Silent Victim(76)

Yet every time I felt compelled to believe her, something happened to change my mind. If the DNA test had turned out differently . . . Lying to me about Jamie was a betrayal too far. I still found myself wondering if we could work around it. Jamie was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I had been desperate for a child and I knew I had piled the pressure on. How could I be angry about that?

On Mum’s radio in the kitchen, a George Benson song played. ‘Nothing’s Gonna Change My Love for You’ . . . Our first dance. I felt a guilty pang as the tune filled the air. It was as if the world was conspiring to bring me back to her. I had meant every word as I hummed it to her on the dance floor. Why hadn’t I been honest with her and told her that I knew there was more going on between her and Luke than she was letting on? Internally, my emotions played out a game of tug-of-war. I took a breath as I found my mother in the living room. I had to get a grip. I had Jamie to think about now.

‘What’s wrong now?’ Mum said, concern growing as she took in the expression on my face.

‘I’ve got to go back to Mersea,’ I said, keeping my voice low. ‘Can you keep an eye on Jamie for me? I think Emma’s in trouble. I should never have left her.’

‘I wish you’d tell me what’s going on,’ she said. ‘Alex, are you listening to me?’

‘There’s no time,’ I said. ‘I think her sister wants to hurt her. I can’t get through on the phone. Please, Mum.’

She exhaled in frustration. ‘What am I going to tell him?’

I kissed her on the cheek before opening the front door. ‘Tell him I’ve gone to get his mum. I’m bringing Emma back.’





CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

EMMA





2017


My eyes widened at the force of my sister’s revelation. ‘Where is she?’ I said, the thought of my mother setting my nerves on edge.

‘I’m sorry,’ Theresa said flatly, ‘but she never left.’

My gaze fell on the living-room door, as if I had expected her to make an appearance. But I knew from the tone of Theresa’s voice that it was not likely to happen. I had not wanted to believe what my father had hinted at all these years, that the real reason he had built the bench at the foot of the oak tree was because he needed a place to visit my mum. I hadn’t been digging a vegetable patch the day Luke came to challenge me. I’d long suspected that there was more to Mum’s disappearance than either Dad or my older sister were letting on. It felt like there was some sort of conspiracy between them and, over the years, I’d grabbed on to the one explanation that made sense. I was finally confronting my secret fear that my mother had been buried on the land adjoining our house all along. Mum’s leaving had been so sudden, coinciding with Theresa’s departure shortly afterwards. I hadn’t wanted even to consider the thought that she was no longer alive, but the way Dad behaved gave me plenty of cause for concern – and doubt. The missed birthdays, the Christmases that passed without a word, I couldn’t help but wonder why Mum had not got in touch. Sometimes I silenced the niggles, but when Dad became ill and we came back to Mersea, I could no longer ignore my suspicions. The faraway look in his eyes, his mumbled regrets in his last days before he passed away, all conspired to give me no choice: I had to unearth the truth, once and for all. ‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’ The words came out as a whisper. ‘He buried her next to the tree.’

The glint in Theresa’s eye cast a chilling reminder. I had seen that look many times in my youth, and her resemblance to Mum caught me off guard. ‘It was the day Dad said she left,’ Theresa recounted, unable to meet my gaze. ‘Mum had been drinking and she was in one of her moods.’

‘I remember,’ I said, clawing back the image from the bowels of my memory. ‘She caught me bingeing and shoved my head down the toilet to teach me a lesson. Then Dad came home and he sent me to my room.’

‘I’d just come in when their argument kicked off,’ Theresa said, her fingers tightly clasped around each other. ‘Dad’s arms were all scratched from where Mum had attacked him, and next thing I knew she was going for him with a knife. She would have killed him . . . He . . . he had no choice.’

‘No,’ I said, bringing my fist to my mouth as the pain and fear of that day came back all over again. My bravado left me. I wasn’t ready for the truth. ‘I don’t want to hear it. Please, don’t say any more.’ I tried to turn away but Theresa rose from the table with me, gripping my forearm and gently stilling my movements.

‘I can’t leave it there, not now. We need to get this out in the open so we can both move on with our lives. Surely you had your suspicions?’

I sighed, feeling something shift from deep inside. The clues were there. I remembered what she had been like that night. It was their wedding anniversary and Dad had been gone all day. But regardless of her behaviour, she did not deserve to die. ‘Did she . . . suffer?’

Theresa shook her head. ‘It was an accident. Mum launched herself at Dad just as he turned to leave. I saw the glint of a knife in her hand and screamed at her to stop. Dad pushed her away to defend himself, but she was drunk and stumbled.’ Her eyes turned to the living-room door, to the real reason she could not bear to be in this house. ‘She fell on her knife. Within seconds she was dead.’ She paused, the memory of that awful day etched on her face. ‘I wanted to call an ambulance, but it was too late by then. We had two choices. Call the police and risk Dad being falsely accused of murder, or cover it up.’