Clare Mackintosh - I Let You Go

She opened the door and I made a play of looking for my keys. ‘I must have put them down,’ I said. ‘I won’t be a second.’

I left her in the hall and went back to the sitting room. I picked up the postcard and turned it over, but didn’t find the address I had hoped to see, only some saccharine message to Eve in your familiar untidy writing. You used to write notes to me; leave them under my pillow and in my briefcase. Why did you stop? A muscle tightened in my throat. I studied the photo. Where were you? The tension I felt threatened to burst out of me, and I ripped the card in half and then in half again, and again, feeling instantly better. I pushed the pieces behind the carriage clock just as Eve came into the room.

‘Found them,’ I said, patting my pocket.

She looked around the room, doubtless expecting to see something out of place. Let her look, I thought. Let her find it.

‘A pleasure to see you again, Eve,’ I said. ‘I’ll be sure to drop in next time I’m in Oxford.’ I walked back towards the front door.

Eve opened her mouth but no words came, so I spoke for her:

‘I’ll look forward to it.’

I began looking online as soon as I got home. There was something obviously British about those high cliffs, reaching around the beach on three sides, and about the grey sky with its ominous clouds. I searched for ‘UK beaches’ and began scrolling through images. Again and again I clicked on to the next page, but all I found were holiday guide photos of sandy beaches filled with laughing children. I changed my search to ‘UK beaches with cliffs’ and continued scrolling. I will find you, Jennifer. Wherever you’ve gone to, I’ll find you.

And then I will come for you.

31

Bethan strides towards me, a knitted hat pulled low over her hair. She begins speaking when she’s still some distance from me. It’s a clever trick: I can’t hear what she’s saying, but I can’t walk away when she’s talking to me. I stand and wait for her to reach me.

We’ve been walking across the fields, Beau and I, steering clear of the clifftops and the rolling sea. I’m too frightened to go near the sea again, although it’s not the water I am scared of but my own mind. I can feel myself going mad, and no matter how much I walk I can’t escape it.

‘I thought it was you, up here.’

The caravan park is barely visible from here: I can only have been a speck on the hillside. Bethan’s smile is still open and warm, as though nothing has changed since the last time we spoke, but she must know I’m on police bail. The whole village knows.

‘I was going for a walk,’ she says. ‘Do you want to come?’

‘You never go for walks.’

Bethan’s mouth twitches slightly. ‘Well then, that’s how much I wanted to see you, isn’t it?’

We fall into step together, Beau racing ahead in an endless search for rabbits. The day is crisp and clear, and our breath mists in front of us as we walk. It’s almost noon, but the ground is still hard from this morning’s frost, and spring feels a long way away. I have taken to scoring out the days on the calendar; the day I answer bail marked with a big black cross. I have ten days left. I know from the leaflet I was handed in custody that I might have to wait some time for my trial, but that I am unlikely to see another summer here in Penfach. I wonder how many I will miss.

‘I suppose you’ve heard,’ I say, unable to bear the silence any longer.

‘Hard not to, in Penfach.’ Bethan’s breath is laboured, and I slow my pace a little. ‘Not that I take much notice of gossip,’ she continues. ‘I’d rather hear it from the horse’s mouth, but I get the distinct impression you’ve been avoiding me.’

I don’t deny it.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

Instinctively I say no, but then realise that I do. I take a breath.

‘I killed a boy. His name was Jacob.’

I hear a tiny sound from Bethan – a breath, perhaps, or a shake of the head – but she says nothing. I catch a glimpse of the sea as we draw closer to the cliffs.

‘It was dark and it had been raining. I didn’t see him until it was too late.’

Bethan lets out a long breath. ‘It was an accident.’

It’s not a question, and I am touched by her loyalty.

‘Yes.’

‘That’s not all, is it?’

The Penfach gossip mill is impressive.

‘No, that’s not all.’

We reach the clifftop, and we turn left and begin walking towards the bay. I can hardly bring myself to speak.

‘I didn’t stop. I drove away and I left him there on the road, with his mother.’ I can’t look at Bethan, and she doesn’t speak for several minutes. When she does, it’s straight to the point.

‘Why?’

It is the hardest question to answer, but here, at least, I can tell the truth. ‘Because I was frightened.’

I finally steal a look at Bethan, but can’t read her expression. She looks out to sea and I stop and stand beside her.

‘Do you hate me for what I’ve done?’

She gives a sad smile. ‘Jenna, you’ve done something terrible, and you’ll pay for it every day for the rest of your life. I think that’s punishment enough, don’t you?’

‘They won’t serve me in the shop.’ I feel petty, complaining about my groceries worries, but the humiliation hurt me more than I like to admit.

Bethan shrugs. ‘They’re a funny lot. They don’t like incomers, and if they find an excuse to rally against them, well…’

‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘Ignore them. Do your shopping out of town and hold your head up high. What’s happened is between you and the court, and it’s no one else’s business.’

I give her a grateful smile. Bethan’s practicality is very grounding.

‘I had to take one of the cats to the vet’s yesterday,’ she says casually, as though changing the subject.

‘You spoke to Patrick?’

Bethan stops walking and turns to face me. ‘He doesn’t know what to say to you.’

‘He seemed to manage fine last time I saw him.’ I recall the coldness in his voice, and the lack of emotion in his eyes as he left.

‘He’s a man, Jenna, they’re simple creatures. Talk to him. Talk to him the way you’ve talked to me. Tell him how frightened you were. He’ll understand how much you regret what you did.’

I think of how close Patrick and Bethan were when they were growing up, and for a brief moment I wonder if Bethan could be right: might there still be a chance for me with Patrick? But she didn’t see the way he looked at me.

‘No,’ I say. ‘It’s over.’

We’ve reached the bay. A couple are walking their dog down by the sea, but it is otherwise deserted. The tide is coming in, licking at the sand as it creeps up the beach, and a gull stands in the middle of the beach, pecking at a crab shell. I’m about to say goodbye to Bethan when I catch sight of something on the sand, close to the incoming tide. I screw up my eyes and look again, but the surf blurs the surface of the sand and I can’t read what it says. Another wave and it’s gone completely, but I’m certain I saw something, just certain of it. I’m suddenly cold, and I pull my coat closer to me. I hear a noise on the path behind us and I whirl round, but there is nothing there. My eyes scan the coastal path, the clifftops, down on the beach again. Is Ian there, somewhere? Is he watching me?

Bethan looks at me, alarmed. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

I look at her, but I don’t see her. I see the writing: writing I’m not sure if I saw on the beach or in my head. The white clouds seem to swirl around me, blood roaring in my ears till I can hardly make out the sound of the sea.

‘Jennifer,’ I say softly.