It’s ten o’clock. Becky has gone to her room. I’m restless – anxiety bubbling under my skin, waiting to boil over.
Sick of pacing the same stripped wooden floorboards – sick of the hum of the fan whirring, the feeling of helplessness – I grab my jacket and leave the cottage. I make my way down to the beach, the darkness swallowing me as I head across the sand with the aid of my phone torch, hopeful the sea will calm me.
A cool breeze tickles my face, as I sit on my jacket a few yards from the rolling waves, my arms wrapped around my knees, squeezing, my chest rising and falling as I focus on my breathing – in, out, in, out. My eyes fix on the sea; in places shimmering metallic in the full moon. The current moves and shifts, as black as ink – impossible to know where the sea ends and the sky begins.
It’s lonely here, but the crash of the waves against the sand sooth my jangled nerves and confused mind – comforting. I’ve always loved the sea. I visited Crantock as a child, and loved to race down the hill from the caravan site where we stayed to the beach, swinging my bucket and spade. There was nothing quite as beautiful as Cornwall in the sunshine.
I glance over my shoulder, raising my eyes to Ocean View Cottage. There’s a light on in Becky’s room. This is all too much for her, and I was pleased when her dad texted earlier, reminding her once more she’s got so much to look forward to.
My eyelids grow heavy. I close my eyes for a moment, running my fingers through the sand.
Justin … Rory … Peter. Had one of them killed Ava? Or had someone else ended her young life? Dexter? Is Dexter the man in the yellow cap in the fourth photo? Would the inspector have recognised him if he was, or is the picture quality too bad?
My phone rings out too loud, bouncing off the cliffs. I open my eyes and pull it from my pocket.
‘Aaron,’ I say, answering the call, and a surge of relief rushes through me.
‘Hey, how’s it going?’
It’s so good to hear his voice, and I want to tell him everything. ‘It’s all a bit odd,’ I say, my voice sounding lost on the deserted beach. ‘Willow’s not come back, and I’m worried.’
‘Have you tried calling her?’
‘Of course, loads of times.’ I rake sandy fingers through my hair, depositing grains onto my scalp. ‘We’ve even told the police.’ I desperately wish he was here by my side, holding me close. ‘But then I got a text from her earlier today saying she’s staying with a friend in Newquay.’
‘Well, there you go. Mystery solved.’ He sounds far too certain. ‘It’s what Willow does, Rose. When it gets too much, she takes off. Disappears. You know that.’
‘Maybe,’ I say.
‘So you’re still there? At the cottage?’
‘Mmm. I’ve come out for some air. There’s a beautiful bay nearby, and I’m sitting here in the darkness. Thinking.’
‘You sound exhausted.’
‘I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m not sure I will tonight.’
‘Listen, sorry, I’ve got to go, darling,’ he says. ‘I’ll call you when I can. Love you.’
‘OK,’ I say, and when he ends the call, my heart sinks.
I shove my phone into my pocket. I need him right now more than I’ve ever needed him, and feel so close to tears my head throbs. I close my eyes again, and after some moments I hear the sound of stones crashing down the cliff face some distance away.
My eyes spring open, and I look around, a shudder running through me. Over on the far side of the bay, standing on the cliff edge is a figure silhouetted against the night sky. I can’t be certain, but whoever it is seems to be watching me.
My chest tightens. I jump up and grab my jacket, eyes glued to where the person is standing. I head up the beach towards Ocean View Cottage, my legs heavy in the sand. I’m about halfway when I look over my shoulder. I can’t see the figure. I stop to fumble in my pocket for my phone and flick on the torch. The light picks out someone at the foot of the steps that are cut into the rock face. I can’t see their face.
Fear thuds in my chest, and something inside me tells me to run. But my feet sink into the sand even more, slowing my pace. I stumble, falling onto my hands and knees, my breath catching in my throat.
I pull myself up and flash the torchlight around the area. I can’t see anyone, but they couldn’t have gone. They must be somewhere.
