Kitabı oku: «Remember Me», sayfa 3

‘All I ever wanted to ask you, was how you could just fuck off and leave me?’ Stephen spat at her suddenly, his eyes blazing. ‘I mean, I know it seems a bit sad, but it’s all I want to know. When you’ve told me, you can piss off back to Los bloody Angeles.’

‘Stephen!’ Bethan said, reaching slender white fingers to touch his arm, but he waved her quiet protest away with a shaking hand.

Ava found she had to take a long breath before she could speak. ‘I can’t explain how it was, and I’m not making excuses, but I wasn’t much older than you are now. Suddenly I had a baby, and I was married, and all I could think of was that I couldn’t do any of it. I was failing at the most basic level. It became obvious that I needed to get out or I was going to have some kind of breakdown. I thought… I thought if that happened they would take you away and say I wasn’t fit to have a child. That’s how confused I was.’

‘Your best friend ran away, didn’t she?’ Bethan put in, chewing a thumbnail thoughtfully. ‘My dad told me about it. That must have been horrible. I said to Stephen it was no wonder you lost it a bit later. Anyone would, if something like that happened, and then they had a baby to look after as well.’

Ouch. Ava met her wide, innocent gaze, blocking any attempts to go down that beaten track. ‘She did go, yes. I missed her terribly, and still do. But that was before I was married, and I’m not giving you any excuses for what I did. I’m not saying anything I did was right, and I do know it is useless to say sorry now. I’m just trying to explain why I did it.’

Stephen’s expression was still stony, and his hands were now clenched on the edge of the table, knuckles whitening. ‘You never got back in touch. All these years. You know, I used to pretend Penny was my mum, until some bloody kid at school told everyone I’d been left by my real mum. How do you think that felt?’

Struggling to control her hammering heart, taking comfort in the fact that at least he was listening to her, Ava chose her words carefully. ‘When I reached the States, I went back to my parents and at that point I did have a breakdown. Bethan is right, but I’ll say again, I’m not here to make excuses, just give you facts. The breakdown was attributed in part to the trauma of Ellen’s running away, but also to having PND. That’s—’

‘I know what that fucking is. Dad told me that was what was wrong with you. He’s been good to you. He never slagged you off in front of me. Penny didn’t either. The way they went on about you, it’s like you never did anything wrong. Even Uncle Leo went on about you being this detective in Los Angeles and working on big cases.’

Uncle Leo. ‘Stephen, your dad and I decided it was best that you made your own choice whether to see me, when you reached adulthood. I understand that you haven’t wanted to get in contact, I really do, but please believe me when I say that I always wanted to be part of your life when I recovered.’ She wanted to scream that Paul had given her no choice, but she forced the pain away. It would do no good to tell him the whole truth now, not when his eyes were dark with anger, and Paul was sitting in the next room.

‘You left me as a baby. What sort of mum does that to her kid?’

Ava met his gaze, willing herself to keep her voice calm and steady. Now was probably not the best time to tell him about the money she had saved for him. Everything she had earned, since she worked the bar at college, she had taken a piece out for her son. Over the years it had built into a very nice sum of money, that could be used for university, for travel, for setting up his own business… but now the time had come, and she was suddenly terribly afraid he would see it as blood money, a substitute for love and all that she was capable of.

‘My dad always said you tried your best, you know, being pregnant so young.’ Bethan broke the silence, sliding her hand across and stroking Stephen’s arm again. She had very long, slender fingers, and dark red glossy nails.

With an effort, Ava dragged her gaze away from her son, and back to the girl. ‘Sorry, Bethan, but do I know your dad?’

Stephen rolled his eyes, dragged a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one and passed another to his girlfriend.

Bethan smiled. ‘You were at school with my dad. His name is Huw Davis. We live down the road. Do you remember him?’

