Authors: Faith Mortimer
Roger’s heart contracted as he realised what Charlie was saying. Philip Bolton must have told the children that Debbie had died. What else had he threatened Charlie with? Roger recoiled mentally; he didn’t want to dwell on the thought.
“Charlie, I promise you, your mummy is at home and waiting for you and Hannah. Come on, let’s get you out of here, and I’ll take you to her.”
He held his breath as he watched the boy weigh up his situation. “Do you promise that Hannah can come too?” Charlie asked. “He said I wasn’t to run away. I had to be very good.”
Roger nodded his head while holding out his hand. “yes, I promise that Hannah can come too. If you come with me, we’ll go and hide you by the gate, then I’ll go back for her.” He paused then continued after taking a gamble that he now had Charlie’s confidence. “Come on, quickly now. We want to go in case he comes back.”
Something must have instilled the urgency in his voice to Charlie, because the boy ran with a surprising agility up the stairs and flung himself into his arms. As Roger held the shaking boy against his chest, he thought how fragile and helpless this five-year-old must have been in Bolton’s grip. If he had done anything to him…then he would pay.
“Come.”
Roger gently pushed the boy away from him. “Can you walk, or would you like me to carry you,” he asked in a soft voice.
Charlie regarded him with a grave expression. “I can walk. I’m a big boy, not like Hannah, she’s only three.”
“I know. But your socks will get wet. Well then, if you’re sure, let’s go. Quiet now, because we have to go past the house, and we mustn’t let him find out I’m here.”
Roger stood up and held his hand out for Charlie. The boy looked at him, and Roger saw the first ghost of a smile on his pale features. “Just a minute. I’d better shut the trapdoor,” he said, turning away, and saw the instant change on Charlie’s face as he looked back towards the garage door.
Roger whipped round, just as a large figure loomed over him. The last thing he remembered was the sickly, sour smell of an unwashed body. In that moment, he recognised the person with the upraised arm that held the axe. The air whistled around his ear as he felt the heavy weapon smash down into his skull. Too late, he recalled his skull had all the fragility of an egg shell before bits of soft gelatinous brain and blood sprayed in a grey and pink froth over the open-mouthed, terrified boy.
Chapter 24
Clare allowed Debbie some respite from questioning after her outburst when she shouted at William. Everyone looked shocked and wondered what Debbie meant by her words, “I am not your darling little girl! Don’t you dare call me your little girl!”
she had screamed
.
Clare calmed Debbie and told her to rest for a while. Placing a finger to her lips, she indicated that everyone else present should keep their voices down while the poor troubled woman sank into a dreamless doze.
Noticing the fire needed some more fuel, Diana got up and replenished it from the wood basket. Because the electricity was still off, the central heating wasn’t working, and it was important to keep the stove going. She decided to risk going outside in the cold and bring in some more supplies. As she walked towards the door, basket under her arm, Steve said he would go and fetch some for her.
“It’s fine, Steve. I need to move anyway—I’m so stiff from sitting. I can manage.”
The freezing cold air hit her as soon as she opened the kitchen door. Swirling snow was still coming down, and all the footprints and car tracks from the police were completely obliterated. She hadn’t seen snow like that since skiing in Switzerland. She looked towards the direction of Agios Mamas and couldn’t make out a thing. Neither could she see any of the few isolated houses that were nearer to where she stood. She took a deep breath of cold air into her lungs and, as she expelled, noticed the snow had stopped. The silence all around her was complete as she turned to look further along the valley and up the hill. The wind had dropped, and as she peered into the black night, she imagined she caught a faint glimmer of light coming from the house rented by Philip Bolton.
Diana stayed where she was for a minute, enjoying the fresh air and peace. The day had been terrible, and the next few hours were vital. Everyone knew in their hearts that the longer the children were missing, the worse the prognosis. Her eyes misted over when she thought about the two little ones. Once again, she was thankful that her Poppy was safe in the village at her friend’s house. The two girls were inseparable and loved sleeping in each other’s beds.
