The house telephone rings almost as soon as Joanna returns her mobile to her handbag.
‘Having fun?’ Mike jokes. ‘How’s the marking going?’
‘Okay,’ she exhales and, noticing how prematurely dark the day has become, switches on the thread of halogen ceiling lights.
‘I rang earlier – didn’t you hear the phone?’
‘Can’t have done. Sorry.’
‘You all right? You sound funny.’
‘I’m struggling to concentrate, if I’m honest.’ Sudden rain sprays the kitchen windows; she turns her back to it, strokes the dog with her slippered foot.
‘Oh, you’re not still fretting about your sister, are you? We know what happened to her, it was just unfortunate, nobody’s to blame. There’s no crime to investigate, is there?’ His chirpiness is pinched into a question she can tell he doesn’t want the answer to. ‘For God’s sake, Jo, you’ve got to let it go.’
The rhyming of Jo and go was something he used to tease her about when they were first together. Jo-Go is Mike’s nickname for her when he’s larking around, but he’s not larking around today.
‘I can’t,’ she says simply, placing her coffee mug in the sink.
Silence. And into it she hears him heave a sigh. Feels its perforated edge squeezed down the handset.
‘I discovered something, Mike. It’s really odd.’ Joanna is the first to speak.
‘Go on.’
‘I don’t know what to make of it really, but y’know that Kyle Norris bloke, the one—’
‘Yes, I know.’ Mike cuts her off, not wanting the upsetting details again.
‘He’s the double of that Dean Fry I told you about.’
‘Dean Fry? Dean – what, the bloke your sister claimed was involved in the murder of your little friend, you mean?’ Mike sounds interested. ‘Huh, she really screwed his life up, didn’t she?’
‘Yes, him.’
‘His double, you say?’
‘Yes … and because of it, I’m wondering … ’
‘What?’
‘I know nobody’s to blame for Carrie’s death, it’s on CCTV, I’m not questioning that. But seeing this bloke’s face, and the fact the lad in the shop said Carrie shouted out Dean’s name. It was the very last word she said.’ A pause. ‘I know Dean had nothing directly to do with it, but if I could just speak to him, he might be able to … I don’t know … give me some kind of pointer as to why she reacted the way she did.’ Her doubts falling like stone petals between them.
‘What pointer?’
‘I don’t know, do I? And I can hardly ask her. But whatever was going on in that head of hers, whatever she was obsessing about, it had something to do with Dean … maybe she was fearful he was going to hurt her like she saw him hurt Ellie Fry—’
‘Claims he did, you mean,’ Mike interrupts. ‘He was never charged with anything, it was never proven, was it? Poor sod’s probably still living with the stigma of her accusation. And anyway, you said you didn’t know what happened, that you were too little to understand what he was supposed to have done to his stepsister?’
‘I was, but I’ve a fair idea.’ She rotates on her heels, looks out at the continuing rain. ‘And I’m sure what happened to Carrie’s all mixed up with Witchwood. Her nurse said she was going on about it the last few times she saw her.’ Joanna focuses on the cherry trees that, like the espalier pear tree – its branches coaxed by Mike’s careful fingers into a pretty fanned effect – is poised to burst into blossom.
‘So, you think this Dean bloke can enlighten you, do you?’ Joanna can tell Mike stops short of telling her she’s as mad as her sister.
‘Yes, just go with me on this, will you, Mike?’ Joanna worries at a snag of skin on her nail. ‘Perhaps if things had gone differently – if the two of us had stayed in touch … I can’t help it, I feel dreadful she was on her own for the last ten years.’
‘Why? You’ve nothing to feel guilty about.’
‘Don’t I?’ she says despondently.
‘Carrie was the one who closed the door on you,’ her husband reminds her. ‘And anyway, you had us to think about – we’re your family.’
Caroline was my family too, she thinks but doesn’t share. ‘Her nurse said that whatever was troubling her happened long before she ran out of her medication.’
‘Carrie told her, pretty much.’
‘Huh, your sister was the biggest storyteller going. You don’t know what she was up to.’
‘That’s why I want to find out.’
‘You went to London to find out .’
‘Yes, and it’s led me here. It’s led me to Dean Fry. I can’t let it go now. I’ve got to get to the truth.’ The truth – or the little she thinks she’s uncovered – swings between them. Cold as a stalactite which, narrower and narrower, is sharpening to a lethal point. ‘If I find him, and ask him, I’ll feel better then.’
‘All right, but why not ring Mrs Hooper first? She’s still living there, she might know something.’
‘I don’t want to involve her yet. And anyway, I’ve got his parents’ address now. They’re only in Cinderglade. I don’t think Mrs Hooper’s in touch with them any more, they left the village years ago; but I bet they’ll know where Dean is. Please , Mike, let me, I’m so close now.’
‘I can’t go swanning off to Gloucestershire at the drop of a hat; I’ve got meetings back-to-back tomorrow.’
‘I thought I could go,’ she tentatively suggests. ‘And you drive the boys over after work on Friday. I’ll ring Pauline,’ she adds quickly. ‘She won’t mind looking after Freddie and Ethan until you get home.’
‘You’re going now?’ Mike sounds horrified.
‘Why not? I’ll take Buttons.’ She swills her mug out under the tap, turns it upside down on the drainer. ‘I thought I could see his parents on the way.’
‘And if they tell you where Dean is? I don’t want you confronting him without me.’
‘No, don’t worry, I wouldn’t do that. But I can’t come to much harm dropping in on Liz and Ian, can I?’
‘Jo?’
‘Look, it’s only for one night. You’ll be joining me before you know it.’
‘You’re not seriously thinking of staying in that old cottage of Dora’s?’
‘Pillowell, yes. Why not?’
‘B-because,’ he sputters, ‘you’ve not been there for years.’
‘I know, but the place is ours now, isn’t it, and aren’t you the teeniest bit curious?’
‘Not really. God knows the state it’s in.’
‘Oh, come on, where’s your sense of adventure?’
‘You’ve changed your tune. You always maintained you were too frightened to go back there – that the memories were too awful.’
‘Oh, it’ll be all right,’ she says, convincing herself that she isn’t the least worried about returning to Witchwood on her own – the drive to discover what might have been going on in her sister’s mind spurring her on. ‘It’s Valentine’s weekend, I can cook us a romantic meal Saturday.’
‘Yeah, right – on what, then? You don’t even know if it’s still got a cooker.’
‘It’ll have a cooker. And if not, we’ll go out, or get a takeaway … Come on, Mike, it’d be fun. If I go on ahead, it’ll give me a chance to make it cosy, get some shopping in, see what’s what. I’ll take linen and stuff. Say yes, Mike, please … The kids will love it.’
‘You sure about this, Jo-Go?’ Mike lowers his voice. ‘Going on your own. Can’t it wait until the weekend? We could go together then, as a family.’
‘I’m fine, really,’ she assures him, revealing nothing of her rumbling trepidation – she must do this, she must find Dean as soon as possible, even if it means going back to a place she thought she could never face again. ‘I think Carrie had enough bad memories for the both of us, don’t you? And isn’t it about time I faced up to my demons?’ Enough said – the events of that summer in Witchwood are a conversation these two have raked over many times. ‘And actually, funny as this sounds,’ she tells him, wanting to believe her words, ‘now the cottage is ours, I’d rather like to get to know it again. You never know, it might be nice to have as a country retreat. It’s only three hours or so from here.’
‘If you’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’ She bites her lip.
‘Just don’t go disappearing off-piste, okay? Text me when you get there. Let me know you’re safe.’