Huw’s girlfriend had been pregnant the same time as Ava, but she had lived in Cadrington with her family, so they had limited contact. She remembered Huw boasting about his daughter, showing pictures on his phone of a tiny scrap, topped with a mop of black hair. Ava’s mouth was dry, and a headache throbbing behind her eyes. ‘I do… yes. Does he still live in Aberdyth then? I thought he went to live in Cadrington with your mother. I assumed everyone else had left too.’ Christ, this was getting worse by the minute. Nobody stayed in the valleys if they could help it, but it seemed that everyone she really didn’t want to ever see again was back here, waiting for her return. Ava remembered Paul comparing her with Catrin, Bethan’s mother, asking why Ava couldn’t cope as well as Huw’s girlfriend…

‘Yeah, I know.’ Bethan lit her own cigarette and blew smoke across the table, her beautiful eyes narrowing. ‘My mum left us, but he got a new girlfriend so he’s happy enough. My brother’s at uni in Glamorgan, well, he’s really my half-brother, and I’ve got twin sisters who are six months old. Well, I suppose they’re like half-sisters too, but Dad says he’ll never marry Isabell.’ Her chatter was strangely engaging, and she smiled at Ava, pleased at her reaction.

All these people, all these names that spun into a tangled web behind her eyes. It seemed ridiculous that she hadn’t imagined the children would meet. But Huw’s daughter, and her son… Ava pressed a hand to her forehead, just for a moment.

‘Everything all right? Ava, did you want a beer?’ Penny appeared at the doorway.

‘No, I’m fine thanks,’ Ava told her, swallowing hard. She really hoped she wasn’t going to vomit right here in Penny’s sparkling kitchen.

‘We’re going out,’ Stephen said suddenly. ‘Kai’s having a party at his place.’

Penny was frowning at the cigarettes, and Ava sensed that had she not been there, her son and his girlfriend would have got a bollocking.

The teenagers slammed out of the house – Bethan smiling slightly apologetically, drifting along behind her boyfriend, and Stephen ignoring everyone. Ava made her own excuses.

‘Sorry, Penny, I should probably go too. I hope I haven’t made things worse, but at least he’s heard it from me now,’ she said carefully. A proper talk would have to come later, when there weren’t so many people around. How was she going to give him the money? It had seemed like such a good idea, but now, faced with his anger… Certainly she could never tell her son about Paul’s threats to expose Ellen’s death because she would have to tell him the whole story. What a fucking mess, and how was she, the icy, rigidly controlled workaholic, getting into such an emotional flap?

‘You’re going so soon? Don’t you want to have a proper chat with the boys?’ Penny asked, her face unreadable.

The boys. ‘No, I really must go. Jetlag catching up with me, I think.’

‘Well, all right. Why don’t you give me your phone number and we can arrange that catch-up? I never… well, Paul always said it was best we didn’t contact you, so he never would give me your number, otherwise I might have tried to get back in contact sooner. But you knew where I was, didn’t you? I suppose if you had wanted to speak to me, you would have called. But that’s in the past, I’ve got so much to tell you now.’ Penny’s glass-green eyes were hopeful, but the smile was back to being a little sharp, her fingers nervously twisting her ponytail into little curls.

‘Yes. Great idea, and thank you for… you know,’ Ava snatched her phone out of her pocket, swapped details with Penny, and headed for the door. Again, could she tell Penny that part of her deal with Paul was never to contact Penny either? She could still remember his exact words. ‘You fucked up, so make your own life and stay away from all of us. I’ll give Stephen the choice when he’s old enough, but don’t expect miracles. That part of your life is over now, so piss off and waste someone else’s time.’

Paul was calling for his wife now, asking for another drink, and she smiled apologetically at Ava before answering him, and disappearing into the living room.

Alone in the hall, Ava wanted to make a quick getaway. As she grabbed her coat the door swung open and Leo smiled out at her. His eyes had that familiar glitter of annoyance, and his mouth was stiff. ‘Aren’t you coming in to talk to us now, Ava? Paul’s just having some more painkillers. He’ll be fine after a few minutes. We need to catch up, and fifteen years is a long time. I suppose we could always play a quick game of “Spin the Bottle” to make you feel right at home.’

‘Funny, aren’t you?’ Darting a quick glance towards the kitchen, she lowered her voice. ‘Why would I want to come and have a little chat? Oh, yes, so you and Paul can take it in turns to try and wind me up. I don’t think so, Leo. Grow up, the both of you.’

His expression changed and the naughtiness was back. ‘That’s a bit harsh. I thought we might talk about old times. I’m proud of how you turned your life around, but out of everyone, only you and me managed to get away. It proves something, doesn’t it?’

‘It doesn’t prove anything. Fuck off, Leo.’

Ignoring her warning, he was coming closer. So close that she took a step back and came up hard against the wall. His breath was warm on her cheek, and she could smell the sourness of alcohol. One hand slid around her waist. ‘I missed you, Ava.’

