Saturday 9th December 2023
Alice
Alice sits in the church for a while once the police have left. They were cagey about the news that had come through on the radio, vague about where they were rushing off to, but something is happening. Everything is spiralling.
Here in the church, though, there is silence.
There are a dozen things she should be doing but she is paralysed, her backside numb on the pew, her eyes fixed on the photo of Robbie. What would he make of all this? If he could see everything that has happened since his death, everything that’s fallen apart, would he tell her to forgive Chrissy? Forgive Leo?
She’s glad, in a way, that he can’t see what the village has become. What she’s become. She was better when he was around. Being his mum made her better.
But isn’t that why she’s fighting so hard? For him? For his goodness? How can she forgive the person who ripped him away from her? The people who are dancing, even now, on his grave?
She stands up, summoning energy from deep inside. She has to get back out there, work out what she’s going to do. And anger is the only driving force she has.
Wiping her cheeks, she blows a kiss towards Robbie then turns her back on him. It’s remarkably painful and she falters, thinking about taking him with her. Just as she decides to leave him be – he looks peaceful, now the crowds have gone – the church door bangs and she hears footsteps in the entranceway.
For just a second, she’s convinced it’s Leo. Here for whatever confrontation he might’ve been planning. An instant later, though, she recognises the gait. Peter comes into the main part of the church.
‘Al! Where have you been?’
‘I could ask you the same question.’
Neither of them answers, as if they’ve stumbled into deadlock, and then they both speak at once.
‘I’m sorry, Al, I just couldn’t face …’
‘I’ve been talking to the police,’ Alice says.
Peter jumps on this. ‘What about?’
‘The weird stuff that’s been happening. The vile stuff. Pete, someone is …’ Her throat constricts. ‘Someone’s sending messages. Robbie and Leo’s initials appeared in the pub wall and then the pub sign was back up and it—’
‘Wait, what? Initials?’
She struggles through an explanation for the second time today, while his expression grows more and more perturbed.
‘What did the police say?’ he asks eventually. ‘Who was it you spoke to?’
‘Detective Colella asked most of the questions. But Ben was there, too.’
Something flares in his face. ‘What were they asking about?’
‘A lot of stuff. Our relationship with Chrissy and Leo—’
‘Our?’ His eyes are flinty-sharp. These are the times he looks least like Robbie, when his anxiety makes him curt and edgy. The times, bizarrely, when he reminds her of Leo.
‘Yes, you and me. And they …’ She hadn’t planned to tell him this part, but she’s still that uncomfortable mix of angry with him and worried about him. ‘They asked about your drinking.’
‘What did you tell them?’ He sounds almost aggressive and she recoils. He seems to notice, and makes an effort to soften his tone. ‘Sorry, sis, I’m wound up today. I just—’ He sighs. ‘What specifically were they asking?’
‘Whether you had a problem with alcohol.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘That …’ What exactly did she say? She struggles to recall, her stomach flipping with the possibility that she might’ve dropped him in it, somehow. ‘That you were recovering. Recovered.’
‘You didn’t mention … the other day?’
Alice shakes her head, then appraises her brother. Her anchor, her rock, and also, at times, a complete enigma.
‘I didn’t know you and Marianne were back in touch,’ she says.
He flinches. ‘It’s just the odd message,’ he says, looking away.
‘She said you argued recently. The day you were drinking, in fact.’
He still won’t look at her. ‘It was just a stupid thing.’
‘What was it about?’
‘I can’t even remember. We were just going over old ground. She gets frustrated with me. Can’t blame her.’
‘Can’t blame her,’ Alice agrees, but fondly, sadly, touching his arm. ‘Pete … You can talk to me, you know. If there’s anything … If you …’ She trails off because she can already see his face closing again. ‘You’ve not been drinking today, have you?’ she finally asks, though it isn’t the question she was really searching for.
He frowns and shakes his head. ‘Just driving,’ he says. ‘I just went for a drive.’
She lets it drop, though the unease clings on. Before they leave the church, they go to the front to light a candle for Robbie. It’s Peter’s idea, but when he gets close he becomes flustered and distressed, searching through his pockets for something to light it with.
