The Girls Who Disappeared(68)

‘I’m just the vessel, my dear. I don’t know what it all means. I’m just telling you what’s in the cards. That’s all.’

I stare at her, feeling more confused than when I came in. ‘Okay, so let’s get this right. You’re saying the man with the scar is back in Stafferbury and he has something to do with the three missing girls.’

‘He has everything to do with the missing three.’

‘And the Lovers card. It’s important because?’

‘They started the whole thing off. But, again, I know nothing more than that. I just know they are intrinsic to this whole sorry affair.’

‘Right. Fine. Thanks, you’ve been very helpful.’

She raises an eyebrow at me. ‘Open your mind, Jenna. Allow yourself to believe that there are some things that are just inexplicable.’

I fold my arms across my chest. ‘And what about Ralph Middleton? Is his death linked as well?’

‘Oh, yes, I should say so.’

As I’m packing up she adds, so quietly I can hardly hear her, ‘Don’t trust anyone. That’s what the cards are warning you, Jenna. Everyone is lying.’





40



Olivia


The horses are still in the field. Olivia frowns. There is a lesson at 11 a.m. and three of the horses need to be brought in. Her mother should have done it ages ago. She feels a tug of guilt. She should have been here to help. Her mother isn’t getting any younger.

She swallows her anxiety. She needs to face whatever her mother will tell her about her father.

Olivia checks the little shed they use for the office but it’s empty so she goes to the tack room at the other end of the yard to see if her mother is there. When that’s empty too she begins to worry. Her mother’s Land Rover is in the driveway. She must be in the house. As she’s making her way through the gate her mobile buzzes. She reaches for it, thinking it will be her mum, but Wesley’s name flashes up. He never usually calls her from work.

‘Hey, Wes. You okay?’

‘Not really, no.’ His voice sounds subdued, and from the sound of cars whizzing past and the way he’s breathing, she gathers he’s walking along a busy street.

‘Why aren’t you at work?’

‘I’ve had to come all the way to fucking Devizes, haven’t I?’

‘What? Why?’

‘I had a phone call just as I was about to leave for work. From the police.’

Olivia’s heart speeds up. ‘The police. Why?’

‘They want me to answer some questions, apparently.’

‘You haven’t been arrested?’

‘Of course I haven’t been fucking arrested. Jesus, Liv. They’ve asked me to come down to the station and that’s what I’m doing. I’m being a good boy.’ He sounds thoroughly pissed off but Olivia senses a trace of anxiety in his voice too.

‘What do they want to talk to you about?’

‘I’ll let you know.’

Is it about what happened last night? The box he was carrying. The burner phone. The suspicion he’s involved in something dodgy intensifies.

‘I hope everything’s going to be okay.’

‘Sure,’ he says, but he doesn’t sound confident. ‘I’ll ring you later.’

He ends the call abruptly. Olivia hasn’t got time to worry about it. She has more pressing matters to think about.

Her mother is sitting at the pine table in the centre of the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee. She still has her padded jacket on and her riding boots. There is a streak of mud on her cheek and her hair, usually in a sleek grey bob, is dishevelled.

She knows her mother loves this job and being outside with nature. But it’s a physically demanding job. Olivia keeps telling her they need to get a yard manager or someone to help out, but her mum insists they can’t afford it, that the books are barely ticking over. Not that Olivia would know. She’s not allowed to touch the books.

‘Mum,’ she says, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite her, ‘I got your text. Is everything okay?’

Her mother looks up at her with tired, bruised eyes. ‘I need to talk to you. Can I get you anything to eat?’

Olivia couldn’t possibly eat. She wants to get this over with. Rip off the plaster once and for fucking all. ‘Just tell me,’ she says, in a low voice.

‘I’ll make you a coffee,’ says her mother, getting up as though unable to contain all her nervous energy and going to the kettle. She’s worried about telling me. Why? Olivia watches as she opens one of the old-fashioned farmhouse kitchen cupboards to get a mug. The whole place needs updating but her mother has never been that bothered with fancy things. ‘Wholesome’, ‘unpretentious’, ‘capable’ and ‘earthy’ are words people use to describe her. She watches her straight, proud back, the horse hair still clinging to her padded gilet, and Olivia feels a lump in her throat. She wants to savour this moment because after their conversation she knows everything will change.

It’s true what they say. Ignorance is bliss.

Her mother hands her a coffee and sits down at the table. She already has one in front of her, growing cold, as though she’s been sitting in the kitchen for ages just waiting for Olivia to get home.