Horrified, Ava shoved him away and hissed back, ‘And I think you must have turned stupid in your old age. Either that, or you really are still a sick bastard. Just fuck off and keep away from me, Leo!’

Leo shrugged, accepting her words, still amused, still smiling and swaying slightly from the drink. It was always like that. She argued, threw insults, and he stayed serene and got what he wanted. Well, not this time. Ava pulled on her coat, shouted goodbye and swung the iron latch on the front door. The icy air blasted in, and the darkness hid everything but her first few steps. She strode carelessly down the slippery path, sure-footed from instinct as fury drove her back out onto the hills.

Before she was quite out of earshot, his words floated after her. ‘Be careful on the hill tonight, Ava, and remember to go left at the lambing pen…’

Chapter 5

Don’t get me wrong, I like the kid. He’s got guts, and that stubborn streak I admire. Of course, he’s also got a look of Ava, which helps. He does his thing, and I do mine. Outwardly it seems like I’m doing a whole lot more, but I think I’ve mentioned that I’m pretty clever. I know how people tick, what they admire, and how nobody really looks that deep if they have something else to focus on.

He’s just another piece on the game board. It wouldn’t bother me if he had to be sacrificed at the roll of a dice. Honestly, it wouldn’t.

Tonight I was up late, planning my moves, irritated to see the clock ticking onwards, killing my peace. I like the blackness of night. It excites me. Often I wonder if it is light or dark that you see when your time comes.

There are photographs up on my computer screen. This particular girl looks beautiful, and I’m sure she’ll remember that night for the rest of her life. She has no idea the magic I worked later on, and the horrors I added. I imagine she’ll never see the finished product, which in a way is a shame. I’ve turned something sick and twisted into an art form, simply by being cleverer than them all. Hollywood would welcome me with open arms if I let people know what I could do. But those people will never see that side of me.

A notification pops up on the screen, and I click to see more Instagram followers. My social media is perfection, so glossy and sexy, and fake. It’s a distracting game to play, and out here in the harsh daylight people are easy to fool. Or perhaps not? Is it all a double bluff? The thought makes me sigh with pleasure.

How have I waited so long for Ava? I’ve been planning. It keeps me sane, and I did have one little leap across the board. I was right about Fate, and he stepped in, in a totally unexpected but totally deserving way. I landed right on the edge of a black square. The memory of his useless screams comfort me during the long hours of daylight. I watched him frantically trying to regain control, using everything he had to survive. But it was impossible, the odds were stacked against him, and when it was over I went to check, inhaling the luscious smells of blood and terror. I could almost taste it, but I couldn’t linger long.

The road was lonely, but fuel spilling from his bike into the dry summer grass might cause a fire. Not that it mattered because he was gone, but I needed to be at home, waiting to hear the news. It was an accident, the diesel in the road that caused the bike to skid could have come from any tractor, any delivery lorry… or from a can in the back of my Land Rover.

I didn’t enjoy that move, but when fate presents an opportunity I’d be a fool to turn it down. Still, it was never part of the game plan. My first ever kill was the same. It was rushed, and although better planned, I made mistakes. Naturally, at thirteen years old, I was a beginner, but everyone has to start somewhere. With the darkness still complete, my mind wanders back to that day…

I knew that morning before school that she had to die. It just came to me in a rush as I helped her wash and dress, chucked her shitty knickers in the bin, and made us both some breakfast. She mumbled something incoherent, and when the doctor telephoned to check on us, I was careful to say she seemed a bit better and had taken her tablets. I mentioned that I was going out with a friend after school so I wouldn’t be back until about four. There was nobody else in the house that day.

Before I left the house, she had heaved herself onto the sofa, and was shouting for me to bring her cigarettes and a cup of tea. I knew she had a couple of bottles stashed under the sofa, but instead of emptying them as usual, I left everything as it was. Only the thought of freedom kept me going. I don’t relish the memories of this kill. As she bled out, it was more a rush of relief so intense I nearly threw up, than any actual enjoyment. I was careful to leave the knife in her hand, and the note propped on the Welsh oak dresser.

When it was all over, I lingered in the kitchen for a full five minutes, savouring the peace I had created. Then I got to work.

Back in the present I close my game board with a sigh and walk carefully to the spotless bathroom. My footsteps are stealthy in the darkness, and the shadows leer and dance in doorways and on window ledges.

