Christ – twenty-five years old and already being outrun by kids. Mind you, not only didn’t he have the body or fitness of a twenty-five-year-old, he didn’t have the face of one either. That was evident when he overheard the taunts, the whispers and nicknames whenever he ventured out of his comfort zone of the bungalow – ‘Old Man Cawley’, ‘Creepy Cawley’ and the like. He had had worse nicknames though – some of the more cruel, unfounded things people said really boiled his piss. But he no longer had the motivation, the desire to look good or worry unduly about what the folk of Mapledon said about him. There was no one to impress now. Not now they’d taken everything from him.
A loud crash at the kitchen window startled him.
‘Bastards!’ He rushed to the door, flinging it open in time to see two boys hare down the road. He’d never catch up with them. Billy strode outside, stepping over all the crap in his garden. He kicked a doll’s head hard, sending it flying through the air. It landed by his truck, then rolled awkwardly behind the back tyre. He walked around to the kitchen window, and on inspection of the ground he found a large stone. He picked it up; it was pretty weighty – he was amazed it hadn’t gone right through the glass. None of the kids had done more than play Knock, Knock, Ginger before. It seemed they were getting braver.
Maybe it was time for him to do the same.
Chapter Twenty-Two
2019
Anna
Saturday 13th July
She was taking a leap of faith. Anna had no clue who Lizzie was, what she wanted – but, like her, she’d come to Mapledon for a reason. Anna wanted to ask so many questions, but also wanted to tread with caution. She needed to get Lizzie away from the church: she didn’t want to be seen by any nosy villagers. Being back in this place was bad enough, being recognised even worse – but to also be caught talking to an outsider – well, that would be punishable by death. Despite knowing that to be an exaggeration, Anna did know it was the one thing the tight-knit villagers of Mapledon feared the most. Although, at this point, just because Anna didn’t recognise the woman, or her name, it didn’t mean she didn’t have family ties here, so perhaps she was being too quick to label her as an outsider. The irony that she was acting just like a Mapledon villager herself wasn’t lost.
Only one way of finding out.
‘So, Lizzie – you visiting family too?’ Anna turned to face Lizzie as they walked, wanting to gauge her reaction.
‘Kinda, yes. No. Well, maybe …’ Lizzie stuttered.
That solved that, then. Anna inwardly sighed. How could she proceed from there?
Anna guided Lizzie around the corner of Edgelands Lane, the small primary school coming into sight. Lizzie stopped walking, appearing to freeze to the spot.
‘What’s the matter?’ Anna asked.
‘Nothing, sorry.’ She began walking again, her head bowed. ‘Why did you say Mapledon had dragged you back, Anna?’
‘It was only a turn of phrase, I guess. I just meant that it’d taken years to escape it – and its small-village mentality – and I never had the inclination to return once I’d left. But, with my mother still living here, well, it’s like I can’t quite rid myself of the place yet. While I still have her, I suppose it was inevitable that one day I’d need to come back here. And it seems yesterday was that day.’
‘Is she ill, your mother?’
‘I think she’s showing some early signs of dementia.’ Anna was surprised at herself for telling Lizzie. But then she always had found it easier to talk to someone outside of the family, someone who didn’t know the people involved; couldn’t judge.
‘Ah. I’m sorry. It’s a terrible thing watching the person you love become less like the person you’ve known all your life, I’m sure. Nice that you’re here for her though. Are you the only child?’
‘Yep. It’s all on me. My mum and dad separated years ago, so Mum only has her neighbours and the other villagers to look out for her. You never really prepare yourself for a parent to deteriorate, to die – do you?’ Anna gave a half-smile. Lizzie’s skin had paled, and immediately Anna realised she’d put her foot in it. Shit. Lizzie had been coming out of the churchyard – what was the betting she’d been visiting the grave of one of her parents? Maybe even both. That would explain her odd ‘kinda, yes, no,’ response when she’d asked if she was visiting family. ‘I’m sorry, Lizzie – I …’ she faltered.
‘It’s fine. Really. And no, you’re right, you don’t prepare yourself – even in later years.’ Lizzie dropped her gaze. ‘But you especially don’t prepare when you’re just seven years old when it happens. How could a child ever envisage something happening to her parents?’
