The remainder of the night stretches into a pattern of waking, thinking and drifting into a half-sleep as I monitor the digital display on the bedside clock. At six, I give in and decide to get up. Andrea hasn’t stirred at all in the night despite my tossing and turning. The weather has taken a turn and in the early hours of the morning I could hear the wind pick up and rain splatter against the window panes.
In the kitchen I flick the kettle on to boil. The rain is steady and I wonder how long we will have to wait before the police turn up. Will they believe what’s happened? What will they make of the notebook and its contents? I don’t want them digging up the past and asking awkward questions. Maybe for all our sakes it would be best if they didn’t know about the notebook.
‘Morning.’ Andrea shuffles into the room. She comes over and gives me a hug. ‘I was hoping yesterday was a bad dream.’
‘Me too.’ I return the hug and fight to stop myself welling up. ‘You’re up early,’ I say, pulling away from the hug. ‘You want a cup of tea or coffee?’
‘That would be great, thanks.’ Andrea sits down at the table in the dining room. ‘I feel like I drank a bottle of vodka last night.’
‘Very nearly. You were knocking it back,’ I reply, taking two cups from the cupboard. ‘While you were playing Sleeping Beauty, Zoe and I managed to make contact with the outside world.’
Andrea frowns and rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands. ‘What?’
‘Zoe found a walkie-talkie and we managed to speak to the park ranger. He’s putting a call in to the police.’ The kettle rumbles to a boil and I make the drinks.
‘Run that by me again.’
‘Zoe found a walkie-talkie in the pantry and we managed to get it working. Help is on its way as we speak.’ I pass the coffee cup to Andrea.
‘Did you tell them about Joanne?’
‘Yes, but I didn’t go into detail, just that there had been a fatal accident. I wanted them to know that the call was serious and we need help ASAP.’
‘What did they say?’
‘He told us to sit tight and wait for the police. I was hoping they’d have turned up by now.’
‘Thank goodness for that. I didn’t fancy hiking out in this weather. And that’s not simply because of the hangover,’ says Andrea.
A clatter on the stairs and a cry of pain, followed by a distinct thud, cuts through our conversation. We both race from the kitchen, through the dining room and into the hall.
Zoe is on the floor, her left ankle clasped between her two hands. ‘Aghhh, my ankle!’ she cries, scrunching her eyes tight shut but unable to prevent a few tears escaping.
‘Oh my God, Zoe! Are you OK?’ I drop to my knees beside her.
‘I fell down the stairs,’ she says. ‘I’ve twisted my ankle. It’s killing me.’
‘Let me have a look,’ I say, gently moving her hands away. I carry out a visual inspection of her bare ankle but can’t see any obvious signs of injury. ‘I need to run my hands down your leg and ankle. Where exactly does it hurt?’
‘Here, under the bone,’ she says, indicating with her finger.
As gently as I can, I check Zoe’s ankle and foot with my hands. She winces when I apply pressure to the area under the ankle bone and when I gently rotate her foot. ‘On a scale of one to ten, how painful are we talking?’ I ask.
‘About seven,’ she says. ‘You don’t think it’s broken, do you? That’s all we need.’
‘No. Although, it’s hard to say, I’m no expert. Andrea, grab a damp tea-towel and some ice. Then we need to get you in the living room, with your foot elevated. It will help reduce the swelling. What did you do, miss a step?’
‘No. I fell over this.’ Zoe reaches behind her. ‘Your boot. It was on the third stair up. I didn’t see it until the last minute and tried to avoid it.’
‘What was it doing on the stair?’
‘I guess that’s where you left it.’
‘I didn’t. I mean, I wouldn’t have.’ I look round at the footwear lined up under the coat pegs. ‘Look, there’s my other one. Someone must have moved it. Andrea, did you notice my boot when you came down?’
Andrea shrugs. ‘Can’t say I did, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. I’m not properly awake yet.’ She rubs her head with her fingertips. ‘Hanging a bit here this morning.’
‘And it was definitely on the stair?’ I ask Zoe.
‘Let’s not have an inquest now,’ says Andrea as Zoe insists it was. ‘Shall we get Zoe into the living room and I’ll fetch the ice.’
I take the boot and put it with the other one, a little peeved that the blame seems to be heading my way for leaving the boot there. I definitely put it with the other one. I’m sure. At least, I think I’m sure.
We settle Zoe in the living room and I apply the makeshift ice-pack Andrea managed to put together. ‘It doesn’t look like it’s swelling,’ I say, inspecting it. ‘Hopefully, it’s only a slight sprain.’
‘Good job it was only the last three steps,’ says Zoe.
I’m about to protest my innocence about leaving the boot on the stairs when, once again, Andrea speaks first.
‘Carys was telling me about the walkie-talkie you found last night and how she managed to speak to the park ranger,’ she says. ‘That was a stroke of luck.’
‘I know. Thank goodness,’ says Zoe. ‘All I want is to go home. I don’t think I can cope with anything else.’
We all make agreeing-type noises as we consider our predicament and the awful events.