In some ways my whole life is just spent waiting for the next game, the next high. Killing is great, but the rush of playing the game is better than anything. No artificial high, no orgasm ever beats that feeling of my players moving to an unseen order, inching closer to their fates.

I flush the toilet, and head across to wash my hands. It has always been important to be very clean, I suppose a therapist might track the compulsion back to earlier childhood. I count the number of times I apply soap and lather up. After the sixth rinse, I am sated. The water gurgles away with a satisfying gasp, but there’s a smear across the tap in the bathroom. Red. Is it blood? A tiny paper cut on my thumb trickles a rebellious streak of scarlet. My mind races again, scrabbling with the image, skittering back to my childhood and the day of that first kill…

As I stood in the kitchen after it was all over, staring out the window, I noticed a smear of blood on an apple – spoiling the ripe, juicy perfection of the pile. There were green pears, and orange apricots too, carefully arranged in a white dish on the sunlit windowsill. The arrangement was a gift from a well-meaning, but deluded neighbour. The fruit seemed almost too bright, the colours too perfect, given what they had witnessed.

It was annoying, that smear, spoiling my view, spoiling my happiness. But whoever knew that blood could gush and spurt so far? I licked my finger thoughtfully and leant across the sink to remove the offending stain, inhaling a lungful of bleach as I did so. Cleaning had been easy – I was used to it, and had got stuck in. I’d given myself twenty minutes to finish, and the tick-tock of the yellow alarm clock had driven me on. When I was done, the house was looking like a normal home, as opposed to somewhere social services would have been called to in an instant. That’s what I mean about taking time with appearances. People see what they want to see, and if you can help them along…

By the time the uniformed police officers arrived, I was sitting on the bottom step, teary-eyed and snotty. They fell for it, of course. It was the easiest thing to do. The alternative was to believe a thirteen-year-old was capable of murder. She always said I looked like butter wouldn’t melt, with my charm and wide-eyed stare – well, in this case blood didn’t stick either.

‘Oeddet ti’n gwybod, Ava Cole?’

‘Did you know, Ava Cole?’

Chapter 6

‘Did it go well last night? I expect that boy of yours was pleased to see you?’ Mrs Birtley was sitting at her little mahogany reception desk in the pink hallway as Ava passed.

Ignoring her questions, Ava zipped up her jacket, smiled and pointed to her earbuds. Luckily, like several women of her generation in the village, Mrs Birtley was not familiar with the latest technology, and clearly assumed Ava couldn’t hear her. Ava was able to escape unscathed and un-interrogated into the icy air. Her friends all laughed at her fondness for country music, but alone on a run she could indulge unhindered. Thomas Rhett and Miranda Lambert filled her head as she warmed up.

The crisp beauty of the frosty hillside and the pain in her leg muscles as she ran up the steep, muddy inclines quickly drove everything else from her mind. Her lungs burned and her breath came in gasps. Despite the cold of the morning, she was soon wiping sweat from her face. The sky was spread above like a baby-blue sheet straight out of the wash, and even East Wood, down to her right, was cloaked in glittering, mystical beauty. The ugly, pebbledash houses of Aberdyth were given a sparkling makeover that turned the place into a fantasy wonderland. Forcing herself not to consider what lay beneath the frosty charade, Ava paused at the top of the hill, glancing at her watch. Twenty minutes for a 5km. Not bad, despite the jet lag and the hills.

Her phone vibrated, and she checked it out of habit. But it wasn’t her friends back home, her mom, or even her on-off boyfriend who she hadn’t checked in with yet.

‘Cofiwch fi’

‘Remember me’

‘Oh fuck off, Leo!’ she said out loud. She didn’t doubt it was him. When the messages had first started coming she had been shocked, even scared, thinking that the horrors of her past had finally caught up with her. There had been no question the messages were related to Ellen. Only seven people knew about the carved letters on the oak trunk. Only seven people in the entire world knew exactly how much it would rattle her to get a message like that. It was more than a shadow across the sunny beach – the darkness she kept locked away had started to seep into her carefully constructed life.

Safe on her icy hilltop she allowed her mind to drift back to the first message. That had been a hell of a night shift, starting with Paul’s email of course. Her regular partner, Pete, had noticed her lack of attention on their first shout.

* * *

Pete slammed the car door. ‘Coffee and doughnuts?’

‘Please. I’m going to stay out here for a bit. I just need some fresh air.’