Oh, God. Anna flinched. ‘How terrible,’ she said, now wishing she hadn’t begun this line of conversation. Anna had never been very good with other people’s grief, and today she’d overdosed on it. As much as she wanted to move the conversation on to a brighter topic, she knew she’d opened this poor woman’s wound now, so had no option but to watch the blood flow out. ‘What happened?’
Anna’s question was met with silence. They carried on walking, side by side – Anna led them past Major’s Farm and along Langway Road, making sure to give a passing glance to each property, checking if anything unusual adorned their doors. They were almost at the turn that would take Anna back home when Lizzie finally spoke again.
‘Cancer,’ she said. ‘My mother died of cervical cancer. She was only twenty-four.’
‘I’m so sorry, Lizzie. That’s shocking. It must’ve turned your world upside down.’ Anna truly felt terrible for this woman – to have had such a young mother, then lose her. Her life must’ve changed dramatically afterwards. No doubt Lizzie had a long, probably painful story to tell, but Anna realised they were getting closer to Muriel’s road now and she didn’t really want to invite a stranger in. ‘Er … I’m going to have to head back, actually. Mum will be anxious – I’ve been longer than I thought.’
‘’Course. Sure.’ Lizzie looked around her, like she was lost. Of course. She’d dragged the poor woman quite a way from where her car was parked, through winding lanes. She was probably wondering how to get back to it.
‘If you go left here it’ll take you back onto the main road of Mapledon, then hook another left, back up the hill.’ Anna smiled.
‘Good, thanks. Oh, Anna – er … I have no place to stay, actually … so …’
‘Oh.’ Anna panicked for a moment, thinking Lizzie was angling to stay with her. Surely she wouldn’t ask that of someone she’d just met? She hesitated before remembering the B&B on the edge of Mapledon. ‘Have you checked out Bulleigh Barton? It’s a beautiful place, rolling hillsides, quiet. I almost checked in myself rather than stay at my mother’s! There’s a leaflet for it in the shop window. It’ll have their phone number – you’ll see it when you head up the hill.’
‘Great. I’d kinda left without any plan, really. And this didn’t appear to be a place where I could get a cheap Airbnb deal,’ Lizzie said.
‘No, I guess it doesn’t. There’s literally just that one place within ten miles, I think. Not many visitors to Mapledon …’
‘Not if they want to leave again, right?’ Lizzie said, unsmiling. The intensity in her eyes made Anna shiver.
Chapter Twenty-Three
2019
Lizzie
So much for Anna having a ‘story’, Lizzie thought as she strode back to her car, her mind whirring. Visiting her mother who had dementia. Sentimental, and not exactly what Lizzie had been hoping to learn. Lizzie had failed to get Anna’s surname – or her mother’s name – no information regarding any recent events in this godforsaken village. She was no closer to finding out if he might be here. But, thanks to her new friend, she did now have a place to stay. Lizzie had finally got a mobile signal as she approached the top of the hill and booked herself into Bulleigh Barton for three nights. She reasoned that if she hadn’t found what she was looking for within that time, then she never would.
A couple of people had openly stared at her as she’d stood punching the number of the B&B into her phone outside the shop. She’d been tempted to strike up a conversation but had ultimately chickened out, the thought of the questions they’d ask her putting her off. Before talking to anyone else, she required a night to prepare. She may have already said too much to Anna, who might well go straight home to her mother and repeat everything she’d said. Thinking about it, there was a strong possibility that by tomorrow the whole village would know her name. Had she been too quick to introduce herself? Giving her full name had been a mistake. Anna hadn’t been that naive. But, she realised, if someone googled her, they were only likely to find articles she’d written, nothing about her past.
A journalist in Mapledon, though. How welcome would that be?
After sitting in her car contemplating for a good ten minutes, Lizzie reversed and instead of driving back down the main road leading out of Mapledon, she turned into the one that Anna had walked her down moments before. She pulled up outside the primary school, her heart fluttering furiously. A stream of disjointed memories had slammed into her brain from nowhere when she and Anna had walked past it. It had shocked her. So much so she’d felt debilitated; unable to move. These were things she knew she had to face if she were to have any chance of shaking off her past once and for all.
