Then She Vanishes(102)

‘She’s getting better,’ I’d replied curtly, wondering if she was only calling to get the gossip on my sister.

‘I read about what happened in the newspapers.’ The press had had a field day with the story and it had run for weeks. Everybody from the past got dredged up: Norman pleading his innocence that he wasn’t involved in any kidnapping; Marianne Walker-Smith’s brutish-looking stepfather, who cried on TV over her death; an old girlfriend of Clive Wilson’s, who said he liked her to dress up as a schoolgirl in the bedroom.

I was on the verge of putting the phone down until she added, ‘I’ve always felt guilty about that night. It’s haunted me for years.’

I’d cleared my throat. ‘What night?’

‘The night Flora disappeared.’

I’d frozen, mobile clamped against my ear. What did she know about that night?

Her voice was heavy with unshed tears. ‘I was with Leo that night. We were having it off in the bushes near the lane that led to your house. He had a girlfriend but he couldn’t keep away from me. We heard you and Flora having an argument and you stomping off home. We saw a car pull up and Flora get into it.’

‘You saw Flora getting into Clive’s car?’

‘Yes. But we hadn’t known it was Clive. Not then. Not until all this came out.’

‘And did you tell the police any of this, that you saw her getting into a car?’ I shot back, already knowing the answer. If they’d told the police they could have run a trace on the car. They could have saved Flora years of torment and abuse.

‘I’m so sorry. I wanted to when it became obvious that something awful had happened to Flora. But Leo, he said we’d get into trouble and he’d end up in prison. I wasn’t yet sixteen you see. I wasn’t sixteen until the thirty-first of August. Leo was in his late thirties. It would have looked wrong, ruined his reputation.’

‘It was bloody wrong,’ I hissed, feeling sick. I terminated the call, not wanting to hear any more of her excuses, and instantly called Leo.

He acted all cheerful to hear from me until I asked him if Deborah’s story was true.

His silence said it all.

No wonder he’d left Tilby. He always maintained it was because everyone secretly thought he’d hurt Flora. But I think it was because the guilt of what he’d done was too much. He’d kept quiet all these years to save his own skin.

I’ll never forgive him. And neither will Mum. As soon as I told her what he’d done she went straight to Gary Ruthgow about it. I’m hoping Leo will get his comeuppance.

I do feel bad for lying: to the hospital, to my mum, to Jess, to the police. But of course I remember that fateful day. I’ve always been able to remember.

I remember hearing a cough and turning to see Colin, our long-term tenant, standing at the entrance, assessing me with concern in his baggy eyes. Colin, who I knew was very fond of me, took my word for it when I assured him all was fine and he returned to his caravan. It was only later, when he looked back on that morning, when he noticed I’d already been out, that he must have realized what had really happened. Jess told me she always felt Colin knew more than he was letting on. And it’s true, but he kept quiet. For me.

He’d gone by the time Flora came into the barn. He didn’t see her confront me when she saw the gun was still in my hand, or the struggle that ensued between us.

He wouldn’t have known the gun had gone off as we’d wrestled with it, or witness Flora run from the farm and board a bus back to Bristol. He didn’t know that I lay on the floor of the barn, unconscious.

Later, in the hospital, Flora begged me to tell our mother, and the police, that it was her. ‘You could have died because of me. I want to do this. Think of your son. They’ll go easy on me after everything I’ve been through,’ she’d said. ‘You saved me. Now it’s my turn to save you.’

And save me she did. I’m here, free, able to walk around, to push Ethan on the swings in the park, ride my horse, be with my husband. Live a normal, full life. An even better life than the one I had before because Flora, my brave, beautiful sister, is in it.

It doesn’t always sit well with me, letting Flora take the blame. But I continue the pretence for Ethan’s sake.

After all, I’m good at keeping secrets: my father’s death was no accident.

When Flora and I argued in the barn over the gun, the Wilsons were already dead.

I’d driven to Tilby and shot them while Flora slept in her room. She caught me trying to put the gun back in the cabinet: she’d been withdrawing and said she needed them for her next fix. That moment only cemented it for me. I’d done the right thing – I didn’t even think of the consequences of my actions. I just knew I couldn’t let them live and risk them luring Flora back into their sordid world.

No, it wasn’t my sister who killed Clive and Deirdre Wilson.

It was me. And I’d do it all over again.

As for Uncle Leo, let’s just say I’ll be watching him.





Acknowledgements


I still have to pinch myself to believe that I’m a full-time writer and on my fifth book. I couldn’t have done any of it without the most fabulous, hardworking (and best-dressed) agent in the world, Juliet Mushens, who always goes above and beyond. I’m so lucky to have her not only as my agent but as a friend.