10
Elise
On the Sunday after Hollie’s body was found, instead of the handful of regulars, most of the villagers make their way down the frozen footpaths to gather in the church, as well as one or two visitors from outside. I’m relieved when Mia, one of Niamh’s school friends, squeezes into the pew next to her. The service is poignant, a reminder of how transient life is, after which the vicar delivers a more personal message.
“We should look out for one another. Small communities like ours are rare places. At times like this, we must stand united. We should all feel able to let our children roam the footpaths. Our children should in turn, feel safe. We have to somehow not let this tragic accident destroy the sense of security that’s always existed here.”
It’s a naïvely optimistic message—and inappropriate, I can’t help thinking. We don’t know yet if Hollie’s death was an accident. Whether or not it was, it will be time, rather than faith, that will lead people to feeling safe around here again.
As we file outside, Sophie catches my arm. “Andrew not here?” As she raises a questioning eyebrow, she seems to lack her usual sparkle.
“Golf.” After glancing around to check where Niamh is, I add, “So he says.”
She shakes her head. “Bastard. Leave him, Elise. You’re better than this.”
I’m silent. It’s impossible to explain even to Sophie why I can’t. Across the churchyard, I see James, his face shadowed with grief. “Poor James. It makes you wonder how much pain one person can bear.”
“He isn’t the only person who’s lost someone.” Sophie’s silent for a moment. When she speaks, her voice is sober. “How long before the police know more? They’re treating this death as suspicious, aren’t they?”
“All I know is they’re carrying out a postmortem. For now, we have to wait.” I glance at my watch. “I have to go. I’m working this afternoon. I’ll catch you another time.” I start walking, looking for Niamh, and find her head-to-head with Mia. “I have to go home, Niamh. I check in at one. Do you want to walk back with me?”
“Can I go to Mia’s?” Niamh looks at me uncertainly.
“Of course—if that’s OK with your mother, Mia?” I glance at Mia. She and Niamh aren’t particularly close, but right now, Niamh needs company.
Mia nods. “She did say it would be OK on the way here. It’ll be fine.”
“OK...” I glance at Niamh. “I’ll call your father—he can text you to arrange a time to pick you up.”
* * *
Three hours later, I’m sitting on an aircraft bound for Nice. In the south of France, the sky is blue and when we open the aircraft door, the voices are laced with French accents. With my perspective altered by distance, for a few hours, in the calm of the half-empty cabin, Hollie’s death seems a lifetime away. But as I drive home, then turn into the village, it comes flooding back; only this time, there are more memories, ones I’ve tried my hardest to forget.
Andrew’s car is in the drive. After I park and go inside, the sound of the television filters through from the sitting room. Slipping off my shoes, I’m on my way upstairs to look for Niamh when I hear Andrew’s voice.
“For God’s sake, you know I can’t.” His voice is scathing as he talks on his phone, seemingly unaware I’ve just come in.
“She won’t say anything.” There’s a silence, before he laughs cynically. “How do I know? For Christ’s sake, I’m married to her. Of course I know!”
Unable to stop myself, I walk over to the sitting room and push the door open, pretending I don’t know he’s on the phone. “Did you collect Niamh, Andrew?” I speak louder than usual, hoping that whomever he’s talking to will hear me, too.
Turning around, frowning, he points to his phone. I ignore him. “Niamh?”
“Just a moment,” he mutters into his phone, then covers the mouthpiece with his hand. “How dare you?”
“I would have thought our daughter’s whereabouts were the highest priority right now.” I stare at him coolly, my meaning clear. “Particularly in light of Hollie’s death. Did you even read my text?”
I’ve caught him out. He hasn’t bothered. “One of us needs to go and get her,” I say pointedly, gazing at the almost empty bottle of wine on the table in front of him. “I imagine that’s going to be me.”