‘I’m going to light the fire,’ I say, not wanting to dwell too heavily on Joanne’s death. I need to keep busy. ‘It’s freezing this morning and it could be a few hours before the police arrive.’ As I stand up and look across the hallway to the dining room, I notice Joanne’s notebook on the table. ‘You know the police are going to ask us lots of questions,’ I say as I fetch the notebook.
‘Mmm. That’s their job,’ says Andrea.
‘I was thinking … it may muddy the waters if we start telling them all about this book and what Joanne thought of us.’
‘Go on,’ says Andrea.
‘I don’t particularly want the past raked up and I’m sure you two don’t either. They don’t need to see this.’
‘But that’s evidence,’ says Zoe.
‘No, it’s not,’ says Andrea. She puts her cup on the coffee table. ‘It’s only evidence if it is linked to Joanne’s death and one of us killed her as a result of the contents of that book.’
‘None of us killed her,’ I say, looking directly at Zoe. ‘Did we?’
She shakes her head. ‘No, but …’
‘If the police read this, they are going to automatically assume that one of us had a strong enough motive to kill Joanne. It will throw a tremendous amount of doubt over the truth, which is that Joanne’s death was an accident,’ I say.
‘Do you want them to go into every little detail about your relationship with Tris?’ asks Andrea. ‘Yes, I know you said you’re not having an affair with him and, quite frankly, right now I couldn’t care less, but the police will consider it a strong motive.’
‘She’s right,’ I say.
‘What are you suggesting?’ asks Zoe.
‘That I burn the book,’ I reply.
‘And those stupid game cards she gave us,’ says Andrea. ‘And we don’t mention the game or the book again.’
‘OK,’ says Zoe. She sounds hesitant but both Andrea and I reassure her that it’s the best thing to do in the circumstances.
‘I’ll get the fire lit. You get the cards. I’ve got mine here with me,’ I say. As I set the fire, Andrea helps Zoe up the stairs so they can get dressed and retrieve the game cards.
When I go outside to fetch some logs, the rain has eased and the once gunmetal-grey clouds are now a softer opaque colour. Puddles have formed in the dips and mini rivers in the gullies as the water has found its own path.
I remember how frightened I was out here last night in the dark and note how different it feels in daylight. The threat of what I can’t see has gone, but as I look up to the forest and see only the darkness within the trees, once again the unsettled feeling returns.
I turn my attention to the task in hand. As I stand in front of the log store, I notice something that I don’t remember seeing before. Hanging on a hook is a climbing rope, like the one we used to abseil down the gorge yesterday. Leaving an expensive climbing rope exposed to the elements seems odd. As I pick a couple of logs from the pile, I look at the rope again. It’s then I notice the end.
My heart misses a beat and I draw in a sharp breath that burns its way down to my lungs. My body is immobile. I close my eyes and open them again, hoping I’m imagining things.
I’m not.
The end of the rope has been fastened into a hangman’s noose. Immediately, images of Darren flood my mind. I see myself opening the front door, laughing at something Alfie has said – I can’t remember what. I push open the door and as I step into the hall, in my line of sight, Darren’s feet dangle in mid-air. He’s wearing his black lace-up work shoes and his dark-blue suit. My favourite one. My gaze travels over his body and, dear God, his face. His eyes. They are bloodshot and bulging.
I will never forget that sight. I remember screaming and trying to bundle Alfie out of the door, but it is too late. He has seen his father. And then, amongst the scuffling, Alfie is yelling at me to do something.
I don’t remember running into the kitchen, but the next thing I’m aware of is that I have the bread knife in my hand. Alfie is grappling with Darren’s legs, trying to lift him up to relieve the weight of his father’s body on the rope. It is the saddest and most heartbreaking sight I have ever witnessed. He looks up at me, tears, panic and sheer desperation filling his eyes. I race up the stairs and frantically saw at the rope, calling to Alfie to get out of the way as Darren’s body drops to the floor with a thud.
Now, here, at the back of the croft, as I look at the noose, my legs go numb and my knees want to buckle. I drop the log basket and reach out to grab the little roof of the log store to steady myself.
Why haven’t I noticed this before? It can’t be a coincidence. No one randomly ties a noose at the end of a rope, least of all a climbing rope.
I spit out the bile that rises from my stomach. Surely the rope isn’t another of Joanne’s games. She wouldn’t be that cruel. Would she?
Anger replaces the fear and I grab the rope from the hook and dump it in the corner where I won’t see it any more.
Fuck Joanne and her stupid games. This is one step too far.
And then I remember Joanne is dead and I can’t take my anger out on her. Why do I feel guilt for being mad at her because she’s dead?
I pick up the log basket and go inside, locking the door behind me. The whole weekend has become a living nightmare.
I spend the next twenty minutes fiddling around with the fire, getting it started, then sit mesmerised by the flames as they lick and spread their way around the kindling and the larger pieces of wood. There is something comforting about the flickering orange flames, the odd crack as the fire attacks the wood, and the heat that becomes more intense with each minute.
