The Things You Didn't See(36)

‘Like your fancy spa? Look, Daniel, me and Ash’ve sweated our guts over that land. Whatever the deeds says about who owns it, it belongs to us!’

Daniel is gripping the mantelpiece now and his face has turned deathly pale. ‘What about Cassandra’s rights? She’s your only child and this spa is our dream, the culmination of all we’ve been working for, all these years. People know me, Hector. I’ve cured people – this is a gift to the sick.’

Dad looks daunted. Daniel intimidates him, but still he stands his ground. ‘I told Maya and now I’m tellin’ you, that farm is Ash’s livelihood and it’s not right to steal it from him.’

I’m thinking about Friday. I’m finally realising something obvious. ‘This is why you slept on the sofa, isn’t it, Dad? You told Mum you were going to fight her in court. Did you tell Godwin to do it, that very afternoon?’

Now he’s the one under scrutiny, and he can’t see how to get away. And it’s so obvious, so fucking obvious, that this is why Godwin called the solicitor on Saturday. That Ash and Dad are in alliance, just like always, when they should be on my side. They should be thinking about you!

I push myself from the chair, propel myself from the room and out to the back door, only breathing when I’m on the pathway at the side of the house, leaning on the brick wall and feeling sick – sick to the core with the injustice.

My fingers tingle, I’ve been unconsciously grazing my knuckles against the brickwork at the side of the house, and now they’re cracked and bloody. I’m standing with no shoes, no coat, on a cold November day outside my house because I’m afraid of what I know. I breathe in cold air and try to clarify my feelings, but the Prozac is making it difficult. It’s like trying to decipher a code.

I can’t go back inside that house, not when I have these dark thoughts. I can’t stay here either. Shivering, I shove my hands in my jeans pockets, forgetting my key fob is there. The sharp edge of a key digs into my right hand. It’s the key to the farmhouse.

If I’m right, if someone else shot you, it’s because of the farm and your decision to sell it. But no one’s listening to me. I need proof. There’s only one place to look.

I walk quickly to the driveway, where my car is parked. My feet are now so cold I can’t feel them, and I know I must look crazy, trying to drive in only slippers. Daniel would stop me if he realised what I’m doing. He’s already told me I shouldn’t drive while I’m taking a cocktail of sedatives, always thinking he knows what I need.

I start the car, foot heavy on the accelerator, motoring on autopilot back to the place that was my home until I was sent to boarding school. It wasn’t until I dropped out of university that I finally returned. I returned to you, Mum, because I was wounded and wanted comfort. As recently as Friday, I was back in my childhood bed, asking for your help. But I can’t do that any more. I need to grow up. I need to be the one in control for a change.

A mist lies like a thick blanket over the tops of the trees. Innocence Lane is shrouded by a canopy of blowing branches. The farm is hidden, but I know it’s there. Waiting. No lights along the road – the only illumination is the dashboard, and the red flashing bulb on the petrol gauge alerts me that I’m running on empty. I must keep driving.

I’ve never seen Innocence Farm look more desolate. There should be light from the kitchen, where Janet should be bustling around, warmth from the oven, tea in the pot. And you, Mum, working in your study or reading a book in the sitting room. Instead, Janet’s at the police station and you’re in the hospital. And I’m here, searching for proof that you didn’t shoot yourself – something that would count as evidence and make the police take this seriously.

Around the back, by the barn, the bitter wind plays with strands of straw, flicks at the hedges, swoops through the outhouses. Dad should be working there, but it’s empty except for the chickens. They’re hungry, squabbling over sodden straw. I find my way to the back door, squelch mud beneath my feet, seeping through my socks, and sink into puddles I can’t see to avoid. I finger the key in my pocket then open the back door.

The kitchen reeks of sour milk instead of the delicious aroma of Janet’s homemade bread. I have to feel my way for the switch, ridiculously pleased when I flick on the light. I kick off my muddy slippers and climb the stairs to reach your study, pushing the door wide to survey the mess before I enter.

I look down at my bare feet, feel how my body is shaking. I can’t do this alone, I need a friend, and I fumble for my phone knowing there is only one person I can call.

I’m doing this for you, Mum. Dad may feel he has to protect Ash, but I don’t.

Solving this is the key to my sanity.





17

Holly

‘Cass?’

There was no answer, but Holly saw her car parked outside so she opened the kitchen door. Stepping inside the farmhouse, she felt the stark atmosphere keenly, as though the walls were too tall, the rooms too wide. The farmhouse would once have been grand, but it was unloved, like an ugly antique that can’t be thrown away because of its value. The coving and fancy details around the light fixings suggested money hadn’t been a problem once, but now the wallpaper was peeling and the wooden floor below her feet was scored with ancient gauges. Dusty curtains hung in tatters at dirty windows and the storage heaters looked inadequate to heat such lofty rooms. The long hallway would once have been impressive, but the paint was flaking away like an old lady’s face powder, while the carpet runner had come unhooked from its pinning and curled back to reveal tarred wood beneath. The front door, through which Maya Hawke had exited on her stretcher, was flanked by an ebony coat stand to one side, a scuffed mahogany table on the other, with a large silver platter forlorn in its centre, presumably a relic left over from the days when people left calling cards, now tarnished and dull. On the platter lay a set of keys and some junk mail – a takeaway delivery leaflet, though Holly didn’t believe any pizza driver would come out this far for free.