Saturday 9th December 2023
Georgie
Hurrying towards Cromley church, Georgie checks her watch. She is late. It’s the big day, the memorial she’s worked so hard to arrange, and she’s late and it’s her own fault.
She just had to go to him, this morning. Despite the distance, the lack of time, she needed to talk, offload, admit her nerves about today.
Most importantly, she had to tell him that Leo was missing. Her voice had cracked unexpectedly over the words. His disappearance muddies everything; his face haunts her thoughts more and more.
But she didn’t feel much better for getting it all off her chest. It had seemed more desolate than ever, up in the Dales, and her bones grew cold from standing in the biting wind, talking and talking – checking, as always, to make sure she hadn’t been followed.
Now her phone vibrates in her pocket. Lola. Again. Georgie cuts off the call and lengthens her stride: she can see, through the tall, thin windows, that some people are already inside the church. She strides past; she needs to pop into the pub, first, to finish setting up for the post-memorial drinks. She pictures everybody in there for the first time since New Year’s Eve 2021 and shivers with anticipation. Is it the right move? Is any of this going to help her get under Cromley’s skin?
On the far side, she stops in her tracks. Chrissy is standing there, leather jacket zipped up to her chin, staring fixedly at the church.
Georgie is thrown. She’s hardly seen Chrissy since she moved to the village. She tries not to show too much interest in her, not outwardly, but she’s had a couple of slip-ups recently, curiosity getting the better of her. And now she is metres from her with nobody else around.
Steeling herself, Georgie walks closer. Chrissy’s head turns her way, a flicker crossing her face. They appraise each other and Georgie’s heart begins to thump.
Chrissy’s hair is even more chaotic up close. Thick coils of it spring in counter-intuitive directions, making Georgie’s feel too flat, too salon-smooth. She looks older than she does from a distance, or in the Facebook pictures, but there’s a spark in her tired eyes, a defiant set to her mouth. Georgie draws herself up taller, as she’s seen Alice do. She doesn’t normally feel the need, but Chrissy’s presence, even as a much shorter woman, makes her want to add a couple of inches.
‘Chrissy,’ she says warily. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘No,’ Chrissy says. ‘No, everything is not okay.’
Georgie nods slowly. She can smell the old leather of Chrissy’s jacket in the cold air. ‘I heard about Leo.’ She keeps her voice even. ‘I’m sorry.’ She half-means it, her thoughts briefly drifting, but then she looks back at Chrissy and her edges resharpen.
Chrissy stares at her, hands twitching at her sides.
‘What do you know about it?’
‘Only … what I’ve heard …’
Chrissy’s face darkens. ‘If you know something, now’s the time to say.’
‘No, no, I don’t know anything. I’m new here. And I know there are bad feelings in the village—’
‘I will find him,’ Chrissy cuts in, her voice fierce but trembling ever so slightly. ‘Whatever’s happened to him, I’m going to find out, and bring him home.’
She points at the icy ground, almost territorially. Her nostrils flare and her green eyes blaze, and Georgie wants to look away but somehow she can’t. She never expected to see such fire in her. Such … life, even after all the deaths. Then something seems to catch Chrissy’s attention, her gaze drawn to Georgie’s hands. Georgie winds them together, conscious of the dirt under her nails from this morning’s trip.
She thrusts them into her pockets and Chrissy frowns and seems to shake herself, pointing towards the church. ‘Someone in there knows where Leo is.’
‘But today is—’
‘It’s a public church. I could walk straight in, if I wanted. I could ask all the questions I need to.’
Georgie starts to feel nervous, picturing Chrissy storming her carefully curated day. Could it work for her? The stir it would cause? The truths it might force to the surface? But things could whirl out of her control, and she hates to feel out of control.
In her moment of indecision, Chrissy steps past her, heading determinedly for the church.
‘Wait …’ Georgie snaps alert. Suddenly this feels like a battle of wills, which some deep-seated part of her needs to win. Ahead, she sees another group of people approaching the church from the opposite side. There’s Rowena – in a mournful shade of her usual purple – and Janice with her husband and granddaughter. And, just behind them, a woman Georgie only recognises from old Facebook pictures. Peter’s ex-wife, Marianne. She’s taller than she looked in the photos, and her hair is darker, almost black. In fact, from this distance, it’s as if Peter married a near-copy of his sister.
‘Chrissy,’ she says, following breathlessly, but it’s too late, Rowena and Janice and Marianne have spotted the uninvited guest. They’re turning, gaping, and Georgie doesn’t want to be blamed for the ambush, can’t give the villagers any more reasons not to trust her.
