I Am Watching You(16)

Stupid sheep. No brains.

He calls Sammy, who has his tail between his legs. Even the dog hates this field, looking at him now as if he were mad. What are we doing up here? You normally bring the quad up here.

Finally, with Sammy’s help he coaxes the two stray ewes and the rest of the flock back up onto the higher ground. From there he moves them further still, through the gate to the neighbouring field which, though poor on grass now, is a safer option for the night. He secures the gate, calls Sammy back to his side and finally heads along the adjoining lane, back towards the farmhouse.

It is called Primrose Lane. Anna used to love it when she was little, because of the high hedges. Always keen to collect posies of wild flowers.

Race you, Dad.

Henry closes his eyes to this more welcome echo, and for a moment stands very still. He can picture her in her pink puffa jacket, with her pink bobble hat and her pink gloves. Come on, Dad. I’ll race you back. The posy of primroses in her hand.

Only when he feels Sammy nuzzling at his leg does he open his eyes again.

OK, boy. It’s OK.

He strokes the dog’s head, takes a deep breath and marches back home. By the time he reaches the farmyard, Barbara has gone back inside.

In the boot room he takes off his wellies, ordering the collie, covered in mud, to stay.

‘So, who was that earlier?’

Barbara’s face is ashen as she comes through from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

‘A private detective.’

‘What the hell is a private detective doing here?’

‘He says that Ella – that flower shop woman – has been getting hate mail.’

‘So what’s new?’

‘No. Not just stuff on social media. Actual letters or something. To her house. Nasty.’

‘And this is our concern because . . . ?’

‘I think this private detective thought I might have sent them.’

‘He accused you?’

‘Not in so many words, but that was the implication. As if he was doing me a favour. Warning me off.’

Henry pauses, narrowing his eyes.

‘And before you ask – no, I didn’t send them. Though I can’t pretend I give a damn who did.’

‘Well, I hope you told him not to come back. Do you think we should ring Cathy? Or the London team? Tell them about this?’

‘No. No point. I’ve told him not to come back. He says he’s going to report it to the police himself.’

‘And you didn’t say anything else? Anything silly, Barbara. About me.’

She looks at him very earnestly. Unblinkingly. Cold eyes.

Henry can feel his pulse increasing.

‘No, Henry. I didn’t say anything silly . . . about you.’

Henry sits on the old church pew which serves as their boot room bench.

‘Is Jenny home?’

‘Not yet. She’s gone into town. She wants a new coat for the vigil. Says she wants something warm and smart.’

Henry has made his feelings about the vigil perfectly clear from the off. He is not a religious man. It was the local vicar’s idea. Prayers and candles to mark the one-year anniversary. It had originally been scheduled for Thursday . . . a year to the day. But once the TV reconstruction was confirmed, they decided to put it back to the Saturday. More convenient for people, too – the weekend.

Barbara lifts up her chin. ‘Sarah’s mother is saying that she hopes we can put the vigil back until Sarah is well enough to attend, but I said that wasn’t a good idea, that Sarah needs to concentrate on getting well. I think we should go ahead as planned.’

‘And you still think this is a good idea? This vigil.’

‘I have no idea, Henry. But people have been kind and they seem to want to do something. Also the press will take photographs, which helps to keep it in the public eye. Cathy says that’s good. To keep it in the public eye.’

‘And what about Sarah? Is she still claiming it was an accident? The pills . . .’

No one takes an overdose by accident, Henry is thinking. He tries to feel more sympathy for Sarah but finds that he cannot.





CHAPTER 10


THE WITNESS

‘Why don’t you let me make the tea, love? Give yourself ten minutes for a change?’

I hear my husband’s voice but do not turn. From the top of the stairs, I keep my eyes firmly fixed on the mail on the doormat. In the sweep of bills and white envelopes I can see it, screaming at me. The familiar dark envelope. Printed address on a cream label this time.

‘I’m fine. Really. You know me, prefer to get going.’ I hurry down to grab the letters from the floor and bundle them into a pile, feeling the firm postcard inside the envelope and tucking it into the centre as Tony begins his own descent of the stairs.

‘Are you sure you’re all right, Ella?’

‘How about bacon butties? Tell Luke fifteen minutes, would you?’ I can feel my heart pounding in my chest and deliberately do not check my reflection in the hall mirror, not wanting to see the evidence. The flushed face.

I really thought that by calling in Matthew, this would stop; I honestly thought that I could avoid worrying Tony, who has been through quite enough already over all this.

In the kitchen, I rifle through the mail to hand Tony the circulars from the wine club and the bank. I know that I should tell him, and I have promised myself that I will soon. Very soon. Once I’ve spoken to Matthew. But he is going to be upset again and he’s snowed under right now, bidding for this promotion. I feel bad, because he expressly warned me not to go to Cornwall. Oh Lord. I had so hoped that Matthew would sort this.