The Girls Who Disappeared(53)

There are no other vehicles on the road and she can’t help but be reminded of that night twenty years ago. She grips the edges of the seat. She’s never driven again, despite the doctors’ assurances that using an automatic wouldn’t put too much pressure on her left leg. It’s bad enough being a passenger. She’d rather walk or ride a horse, even though she knows it’s completely irrational, considering how dangerous horse riding can be.

The atmosphere between them has turned and now she just wants to get out of the car. She shouldn’t have told him. Had she done it to rile him? She suspects so. If she’s honest with herself she’s never really liked him. She knows Wesley is brash, and a lot of people find him arrogant, but he is what he is. What you see is what you get with Wesley – most of the time. Dale Crawford has always taken time, even back then, to hone and project a certain image to the world. One she felt was fake to his true self. She’s aware that she might have formed this opinion because of Tamzin and the way he’d treated her, which wasn’t great when he went off to university, or because after the accident she no longer trusted the police force. She might be being unfair to Dale. Either way she wants to get out of the car.

‘You can just let me out here,’ she says, as they drive into the high street.

To her relief he pulls over. ‘Are you sure? I’m happy to drop you back at the stables.’ And then he nods. ‘Ah, you’re staying with Wes tonight, then.’

Wesley’s flat is only a few buildings along. Even though she’s not planning on going there she grunts in what she hopes is a noncommittal way. She knows Dale and Wes dislike each other – they’re as different as cat and mouse. She’s just not sure which one is which.

He leans into her footwell and pulls his briefcase onto his lap to open it. ‘Here,’ he says, handing her an A4 sheet in a plastic wallet. ‘They’ve been photocopied.’

She takes them from him, frowning at the photos, still shocked that they were found in Ralph’s caravan. She looks so young, so carefree in them. So blissfully unaware of how suddenly her life would change. She remembers pulling into that petrol station. It was the day before the accident and she was filling up for the weekend. Had she felt watched while she was there? She can’t recall. Although … another is also familiar. ‘This,’ she says, pointing to one in which she’s walking a young mare, a strawberry roan that they’d only looked after for a short time, on a halter down a country lane towards a field. ‘This is one of the places I remember seeing the man with the scar. He was sitting in a lay-by in his van, smoking a cigarette and just watching me. And then he got out and called to me.’ It was the time she was telling Jenna about. ‘He must have taken this photo.’

‘You didn’t see anyone with him? Nobody in the passenger seat?’

She thinks back. It was so long ago but, no, she’s sure it was just one man in the van. ‘He was alone. I’m sure of it.’ Had Ralph been there too, in the vicinity? Was it just a coincidence? ‘I wish I could remember more,’ she says now, handing them back to him.

‘If you do, please let me know. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Thanks for the lift,’ she says, getting out of the car. She watches as he pulls away from the kerb, and then she’s alone. The high street is quiet, even though it’s only seven fifteen in the evening. The Christmas lights strewn between telegraph poles flicker red and silver against the inky sky. She begins to walk, thrusting her hands into the pockets of her yellow raincoat. As she passes the pizzeria she notices a few tables are occupied in the window – one by a young couple she doesn’t recognize and the other by Sally’s mum and dad. Light spills onto the pavement and she presses her chin to her chest and hurries past before they spot her. She’s near Wesley’s flat and she rushes on, desperate to get home. She should have let Dale drive her all the way but being in that car with him made her feel claustrophobic. She turns left, down the side road and past The Raven – even that’s quiet tonight. This is where the shops and houses fall away to countryside. Is it her imagination or can she hear footsteps behind her? She’d underestimated how afraid she’d feel walking in the dark on her own, even though it’s not late. It’s not seven thirty yet. In her mind the journey on foot from the high street to the stables isn’t far, but she’s unused to walking it at night. She hadn’t considered how intimidated she’d feel with the countryside pressing in on her from both sides, how the lack of streetlights would unnerve her, how her footsteps would echo so that it felt like someone was behind her.

But, no. It’s not her imagination. Above the pounding of her heartbeat she can hear a heavy tread behind her, getting closer.

If something happened to her tonight – on the twentieth anniversary of the accident – there would be something almost poetic about it. Inevitable. And she realizes she’s been waiting all her life for this moment.

Yet still she tenses as a hand clamps her shoulder.

Still she yells out.

But her voice is swallowed by the darkness.





32



Jenna


While I’m waiting for Dale to return I tidy up the wine glasses. I haven’t eaten since the sandwich with Dale at lunchtime, and the alcohol swims in my empty stomach. It’s a good job Dale offered to drive Olivia home. I inspect the cupboards, even though I know they’re empty, wishing I’d picked up some groceries at the Co-op in the high street. It doesn’t escape my notice that I’d prioritized booze and sweet things instead of healthy food. I need to look after myself. I can’t let my health fall apart as well as my marriage. I’ve still got Finn to think about. And this job. I need the money. I haven’t even let myself consider what I’d do if Gavin and I split up. Could I afford to keep the house? I doubt it on my wages alone.