‘Becky,’ I yell, looking down the road. The sky has darkened, the air heavy. A storm is heading our way.
There’s no sign of Becky or Peter, and my heart gallops. But his car is still here. They couldn’t have gone far I tell myself as I call out, ‘Becky!’
I hurry down the slope towards the beach. It’s deserted. ‘Becky!’ I call into the silence, spinning on the spot.
Back on the road, I race past Peter’s car. That’s when I notice it. Written on my car door in red lipstick:
LEAVE
I look about me, into the nearby wood. Had someone done this while I was in the house? Or had it been there earlier, and I hadn’t noticed?
My heart thumps, as I crouch down and try to rub it away with my hand. It smudges but won’t come off. I’m not sure it ever will.
I rise, and race down the road. ‘Becky,’ I call again, suddenly spotting her with Peter in the distance. She turns. They stop to wait for me.
‘What the hell are you doing, Becky?’ I say, as I reach them, grabbing her arm. I exhale heavily – almost out of breath and sweating in the heat.
‘Mum! You’re totally embarrassing me.’ She shakes me free. ‘I told you we were going to the pub to talk.’
Peter has stepped away. My eyes are on him, but my words are still for my daughter. ‘After everything that’s happened, you walk off with a total stranger.’
‘I’m not five – and he’s not a stranger. Peter is Willow’s uncle, he told us that.’
I want to scream and yell, but I fear if I do, I may never stop.
‘I called out to you that we were going to the pub. You said you wouldn’t let him in the house.’
‘This is all my fault,’ Peter finally says, stepping forward.
‘Yes, yes, too bloody right it is.’ I fold my arms across my chest, feeling the thud of my heart speeding up again as I glare at him.
‘Calm down, Mum,’ Becky says. ‘Please. Peter may be able to help us find Willow.’
I look at her once more. ‘How the hell can a man just back from Australia help to find Willow?’
‘Come on,’ Peter says, heading into the pub. ‘I don’t know about you, but I need a stiff drink.’
*
Once seated by the window, a drink in front of us, I feel a bit calmer.
‘I’ll do everything in my power to help find Willow,’ Peter says, before taking a sip of his gin. ‘I loved that kid. I would have taken her on in a heartbeat when Ava died. But it wasn’t to be. I wasn’t considered suitable. As I say, I didn’t even know who adopted her at the time.’
‘It was Eleanor Winter, my stepmother,’ I say, fiddling with the stem of my glass.
‘Yeah, Willow told me in her letter. Said she’d had a great life so far.’
‘I’m glad,’ I say, softening. I’ve never been sure what went on in Willow’s crazy head at times, so it was good to hear it from a stranger.
He takes another sip of his drink. ‘My mum got custody at first, but gave her up quite quickly, unable to cope after losing Ava and Gail, plus she was never very maternal.’
My mind drifts to the sad woman we met in the apartment in Newquay – so different to the one Peter’s describing. ‘And you took off to Australia.’
He narrows his eyes, as though warning me not to judge, and takes another mouthful of his drink. ‘Originally I took off when I was in my late teens to get away from my mum. To be fair, she was glad to see the back of a difficult teenager with anger issues. Dad walked out when Ava was born, and we never saw him again. Didn’t have a clue where he’d gone. I guess I was damaged goods after that. The anger festered, and inanimate objects suffered. The odd door or wall had it coming.’ His smile is that of being lost in the past, almost childlike, and I find myself warming to him.
‘One night I arrived home drunk,’ he goes on, losing the smile. ‘Mum was there, waiting for me.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘She attacked me with a bread knife for being pissed.’ He rolls up his sleeve and shows us the scar. ‘Admittedly I was rowdy – shouting, that kind of thing. It was my go-to when I’d been drinking. But I would never hurt anyone. I didn’t deserve that. She told me much later she struggled because I reminded her so much of my father.’
‘It’s hardly an excuse though,’ I say.
He shakes his head. ‘Anyway, Ava came down the stairs that day, saw the blood. She scurried into the corner, squeezing as far against the wall as she could. I thought she would disappear.’
‘Jeez,’ says Becky. ‘That’s awful.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I add – I didn’t know Ava, but I could cry for her.
‘Gail heard the commotion. Called the police. But by the time the cops arrived, Mum acted like she was the victim. Said I was dangerous, that it was self-defence, and at that moment I knew I had to get out of there. Ava was traumatised at the time – wouldn’t speak for weeks.’ He shrugs. ‘I took off, never looked back … well, not until Gail asked me to give her away at her wedding. We’d kept in touch over the years.’
‘Did you know Willow had you on her list of suspects for Ava’s murder?’ I say. ‘She had several men on her radar.’
He shakes his head. ‘I would never have killed Ava. I loved her. She put me on the right road, I’ll always be grateful for that. I miss her even now.’
‘The right road?’
‘She told me to try harder with my wife, that if I loved her, I needed to stop thinking of myself, work at it.’ He smiles once more, as though bringing her to his mind.
‘So you’re married?’
He nods. ‘Happily, two kids – well, teenagers. Both much better behaved than I ever was.’
‘Oh God,’ Becky whispers, suddenly looking past me. ‘It’s scary-man.’
Peter and I look round. The man is at the bar, handing over a twenty-pound note, and my stomach flips.
‘Why scary-man?’ Peter says, looking at Becky.
‘Because he was stalking the cottage the other night,’ she tells him.
Peter’s eyebrows furrow. ‘But that’s Maxen Jones. He isn’t scary. There must be some mistake. Hang on.’ He rises. ‘I’ll introduce you. You can find out why he was there.’
‘Oh my God,’ Becky says, slipping down in her chair.