Diana yawned, her mind relaxing while she tried to unwind. Philip Bolton’s house became clearer when there was a break in the clouds, and she realised what a superb spot the house occupied. It had a complete three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view around it, and the Frosts’ house was directly in line with it. The tenant, Philip Bolton, was a strange character. Although polite if she chanced to meet him in the supermarket—which was rare—he kept himself to himself. At other times, he never got involved in anything more than the shortest of exchanges. He was an odd man in more ways than one. His hair was unkempt, and on more than one occasion, she noticed his clothing smelt. Personal hygiene didn’t seem to bother him much. Diana wrinkled her nose at the memory. In some ways, he looked little more than a vagrant, and thinking about it, she hadn’t liked the way he stared after her and Poppy.
There was stiffening in the breeze, which blew the snow around at her feet. Diana shivered. Now why was she thinking about some scruffy old man? Why on earth had her mind wandered off at such a tangent? Moving as quickly as she could, she filled the basket and shot indoors, shaking the fresh snow from her long russet-coloured hair.
She met Clare in the kitchen and guessed something was wrong when she saw her worried look. Not wanting to alarm the others, she moved towards her friend. “What’s up?” she asked in a low whisper. “You look troubled.”
Clare looked over her shoulder towards the snug before nodding and moved closer to Diana. “I don’t want to alarm the others, but I think something’s happened…or is about to.”
Diana felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle and began to tremble. “What? Not to the children? Oh my God, what?”
“I’m not sure. It’s an uneasy feeling I got a few minutes ago. All I can say for certain is that it has something to do with water.” She closed her eyes for a moment as she concentrated. Diana saw how pale she had become and thought she might pass out, but after a few seconds, Clare opened her eyes and grabbed her arm in panic. “Yes, definitely water. I…I think both kids are still alive, but something dreadful has happened where they are. I’m sorry, I can’t see any more. It’s gone all cloudy and confused,” she said, tears running down her face. “I hate it. I’ve never wanted to do this because I’ve been frightened before. Usually I have been able to suppress it, only this time I can’t, and I know it’s not over.”
Diana hugged her and tried to calm her down. “Hush. You’re doing so well.”
“One more thing…” Clare clutched frantically at Diana’s arm. “I said before I believed they’re being held near us, and now I’m positive. And the…the boy, he’s especially terrified. And cold and wet. Something awful has happened, I’m certain,” she said, while blowing her nose.
“Then they must be in the village. Who on earth would have taken them?”
Clare slumped for a second and looked exhausted. “I must get back to Debbie and ask her some more questions. She has more to tell us, she just doesn’t realise it.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it? You look all in. Do you need a rest? A cup of tea?”
“I’m okay, really. I can rest once this is over. Right now
I have
to carry on. I just wanted to let you know how I feel.”
Clare returned to the snug with Diana on her heels. The men present hadn’t moved except for Adam, who was busy sending a text message. They all looked expectantly at Clare as she took her seat next to Debbie once more.
*****
Debbie fidgeted in her hypnotic state, sensing Clare had returned. She didn’t want to remember and stir old memories, memories she had suppressed for years.
In her cloudy mind, she couldn’t decide whether she was talking or just remembering…she recalled when she was small; she was probably only about six at the time. Her father had a garden potting shed where he kept all his seedlings. Under the shelving, there was all manner of junk, which he was saving for another day. Debbie loved to play in the shed. She breathed deeply…she could still remember the dusty, earthy smell of the plants and piles of newspapers lying on the floor. Back then, she had a special friend, Christopher, and they would spend hours pretending they were making ‘house’. It had all been completely innocent: two small children who liked each other’s company. One day, Christopher took a box of matches with him and a packet of his mother’s cigarettes. Debbie had been transfixed watching her seven-year-old friend light a cigarette and taking puffs from it.
“You try it,” he urged in between coughing.
