Amanda covers her mouth, but her shoulders shake.
‘Thanks, Declan, Jaden,’ says Luke.
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed,’ says Amanda as they head back to the car.
‘Just because I’m a bloke doesn’t mean things like that don’t hurt.’
‘Come on, he’s only a kid.’
‘Yeah, whatever,’ says Luke, opening the car door.
When Luke pulls out on to the road, Amanda’s still looking at the kids sitting in a row on the wall.
‘You weren’t lying when you said you weren’t good with kids, were you?’ says Luke. ‘You didn’t say a word to them. You weren’t scared, were you?’
‘A bit.’ She gives a little laugh. ‘But admit it. You were afraid, too.’
‘Yeah. Ant or Dec was a bit intimidating, wasn’t he? I wasn’t that confident at his age – I was slightly terrified of grown-ups I didn’t know.’
‘Luke, you’re not even that confident now.’
‘Can’t hear you.’
‘Can you believe what Craig looks like now?’ she says. ‘I wouldn’t have recognised him. He looks so different… so intimidating.’
‘I don’t think those kids know that Craig’s a convicted murderer. Can’t see them being that blasé about the bloke if they knew that.’
‘Maybe. Where to next?’
‘Erica’s. I want to check she’s all right.’
21
The dining room door is still open from when the police barged their way through it. I walk in, bending to resurrect the wicker laundry basket that’s on its side. They didn’t move the small chest of drawers in front of the fireplace; they wouldn’t think to look there – why would they? I doubt there are any remnants from the burnt clothing anyway.
When I found the blood-soaked blue T-shirt in Craig’s dirty laundry, I washed, dried, and hid it. It was only a little thing – it must’ve shrunk in the wash. I ironed it as flat as I could and zipped it flush under a cushion cover.
They searched the whole of the house after Craig was arrested for the murder of Lucy. I stayed with Denise while they did it. Afterwards I went back, and it was as though someone had taken a demolition ball to the place. The contents of every cupboard had been taken out and thrown back in, leaving the floors clear for them to pull up the boards. Jenna Threlfall was still missing, you see. They didn’t know where she was. I shuddered at the thought of her being hidden in my house – I’ve often had dreams about a body hidden somewhere. But those nightmares are nothing compared to what her parents will have gone through… are still going through.
Why is this happening again? Am I being punished for what I did?
I move a few bits at the side of the chest of drawers then push it out of the way so the fireplace is clear. I take the letters out of my pocket and kneel before it.
I run my fingers through the ash in the hearth (why on earth didn’t I get rid of it?). I shake it off, rub my hand on the rug I’m sitting on. Does blood turn to ash or does it evaporate? Whose DNA would be on my fingers if it lingered in the remains? The thought of it appals me. When had I turned into this person – a person who burned potential evidence? But then I realise that I’ve always been that person, a person who would do anything to protect her child. I didn’t think he would be capable of such dreadful deeds, but I can’t bury my head if it happens a second time. What’s that phrase… Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice… The shame. An emotion I’m familiar with – so familiar it’s there from the moment I wake.
There’s a pile of newspapers next to the hearth – they’ll have been there for years. I reach for the top one; it’s dated Monday, 21 December 1981. Its headline reads: In 70 minutes, the lives of these brave men SHATTERED.
I’m working on autopilot as I grab a sheet from it and scrunch it into a ball. Soon, half the newspaper’s turned into a little pile of boulders. I pick out pieces of kindling from the basket at the side – surprisingly, it’s still dry after Lord knows how long in this damp room.
I grab the box of Cook’s Matches, take one out and strike it three times before it powers into a small flame. I throw it on to the newspaper and it gradually lights. I strike another, and another, spacing them out so soon all the paper has taken alight. The kindling begins to glow, then steadily starts to burn.
I unfold the first letter, but it’s one I’ve already read. Should I read them all before I cast them to their grave? Would it be disrespectful not to?
I should stop acting like this is some sort of sacrifice. No one has been found; no one is dead. Not yet.
I throw it onto the burning fire – but there are no logs, nothing substantiaclass="underline" this fire won’t last long. I watch as the letter glows around the edges before crumpling into black.
Some of the smoke is coming back to me – the chimney’s not been swept for years. The smoke hurts my eyes. I cover the hearth with a sheet of newspaper, but that makes the fire erupt fuller into life.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
I turn to see Craig in the doorway.
‘I didn’t hear you come in,’ I say. ‘Where have you been? I’ve not seen you for days!’ I get up from the floor, grabbing the mantelpiece to pull myself up. I must stink of smoke. ‘I’ve had the police round here looking for you… that young girl’s missing – the one who came round the other day.’
‘I heard on the radio,’ says Craig.
He’s not looking at me – he’s staring at what’s in my hand.
‘They say she got into your car.’
‘I haven’t got a car, Mum. Don’t you believe me?’
‘I didn’t say I didn’t believe you, I said it was what they said. And you wouldn’t be here if you were with her, would you?’ I snap.
‘What have you got there?’ he asks, stepping closer to me.
He snatches the letters from me – an edge of one of them cuts into my skin. He seems to tower over me. ‘Have you been going through my things?’
‘It’s better me finding them than the police, don’t you think?’
‘The police wouldn’t be interested in these.’
‘But they would, Craig. She’s only young. Did she tell you her age?’ My voice shakes, and my hands are cold, sweating. He’s looking into my eyes now, glaring at me. There are beads of sweat above his top lip.
‘Stop it, Craig. You’re starting to scare me. I’m only trying to protect you.’
‘You really shouldn’t have gone through my things, Mum.’
‘Everything will be OK if you tell the police the truth.’
He gives a short bark of a laugh. ‘Like I did last time. No fucking way.’ He takes a deep breath, then steps away from me. ‘I only came home for a few things.’
‘You need to stay here. They’ll recall you to prison if you don’t stay here.’
He bangs a fist on the wall.
‘Will you stop it?’ His voice is loud; his eyes are bloodshot, wide. ‘All your interfering didn’t help me last time, so why don’t you just keep your nose out. I already had an alibi for Jenna. A concrete one.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That I was with Lawton at the garage, but you lied for me.’ He steps closer to me. ‘Did you think I meant something else?’
‘I… I…’
He grabs the top of my arms.
‘You’re squeezing too hard,’ I say. ‘Why are you doing this to me? I’m on your side – you’re not thinking straight.’
‘What did you do?’
‘You’re not making sense.’
He shakes me once.
‘I’m your mother – you shouldn’t be doing this to me. What’s happened to you?’