I turn and head onwards, but within moments I sense someone behind me. Before I can twist round, I feel a sharp pain in the back of my head. I stagger forward, and the ground rises up to greet me. I fall hard on the sand. My vision blurs but I know someone’s still here, hovering over me, crouching – touching my hair – stroking it. I feel their breath on my skin.
‘Leave.’ It’s a muffled whisper. I try to lift my head, but before I can see my assailant, everything goes black.
*
I have no idea how long I’ve been unconscious, but when I come round, whoever hit me has gone. I rub my head – there’s a bump, blood on my fingers. The shock of what’s happened hits me. I need to get back to the cottage.
I take a deep breath, and ease myself up, wobbling precariously, trying to get my balance. Once I feel stable, I move up the beach, heart thudding. I’m not far from the cottage now – almost there – looking over my shoulder every few moments.
Once inside, I fumble with the bolts on the front door, pulling them across, one, two, three, and rest my forehead against the opaque glass.
Someone is trying to scare me away. Is this what happened to Willow?
I hear Becky lumbering down the stairs behind me. She flicks on the hall light. ‘Mum?’
‘Oh God, Becky,’ I say, turning to face her, blinking in the brightness. ‘We need to go home. Now.’
‘Why? What’s happened?’ Her eyes look browner than ever – wide and worried.
She puts her arm around me, and guides me into the lounge, where she clicks on the side lamp. We sit down on the sofa. I’m shaking – can barely see through the blur of tears.
‘You look really white, Mum. What’s happened?’ she says again.
‘Someone knocked me out,’ I say, my voice cracking. ‘They told me to leave.’
She covers her mouth. ‘Oh my God, Mum. Are you OK? Are they still out there?’ She looks towards the door.
‘No. No. They’re long gone.’ I fumble with my phone, and she takes it from me.
‘Shall I call an ambulance? The police?’ Her eyes are back on me, her voice full of concern. ‘What were you doing out there on your own in the dark in the first place, Mum?’
‘I needed some air. I didn’t expect someone … shit!’ I say, burying my head into my hands, feeling the lump under my fingers. It’s so sore. ‘What the hell’s going on, Becky?’
She taps my phone. I hear her voice, calm and crisp. ‘Police, please,’ she says, and I look up at her. She’s just a child, and yet she’s so grown up – I desperately need her right now.
*
The police arrive as the village church bells chime midnight: a woman officer of around thirty, a younger male PC, both in uniform, both look as though they’ve been on duty for a week.
‘I’m PC Lewis,’ the female cop tells me, showing me ID. ‘This is PC O’Timoney.’
Holding Becky’s hand, unsure whose benefit it’s for, I lead them down the slope towards the beach, their flashlights lighting the area.
‘It happened about here,’ I say, stopping. ‘But it’s a waste of time. Whoever hit me has long gone.’ I look towards the cliff. ‘He was over there at first, staring down at me.’
‘You know it was a man?’ she asks.
I shake my head. ‘Well, no. Not really.’
The officers walk towards the steps in the cliff. PC O’Timoney climbs up them and onto the cliff top, searching the area with his torchlight. PC Lewis remains below, angling her torch over the steps.
But they’re shaking their heads as they walk back, their torches making me squint. I cover my eyes, look down at the sand.
‘There’s nothing that we can see,’ PC O’Timoney says. He’s Irish, has a look of Ronan Keating. ‘There’s nothing much over that side of the bay. No houses for about quarter of a mile. Did you hear a car?’
I shake my head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’ But I can’t be sure.
We make our way back to the house in silence, and I realise Becky is still holding my hand.
‘Are you OK?’ I whisper. It’s a silly question.
‘You’ll need to come down to the station to make a statement, Mrs Lawson,’ PC Lewis says over her shoulder, as we reach the cottage and they make their way down the path towards their car. ‘Try to recall anything at all about your assailant. In the meantime, get your head checked out.’
‘I will,’ I say, and because there is nothing more we can do, Becky and I step inside the house and close the door.