‘Fresh air down here? You sick? If you aren’t feeling well, go home and sleep it off. You do realise you just ran a red light back there?’

‘I’m fine. Three doughnuts and black with two sugars please!’

She could tell he wasn’t fooled for an instant – with all the smog, fresh air in LA was a joke unless you were hiking in the hills. For a moment she was tempted to bail out and go home to an empty apartment. Darkness was sneaking in from the sea, the long black fingers of shadow triggering the familiar slash of neon lights slicing along the streets. Shouts and music mingled with the smell of fries and vomit and the hot air curled around her like a snake, oppressive and threatening.

As Pete shrugged and shambled off in search of food, Ava’s phone pinged again. She dragged it out, stared at the screen, and instinctively found her hand on her gun holster.

No name in the sender box, and just two words:

Cofiwch fi?

Remember me?

* * *

Coming back from the farm last night, she’d taken a long time to get to sleep. In the end, she’d downed a couple of glasses of duty-free whisky. There was no ice at the B&B unless you counted the frozen trough outside the front door, so she drank it straight, with a dash of water from the tap. The comforting smoothness of the alcohol had knocked her out for a good eight hours. So now what? She had three weeks’ leave to hang around Aberdyth, to get to know her son, and she supposed, to say goodbye to her ex-husband. To talk to Ellen’s parents… and what could she really do but offer comfort again? She could never tell the truth about Ellen’s death, but now she was an adult, it would be good to offer something more. Perhaps elaborate on Ellen’s reasons for going, and make it sound like she was definitely heading off on a big adventure. That would give them hope that their daughter was somewhere, living her best life. But it would also be cruel to give them false hope. How did you make something right, when it was all wrong?

From this height she could see all the way to Big Water. Her gaze sharpened as she spotted figures scurrying like ants at the water’s edge. The early sunlight caught flashes of metal or mirrors, and a few more trucks were pulling up next to a copse. Of course, that must be Leo’s film crew. He’d mentioned they were filming for Tough Love up there.

After a few more calf stretches, she jogged slowly back down to the Birtleys’, dodging a couple of flocks of sheep, seeing nobody else but a pair of hikers in the distance. She already missed the beach and her surfboard, the sweaty little gym where she did kickboxing a couple of times a week, and even her job. It was hell having to leave an open case, but her boss had been very understanding, and promised to keep her updated. Exercise always helped in times of stress. So here, with no gym, no sparring partners, and no icy waves, she would need to run off her emotions.

She had just jumped in the shower back at the B&B when her phone rang. Swearing, she leant out, across to the pink bath top and grabbed her mobile.

‘Hallo, Ava. I hope you slept well. It’s Penny… I just wondered if you’d like to come down to the pub later for some dinner?’ Her voice was eager and girlish, but that hint of sharpness still played at the edges of her lilt.

Shit. It was not what she wanted to do but – ‘Yes, Penny, that would be great. I… is Stephen around today?’

‘Okay. If you get there for about five, we can have a few glasses of wine, and a good chat before the boys arrive. Stephen and Bethan are staying at Kai’s house tonight, but they have promised to join us for a meal.’

‘Kai?’ queried Ava, trying unsuccessfully to reach the pink fluffy towel on the wash basin, whilst continuing her conversation.

‘Oh, I forgot you probably wouldn’t remember. He’s Jesse’s son. Of course, Jesse went off to stay with relations in Yorkshire after we left school, didn’t he, and stayed up there when his girlfriend got pregnant, so you probably never met Kelly. They came back here eventually though – after you’d left. Did you hear Jesse was killed in a motorbike accident a few years ago? So it’s just Kelly and the boy now. Kai is a nice lad, and he works bloody hard. I think he wants to go to university, or take a year out travelling in Asia. Sounds great, I wish I’d gone travelling at his age, and got out of Aberdyth.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry about Jesse… I didn’t know,’ Ava wondered if Penny was aware of the coolness of her words. Just another baby, just another friend gone. There were other ways out of Aberdyth. And Jesse was dead. Why had her aunt not told her? Why had Paul never mentioned it? ‘When exactly did Jesse die, Pen?’

‘I told you, about two years ago. It was in June, I think,’ Penny chattered on, and Ava could hear sounds of washing up in the background. ‘We did think of telling you, but Paul said you wouldn’t want to be bothered with things from your old life, you know? Your aunt had moved away by then, and we hadn’t heard from you in ages. Jesse, well, he always did ride crazy fast, didn’t he? They said he lost control on the bend. You know that sharp corner before the speed limit sign – right before you come to the Aberdyth bridge?’

