Mary-Jane Riley - After She Fell - A haunting psychological thriller with a shocking twist

A woman hurried up to her. ‘I’m so sorry about Ronan. Are you okay?’ She frowned, looking worried as she pushed dark corkscrew hair off her face.

‘I’m fine,’ laughed Alex, brushing sand off her clothes. ‘I love dogs and he’s a beauty.’

‘He still hasn’t learned obedience, however many classes I take him to.’

Ronan bounded up and dropped the stick at Alex’s feet again. She picked it up.

‘He’ll be having you doing that all day if you’re not careful. And he loves going into the sea.’ The woman had an open smile, though there was a sadness around her eyes and what looked like a wariness in them. She was wearing a smart, short-sleeved shirt and dark linen trousers, rolled up over her calves. She was barefoot and carried sensible sandals in her hand. Alex saw a small tattoo of an angel’s wing on her ankle. Alex smiled back.

‘I might be tempted myself.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t if I were you. North Sea’s freezing even at this time of year. It’s almost acceptable in September. If you’re a masochist. My feet are like ice blocks.’

Alex threw the stick again. ‘You live here then?’ Alex’s question was, in fact, disingenuous, as she had recognized the woman as a teacher from The Drift. It hadn’t been a waste of time trawling through the school’s website and imprinting the faces of the teachers on her mind. This was Louise Churchill, English teacher. And another thing she knew about the woman, thanks to Catriona, was that she had been Elena’s English teacher.

‘For my sins.’ A flicker of sadness crossed Louise Churchill’s face before she smiled again, though this time there seemed to be more effort behind it. ‘No, it’s a great place to live. I’m a teacher, though. That makes it hard.’

‘Really?’ said Alex. ‘A teacher. That is a tough gig. I admire you. I don’t think I could stand up in front of a class of kids and make them listen to me.’

She called to her dog. ‘Ronan, come here. Don’t go so far out.’ Ronan continued to paddle, stick in his mouth. ‘Oh, it’s not so bad. It’s not as if I’m at some inner city school or failing academy. The students are supposed to be the cream of society. Moneyed society, that is.’ She pointed upwards and there, in the distance, The Drift stood: imperious, looking out over the sea. ‘That’s where I am. The Drift. Posh boarding school for posh kids.’

‘Nice.’

‘It is, mostly. What makes it hard is living in the village, but I guess I’m luckier than some who have to live in the grounds. They never get away from it. It’s not a bad place to teach, though it took a while to find my feet.’ She looked at her watch then clapped her hands. ‘Ronan. Here. Now.’

Alex thought about what Cat had told her about the young teacher. She and her husband had moved to the school and started in the January of the year Elena died. Her husband taught Maths. Or was it Physics? Some subject Alex was useless at anyway. She thought they might have had young children. Twins? Damn, her brain was turning to mush; she wasn’t concentrating enough. There was a time when she wouldn’t have forgotten any of those facts.

At that moment, Ronan bounded up to the pair of them and shook vigorously, splattering drops of seawater over the two women.

‘Ronan, stop it.’ Louise turned to Alex. ‘I’m sorry, that dog really has no discipline.’

‘It’s okay,’ said Alex laughing. ‘It’s quite refreshing in a funny sort of way.’ Ronan began to bark at the waves, running in and out of the water. ‘Now look at him,’ she said, not sure whether she was glad or sorry the subject of what she was doing in Hallow’s Edge had been avoided, ‘he’s loving that.’ Probably glad, as she wanted Louise to trust her before they spoke about what had happened to Elena. It had been a stroke of luck to find her on the beach.

‘You’re right about that.’ They both stood looking at Ronan for another few moments. ‘Are you on holiday? Where are you staying?’

‘A cottage over that way.’ Alex waved her hand in the vague direction of the cottage. She didn’t want to be too specific in case Louise knew of the Devonshires’ place. Unlikely, but it was better not to take any chances. ‘It’s a beautiful spot, this.’

Louise looked around. ‘It is.’ Then she looked at her watch and groaned. ‘God, lunchtime’s almost over and I’ve got to get this one home, and then get back to school.’ She bent down and clipped the lead onto Ronan. ‘Can’t be late. I’ll bring the wrath of the heads on my shoulders. They don’t like us to be a minute over time. If they could have a clocking in and out machine, they would.’

‘Two heads?’

‘One for the girls and one for the boys. The Farrars. A dastardly double act. But don’t tell anyone I said that, will you?’

Alex smiled. ‘Of course not.’

Louise hesitated. ‘Perhaps I’ll see you again? Are you up from London? I miss the city. This place can be quite lonely sometimes.’ There was a vulnerability on her face that struck a chord with Alex.

‘That would be great. I’d like that.’ And Alex found that she meant it.

‘Okay. I’ll be here with Ronan tomorrow over lunch. I’m not on dinner hall duty this week, thank God.’

‘Lovely. I’ll try to make it.’

She watched as Louise strode across the sand to the slope that would take her up to the path above. At the top she stopped, looked round and waved at Alex. Alex waved back.

The long evenings, that’s what Alex loved about the month of June. She tried not to think that in not much more than two weeks’ time it would be the longest day and then the evenings would start to draw in. But for now the light was soft and the air balmy. She was glad she had been able to eat her solitary dinner outside on the terrace.

But now she was feeling restless.

She had tried and failed to raise Gus on FaceTime.

What was he doing and why hadn’t he answered his phone? This is where she could start to get worried and think about corrupt policemen and drugs mules. But Gus was sensible, she told herself. He’d had to grow up fast and had become quite streetwise these last couple of years in London. She had to trust him. And the ferry from Dover to Calais wasn’t exactly the drugs route to the west. But where the hell was he? Please God this hare-brained idea about trying to find Steve was just that. An idea.

She washed up her plate and cup and left them to dry on the drainer. How pathetic they looked. Then she prowled round the house, picked a couple of books off the bookshelf in the sitting room: a thriller with a lurid cover and a Terry Pratchett novel. Who read what? she wondered. She opened a couple of drawers in the desk in the corner of the room but found them empty with the exception of a few drawing pins and paper clips. She went upstairs and into the second bedroom. Like the main bedroom, it was simply furnished: a double bed with an iron bedstead, a wardrobe, and a chest of drawers. In the corner was an antique washstand – Victorian, maybe – with a white roses washbowl and pitcher. But the photograph in a silver frame on top of the chest of drawers was what drew her eye. She picked it up. Elena, standing on the beach below with her arm around Cat, laughing; her long hair whipped around her face by the wind; looking as though she hadn’t got a care in the world. When was it taken? How could she go from a girl who looked as though she loved life to one who threw herself off a cliff?

‘She was a clever girl. And resilient,’ Cat had told her in that dull, defeated voice as they sat in Elena’s bedroom. ‘She had depression and anorexia after her father died.’

‘How did he die?’ Alex was ashamed that she didn’t know. And hadn’t bothered to find out.