoes and walked into the kitchen to put the kettle on. As she leant over the sink to fill the kettle she saw flashes of bright yellow moving around in the woods behind the cottage. The cold tap began to squirt water all down her top as the kettle overflowed. She jumped back away from the window, grabbing a tea towel to dry herself. Her heart was racing. What were the police doing in the woods? She had no idea why she felt so nervous but she did. In all the years she’d lived in the village she could count the number of times she’d seen a police officer on one hand – and now there were at least six of them at the back of her house. Her first thoughts were that he’d done something really bad, but then she scolded herself. He only did the bad stuff to her, didn’t he? He was a perfect gentleman to everyone else, especially his clients. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise what he thought was his perfect life – why would he? But still she felt uneasy.

She made him a mug of tea, checking in the mirror to make sure she didn’t look a complete mess as she walked towards his workshop and knocked on the door. There was no answer, so she knocked again a little louder and this time she heard him swear. The door was thrown open and he looked her up and down in disgust.

‘What are the rules, Jo?’

Before she could answer his left hand had slapped her across the cheek, jolting her arm so she spilt steaming hot tea all down herself.

‘Never to disturb you when you’re working… but I think you should know there are a lot of police officers in the woods out the back. What do you think they are doing there?’

His normally ruddy complexion paled, far too quickly for her liking – making her wonder what it was he was hiding, or what it was he did in there when he locked himself away. He pushed past her and ran to the kitchen to take a look outside. She followed him and he leant forward to get a better view of what they were doing. Picking up the tea towel she dabbed at the now tea-stained white shirt she was wearing.

‘I don’t know what they are doing – what am I, psychic all of a sudden?’

His voice was much quieter and it wavered, just a notch. He kicked his slippers off and pulled on a pair of black wellington boots, grabbing his jacket off the coat peg by the back door. He opened it and went outside. She watched him, intrigued as to why he was so worried. He headed towards the nearest officer and she felt sick. He would be so polite to the policewoman who was standing there. He wouldn’t dare to be disrespectful towards her, let alone raise his hand and slap her.

He went out of the back door knowing fine well what they were doing – somehow, after all this time, they had found the grave. He needed to know if they knew much or were just as shocked as he was. He approached them as if he had every right to be there; never show your fear, he told himself over and over.

‘Excuse me, officer, I live in that cottage there. I was wondering if everything is okay?’

The officer held up her hand to stop him from going any further.

‘Sorry, sir, I can’t really say – and this whole area is now a crime scene so you’ll have to go back inside.’

‘No, of course you can’t, but can you tell me if I should be worried – is it bad? I don’t want to leave my wife alone in the house if it’s anything we should be worried about.’

She looked around to see who was in hearing distance and lowered her voice.

‘Well, I’m not supposed to say anything but you’ll hear soon enough and officers will want to come and speak to you both anyway. A group of school kids out hiking found a skeleton this morning, buried in the woods. We’re just waiting for the bosses and crime scene investigators to get here.’

His hand flew to his mouth in what he hoped was a convincing attempt at shock.

‘Oh, dear God, that’s awful. I can’t believe it. Is there anything I can do?’

‘Not really. The best thing you can do is to go back inside until one of the detectives comes to see you for a chat.’

‘Yes, yes, of course. I can’t believe it. If any of you need anything just give us a knock; my wife will be in all day. I might have to go into Barrow on an errand.’

He didn’t know whether he wanted to be there when the police came knocking, in case they could pick something up from his body language – like how guilty he was. But he supposed that they would want to talk to him at some point and it might be better to just get it over with and hope that they’d think he was just shocked at their discovery. After what seemed like forever he turned and walked back to the house. Kicking off his boots he shut the door and turned the key in the lock, shrugging off his jacket at the same time.

‘What did she say. Is it bad?’

‘She wouldn’t say – just said there was a serious incident and they were sealing off the area until CID got there. She said the police will want to come and speak to us at some point.’

‘Well, as long as no one has been hurt.’

He looked at her and frowned, staring at the fading red mark on her cheek. She knew he was hoping it would disappear before the police came knocking on their door wanting to speak to them both. He went back into the workshop, locking the door, and she sat down at the kitchen table relieved that whatever he was doing meant he was out of her way.

Thirty minutes later he was back; she inhaled and caught a whiff of strong lemon cleaning fluid. She was sitting at the kitchen table reading a magazine and jumped as he walked in, expecting him to shout at her for sitting there wasting time, but he never said a word. He locked up the workshop and went out of the back door to make sure the windows and outside door which led to it were also locked. He came back in and smiled at her.

‘Why don’t you make us a nice cup of coffee and we’ll put a film on? We haven’t watched that one with that man you like out of that women’s film yet.’

