The path is more overgrown than it was the last time I was here. I take a left off the main path, stepping carefully over large roots and fallen branches. I keep thinking of Jackie’s mention of children. Josh and I have talked about marriage and kids over the years, but he still hasn’t proposed even though we’ve been together so long. Both of us have trepidations about marriage, which isn’t surprising considering our backgrounds, but we both agree that we’d love children a few years down the line. Lack of money has also held us back, but the thought of children growing up in this idyllic place, of having the kind of childhood I never had, fills me with hope.
The wood is denser the deeper I go, and just when I’m beginning to worry I might get lost I catch a glimpse of the cognac-coloured fence in the distance and the small clearing next to the old, disused well where Harry and I used to hang out. I walk to the well and look down into darkness. I remember how Harry and I would yell into it, enjoying the echo it made. I walk around a bit more, prodding the earth with the toe of my trainer, amazed to see a patch of bluebells at the root of one of the trees, when my phone’s ringtone startles me. I reach in my pocket and my heart sinks when I see Alison’s name flashing up on the screen. I consider deliberately not answering it but then realize I can’t avoid her forever. We haven’t spoken since I went to visit her last month.
‘Hey, Immy,’ she says as soon as I answer. ‘Long time no speak. You okay?’
I have the sudden paranoid thought that she’s somehow heard about the inheritance and this is a test. Has DI Shirley called her yet to check my alibi for the day of Dorothea’s murder? Would she have let slip about the house?
‘I’m good. You?’ I answer carefully.
‘Yeah. All good here.’
‘Lila and Gareth?’
‘Yep. Lila got the main part in the school play.’
‘Maria! She got it! That’s brilliant.’ I smile when I think of how excited Lila must be. She’d spent hours the weekend I was there practising for her audition, singing ‘The Hills Are Alive’ over and over again while I curled up on her bed and watched her with awe, amazed at her confidence. ‘Where does she get her talent from?’
‘Not us! I’m so proud.’ Alison sounds so happy, I don’t want to burst her bubble by telling her about Dorothea and she hasn’t mentioned the police so maybe they haven’t contacted her yet.
There’s a beat of awkward silence, but then that’s not unusual. Neither of us is great at small talk, especially on the phone.
‘So, um, Immy. I wanted to have a chat with you about something … sensitive.’
I brace myself. So she does know. ‘Okaaay.’
‘Can we meet? I’d rather do this face to face.’
I feel sick. But she’s right. We are always – marginally – better in person. ‘Sure. When?’
‘Tomorrow? I could get the train to Bristol.’
‘Could you come to Bath?’
‘What? Why?’ She sounds confused; maybe she doesn’t know about Dorothea’s will after all? I mentally kick myself for mentioning Bath.
‘Long story. But we can talk properly tomorrow.’
‘Sure. I’ll meet you outside the abbey. Say one p.m.? We could grab some lunch?’
Bath will be rammed on the weekend, so I tell her I’ll book us a table somewhere.
‘Perfect. See you tomorrow. Gotta go. Bye.’ She mimics two kisses down the phone and then she’s gone.
I stand looking down at my mobile, my head spinning. If Alison doesn’t know about Dorothea’s will, then what does she want to talk about so urgently?
The woods feel chilly, so I turn around and head back the way I came. But I must have taken a wrong turn, distracted by Alison’s call, and I end up walking back a different way. At least I think it’s a different way. I’m getting disorientated as it all looks the same. I’m not yet on the main path so I walk through the trees, turning to make sure the fence is behind me, and I stumble into a thicket. I definitely didn’t come this way but the wood isn’t very big. Even so, I don’t fancy the idea of getting stuck here in the dark. I quicken my steps. The day might feel spring-like but I always forget darkness comes down quicker than I expect. I continue walking, relieved when I see glimpses of the house in the distance. I push my way through a group of close-knit trees and then I stop dead in horror, clamping my hand over my mouth.
Hanging on the branches of a tree right at the edge of the wood is a dead bird, strung up by its neck. I baulk, nausea rising, as I take in its black and white feathers, bony feet and crooked neck. A magpie.
A twig snaps behind me and I let out a yelp of fear. And then I run, as fast as I can, back to my new home.
9
Alison
Imogen is standing at the entrance to the abbey, her arms wrapped around her body as though trying to make herself look smaller. She used to do it as a little kid, and usually only when something was troubling her. Alison wonders if she’s got a juicy case at work. Journalism is perfect for Imogen. Even as a child she was always asking why this and why that. It used to drive Alison mad. ‘Just because!’ she’d often snap back. Thank goodness she’s more patient now she’s a mum.
Imogen looks fresh and young in her black jumpsuit and denim jacket. She’s wearing a beautiful pink scarf, her long, wavy hair cascading over her shoulders, and Alison feels a maternal tug at her heart. Why do they have such a distance between them? Why can’t she throw her arms around her sister? She steels herself. She’s been dreading this conversation. She doesn’t know how Imogen is going to react, and the last thing she wants to do is upset her.
