Читать книгу I Dare You - Sam Carrington, Sam Carrington - Страница 22

Lizzie was parked just outside the church gate, eyes fixed on the entrance, her resolve wavering. There were no regular services on a Saturday – she hadn’t given that a thought when she’d decided the church was the best place to start. Perhaps the vicar would still be inside, though. There might’ve been a wedding. Or a funeral. Doubtful, though. Surely her luck wouldn’t be that great. If she didn’t brave it, get out the damn car and take a look, she’d never know. But a sudden fear that her faith in the vicar was misplaced – that he’d be unable to help her at all – caused her to hesitate. It was unlikely to be the same vicar as thirty years ago, and certain events tended to cause a tight community such as Mapledon to clam up, to decide it was too hideous, too abominable to ever speak of again. A new vicar might not have any knowledge of what had happened. And Lizzie couldn’t remember the name of the original one. Couldn’t remember many names at all.

Just the three.

She unconsciously pulled at her hair, collecting several short, black strands in her palm whilst berating herself for not having spent some time researching before jumping in her car and setting off. That was a mistake. Local vicar aside, who would she approach to answer her questions? She brushed the hair into the footwell and sighed, the sound loud in the quiet car. Maybe the how was something she should’ve also given more thought to. Lizzie hadn’t considered what effect her presence in Mapledon would have. She could be a “nobody” – her name was different now, after all – but that in itself wouldn’t help her. She doubted Mapledon had many random visitors. A stranger in the fold would spark interest, prompt caution. A closing of the ranks.

Outsiders are not to be trusted.

They wouldn’t knowingly divulge anything to an outsider. But, equally, she couldn’t tell anyone who she really was, either; who she used to be. She had the sinking feeling her trip here would be a waste of time. Where was she even going to stay? She was in the middle of nowhere and it didn’t seem as if Airbnb was an option. She really hadn’t thought this through.

Just drive back home, back to safety. Back to Dom.

Lizzie watched as two women emerged from the church gate, one holding a pair of shears. They’d likely been tending to a grave. A pain gripped her stomach. She pushed her hands into it, clutching at the skin with her fingertips, and closed her eyes. A vision of a woman swam inside the darkness: a blurry-edged picture void of facial features. Because she couldn’t remember any. Tears slipped over her cheeks and ran under her chin.

Her mother was buried in this graveyard.

Or, so she’d been told – she’d never seen for herself. A long-suppressed anger began to bubble. The details surrounding Rosie’s death were vague in Lizzie’s mind, what happened afterwards patchy at best. She just knew she’d experienced a lot of rage back then – an emotion she’d been unable to channel appropriately. Something she still struggled with if she ever came up against the red flags.

Maybe now was the time to change that.

Perhaps the need for change was what had drawn her back to Mapledon.