Tired, I was hoping to have a bath and put on pajamas, but suddenly I’ve no desire to be in the same house as Andrew. Without waiting for a reply, I walk out to the kitchen, putting on my shoes, just as a car pulls up outside. I hear a door slam, then Niamh appears through the door. “Mia’s dad dropped me. He said he didn’t mind.” Her face is brighter than this morning. It’s been good for her to be out. She sounds lighter, less troubled than she has been in days, weeks even.
“Your father got held up.” As always, I make an excuse for Andrew’s selfishness. “I’ve only just got in. I was coming to get you. I’m sorry, Niamh.”
“It’s OK.” As she realizes I’m lying, her eyes lower. My stomach twists uncomfortably. Two minutes in this house, and the lightness is already leaving her.
* * *
On Monday morning, life resumes a semblance of normality when Andrew goes to work, Niamh goes to school. There are no arguments. Pulling on a sweatshirt over my running gear, I go for a run, taking a different route that brings me past the Hamptons’, where the house looks closed and dark; where the only sign of life is the single police car parked outside.
Farther away from the village, I turn into the pinewoods, taking the wide path through the trees that stretch as far as I can see in neat, regimented rows either side of me. Under my feet, the ground is cushioned by a carpet of pine needles. The air is cold and dry, but still, without wind; just the occasional cry from a passing bird breaking the silence.
After a couple of miles, out of breath, I slow to a walk for a while, pausing to stretch for a couple of minutes, before carrying on through the woods, until a few yards ahead, I see a car.
Something makes me hang back, even though the car is familiar. Then as another car pulls up next to it and both drivers get out, I instantly recognize James. The second man is also familiar, but as I watch them talk, I can’t place him. I wonder if this has anything to do with Hollie’s death, but I’m too far away to make out what they’re saying. Then suddenly, James starts shouting.
Shrinking back into the shadows, staying out of sight, I carry on watching them. From James’s air of desperation, it seems the other man has the upper hand. He’s taller than James, deliberately aggressive in his manner. Edging closer, I try to make out what they’re arguing about. Then James raises his fist and punches the man.
As they look at each other, I wait for it to escalate, but the other man says something, then gets in his car and drives off. I hesitate, not sure what to do. I haven’t seen James to talk to since Hollie died. But before I can do anything, he, too, gets in his car and drives away.
I carry on running, in the same direction the two cars took. Then just before the track meets the main road, I see James again. This time, his car is parked to one side. He’s on the phone, clearly upset. But then, he’s just lost his daughter. As I pass him, it looks as though he’s pleading with someone. I raise a hand, but when he sees me, he looks horrified, lifting his hand briefly out of habit rather than anything else before he looks away.
Living in a house where the police are omnipresent, a village where suddenly everyone’s watching him, he’s clearly come out here to find privacy, not expecting anyone to see him. And it’s understandable. There could be any number of explanations for his behavior, none of them my business. The death of a child breaks a parent’s belief in the order of things. It isn’t supposed to happen that way. Now, he has to find a way to get through this tragedy.
Except not everyone does. James has no anchor in his grief, no other child who needs him. Stephanie can’t understand—she has no children of her own. But unless someone has experienced a similar loss, no one can. Despite the flurry of well-wishers and neighborly support around him in these early days, James is alone, as we all are.
It crosses my mind to go to the Hamptons’ house to talk to James, but I decide it’s too soon, that they need privacy, space to grieve. As yet, the cause of Hollie’s death still hasn’t been announced.
When news of the postmortem results slip out, Andrew has the grace to call me.
“Hollie had head injuries. They’re opening a murder inquiry.”
It’s almost as much of a shock as when her body was found. I’d imagined Hollie missing her step, hitting her head on the side of the pool as she fell. “How can they be sure?”
“There’s an injury to the side of her head, which would be likely if she’d simply fallen, but they’ve found a second. They think someone hit her with a sharp object, then she hit her head a second time as she fell into the pool. I have to go, Elise.” He speaks coldly. “I have patients.”
I’m still struggling to take in this news when I have to tell Niamh. She listens in silence, then gets up and pushes past me on her way to the bathroom, making it just in time before I hear the sound of her throwing up.
As I wait for her to come back, the rain starts.