Читать книгу I Dare You - Sam Carrington, Sam Carrington - Страница 25

She didn’t know where to begin looking for the grave, or even if she should. Voluntarily opening old wounds probably wasn’t wise. But then, coming here seeking him out wasn’t a wise decision either. Yet, here she was. Facing her demons.

As she slowly lifted the metal latch and stepped through the wooden gate into the church grounds, Lizzie shivered. It’d only been a gentle breeze brushing against her skin – a warm one at that – but it had triggered hundreds of goose bumps to appear on her pale, freckly arms. It was like a ghost had touched her. Walking briskly to the church door, Lizzie put all thoughts of ghosts to the back of her mind. The door creaked loudly as she opened it. Inside was silent. Cool. Empty, as far as she could tell. Flowers adorned the ends of each pew and at the altar stood a huge display of white lilies, daisies and aster – all left over from a wedding, she presumed.

A stray memory came to her. She’d been inside this church before. Sunday school – she remembered being at a small table at the back, sitting with other children. She’d gone a few times, but then something had happened; there’d been a reason she stopped attending. But what was it? She filed the memory away with all the other half-formed, blurry memories of her early childhood.

There was no sign of a vicar. Lizzie ducked outside again and wandered to the far side of the graveyard; she’d work her way backwards to the entrance. It wasn’t a huge area – the village had always been small. Many of the headstones were old and tilting, the writing faded. It shouldn’t take too long to find Rosie’s. She read the names of those she could decipher as she moved around. None of them caused a memory to stir. Until one; the name on it making Lizzie’s blood chill in her veins.

Jonie Hayes.

One of the three names she did remember.

She hurried on past it, not wishing to linger. Not wanting to ‘go there’ yet. It was too early – she wasn’t ready. One step at a time.

The air seemed to still as she approached the grey, granite headstone that bore her mother’s name. Lizzie crouched beside her mum, eyes tightly squeezed, trying desperately to remember something. Anything about her mother. Nothing came to her. It could be because she was trying to force it – if she relaxed, didn’t try so hard, something might come.

For the moment, she could only recall a snippet of one memory.

The day her mum gave her Polly.