‘Here, don’t worry, there are some matches …’ Alice spots a box that Georgie must have put there for this purpose.
Peter still seems distracted, so she strikes a match and lights a candle, staring into the flame as it blooms. Glancing at Peter, she sees the flame refocus him, and he stares at it, too, reflected light dancing in his eyes.
‘He really looked up to you,’ she tells him, squeezing his hand with an almost unbearable rush of affection.
Peter’s shoulders start to shake. She moves in closer and he wraps his arms around her, crushing her cheek into his chest.
‘I wish I’d been a better uncle,’ he says, and she hears the echo of her own pain in his voice.
‘You were the best,’ she tells him. ‘He talked about you all the time. You were like a father—’
‘Don’t say that.’
She peers up at him. ‘Why not?’
‘I don’t deserve that kind of … I just don’t deserve it. I wasn’t his dad.’
‘But you meant the world to him,’ Alice protests. ‘Remember how he used to boast about his uncle the policeman? And how possessive he used to get? Like when—’ She pulls herself up short. She was going to evoke the time Robbie got upset because Peter was helping Leo with his homework instead of him. He needs more help than you, sweetheart, Alice had placated him, but Robbie kept looking over, waiting for Peter’s attention to be free. She doesn’t want to use an example that involves Leo, though. Why does every train of thought lead back to him?
‘I wish I’d been there when they fought,’ she says instead. ‘Wish I’d been able to stop it …’
‘Me too,’ Peter says, still holding her. ‘I wish so many things, Al.’
‘We can’t change anything.’ She is dampening his crumpled shirt. ‘We can only … Only make sure …’ Her words die because she’s so confused, now, about what she’s trying to make sure of. That others will hurt as much as her? That nobody will trample Robbie’s memory? That the right kind of justice will be done?
All of the above, perhaps. Moments of confusion and guilt don’t mean she’s willing to let any of it go.
‘Al …’ Peter releases her, stepping back. She doesn’t think she’s seen him cry – not properly – since they stood outside the pub watching the ambulance take Robbie’s body away. Even at the funeral, he was quiet and ashen but he didn’t break down. And when they scattered Robbie’s ashes, side by side above the tall arches of the overgrown viaduct, the wind was so strong it blew any tears off their faces.
‘Yes?’ she says, a coil of worry returning to her gut. ‘Talk to me, Pete.’
The candlelight flickers across his unhealthy-looking skin.
‘What is it?’ she urges, but it’s a press too far: she sees him draw back into himself.
‘Nothing,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘Nothing, it’s just … It’s been a day. And I’m sorry I haven’t been here. That’s … basically what I wanted to say.’
Alice is doubtful, but knows further cajoling will only have the opposite effect. She wipes her face and rubs her thumb under her eyes. Though she hasn’t worn make-up in a long time, she still wipes away imaginary mascara stains, like drawing a line under the crying.
‘Let’s go see what’s happening,’ she says.
Peter nods, his eyes back on the flame. He leans forward, as though he intends to snuff it out, then snaps up at the last moment, turning to follow her out of the church.
Outside in the square, they both look towards the pub. The Raven sign sways in the wind and Alice can hear it creaking, she thinks, even from this distance away.
‘I can’t face going in for Georgie’s drinks,’ Peter murmurs, and Alice nods in agreement, even as she feels the usual push-pull of the place, both calling and repelling.
Peter’s phone buzzes and he fishes it out of his pocket. Alice keeps staring at the pub with a sense that it’s staring back. It’s strange to see all its windows lit, shadows of movement within.
‘Something’s happening,’ Peter says.
‘In the pub?’ She uses her hand as a visor against the low sun.
‘No … I just got a text from Ben, one of the PCs. He’s been keeping me in the loop. We used to be good mates, so—’
‘I know you did,’ Alice interrupts, with an edge to her voice. Yet another conversation with Peter she needs to have. But she pushes it aside, for now. ‘What is it?’ she asks, leaning over, trying to see his phone.