He meant The King’s Speech and the women’s film he was referring to was Bridget Jones. She nodded, knowing fine well what his game was. He was playing happy families so that when the police came they wouldn’t think anything strange of the married couple who lived in the house near the edge of the woods. If only they knew the truth – but she’d never say anything. She daren’t. She hadn’t when he’d pushed her down the four steps into the garden; that had cost him a trip to the accident and emergency department whilst her ankle was x-rayed then put into plaster. He’d never left her side the whole time but he needn’t have worried; she had nowhere to go if she had asked them for help. She couldn’t leave him if she wanted to.

It was almost two hours later that the knock finally came on their front door, and it was Jo who stood up to go and answer it. She could see two men through the small glass pane in the front door. Opening it, she looked at the two men, both wearing suits with ID badges around their necks. She felt drawn to the older, much better looking one and smiled.

‘Hello, sorry to bother you. I’m Detective Sergeant Will Ashworth and this is Detective Constable Stuart Miles. Would you mind if we came in to talk to you?’

She smiled at him. He had such nice, kind blue eyes… in fact he had nice everything.

‘Of course. This way.’

As he followed her in she got a whiff of his aftershave, which was lovely. It reminded her of Dr Miller. He always smelt good when they’d been dating and whenever she’d gone for an appointment. She led them into the living room, where Heath was in the process of building up the wood burner, even though it wasn’t particularly cold. Her eyes looked at the coal dust which now covered his hands. He never got them so dirty, ever. He was very particular about his hands and always wore gloves when he did anything that might involve getting them dirty.

‘This is my husband, Heath.’

Will nodded at the man, and lifted his hand to shake Heath’s but then looked at them and smiled. Heath looked down at his hands too.

‘Sorry, I’m a bit dirty.’

Will repeated his introduction.

‘I suppose you wouldn’t be able to help but notice all the police activity out the back. I’m afraid to say there’s been a bit of a gruesome discovery in the woods this morning. A group of teenagers found an unmarked grave containing a body – well, a skeleton to be exact – so we just need to ask you a few routine questions.’

Jo gasped.

‘A skeleton! Oh, my God – that’s awful. Has it been there a long time?’

She was thinking that it might be really old, maybe even a couple of hundred years old.

‘We can’t really say, to tell you the truth. It’s not our field of expertise. But it looks as if it’s been buried out there for quite a few years. We’re just waiting on the pathologist and a forensic anthropologist who will be able to tell us a lot more. Can you tell me how long you’ve lived here?’

Heath spoke before his wife could open her mouth.

‘Twenty-three years.’

‘Have you ever noticed anyone or anything suspicious in the woods out the back?’

‘No, nothing at all – but then again, we do have a very limited view. Would you like to come and take a look?’

Heath stood up and Will nodded at Stu to go with him; Will didn’t miss the look he gave to his wife. He waited until they had left the room.

‘I can imagine that this must be a bit of a shock for you. It’s not the sort of thing you want to happen near your house, is it?’

‘It is… I mean, it’s terrible. You don’t expect things like that to happen right on your own doorstep. The poor thing. How awful being buried out there in the middle of nowhere and left for years. What must the family be going through?’

‘It is horrible, isn’t it, but whoever it is could have been there a very long time. Do you go out there much?’

‘No, not really. I love living here but I don’t go into the woods on my own. To be honest I find them a little bit creepy. They’re far too quiet for me.’

Will smiled, encouraging her.

‘What about your husband. Does he spend much time out there?’

‘Oh no, he’s far too busy with his work to think about going out and actually relaxing. He spends all his time in his studio.’

Heath walked back in, followed by Stu, and she shut up, not even looking at him – instead she lowered her head. Will had picked up on the body language as soon as he’d walked in but this just confirmed it, that and the fear that had crept into her eyes. He felt his knuckles begin to clench. He looked at the man, who was well built but not fat and would make a good rugby player. He took an instant dislike to him. Will hated men who hit their partners with a passion and he would bet a full month’s wages that this prick hit the much smaller woman sitting opposite him.

‘I’m a photographer so I work long hours; I do a lot of wedding photographs, portraits, proms, school photos… that sort of thing. I like to develop them all myself. I much prefer using film than digital, although it does have its uses. Neither of us really goes out into the woods, which is a shame because they really are beautiful and right on our doorstep.’

‘Do you remember who you bought the house from? We might need to speak to them, providing we find out how long our body has been buried out there.’

‘It was an elderly couple, I’m not even sure if they’ll still be alive now but I do have their names and address somewhere. The only thing is it might take me some time to locate them.

‘That’s fine. If you could have a look and give me a call when you do I’d really appreciate it.’

Will was looking at the woman the whole time he was speaking; he pulled a business card from his pocket. The man stepped forward to take it from him but Will pushed it into the woman’s hands before her husband could reach it. He let his hand linger on hers for a touch longer than he normally would and then he looked into her eyes.