Lizzie put the car in gear and moved off again. She had an urge to see the bungalow – it couldn’t be too hard to find in such a small village and she had recognised the school, so maybe other places would be familiar as well. A tiredness swept over her, though, so she decided it would be a task best left to tomorrow. Because if he had come back, then going there would be too much to handle in one day. To face him would take far more strength than she currently had. She’d rather know what she was likely to come up against, be better equipped. Her plan to get information from the villagers was the one she should follow to limit the hurt, the pain she would undoubtedly feel all over again.
As Anna had said, Bulleigh Barton was on the edge of Mapledon, barely half a mile outside, situated down a narrow lane and reached via a long driveway. As soon as Lizzie stepped out of her car she immediately felt calmer, more awake and far less anxious than she’d been in the village. It was as though the air was purer, less toxic. She was greeted warmly by the owner, Gwen – a bubbly woman of around fifty with a soft, Irish lilt. Lizzie was offered tea and biscuits and then shown to her room, which had a luxurious double bed, a homely feel and overlooked the fields. It seemed, at least here, strangers were welcome. But maybe it was because Gwen had been an outsider herself once.
‘This is perfect, thank you, Gwen,’ Lizzie said, smiling.
‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your stay better, won’t you? You’re my only guest at the moment.’
‘Will do,’ Lizzie said, her attention out the window at the cows in a neighbouring field. It was a far cry from built-up Abbingsworth. ‘Oh, actually – do you have Wi-Fi here?’
For a horrible moment, as she caught the blank look on Gwen’s face, she thought she was going to say no. But, with a wink, Gwen said: ‘Yes – we’re out in the sticks and signal isn’t always grand, but we are in touch with the twenty-first century.’
Lizzie laughed. ‘Great, that’s good to know.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
1989
Fisher residence
Friday 14th July – 5 days before
Bella was sitting at the halfway point on the stairs, her left ear turned towards the closed sitting-room door, but annoyingly she couldn’t make out what they were saying. She’d been sent to bed an hour ago, the same time as her dad had left for the pub. But the muffled voices – punctured every now and then with loud laughter – had risen through the floorboards making sleep impossible. Her mum’s friends often came round for ‘drinkies’, as she called it, and at times the whole house was filled with women for the stupid Mapledon Meetings. But they were always on a Thursday night. Bella thought all of it was just an excuse for them to gossip and get drunk. The mornings after these get-togethers and meetings, Bella always noticed her mother wasn’t herself, telling Bella she ‘felt delicate’ and that she couldn’t cope with any of Bella’s ‘nonsense’. Dad would whisper ‘hangover’ in Bella’s ear before leaving for work, or golf. She didn’t know what it meant exactly, but eventually realised it just meant her mother had a headache and wasn’t to be disturbed.
As her mum was drinking now, with Mrs Andrews and Auntie Tina, Bella knew tomorrow morning would be one of those times she’d have to keep her distance and let her mother be; she’d have another headache to get over. Disappointment raged through her. She’d wanted to get out of the village, maybe visit Bovey Tracey and go to some shops with her mum – have lunch in a café. Anything to take her away from the dullest place on earth. Anything to take her away from the stupid Knock, Knock games Jonie would make her play. She hated her mum sometimes.
Just as boredom was about to make her creep back to her room, Bella heard Mrs Andrews’ voice more clearly. She must be right by the door. Bella ducked back a little from the open stairwell just in case she was coming out; she didn’t want to be spotted and yelled at for eavesdropping.
‘No one knows what he’s capable of. No one knows him at all, not even where he came from. Just wish he wasn’t here. I really thought he’d leave after his kid was taken.’
Bella heard murmurings, and what sounded like a disagreement, and thought she made out the words ‘obviously wasn’t enough’, before hearing Mrs Andrews’ voice clearly again.
‘Anyway, I’ll make sure it’s on the agenda for the next meeting, even if you’re not bothered, Tina. Sorry I can’t stay for another—’
The lounge door swung open and Bella jumped up, moving swiftly towards her bedroom only moments before the women appeared. That’d been a close one. Bella listened as her mum and Mrs Andrews said goodbye and gave each other a kiss before the front door banged closed. The voices in the lounge became softer. Bella got back into bed. She guessed who they were talking about; he was all anyone seemed to talk about in this village. Bella wondered why he stayed too – she couldn’t understand why anyone would want to be part of this place, let alone if everyone was rude and horrible to you.
