Chapter 1
Carla
NOW: SEPTEMBER 2024
At first, the locals assume he has run away. With the exception of his mother, who has rung round everyone she knows, including me, no one seems overly concerned he has gone missing. His disappearance has been given only a fleeting mention in an online article for theNorth Devon Echo Liveand has had no coverage at all, as far as I’m aware, on television. Even the police seem to be making only a token effort to determine his whereabouts. He’s an adult, after all, having turned eighteen last October. Plus, he went AWOL only a few days ago. And locals never really expect anything sensational to happen in the small, remote town of Brayworthy, nestling on the edge of Exmoor, especially not during the month of August. Between you and me, I’m delighted he has disappeared and hope he doesn’t show his face round here again any time soon.
All of this changes, of course, at the beginning of September, when a body is discovered.
Jo is the one who gives me the heads-up. My phone pings with her text as I’m doing the day’s Quordle and drinking my first coffee of the morning. Joanne has been my best friend since school – the same school where my kids now go and she teaches mathematics: South Lydacombe. She’s married to a police officer, which is, I suppose, how she was clued in before nearly everyone else.
I put down my cup and call her immediately. When she answers, I skip the formalities and get straight to the point. ‘Do they know if it’s … him?’ I can’t bring myself to say his name.
‘No.’ Jo knows who I mean. He’s the reason she has texted me. ‘I don’t know any more than I told you in my message,’ she says. ‘A body has been discovered in the woods. The body of a male. Ian wouldn’t say any more than that. He was on his way to the scene. I don’t know if he actually knew any more than that when he rang me.’
‘Who found it … him?’
‘I don’t know. A dog walker or a jogger, I imagine. I don’t think the police were actively combing the area looking for him.’
‘Which woods?’
‘Lower Buryknoll Wood.’
‘You have got to be kidding me. Is this some kind of sick joke?’
It takes Jo a few seconds to get it. ‘Oh, I see,’ she says when the penny drops. ‘Joshua Knoll. Uncanny. It’s probably just a coincidence. Listen, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a class at nine and I want to get in early. First day of the new school year and all that. Even after all these years, I get a bit nervous.’
‘Sorry, Jo. I’m holding you up. Good luck! You’ll smash it! You’re the best teacher that school has.’ It’s sincere – I really believe it – but my voice sounds strained.
‘Thanks. I’ll do my best to keep you posted, Carla. Try not to worry. It might not even be him.’
‘Jo, just one more—’
But she has ended the call before I can ask the most important question, although I doubt she knows the answer. Not yet anyway.How did he die?Jo’s husband, Ian – DI Ian Rowland – is CID.CriminalInvestigation Department. If he’s in charge of this case, it doesn’t look good.
I set down my mobile on the kitchen counter, having lost my enthusiasm for the word game I was playing before Jo’s text was delivered. Sensing someone behind me, I jump and whirl round.
‘Good morning, sweetie,’ I say, as my daughter walks barefoot across the terracotta tiles to peck me on the cheek. How much of the conversation did she overhear? ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Morning, Mum,’ Iris says. ‘Not too bad.’
I observe her as she puts two slices of bread into the toaster and flicks on the kettle to make herself a mug of green tea, her latest fad. She clearly doesn’t know. She’ll have checked her mobile, as she does every day now – first thing in the morning and last thing at night, and several times in between. She’ll have scrolled through any new messages in her WhatsApp groups. She’s looking for stuff that concerns her, not news of him, but she’d have seen it if there was anything.
The news will be out soon, though, and it will spread like wildfire, whether the body turns out to be his or not. I should warn her, in case. But what if it isn’t him? She’s been through enough. I don’t want to panic her unnecessarily.
Before I can work out what to do, Olly saunters into the kitchen, looking scruffy in his school uniform, even though I washed and ironed his shirt and trousers and hung everything up in his wardrobe at the end of last term. The shirt is not tucked in, the trousers are creased and the knot in his tie, which hangs about halfway down his chest, could hardly be smaller or tighter. His blazer looks as if it has spent the summer holidays on the floor. It was his eighteenth birthday yesterday, but although he’s tall and muscular, he still carries himself like a child: lanky and awkward, as if he hasn’t quite grown into his body. He’s grown out of his uniform, though. I bought the kids new shoes, but I should have bought Olly a new pair of trousers, too. He nods almost imperceptibly in my direction and sits down at the table.
‘You need to lose the bedhead, bro,’ Iris comments. She’s right. His wiry, blond hair is standing to attention, as if he has just been electrocuted.
‘Good morning to you, too,’ Olly grumbles as he pours himself a bowl of cereal and adds milk from the carton, stopping just before it overflows.
Iris takes a seat opposite her brother at the large, wooden table and butters her toast. She chats to Olly about the teachers she has just found out she’ll have for this school year. In the mornings, Olly’s conversation is usually limited to monosyllabic words and grunts, but he’s making an effort, for Iris’s sake. She sounds cheerful and has painted on a smile, but I know she’s dreading going back to school. She finished off the last school year studying from home, apart from one disastrous day when she plucked up the courage to go in to lessons. Going back properly is a big leap for her.
Leaning against the worktop, I tune out their conversation and focus on the questions whirring through my mind. Should I tell Iris about the body in the woods? Is it Joshua Knoll? Assuming it is him, if he accidentally broke his neck falling into a ravine or something, it could be a good thing. Iris might finally be able to turn the page and move on to the next chapter of her life.
But what if his death wasn’t an accident? What then?
I have to tell Iris. I’m not sure what effect Josh’s death might have on her, but if he’s dead, she needs to know. She needs to prepare herself. Just in case. Forewarned is forearmed. This may cause a major setback for her. If everyone is talking about Joshua – and they will be if it turns out to be his body – it will dredge up her ordeal all over again.