‘That’s my mobile number. You can call me when you find them. Any time, day or night, don’t worry about it. If you remember anything or need to tell me something and I don’t answer just leave me a message and I’ll get straight back to you.’

Stu frowned at Will, not sure what was happening. Then Will stood up and Stu followed; Will turned to the man, whose face was a touch redder than it had been moments ago.

‘Thank you for your time. I’m sorry to have bothered you. We won’t know for some time yet who it is or how long they’ve been buried out there but we’ll keep in touch.’

The man nodded and led them to the front door; as they left the room Jo rushed across to the sideboard. Scribbling the number off the card onto a bright pink Post-it note, she then tucked it as far down into the inside of her jeans pocket as it would go. Rushing back, she threw herself onto the sofa, still clutching the business card in her hand. He stormed back in; snatching it off her, he crumpled it up then pitched it at the fire and she watched as it began to smoulder and then burst into a tiny ball of flames.

‘What a smarmy bastard he was. I hate nosy coppers. If he wants to speak to us he can bloody well come here. I’m not wasting my breath or my money phoning him… and what did he think he was doing holding your hand like that? I’ve a good mind to go out there and knock his head off.’

She flinched at his outburst, waiting for the open-handed slap that would normally accompany such behaviour… but it never came. He was far too distracted and stomped out of the living room back to his workshop, leaving her cowering on the sofa, her hand tucked into her pocket protecting the small piece of paper which might just have the answer to all her prayers written across it. That nice detective had sensed something was wrong and he might be able to help her should she need to escape.

***

As they got outside Stu looked at Will.

‘I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, boss, or overstepping my mark – but just what exactly was that? That lingering touch and “you can call me any time you like”. I thought you were a happily married man.’

Will stopped dead in his tracks and turned to dead-eye Stu.

‘Don’t be an idiot, Stu. I can’t believe you just said that – in fact, don’t even go there. Can’t you see the facts when they’re right in front of your eyes?’

‘What, what facts are you talking about?’

‘I don’t know what the hell is going on with the skeleton – for all we know that could have been there a hundred years – but I do know that it’s pretty obvious that the bloke back there likes to show how much of a man he is by beating his wife.’

‘What? How could you know that from the whole ten-minute conversation we had back there? Don’t tell me you’re a psychic genius as well as your wife.’

‘Because of her body language. She practically shrivelled into herself when he walked in the room. Then there was the fact that she had pale blue bruising under her eye which she’d tried to cover with face powder and she was terrified of him. When he came back in the room you could almost feel the fear which radiated from her, and she never looked up once when he was in the room or made eye contact with either of us.’

‘Really? I never noticed.’

‘If there is one thing I hate more than anything in this world, it’s weak, pathetic men who feel they have to take their problems out on their wives with their fists. Do me a favour Stu and go find someone else to irritate for an hour because I can’t be bothered with you right now.’

Will walked away from him, leaving Stu staring after him, shocked at his boss’s tantrum. Then, realising he’d been a complete idiot and so wrong it would be hard to put it right, he hurried after Will – trying his best to think of all the ways he could make it up to him.


Chapter 8 (#ulink_953ba0ba-17d7-546f-b2ba-94f98fd904dd)

Annie walked down the lane towards Apple Tree Cottage and felt her heart fill with joy to see Jake and his adorable baby girl, Alice, playing in her front garden. It never failed to melt her heart – the sight of huge, tough, gorgeous Jake playing with Alice. She opened the gate and Alice began to squeal with delight at the sight of Annie. She hurried over to scoop her up into her arms and plaster her with kisses. Alice giggled. Lifting her small, chubby finger she began to twirl it around one of Annie’s curls that had escaped her ponytail.

‘Well, hello, my adorable Alice, I’ve missed you so much – did you miss me?’

Alice began gurgling at her.

‘Yes, you did, I know that you did.’

Jake walked over and bent to kiss Annie’s cheek.

‘Yes, she did, I cannot lie. The poor kid almost had to go cold turkey off the chocolate buttons because Alex banned chocolate from the house for a week. I missed you as well, though. You look really well, you look...’

Annie slapped his arm.

‘Don’t you dare say that I’m blooming. I hate that expression. I have a bad back which is keeping me awake at night, can’t stop peeing and I still want to devour box after box of Coco Pops.’

‘Best not get you started on the haemorrhoids then.’

He winked at her and began to laugh.

‘Suit yourself – I won’t say it then. Tell me, how was your holiday? That’s what I’ve come to see you for. I want to know every sordid detail, every cocktail that you drank and where was the most exotic location you two had sex?’

‘I’m not telling you that even though you are my bestie. What’s the matter with you?’