‘I’m not quite …’ Peter moves the phone slightly away from her. ‘They’re following a car. Something about a barn …’ He turns a little paler. A glint of alarm in his eyes. Then a phone call starts to flash on his screen, from a mobile number he doesn’t have in his contacts. Alice waits for him to answer but he swipes to dismiss the call instead.
‘Wasn’t that Ben?’ she asks.
‘No,’ he says abruptly. ‘I don’t know who that was.’
‘It might’ve been important.’
He waves a hand. ‘Looked like a sales call.’
Alice frowns, unconvinced. She feels as if she recognised the number, but she only saw it for a second or two. ‘What’s Ben saying? Anything more?’
Peter is silent, studying his phone. It keeps lighting up as new messages come through. She sees the name Ben at the top of his inbox; but also, in a separate thread … she’s sure that’s the number that called him just now. She leans in again, but Peter opens up the conversation with Ben.
‘There’s a car that’s “of interest” to the Leo investigation,’ he tells her. ‘They’ve tracked it as far as a barn.’
‘What barn?’
‘I-I don’t know. But …’ He stalls, his eyebrows knitting, and finishes his sentence with a breathlessness to his voice: ‘Apparently the barn’s on fire.’
‘On fire? Is it … Is anyone inside it?’
Is Leo in there?
‘They …’ His eyes dart from side to side as he reads. ‘The fire brigade are there … They think there is someone inside. Unconfirmed …’
‘Where is this happening?’
‘I don’t know.’ He types rapidly, then waits. Alice looks over at the pub again and sees imaginary flames bursting through its roof. She used to fantasise, sometimes, about setting it on fire – before she decided to rally her neighbours to help her buy it instead. There are times, now, when she wishes she’d had more guts, less conscience; wishes she’d carried out her more violent ideas.
A barn on fire might be nothing. But she wonders how she would feel if Leo were to be killed. Not just in the dark imaginings she’d never share with anybody else, but in reality.
‘North Derbyshire,’ Peter says. ‘Weirdly near the churchyard, apparently …’
‘Which churchyard?’
‘Shirebrook.’
Of course. She closes her eyes and sees Ethan’s face. The charming smiles she came to realise were entirely false. The transformation whenever Chrissy upset him or made some minor mistake at the pub. His open, lifeless eyes, the day Chrissy called her – not making any sense, not knowing what to do – and Alice went rushing to the pub.
‘There’s something strange about all this,’ Peter says.
‘Yes,’ Alice agrees, with an even tighter twist in her stomach.
‘I’m going to go over there. See if I can speak to the detectives.’
‘Over where?’ she asks. ‘The police station?’
He is silent again. Alice begins to realise what he’s going to say. Why he’s hesitating.
‘They’re at Chrissy’s,’ he says eventually.
She inhales. ‘You’re going to Chrissy’s?’
‘Well, I …’ He looks almost apologetic. ‘I probably won’t go in. I’ll just see if they’ll talk to me. See what else I can find out.’
It’s bizarrely hurtful, the idea of him going there, as if he’s choosing to leave her side for the enemy. And she’s scared, too, as if proximity to Chrissy is dangerous, as if secrets might be spilled or loyalties confused.
‘Are you going to talk to her?’
He pauses. ‘Probably not the best idea at the moment.’
Alice clenches her fists. ‘No.’
‘Like I say, I just want a word with Colella or Wright. They’re the ones who are really on the inside of all this. And I’m pretty sure I can come up with a favour they owe me from back in the day.’
‘You usually can,’ she says, but can’t muster a smile. Her heart is pounding and she isn’t exactly sure why.
Peter, at Chrissy’s house.
You need to go with him.
The thought takes root and won’t let go. At least if she’s there, she’ll feel more in control. And maybe she’ll know the truth about the sign and the initials – and Leo – as soon as she sees her ex-friend. Maybe she still knows her well enough to read the secrets in her eyes.
‘I’ll come with you,’ she hears herself saying.
Peter’s eyes widen. ‘To Chrissy’s?’
Alice nods, more decisively than she feels. ‘It’s time.’