Читать книгу I Dare You - Sam Carrington, Sam Carrington - Страница 34

Lizzie hadn’t attempted sleep until gone three a.m. After eating the meal provided by Gwen, she’d soaked in the beautiful claw-footed bathtub. Then, wrapped in the fluffy white bathrobe that had been hanging on the back of the door, she’d sat at the desk overlooking the garden and set about researching Mapledon and some of its residents. She’d found nothing on Anna. There was plenty of information about William Cawley, though: news articles about his conviction and the fact he’d put in a late plea bargain to the charge of the abduction and murder of Jonie Hayes, other articles about the evidence found in his truck, and the devastation felt within the ‘small, tight-knit community of Mapledon’.

Lizzie struggled to read them. It was too close – too raw, even now. But she knew she had to. She’d compartmentalised all of it for years, pretending it had happened to other people – people she didn’t know or care about. If she tried hard enough, she could detach herself again now, read it all as an outsider, someone with no involvement or investment.

Having had a stern word with herself, she’d continued scouring the articles for names and had noted down those that appeared most frequently: Tina Hayes, obviously as she was the mother of the victim; a source close to the family, Nell Andrews; family friend Muriel Fisher and local vicar, Reverend Christopher Farnley. She’d also been surprised to learn that a key piece of evidence was from a witness to the abduction – Jonie Hayes’ ten-year-old friend, named only as ‘Girl B’ for legal reasons. She hadn’t remembered this. But then, she’d avoided this kind of search before, not feeling the need or desire to delve into the past.

Now, having woken with a headache and dry mouth, Lizzie reluctantly peeled herself from the comfortable double bed, stumbled to the tea tray on the unit in the corner and popped the kettle on. The names from the articles still swirled in her mind. Muriel Fisher’s had come as no surprise. Hers was one Lizzie did remember. And once she’d seen Reverend Farnley’s name, that too had sparked recall. But Nell Andrews wasn’t one she remembered. The problem was that Lizzie could never be sure if any of the memories she recalled were truly her memories, or ones she’d taken on and remembered from what other people had told her over the years. She wondered if she’d ever really know which were hers.

Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Lizzie called Dom. He’d only sent one text yesterday to which she’d replied a brief ‘all’s fine’, and she got the impression he was pissed off. She had upped and left at short notice. While he did understand her job might take her somewhere abruptly, usually she’d have at least spoken to him before leaving rather than merely leaving a brief note.

‘Hey, babe – so sorry for leaving in a rush.’ She got her apology in quickly, before he’d even said hello.

‘Well, I was disappointed when I got home to find you gone, and without a call, or even a text …’ His voice was distant, and it immediately set Lizzie on edge. She hated to think she’d upset him; hated the thought he was mad at her even more.

‘I know, I know. I didn’t have much time, sorry – once the decision was made, I didn’t want to hang around—’

‘Really, Lizzie? You took a few minutes at least to find the paper and write a note, but didn’t have time to hit your speed dial and call me? You know there’s a little button on your phone that means you can be hands free and everything, so you could have packed your bag whilst speaking to me or even called from the car.’ Sarcasm dripped from his words. Lizzie had no argument, so she said nothing. The silence stretched. She heard him sigh.

‘So, what was so urgent you had to rush off without so much as a by-your-leave?’

Lizzie took a moment to consider her choice of words. If she’d managed to carry out her plan to come clean about everything, Dom would now have been in possession of the facts and she wouldn’t feel the need to play this down. Or lie. But she hadn’t, and now – over the phone – was definitely not the right time.

‘It was a breaking news story, time-sensitive, and it sounded …’ She hesitated. ‘Beefy. I wanted it, that’s all, so had to rush to get here. It’s near Dartmoor, in Devon—’

‘Bloody hell, that’s a long way away – why on earth do you want to cover a story there?’

She felt she owed him some element of truth here. She took a deep breath.

‘Because once, a really long time ago … I lived here.’ Before Dom could question her on this statement, she added, ‘I can’t remember any of it, I was only little and it was for a very brief time. But it intrigued me enough to make me want to come back and look into it.’

Even to her, it sounded weak. But Dom didn’t press further, just asked exactly where she was. Lizzie gave him the name of the B&B and after a few minutes of general chat, she hung up.

After breakfast she was going to drive back into Mapledon and go to Brook Cottage Store to buy a few items. Stranger or not, if she wanted to make any headway, she had to speak to other villagers. She’d ask about Muriel Fisher – she might get away with saying she was a friend of the family. It was risky though, as, if she gave her name as Lizzie Brenfield – as she’d done to Anna yesterday – and they then spoke to Muriel, she would immediately say Lizzie was an imposter, a liar.

On the other hand, giving her real name would only open a big-arsed can of worms …