What on earth had he done to make them so nasty?
Chapter Twenty-Five
2019
Anna
Sunday 14th July
At first, Anna assumed the banging on the door was Auntie Tina, but as she lifted her head from the pillow and checked the time on her mobile, she saw it was only six a.m. Who would visit at this hour on a Sunday? Then she heard quick footsteps promptly followed by a scream.
What the fuck? She launched herself from the bed, crashing against the doorframe in her rush to get out the bedroom.
‘Mum, Mum! What is it?’ Anna tore down the stairs, her pulse pounding in her neck almost as loud as her feet were on the treads.
Red liquid, from what appeared to be a burst plastic bag, pooled on the doormat.
‘Is it real? Is it real blood, Anna?’ Her mum was backing away as she repeated the words over and over.
‘I – I’m not sure, Mum.’ Avoiding the mess, Anna unlocked the front door, yanking it open quickly, hoping to catch the culprits red-handed. Literally. She peered out. No one was in sight, but as she drew her head back, she saw what had been hammered to the door. She didn’t want to worry her mother further, but she couldn’t exactly hide it either.
‘What is it this time?’ Muriel asked. Anna looked at her, taking in the frail woman whose shoulders were hunched in fear. This wasn’t on. Someone was taking joy in terrorising a vulnerable woman and it angered her. This felt different from a kid’s game. Personal.
‘It’s a doll’s arm,’ Anna said.
‘This is ridiculous. Stupid kids – bags of blood shoved through the letterbox, things hammered to the door – what do they think they’re playing at?’
‘Mum, listen,’ Anna said as she stepped back inside, over the red-stained mat. ‘It’s six in the morning – on a Sunday. How many kids do you know who’d be up this early? I don’t think it’s kids, I really don’t.’
‘So you think it’s him?’
‘I’m not saying that either. I mean, why would he? To what end? And why you? I haven’t heard of anyone else receiving these doll’s parts, have you?’
‘No, no. But the timing …’ Muriel carried on mumbling to herself, her thumbnail rammed in her mouth making the words indecipherable.
Yes, the timing was odd, she had to admit that; these things happening literally days after Billy Cawley’s release surely couldn’t be coincidental.
‘Look, you go get a bucket of warm, soapy water and I’ll take this outside.’ Anna pointed to the doormat. ‘See if I can salvage it.’ Opening the door, then lifting both ends of the mat together in attempt to prevent the liquid running off the edges, Anna shuffled outside. It was runny, not gloopy or sticky-looking, so she was hopeful it wasn’t real blood. She carefully walked with it down the side of the house to the back garden and laid it down on the lawn. Then she tilted it to let the liquid drain off. She watched as the red mess trickled into the green grass, staining it. Some had got on her hand; she wiped it in the grass too, but a pinky tinge remained. It was dye. Possibly just food colouring. She deposited the now-empty plastic bag in the wheelie bin as she went back to the front door and pulled at the doll’s arm. The nail had been driven through the upper part of the plastic arm. She had to twist it several times before it loosened. She pulled at it harder. It gave a pop as it came away and Anna stumbled backwards with the arm in her hand. The nail must’ve been hammered in with some force.
Anna turned the arm over in her hands, then frowned. There was something inside it, stuffed in the hollow. The opening was too small to get her fingers inside. She ran into the kitchen, almost knocking Muriel over, the water slopping out of the bucket she was carrying.
‘Anna! Be careful,’ she scolded, putting it down on the floor.
‘Sorry,’ Anna said. With the arm held on the worktop, she poked a metal skewer inside. After a few failed attempts at grabbing it, Anna finally pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper. Under her mother’s watchful, and – she sensed – fearful gaze, Anna unravelled the paper, revealing bold red lettering.
SOMEONE HAS BLOOD ON THEIR HANDS
Anna and Muriel exchanged uneasy glances.
What was that supposed to mean?
