The Girls Who Disappeared(69)

‘Go on, then, tell me,’ says Olivia, bracing herself. This is the moment she’s going to hear that her father is some kind of monster, a rapist, a psychopath.

‘I think your father might be in town,’ she says, and Olivia is so surprised she nearly knocks over her mug. ‘He was seen.’

‘What? Who saw him?’

She waves a hand dismissively. ‘It doesn’t matter. And I’m sorry I never told you much about him. The truth is I loved your father. Once, I thought I loved him very much. But there was an … incident and we split up. Then I found out I was pregnant with you.’ A shadow passes behind her eyes and, for a moment, Olivia knows her mother is recalling the pain that was inflicted on her.

‘Why have you decided to tell me this now?’

‘Because I think he wants to meet you. I’ve been told he’s here, in Stafferbury, and the only reason he would want to come here is to see you.’ There is a desperation about her that Olivia’s never witnessed before. She’s usually so composed.

‘Why would he want to see me now when he didn’t bother for years? When he left you pregnant?’ Her head pounds. This is all too much.

‘Well, he was away for a long time.’ Her mother pushes her fringe from her eyes. Olivia notices her hand is trembling.

Olivia fidgets in her seat. ‘Where was he?’

‘This is the thing … This is why I didn’t tell you.’ She laces her fingers around her mug. ‘He’s been in prison. For a long time.’

‘What did he do?’

Her mother’s next words make Olivia go cold all over.

‘He killed someone.’





41



Jenna


My mind is still full of my conversation with Madame Tovey as I pull up outside the cabin. I climb out of the car, slightly distracted, and start when I see a figure standing by my front door. I put my hand to my chest, my heart in my throat, then relax when I realize it’s the man, Samuel, from Foxglove.

He blows on his hands and stamps his feet. The ground is covered with patchy frost. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m sorry if José and I were rude last night. We arrived late and we were tired and grumpy,’ he says, smiling broadly.

‘Oh, no, not at all. It was totally my fault.’ As I explain my mistake, his expression grows more sombre.

‘So, let’s get this straight,’ he says, when I’ve finished. ‘You came over last night because you previously saw a man staying in the cabin who shouldn’t have been there and thought he was back?’

I nod. I pull my bag more firmly over my shoulder.

‘What did the man look like?’

‘Um …’ I cast my mind back to that first night. ‘He was wearing a long raincoat with a hood – you know the ones, like fishermen wear. And I didn’t get the chance to see his face. Not properly. He was tall. I’m assuming it was a man but I suppose it could equally have been a tall woman.’

‘Can I ask you to take a look at this?’ I notice then that he’s holding a photograph, which he passes to me with an unsteady hand. It’s of him when he was younger with another man. They both have the same dark hair and eyes but the other man looks thinner. Samuel has his arm around the man’s shoulder and he’s in profile. ‘Could it have been this man? He’d be older now. Mid-sixties.’

‘I don’t know. I mean, perhaps. I didn’t see the man’s face closely enough to tell. Who is this?’

‘He’s my brother – well, half-brother. We had the same father but we’ve lost touch. And then I heard he was in Stafferbury so we travelled down from where we’re living now in Cumbria to see him. I’ve had someone looking into his whereabouts, and there was a booking made here in Stafferbury under his name, a few days ago at the local B-and-B. But when I went there to ask they said he didn’t turn up.’

I try to imagine the man older with a long waxed coat on. I hand him back the photo. ‘Is your brother tall?’

‘He’s just over six foot.’

It could have been the same man. But why would he be hiding out here if he’d booked a B-and-B? Maybe he didn’t have any money and thought these cabins were empty so decided to use one. Another thought hits me. Could this be the person who attacked me on the night of Ralph’s death?

‘If he was here he was probably just passing through,’ says Samuel. ‘I’ve been so close the odd time over the years but he’s elusive. It’s almost,’ he glances down at his feet and looks slightly ashamed, ‘as if he doesn’t want to be found. I wasn’t the best brother to him, in the end.’

He reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. ‘I also have this. This was taken on the same day and was the last time we saw each other, twenty years ago now. It isn’t such a good photo of him, though.’ He hands it to me. It’s crumpled, and this time the man is sitting alone on an old stone wall, sadness in his eyes. He has a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. I don’t recognize him at all. I’m about to return the photograph when I notice something about the man’s face. I peer more closely.

‘What’s that there?’ I ask, pointing to something dark and puckered on the left cheek. It wasn’t apparent in the first photo because of the way the man was standing.