I curl up on the sofa and pull one of the blankets over me. I think about Joanne, her game and the clues we’ve found so far. There was the dollar bill, the wedding ring and the photograph. Each item linked to the accusation levelled at us by Joanne. So why have I now found another clue, if that’s what it is? It certainly fits with Joanne’s warped mind. The noose can only be meant for me.
I must have nodded off at some point, my sleep-deprived night catching up on me, because the next thing I’m aware of is Andrea waking me with a mug of hot chocolate.
‘Hey, you OK?’ she asks, sitting down on the opposite sofa. She drops the notebook and cards onto the middle of the table. ‘Nice and warm in here. It’s no wonder you fell asleep.’
‘Any sign of the police yet?’ I ask, sitting up and sliding my legs off the cushions. I glance at my watch. It’s now ten fifteen.
‘Not yet.’
‘Do you think we should try to contact the ranger again, make sure he got through to the police?’
‘Let’s give it a while longer. I’m sure they’ll be here soon.’
‘You’d think they’d be here quicker, especially as there’s been a death.’ I sip my hot chocolate and look up as Zoe hobbles into the room and sits herself on the sofa opposite me. ‘How’s the ankle?’
‘Still sore but not quite so bad,’ she replies, sinking deeper into the cushion. On the face of it, she looks relaxed, but on closer inspection, I can see her body language is telling a different story. Her hands are wrapped around her cup, but her fingers are drumming the side in an agitated way. Her shoulders look tense and her eyes are darting from the fireplace to the window behind me.
‘Try not to worry,’ I say. ‘It’s been an awful weekend but it will be over soon.’
‘I hope so,’ she says, and wipes a tear from her eye. I move to comfort her but she shakes her head and gives me a small smile. ‘Probably best if you don’t offer me any sympathy right now, I’m likely to go to pieces.’
I was going to mention the noose I found outside, but I change my mind. I don’t want to upset her or freak her out. Not when she’s obviously feeling the way she does. I pick up the notebook and cards. ‘Shall I do the honours?’
‘Fill your boots,’ says Andrea.
Zoe gives a shrug which I take as no objection, so I drop the incriminating evidence through the open door of the wood burner, before returning to the sofa. We all sit in silence as we watch the paper swiftly engulfed in fresh flames. ‘Have you got that walkie-talkie?’ I ask once the flurry of activity has died down. ‘I might try to speak to that ranger again. Just to check the police are coming.’
‘It’s up in my room. I don’t want to have to tackle the stairs right now.’ Zoe leans forwards and rubs her foot.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll get it if you tell me where it is.’
‘No. Don’t. I mean, I’ll get it. Might actually do me some good to exercise my ankle, you know, stop it stiffening up. I was only being lazy.’ Zoe rises from the sofa and limps out of the room, returning with the handset a couple of minutes later. ‘Probably best not to use it that much, we don’t know how long the batteries will last.’
‘Good point. I didn’t think of that. I’ll give it a couple of attempts.’ In the hall, I slip my feet in the wellington boots and pull on my jacket. ‘I’ll try outside, I might get a better signal,’ I call over my shoulder.
Zipping up my jacket, I switch the walkie-talkie on. ‘Hello. This is Carys Montgomery. I spoke to the park ranger last night. Is anybody there?’ As I speak, I realise that I didn’t give my name the night before.
I don’t know what the etiquette is for these things but right now I don’t care. I release the button and wait for a response but all I’m met with is the now familiar buzzy sound of static. I wander down the track and try once more. This time I’m rewarded with a response as a Scottish accent comes across the airwaves.
‘Hello, Carys Montgomery. This is the park ranger you spoke to last night. Is everything OK? Over.’
‘Hello. Yes, we’re OK. Erm, I wondered if you knew what time the police will be here. Over.’
‘Ah, it won’t be until later in the day, I’m afraid. The stormy weather last night caused a landslide and the road is blocked. They’re waiting for it to be cleared and then they’ll be up to you. Over.’
Disappointment follows this news. ‘How far away are they? The town they’re based in, I mean. I wondered if we could walk there. Over.’
‘Oh no. Too far to walk. You should not be going walking in this weather. More rain is due this afternoon. You stay where you are. Please confirm. Over.’
I hesitate before replying. Part of me doesn’t want to comply with the instruction. Part of me wishes I’d never made this call and I’d taken my chances and tried to get help. The voice of the ranger comes again. ‘I repeat. Do not leave the croft. It’s too dangerous. Please confirm. Over.’
Reluctantly I reply: ‘Yes. I confirm. Over.’
‘Good. Stay where you are for now. It’s the safest option. Over and out.’
Brooding to myself, I dig the toe of my boot into the mud on the edge of the track which is now soft and mushy from the rainfall. Stay where you are. Wait for the police. How long is that going to take?
It’s then I notice something odd about the mud. Embedded in the sodden ground is the pattern of a tyre tread. Not big enough for a car but certainly the size of a bicycle wheel. Someone has been here on a pushbike. Right up near the croft.