‘Oh, Mum.’ I feel sad to think she’d been so utterly taken in by Selena. What a hideous lie to tell. And just so she could take advantage of my mother’s love for her.
‘I could hardly look at her on the drive home. She admitted she’d felt resentful towards her father for not protecting her from Bess. But she hadn’t meant to kill him. It was just a row that got out of hand. An accident. She’d wanted to go to the police, she said, but Dean persuaded her not to. He told her they’d never believe her.’
She takes a deep breath and grips the railings tightly. The water looks dark and perilous in this light.
‘So what happened to the baby?’ It couldn’t have been Ruby. The child would be at least sixteen by now.
I’m holding my breath. In the distance I see two men staggering out of the pub. They walk off in the opposite direction but we wait until they’ve rounded the bend, following the route of the river.
When they’ve gone, she says, ‘She had a miscarriage. A month later.’
‘And Dean?’
‘As far as I was aware, she never saw him again. Until recently.’
‘And you promised never to tell anyone the truth about Uncle Owen?’
She nods. Her face is drawn. ‘I felt I owed her that much. I felt guilty, you see, for not stopping Bess treating her so badly. I couldn’t see her go to prison. So I kept tabs on her over the years. I was worried about her state of mind. Then, nearly eight years ago, she rang me to tell me she was pregnant, and that she had met the man she wanted to marry.’
‘Nigel?’
‘I assume so. I was relieved. I hoped she’d have a conventional life. No more drama. No more lies.’
It’s dark now, the mountains just black shapes in the background. Everything looks more sinister in this light. All this talk of murder has given me the creeps. I just want to get back to the guesthouse. The kids and Adrian will be wondering where we are. ‘Perhaps we should go back?’ I say. She agrees and we begin walking. I take her arm. I keep imagining Dean watching us from somewhere in the shadows and quicken my steps. Mum follows suit. ‘Did you ever think Selena would crack?’ I ask. ‘Tell someone what really happened?’
Mum blows on her hands. ‘Sometimes. But we never talked about it. And after a while it was like it had never happened. We told everyone Owen had moved away and we almost managed to convince ourselves. Then Selena left Cardiff.’
‘Did she ever say why she and I didn’t keep in touch?’
Mum shakes her head. ‘No. I tried to find out but she wouldn’t tell me. Anyway, I wanted to keep you out of it.’ In the distance – in the direction of the mountains – I hear the shriek of a fox and a shiver runs through me.
We pick up pace so that we’re almost running. ‘I know it’s a lot to take in,’ she says, her heels clipping the pavement. ‘But you can never tell the police. Do you understand? And we must destroy that note.’
‘I think you already have,’ I say, remembering it balled-up in her pocket. I’m seized by a wave of fear so intense I stop walking. ‘What if they find out that Owen hasn’t been seen in twenty years? Will Dean say something?’
‘He helped bury the body. He’s hardly going to say anything, is he?’ she says. The rain has eased but it’s left her usually neat hair a big auburn frizz around her head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. Dean might have killed her but if we show the police the note they might start looking into what happened to Owen.’
‘So what if they do? They can’t touch you, Mum. You didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘I did, though,’ she says, in a small voice. ‘I kept her secret. I protected her. I helped her conceal a murder.’
And now Selena is dead and unable to tell anyone what my mother did for her all those years ago.
28
Two days after
The next morning Rachel arrives bright and early, her red hair tied back in a loose bun, her green eyes boring into me as I push a mug of strong black coffee across the worktop to her. Animal eyes. I always get the sense she knows more than she’s letting on and is just watching and waiting for one of us to trip up. She shrugs out of her wool coat and bundles it up, shoving it on top of her bag by her feet.
‘It’s lovely and warm in here,’ she says. The smell of bacon lingers in the air, making me feel nauseous. I can’t quite meet her stare, worried that she’ll be able to see right through me into the maze of lies and secrets I’m keeping locked within me, like one of Amelia’s diaries. I hardly slept last night for trying to picture Selena and Dean heaving Uncle Owen’s body into his old banger. Where had they buried him? Did they dig a hole in the ground? Had it been cold? Raining? Had Selena been crying or too shocked to speak? Had they felt sick, repulsed? Relieved that it was all over?
Adrian enters the kitchen carrying an empty tray. He acknowledges Rachel but doesn’t stop. Instead he goes to the plates I’ve already prepared with eggs and toast. He’s perspiring around his hairline and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand before carrying the plates out of the room.
Adrian got up early to help me today so that Mum can spend some time with Ruby, but the goodwill he showed over the last two days has dwindled this morning. He’s baggy-eyed and lacking enthusiasm, and I know it’s because he wants to bury himself away with his book. He’s realizing, as I have this past week, that running a guesthouse is harder work than we imagined. And that’s before one of our guests decided to murder another.
Mum didn’t join us for dinner last night but Ruby did. We were all amazed to see her devouring the chicken, roast potatoes and peas put in front of her. She ate more than either Evie or Amelia. My gaze kept flicking to Julia, trying to convey my terror that the food would make Ruby ill, but Julia responded by nodding encouragingly. I know I’ll feel better when we speak to a dietician. Julia said that Mum had tried to find some kind of diet sheet for Ruby among her things, but there was nothing. Julia tried to get it out of Ruby but she just rattled off all the things she wasn’t allowed to eat as though she’d been made to learn them by heart.
While we were getting ready for bed last night I suggested to Adrian we should keep the note addressed to Selena away from the police for now. He didn’t understand why, of course, and I couldn’t tell him. Would I ever be able to? I wish I’d remained oblivious. He had frowned, and something I couldn’t read passed across his face, but he agreed. He trusts me, I thought, with sorrow. He admitted to me once, after we had been together a few years, that one of the things he most admired about me was that I was honest.Straightwas the word he used. Trustworthy. Solid. I’d liked that he saw me in that way. And it was accurate. I was honest. Iamhonest. Selena called me a goody-goody when we were kids. A square. And that was a fair assessment. I’ve always tried to do the right thing.
