Sam Carrington - I Dare You

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.

Wednesday 19th July – the day of, 8.25 p.m.

In the humid summer evening, circles of lights darted over grass, whizzed over hillsides, flitted under bushes and dotted the darkening sky – like a frenzied firefly dance. But the display didn’t come from a swarm of fireflies, it came from the illumination of dozens of torchlights.

‘Jonie! Joniiiieee!’

Jonie’s name was called again and again, each time more frantic. Desperate. One voice could be heard above others, its pitch ripping through the night, tearing through the eardrums of the volunteers, the police.

Tina Hayes’ legs were weakening; her voice was not. Sheer adrenaline kept her powering forwards, her desire to find her daughter overtaking her need to slow down, rest.

‘Tina?’ Pat Vern ran up to her, putting a sweaty hand on her arm to stop her marching on. ‘I’m not sure … it’s a good idea … for you to be here.’ The police officer panted, his shallow breaths diminishing his ability to form a full sentence.

‘What would you have me do, Pat? Stay at home like the good little woman, waiting to see if someone else finds her?’ Tina put her hands on the tops of her thighs, taking the moment to catch her breath, allowing the blood to flow through her limbs again. ‘Is that what you’d do if it were Daisy?’

Pat, recovered now from the acute exertion, couldn’t argue with her. He never had been able to put up a fight where Tina Hayes was concerned.

‘I know. I know you think you should be doing everything to find her, and I understand, I really do. But what if she …’ He paused. What he was thinking was: what if you’re the one to find her and she’s dead? He couldn’t bear that. The last image she’d have of her only daughter would be a horrifying one – one she’d never rid herself of. But why was he thinking that at all – why would she be dead? This was Mapledon for Christ’s sake. He’d been on the force ten years and nothing remotely bad had ever happened here, so this would end happily, he was sure.

Only he wasn’t.

His gut was telling him something else – something evil – was at play. He didn’t know why, but he felt it. He realised Tina was waiting for him to finish his sentence, impatiently stepping from one foot to the other as she stared at him, her eyes wide and red-rimmed. He pulled himself together. ‘What if Jonie goes home – who’s going to be there if everyone is outside searching?’

‘Do you think she’ll turn up at home, Pat, as though nothing has happened – like she’d just lost track of the time? Come on. We both know she didn’t just forget the time. Her friends are all home, we’ve checked. So, it’s not as though she’d been having too much fun or gone off with one of them somewhere and wandered too far out of Mapledon. She’s not a dumb kid, Pat.’

‘I know she’s not dumb.’ Pat dropped his gaze to his shoes. Now wasn’t the time to mention what he’d heard about Jonie. ‘Okay, come on. Let’s press on. I don’t want to waste any more time – it’s going to be too dark to continue in an hour or so.’

‘You might think so,’ Tina said sharply, shaking her head. ‘But I’ll be out here looking all night if I have to. Every night. I won’t stop until I find her.’

And she strode off.

Saturday 13th July

Anna froze; the voice – soft, haunted – causing her heart to stutter.

If people had called her Bella afterwards, she’d ignored them. And, through her own choice, no one had called her that since she’d left Mapledon. She couldn’t bear to hear it, didn’t like to recall the memories associated with it. The last time her friend uttered it. Hearing it now transported her back to a time and place she never wanted to be reminded of.

‘ Creepy Cawley, Creepy Cawley …’

The hushed whisper, the goading chant, filled her skull. She shook her head, trying to shake the ghostly voice from it. But as much as she wanted to run, not look back, this was one villager she couldn’t ignore. She turned around.

‘Hello, Auntie Tina,’ she said. ‘I go by Anna these days.’

Tina’s face flinched, her chin tilting up. ‘Right, sure. Annabella was always a mouthful, and Anna is more grown up than Bella. Lovely that you were able to do that – grow up, I mean.’ The words, edged with an iciness, made Anna shiver. She couldn’t blame her for her cutting tone.

Anna opened her mouth but closed it again. For the moment, she couldn’t think of a single thing Tina would want to hear. She fleetingly considered giving her a hug, but the years that had passed created a gulf between them; what had happened thirty years ago ensured the chasm was too wide to bridge with such an action. Tina was about five years younger than Muriel, but if Anna had thought the years had been unkind to her mum, they’d been downright cruel to Auntie Tina – her wrinkled skin had a grey hue to it, her dyed blonde hair was thin and patchy, making her eyes seem pale, almost albino.

Anna gazed back towards Billy Cawley’s old bungalow, the memory of the game Knock, Knock, Ginger making her skin crawl. They’d been having innocent fun, hadn’t they? Being here now, she could envisage the two of them like she was seeing the imprints of their younger selves. Ghostly figures. She’d not allowed herself to think about Jonie for a really long time before today. But she knew, despite not consciously remembering her, what had happened that sunny afternoon was part of her. Had affected her more than she’d ever cared to admit to. Now, facing Tina, everything rose to the surface. Tears slid down her face.

‘Don’t. Don’t cry. Tears won’t help anyone,’ Tina said.

She’d created a shell, one that had hardened over time. They all had.

‘Sorry.’ Anna brushed the tears away with her fingertips. One word, weighted with guilt, years in the making. Not once had she uttered that word when it happened.

It wasn’t her fault, after all.

But Tina thinks it was.

‘Why are you back?’

Instinct told Anna not to mention the doll’s head.

‘Came to see Mum.’

‘Never bothered before.’

‘No, well – being the anniversary year …’ Anna felt herself cringe; she dropped her gaze.

‘So, you thought you’d come back to where it all began?’ Tina swept an arm out in front of her, indicating the bungalow. ‘Got a guilty conscience?’

And there it was. Thirty years on, the man responsible having served time in prison, and still Anna was getting the blame. Well, she wasn’t that little girl anymore: the meek, mild-mannered pushover Bella. She was Anna, and she’d had to work hard to overcome her weaknesses; she’d worked hard to heal the mental scars left behind.

‘No,’ she said firmly, shaking her head. ‘Have you?’

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.