She sprints forward, pulling ahead of Chrissy. ‘It’s okay,’ she says to the small crowd, who have stalled in front of the church. ‘It’s okay – I’m dealing with it.’
‘You can’t let her in there,’ Rowena says, looking stricken. ‘Not today.’
‘I won’t.’ Georgie puts herself between Chrissy and the church doors, spreading her arms like a goalkeeper.
But Chrissy has stopped, and is staring at the group, eyes still blazing. ‘I just want to know where my son is.’
They shuffle worriedly. Janice grips her granddaughter’s hand.
‘We have no idea,’ Rowena says. ‘Why would we?’
Chrissy shakes her head, a flush in her cheeks. ‘One of you knows something. One of you out here, or in there …’
Georgie plants her feet in the entranceway, feeling faintly ridiculous. From inside, behind her, she hears organ music and subdued chatter; nobody else seems to have noticed the disturbance. Then suddenly Chrissy dives at her, shouldering her aside. Georgie stumbles and tries to grab her, but somebody else jumps forward, pulling Chrissy back by her elbow.
It’s Marianne. ‘Chrissy, what the fuck? Don’t do this! It isn’t the time!’
‘Stay out of it, Marianne.’ Chrissy pushes her away, and Marianne’s face goes slack with anger.
It’s fascinating, Georgie has to admit. She almost wants to let the stirred pot boil. But she’s playing the hero, now, the others looking at her pleadingly. ‘Let’s all just stay calm,’ she says, scrambling back to her position in the doorway. ‘Please.’
‘The police are in there,’ Rowena says. ‘Shall I go and …?’
‘Police?’ Georgie is distracted. ‘At the memorial?’
‘Ellen texted me to say they’re sitting in the back row. Just … watching everyone.’
At this, Chrissy steps abruptly back. She draws her arms into her chest, looking around, blinking and breathing hard.
‘I … I’m …’ She takes another step back, shaking her head as if she doesn’t quite know what happened.
Georgie stares at her. Don’t you fancy a run-in with the police, Chrissy Dean? She squares her shoulders, looking her in the eye. ‘Shall we fetch them?’ she asks. ‘Or are you going to leave people to pay their respects in peace?’
Chrissy’s gaze darts back to Georgie’s hand, as if the phrase pay your respects has reminded her. But Chrissy can’t possibly know the dirt is from a grave. His grave. Georgie thinks of the cold earth tumbling over her skin as she planted snowdrops all around his headstone. I’m doing my best for you, she’d rambled as she patted down the soil. I’m in among them all, as much as I can be, watching and listening. But everything is crazy lately. Leo … Leo is …
Then something else occurs to Georgie, in this strange moment, and her heart drops into her stomach. Could it be her ring catching Chrissy’s attention? It’s such an integral part of Georgie’s hand that she’s barely conscious of it anymore, but if she took it off, she’d feel it like she’d lost a finger. Has she been foolish to keep wearing it? Does Chrissy recognise it, somehow?
Chrissy’s eyes travel up to Georgie’s face, locking with hers. Georgie itches to tug down her sleeve but doesn’t want to draw further attention. Is this it? The moment her cover’s going to be blown? Then she hears footsteps and turns, gratefully, to see a man in a suit emerging from the church.
‘I’m Detective Colella.’ He casts a look at Rowena and the others, who have become a huddle again, apart from Marianne standing watchfully apart. His eyes flicker over Georgie, landing back on Chrissy. ‘Can we speak with you, Ms Dean?’
A woman in a lighter grey suit emerges behind him. She doesn’t introduce herself, but it’s clear she’s a detective, too.
Chrissy looks from one to the other. ‘I was just … I only want to …’
‘We have some updates for you,’ Colella says, and Chrissy’s
expression transforms.
‘About Leo?’ Her voice is full of strained hope. Georgie tries to keep her own face neutral, but something strains inside her too.
‘We were going to call at your house after the memorial,’ Colella says. ‘But since you’re here …’ He narrows his eyes. ‘Perhaps we could go there now?’
Chrissy nods. ‘Yes. Yes, we can do that.’
They walk away, leaving a dazed silence behind them, everyone straightening their clothes, composing themselves. Georgie exhales and fusses with her hair, trying to stop her thoughts from chasing Chrissy and the detectives, longing to know what they’ve found. She has to get it together. Get back to her plan. Smile, observe, notice. Ask questions, subtle questions, when opportunities arise. She can’t mess this up. She’s doing it for him, for everything that should’ve been.
She looks at Marianne, whose expression is still rigid with anger. ‘Right!’ Georgie finds the smile she’s been practising in the mirror: sad but warm, respectful but engaged. It falters but she pins it firmly in place. ‘Let’s get back to what today is supposed to be all about. Shall we?’