Jake pouted.

‘Well, did you at least join the mile-high club?’

‘In case it’s escaped your notice, Jake, I’m six months pregnant – I could only just squeeze myself into the toilet on the plane. There was no room for me to manoeuvre, never mind Will! Come on, let’s go inside. I’ll make us a cool drink and fill you in on everything.’

‘Everything?’

‘Well, almost everything – there are some things a lady should never discuss.’

He looked around the garden, ‘What lady?’

She ignored him and walked to the front door, passing Alice to him so she could open it. It was cool inside. She hadn’t realised how warm it was outside until she stepped onto the cold tiled floor and kicked her shoes off. Jake ducked under the porch and followed her in.

‘No sign of?’

He didn’t finish it; he knew the rules. Neither of them was to speak about that woman inside the perimeter of the house and gardens. Annie shook her head.

‘No, but I saw those two little boys earlier, looking out of the bedroom window, and I can’t help thinking that if she was around they wouldn’t be here, would they? They kept their distance when it was all going on and I don’t mind kids as long as they’re sweet and innocent like Sophie.’

Sophie was the little girl whose soul had been stolen by the shadow man. Annie had never been so scared as the day she had to do battle with the dark entity that collected souls of the innocent and who had wanted Annie’s soul. Jake had been there in the church whilst Annie had done her very best to fight the shadow man and send him back to hell; she’d done it with a little help from Sophie and her mum, who had both died in 1984. All three of them had held hands and fought against him, managing to get rid of him for good – or so Annie hoped. She had watched Sophie be reunited with her mum, who she hadn’t seen for twenty years, and she’d known then that as scary as her newly found psychic gift was it was also very wonderful.

‘That’s good. In fact it’s more than good – it’s a huge relief. I mean, you have this fabulous house and it would be terrible if you had to sell it because of its ghostly inhabitants – not that anyone would want to buy it if they knew it was haunted. So come on then, what was Hawaii like? Am I going to want to get the next plane there?’

‘Oh yes, it was beautiful and the people were so nice – in fact they were amazing. I would seriously think about living out there if I didn’t have to worry about leaving you all behind.’

‘See, you’re a posh bird now. You’ve gone up in the world since you married into money. I’m surprised that you still talk to us lower-class heathens.’

‘Pft, Alex is by no means lower class, Jake, and you live in the poshest part of Barrow so stop talking rubbish. Who’d have thought it, though, I mean seriously – you ended up with the man of your dreams, who just happened to be rolling in it with a good job. And I met the man of my dreams, who I had no idea was rolling in it because he kept it so well hidden. I’m not going to lie; it’s a lovely feeling seeing the brown envelopes come through the door and not have to worry if my wages will be enough to cover the bills – but if I lost it all tomorrow it wouldn’t matter as long as I had Will and the baby.’

‘We did all right, didn’t we, kid? We’ve survived some scary shit but we’ve come out the other side. Bloody hell, we should be drinking champagne not…’ He took a sip from the tall glass filled with ice and juice that she passed him. ‘What is this?’

‘A non-alcoholic Pimm’s.’

Jake spat an ice cube down the front of his shirt.

‘Since when did you drink Pimm’s?’

‘See, you don’t know everything about me. I do have some secrets.’

‘You’re a dark horse, Annie Graham – I mean Ashworth. I can’t get used to calling you that, by the way. You know you will always be Annie Graham to me, don’t you.’

She nodded.

‘I know.’

‘Good, I love my plain old Annie.’

‘And I love my red hot Jake.’

‘Calm it down, woman – you know I’m a married man now.’

But he winked at her, relieved to see that for once she had a lovely golden glow, wasn’t missing half of her hair, didn’t have any black eyes or bruises and wasn’t being stalked by a serial killer or a scary ghost. He just hoped that he wasn’t jinxing things by being so happy for her. She’d had such a rough couple of years he was amazed she wasn’t hooked on vodka and anti-depressants. Annie led them into the living room and flopped down onto the sofa.

‘You may have to haul me off this thing before you go or, if you can’t, hire a crane. I’m so tired all the time. I had no idea it would feel like this.’

‘I could haul you off there with one hand. You’re not that big.’

‘Really, because I feel as if I’m the size of a house. I’m scared to look in the mirror sideways or have a bath when Will isn’t here in case I get stuck and can’t get out – I don’t fancy sitting in a bath tub for hours on end.’

He laughed. Alice was sitting on the soft cream rug by his feet playing with an assortment of toys Annie had brought in from the cupboard under the stairs. They both watched her play and Annie had to stop herself from sighing out loud. She couldn’t wait to watch their baby playing with Alice. The ball, which had rolled away from Alice and was too far out of her reach, began to roll back towards her. Annie watched it and smiled. Jake grabbed her arm.





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