Debbie shook her head shyly, and Christopher laughed at her for being a ‘cissy’. He eventually tired of the cigarette and dropped it on the floor. Neither child noticed the cigarette roll under the bench and nestle against a pile of newspapers. Within minutes, the dry paper had caught alight, and the flames were licking Debbie’s cotton dungarees. Their screams brought Debbie’s parents running…she was in hospital for weeks while her burns healed, and to that day, she was still embarrassed when she went bare-legged in the summer months. Some scars would never completely fade away.
Claude was very sympathetic when she told him the story after he asked about the scars. He kissed her hand and stroked the scars very gently. “My poor little girl, yes, my darling little girl. Did it hurt very much? You must have been so frightened. How old were you when it happened? Dear me, six! Tell me all about it again.”
Unsettled, Debbie threw back her head. It was when she remembered that the pain came back. It was far better to forget. Except she could still hear those questions. They seemed far away, as if she was dreaming…they were insistent, probing her gently about her parents, Sally, Stuart and Claude. She was vaguely aware that she answered, and then she became obstinate. “No. No more, please. It’s…no, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
There it was again, that soft, untiring and gentle voice. “Debbie, you must. You want to help us, don’t you?”
She felt limp and heavy-limbed as she heard the voice. “Debbie, were you afraid of your husband, Claude?”
Debbie knew she had to answer; she had no choice if she wanted the questions to stop. Dimly, she heard her voice, from a far off place. “Mum and Dad were acting oddly. I think they were worried about…something. Possibly, they were worried about my health. They wanted to visit me, and Claude suggested they came for tea. Claude was the perfect host that day. He had bought all sorts of fancy cakes.”
Debbie paused as she thought. “Mum and I walked around Claude’s garden, and she asked me what my relationship was with Claude. Were we a couple?”
“I asked her why, and she said she thought Claude was a bit old for me…she said I’d changed. My hair looked different, and my clothes…didn’t I think they were more suitable for young girls? I said Claude took an interest in me and usually accompanied me when I went shopping. He helped choose my clothes. And he liked my hair worn long and the white Alice band suited me.
“When Dad joined us in the garden, I went back inside to help Claude, and he asked me what we talked about. I laughed and said they thought I needed to update my wardrobe. Claude smiled and told me not to bother because I looked just the perfect girl to him.
“When they were leaving, Dad said it was time I went home for a short stay. They saw so little of me these days, and we needed to talk. They insisted I went down the next week and I agreed. They kissed me goodbye, and Claude suddenly remembered he had forgotten something
back on the campus and left in his car soon after they’d gone…he said he’d be back and then he’d run me home.”
She tossed and turned in her chair, biting her lip. She felt afraid. “There was a telephone call, and I remember a voice saying there’d been an accident. An unknown car…a hit and run maybe…it was never confirmed…or maybe Dad had been forced off the road.
“Then Claude was there with me, and he was saying he would take care of his darling, little girl. I wasn’t to worry, and we’d get married as soon as he could arrange the licence. He cuddled me and held me tight, stroked my back as he calmed me down. There was the wedding. But I…I felt afraid.”
The low voice spoke. “What of Debbie? What were you afraid of? Afraid of Claude?”
Debbie moved her hands. “No. Claude was always good to me. But I was so tired and felt ill. Claude was so attentive, making sure I drank my medicine, later on, ensuring I was able to cope with Sally and Stuart. I felt happy with my children…and I was all right for a while. Claude was so good. Then…then, no, I didn’t like doing that. I didn’t want to do it. No! Please don’t touch me like that. Not again! Go away, away…”
The voice moved nearer. “Who did you want to go away, Debbie? Was it Claude or was there someone else? Did he leave you alone then, Debbie?”
“I…I...no, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“And the children? Were they okay? Was Claude good to them as a loving father?”
“He was strict. They had to do what he wanted, and he made them obey. Stuart argued at first, and then he…he became frightened. But Sally was good and quiet. Claude said all his little girls had to be good little girls.”