‘Yes… yes, I remember it. Poor Jesse.’

‘Yes, it was terrible for his parents. I’ve got some really exciting news about Stephen and Bethan though! We’ve known for a while now, but we wanted you to get settled in a bit before we told you.’

‘Tell me she isn’t pregnant,’ Ava said warily.

There was a pause before Penny giggled. ‘Of course not you dafty, something far better.’

‘Are you going to tell me, then?’

‘No, this is one I’m saving for when we’re all together. See you later.’

‘Okay, Pen, I’ll see you later,’ Ava said. Penny had always loved to be ahead on the gossip, and surely this must be something good, or she would have sounded worried. Maybe a surprise party or something, or one of the kids getting a new job. With a jolt she realised that very soon her son would be moving on, and she had no idea where he would be going. All her stalking on social media told her simply that he had a talent for photography, and a lot of friends. He would have dreams that she hadn’t shared in, hopes and worries that she wasn’t part of.

‘You still there, Ava? See you in the pub, lovely.’

Ending her call, she finished her shower, ignored a load of messages from her friends in LA, and sat on her bed, wrapped in a towel. Fair-haired Jesse, with his rosy cheeks and snub nose, had been part of Leo’s band of friends. Like Rhodri, he’d been a bit of an outsider. Also like Rhodri, he’d been part of the gang who were in East Wood the night her best friend died.

Forcing herself to breathe deeply, Ava knew what she had to do next. Ellen’s house. It was still hers, even though she lay in the cold woodland down the hill.

The mirror on her wall caught her as she turned to chuck the phone back onto the table. The pink towel slid downwards, exposing the intricate ink work across her lower back. Although the flowers and sun (so innocent and pretty), stretched down to the curves at the top of her butt, she knew that underneath were two words. Leo had done it himself, and when she screamed with pain, he’d given her more pills. She remembered frantically shaking, scrabbling with sweaty fingers for the drugs he held out. The words on her back weren’t inked either – they were twisted white scars etched into her skin with a sharp knife. At the time she had wanted the pain, wanted to be indelibly marked, scarred in a way she would never forget. It felt like the least she could do for Ellen. Leo had offered to do the job, and the others had watched.

It was a miracle she had managed to get out of Aberdyth at all. Horrified by her pregnancy and impending hasty marriage, her parents had moved back to Florida before Stephen was even born. Their bleak hilltop caravan park had finally gone bust, and they offered to take Ava with them. There was no need for her to marry Paul, they said, when she could return to America and have their help in raising the baby. When she refused, to her surprise, they went anyway. It left her with no ties, apart from those she subsequently created for herself. Ava often wondered what life would have been like if she had gone then, but she had been carried away by the idea of marrying Paul, raising her child, trying to prove she was an independent adult. To an outsider, it was laughable, the mistakes she had made. Except it wasn’t funny at all. She had made so many wrong turns, and that, perhaps, was one of the reasons she was so good at dealing with the victims and perpetrators at work. Often the dealers were just kids who’d made bad choices, who were desperate to escape poverty, and who had been promised wealth and freedom. The real evil players were those who traded on those dreams.

Ava reached for her iPad, quickly checking emails, grasping for the return of her cool efficiency. Work always did this to her. She was like a machine, her boss often said. There was nothing new on the handful of cases she was personally connected with, and no progress on her current job. There was a suggestion from Pete, her partner, that she might have to send someone in undercover to crack that particular drugs ring.

Her own drug-taking had stopped when she discovered she was pregnant, so teenage-Ava couldn’t have been all bad, she told herself. But those years had taken a vicious toll on her mental health, and being a young mum pushed her nearer the edge, until finally, she saw that the only thing to do was to run. When Stephen was nearly two years old, she had kissed him goodnight for last time, scrabbling to drag her backpack from the wardrobe. The devils that whispered in her ears told her to go, to go now or she might hurt her son. She had failed as a wife and mother, and they would be better off without her. Her son cried, and she soothed him back to sleep, driven by a teeth-chattering panic. Before Paul came back off the hills, she was gone, leaving nothing but a brief note. Paul’s dad was in his study, and she sometimes wondered afterwards if he heard her go. Good riddance would have been his attitude, she knew.