Chapter Twenty-Six
2019
Lizzie
Lizzie hadn’t attempted sleep until gone three a.m. After eating the meal provided by Gwen, she’d soaked in the beautiful claw-footed bathtub. Then, wrapped in the fluffy white bathrobe that had been hanging on the back of the door, she’d sat at the desk overlooking the garden and set about researching Mapledon and some of its residents. She’d found nothing on Anna. There was plenty of information about William Cawley, though: news articles about his conviction and the fact he’d put in a late plea bargain to the charge of the abduction and murder of Jonie Hayes, other articles about the evidence found in his truck, and the devastation felt within the ‘small, tight-knit community of Mapledon’.
Lizzie struggled to read them. It was too close – too raw, even now. But she knew she had to. She’d compartmentalised all of it for years, pretending it had happened to other people – people she didn’t know or care about. If she tried hard enough, she could detach herself again now, read it all as an outsider, someone with no involvement or investment.
Having had a stern word with herself, she’d continued scouring the articles for names and had noted down those that appeared most frequently: Tina Hayes, obviously as she was the mother of the victim; a source close to the family, Nell Andrews; family friend Muriel Fisher and local vicar, Reverend Christopher Farnley. She’d also been surprised to learn that a key piece of evidence was from a witness to the abduction – Jonie Hayes’ ten-year-old friend, named only as ‘Girl B’ for legal reasons. She hadn’t remembered this. But then, she’d avoided this kind of search before, not feeling the need or desire to delve into the past.
Now, having woken with a headache and dry mouth, Lizzie reluctantly peeled herself from the comfortable double bed, stumbled to the tea tray on the unit in the corner and popped the kettle on. The names from the articles still swirled in her mind. Muriel Fisher’s had come as no surprise. Hers was one Lizzie did remember. And once she’d seen Reverend Farnley’s name, that too had sparked recall. But Nell Andrews wasn’t one she remembered. The problem was that Lizzie could never be sure if any of the memories she recalled were truly her memories, or ones she’d taken on and remembered from what other people had told her over the years. She wondered if she’d ever really know which were hers.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Lizzie called Dom. He’d only sent one text yesterday to which she’d replied a brief ‘all’s fine’, and she got the impression he was pissed off. She had upped and left at short notice. While he did understand her job might take her somewhere abruptly, usually she’d have at least spoken to him before leaving rather than merely leaving a brief note.
‘Hey, babe – so sorry for leaving in a rush.’ She got her apology in quickly, before he’d even said hello.
‘Well, I was disappointed when I got home to find you gone, and without a call, or even a text …’ His voice was distant, and it immediately set Lizzie on edge. She hated to think she’d upset him; hated the thought he was mad at her even more.
‘I know, I know. I didn’t have much time, sorry – once the decision was made, I didn’t want to hang around—’
‘Really, Lizzie? You took a few minutes at least to find the paper and write a note, but didn’t have time to hit your speed dial and call me? You know there’s a little button on your phone that means you can be hands free and everything, so you could have packed your bag whilst speaking to me or even called from the car.’ Sarcasm dripped from his words. Lizzie had no argument, so she said nothing. The silence stretched. She heard him sigh.
‘So, what was so urgent you had to rush off without so much as a by-your-leave?’
Lizzie took a moment to consider her choice of words. If she’d managed to carry out her plan to come clean about everything, Dom would now have been in possession of the facts and she wouldn’t feel the need to play this down. Or lie. But she hadn’t, and now – over the phone – was definitely not the right time.
‘It was a breaking news story, time-sensitive, and it sounded …’ She hesitated. ‘Beefy. I wanted it, that’s all, so had to rush to get here. It’s near Dartmoor, in Devon—’
‘Bloody hell, that’s a long way away – why on earth do you want to cover a story there?’
She felt she owed him some element of truth here. She took a deep breath.
‘Because once, a really long time ago … I lived here.’ Before Dom could question her on this statement, she added, ‘I can’t remember any of it, I was only little and it was for a very brief time. But it intrigued me enough to make me want to come back and look into it.’
Even to her, it sounded weak. But Dom didn’t press further, just asked exactly where she was. Lizzie gave him the name of the B&B and after a few minutes of general chat, she hung up.
