February 2018
The following day, I grabbed a pack of sandwiches from a local shop, and ate them in the car, looking out at the sea at Rosses Point.
I loved the beach in February, the peace radiating from it – just a man walking his dog, and the crash of waves breaking on the sand. A flock of seagulls flew over, squawking on their way to the beach, and as they settled, clustered together squabbling over a crab, the distant caws of others filled the cold air.
We’d always visited the beach in winter when I was a child, Mum and I. ‘I don’t like the summer crowds,’ she would say, as we walked along the pier at Southwold, wrapped in our warmest winter coats, snuggled into our scarfs.
Now the wind had got up, and wild waves broke on the shoreline, and I felt some of the tension in my neck and shoulders lift.
Once I’d eaten my sandwiches, I closed my eyes against the watery sun, still tired from a restless night. I was in the place between awake and sleep, when a jolt ran through my body, as though I’d fallen, waking me.
My eyes sprang open, and I noticed a dark-haired man on the grass near a huge statue of a woman holding out her arms towards the sea. He was staring my way.
I tried telling myself not to be paranoid, but my mind spun. Was he the driver of the black car that rammed me off the road? The anonymous caller? The man who’d arranged to meet me outside Emirates Stadium? I opened a bottle of water and took a sip. I was being ridiculous. Why would he be in Sligo?
But still the man stared, his dark eyes haunting.
I put down my drink, started the engine, and as I reversed, he turned, heading away from me, and out of sight.
I tried putting him out of my mind, as I drove along the beach road. If I didn’t, I would end up back at the bed and breakfast behind a locked door, and I needed to see the farmhouse one more time.
The route took me, as it had before, along narrow, twisting country roads. As I slowed at a junction opposite a pretty church, I glimpsed Felix approaching the graveyard, dressed in a long coat, his hair blowing in the wind.
A toot from behind, and I turned the corner, but I promised myself I would go to the graveyard on my way back. Perhaps it held answers.
Just after three, I pulled up outside Evermore Farmhouse. With the knowledge Felix wasn’t there, I could snoop about. Try to remember my childhood. Despite my fear, I needed to trigger those awful memories once more, learn what happened here.
After several deep breaths, I got out and locked the car.
The side gate was still ajar, so I headed through it and down the cobbled drive. Flashes of memory swooped – children crying, a woman screaming. I forced myself to go on, the farmhouse looming, my confidence sapping with every step, as the memory of a sharp blade on flesh came and went. I stopped and let out a scream.
I was wrong. I can’t do this.
I spun round and ran back towards the gate, but someone was standing there – the man who’d been staring at me earlier by the sea. He opened the gate, and strode towards me, hands deep in his jean pockets.
With memories fresh in mind of the car nudging me off the road, I turned and ran back down the drive towards the house, glancing over my shoulder, seeing him picking up speed. I darted right, and raced towards the woods, diving through a hole in the high fence that surrounded the farmhouse.
It was a mistake.
As I ran, I heard his heavy footfalls getting closer and closer, splintering twigs. ‘I’ll find you,’ he called.
My attempts to pick up speed were scuppered, as I caught my foot on a branch and fell, scuffing my knees. Fuck! I dragged myself up, my breathing laboured, and looked over my shoulder, seeing him moving through the trees, like a hunter stalking his prey.
I darted in and out of the trees, but it was hopeless. I didn’t know the woods. He was gaining on me.
Suddenly he was behind me, pushing me to the ground, and I fell with a thud face first, hurting my cheek, grazing my hands.
‘Why are you snooping around?’ he said. ‘What do you want with us? Are you the press?’
‘No.’ Tears were close, as I pulled myself over and looked up at him. ‘Please. I don’t want anything. Honestly.’
He stared deep into my eyes for what felt like a minute, his own eyes dark, his pupils dilated. He furrowed his forehead as though trying to work me out.
‘Who are you?’ I cried, as he finally stumbled away, disappearing into the woods.
I didn’t wait. I jumped to my feet and ran, not looking back, until I reached my car.
Whoever he was, he didn’t follow.
***
It was almost nine o’clock, and I was dozing at the bed and breakfast, when my phone rang. I opened my eyes and grabbed my mobile from the bedside unit. It was Angela.
‘Hey,’ she said, when I answered. ‘I’ve been trying to call you all day.’
‘Sorry. The signal’s a bit erratic here,’ I croaked, rubbing sleep from my eyes. ‘You OK?’
‘Not really.’ I picked up on a slur. ‘But that’s nothing new.’
‘What’s up? Can I help?’
‘I doubt it. In fact, I’m sure you’d hate me if you knew me better.’
‘What? Don’t be silly. You’re my friend.’
‘So, would you stick by me whatever I’d done?’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Angela.’ I was barely awake, and struggling to understand. ‘Have you been drinking?’
‘A little,’ she said. ‘Drowning my sorrows, well, letting them have a paddle.’
‘This isn’t about a man is it? Because they’re not worth it.’
‘Ha – no – although in a way, I guess it is.’ Her voice was huskier than ever. ‘Rachel, the main reason I’m ringing is to let you know the police were round your house yesterday. I told them you were away.’
‘Really?’ My heart flipped, as I remembered the calls. ‘Did they say why?’
‘The one in charge said his name was Inspector Smith or Smyth, or something, and he needed to talk to you.’ She paused, and I heard her take a gulp. ‘Listen, I’m sorry I called. I should have waited until I was sober. It’s not fair on you. You don’t need this right now. Goodnight, Rachel.’
She ended the call before I could respond, leaving her words to thrash around in my head. What was it that I didn’t know about her? And an inspector had been looking for me. Had the calls I’d received been genuine? Had I hung up on the police? I was so confused, and suddenly imagined the police tracking me down in Ireland, or catching up with me at the airport and arresting me for wasting their time. I needed to call them, to explain – to find out who had died in suspicious circumstances.