I take the scenic route into town, walk the path down by the river, where the only sounds are my own footsteps, the lazy creaking of narrowboats, and the gentle splashing of ducks and swans on the water. The quiet offers my mind a chance to wander – and to worry.
I came here hoping to make things better, but I’m pretty sure last night’s run-in with Dalton has made things a whole lot worse – especially for Connor. The way the crowd turned on me, the things they were saying … It’s frightening to think of what could happen. I need to warn Connor, let him know to be on his guard. If I could climb over the back wall of his garden, what’s to stop someone else doing the same thing? And while I know Connor is more than capable of defending himself, clobbering someone with a cricket bat certainly won’t help his cause.
I take out my phone to call and let him know that I’m on the way, but before I get the chance, I spot a familiar figure heading towards me along the river path.
Amy’s mum. She’s loaded down with shopping bags and has her head down, looks lost in thought. I could turn back, perhaps avoid her entirely, but then she might see me walking away and that somehow feels like it would make me look even worse in her eyes. Short of jumping into the river, I can’t see any way of avoiding her.
So, the river it is, then, yes? I think, but I take a few deep breaths to steel myself and am ready with a friendly smile when she looks up and recognises me. She comes to a stop, her shoulders slump and her face sets in stone. I suppose she’s no happier seeing me than I am her.
Unlike some of the people in Born Killer, Elaine has hardly changed since the last time I saw her. Her hair is perhaps a little greyer, and there are a few more lines at the corners of her eyes, but she looks just as poised and elegant as ever. Despite the warm weather, she’s dressed in a long woollen coat over a navy turtleneck, with a cashmere shawl draped over her shoulders.
She gives a sigh as she comes forward, sets down her bags on a nearby bench.
‘I heard you were back,’ she says, wearily, as if seeing me has ruined her entire afternoon.
‘Just visiting for a few days,’ I tell her. ‘With my little girl.’
‘To see your dad,’ she adds, and we both nod as something unsaid passes between us. She knows the truth, I’m sure – that while it’s nice to see Dad, especially for Freya, the real reason I came back is Evan Cullen’s murder.
‘I’ve been meaning to get in touch,’ she says.
‘You have?’ I’m surprised, because of the press conference she gave outside the courthouse after Connor’s retrial. And because the last time we were in the same room, she could barely bring herself to look at me.
‘Hmm,’ Elaine says. ‘We wanted to let you know, we’re moving away.’
‘Good for you,’ I tell her, and I mean it. If I were them, I’d have moved out of Westhaven a long time ago, if only so I didn’t have to see the shadow of Cooper’s Wood on the horizon every time I left the house.
‘We’re going to join Rob’s brother, over in Brighton,’ Elaine adds. ‘Spend whatever time we have left with family, by the sea. Amy used to love the seaside. You both did.’
We really did. Loved going to the beach, the funfair, the pier, the lights and noise of the arcades. Being dive-bombed by seagulls while we ate fish and chips, running into the sea, then running straight back out again, screaming at how cold it was.
It’s no business of mine where Amy’s mum and dad choose to live, but I’m glad it’s going to be by the sea. It feels right.
A thought occurs to me. ‘What about Amy’s room?’ I ask.
They didn’t change a thing after she died, kept it just the way it was on the day she disappeared. And on the condition nothing was touched or moved, they agreed to let me film inside it for Born Killer. I included a lingering shot of it at the close of episode one, capturing on film the hundreds of little details that told the viewers what kind of a fifteen-year-old Amy had been: the pinboard containing photographs of friends and family, the posters of her favourite bands on the walls – The Libertines, The Strokes, Kings of Leon – her mini hi-fi system, perched on the window ledge, alongside a tower of CDs. Schoolbooks and magazines scattered everywhere. Just Seventeen, Sugar, Heat, NME. A pile of dirty laundry slumped in the corner of the room; black T-shirts, ripped jeans, hoodies. A box of costume jewellery on the bedside table. I can still remember the smell of the place – which was nothing like how Amy used to smell when she was alive. It was musty, like a winter coat taken out of a wardrobe for the first time all year.
The idea of them getting rid of Amy’s things after all this time sparks an odd kind of panic inside me.
‘We’ve put most of her belongings into storage,’ Elaine says. ‘But we’ve kept a few boxes back, things we’ll be taking with us to the new house.’
‘I see,’ I say.
‘Last month we had a little ceremony, in the back garden,’ she adds. ‘We burnt a few of her things in a fire. It was Rob’s idea. He said it might help us to move on. I thought he must have gone mad when he suggested it, but we gave it a try, and it seemed to help. We’ve said goodbye to her so many times, but this time it felt different.’
Different because they are leaving the only home they every shared with their daughter, or different because this time, it worked?
I can’t imagine burning anything of Amy’s. I have so little of hers as it is. A CD she gave me for my fourteenth birthday, a tatty friendship bracelet, an old T-shirt I borrowed at a sleepover at hers and never gave back. Little pieces of her I keep in a box underneath my bed that I can barely stand to look at.
Elaine sighs and looks out over the water. ‘We kept some things back for you,’ she says. ‘We thought it’s what Amy would have wanted.’
I’m touched and, quite frankly, amazed. No matter what Elaine and Rob think of me, at least they still recognise that I loved their daughter, that we meant the world to each other.
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Really. That’s so kind of you.’
‘It’s not much,’ she says. ‘Just some photographs, a few bits and pieces of jewellery.’
‘No, that sounds … wonderful,’ I tell her. ‘I can call round and pick it up later, if you’d like? I could bring Freya.’
Rob and Elaine have never met Freya. And, with Amy being an only child, don’t have any grandchildren of their own. Given how big a part I expect Amy would have played in Freya’s life had she lived, it feels right that they should meet.
But Elaine shakes her head. ‘Best not,’ she says. ‘I’ll drop it round at your dad’s. Like I said, it’s not much.’ She tilts her head, fixes me with a cold stare. ‘You could have a ceremony of your own, if you like. Or, just throw it in the bin. It’s up to you.’
Just as I was starting to think we were taking tentative steps to rebuilding bridges. How stupid of me.
Elaine takes a final look out over the water, perhaps to calm herself, then picks up her bags.
‘I’d best be going,’ she says.
‘Elaine—’ I begin, but I don’t know what to say that might help, that might make things better between us, and she simply nods and leaves without a further word. I watch her go, wishing I could sit down with her and talk the way we used to. Reminisce about old times, about the silly things Amy used to do that made us laugh, the things that remind us how much we miss her. But those days are long gone, and I know there’s only one way I’ll ever fix things between us.