Lizzie laughed. ‘Great, that’s good to know.’
Friday 14th July – 5 days before
Bella was sitting at the halfway point on the stairs, her left ear turned towards the closed sitting-room door, but annoyingly she couldn’t make out what they were saying. She’d been sent to bed an hour ago, the same time as her dad had left for the pub. But the muffled voices – punctured every now and then with loud laughter – had risen through the floorboards making sleep impossible. Her mum’s friends often came round for ‘drinkies’, as she called it, and at times the whole house was filled with women for the stupid Mapledon Meetings. But they were always on a Thursday night. Bella thought all of it was just an excuse for them to gossip and get drunk. The mornings after these get-togethers and meetings, Bella always noticed her mother wasn’t herself, telling Bella she ‘felt delicate’ and that she couldn’t cope with any of Bella’s ‘nonsense’. Dad would whisper ‘hangover’ in Bella’s ear before leaving for work, or golf. She didn’t know what it meant exactly, but eventually realised it just meant her mother had a headache and wasn’t to be disturbed.
As her mum was drinking now, with Mrs Andrews and Auntie Tina, Bella knew tomorrow morning would be one of those times she’d have to keep her distance and let her mother be; she’d have another headache to get over. Disappointment raged through her. She’d wanted to get out of the village, maybe visit Bovey Tracey and go to some shops with her mum – have lunch in a café. Anything to take her away from the dullest place on earth. Anything to take her away from the stupid Knock, Knock games Jonie would make her play. She hated her mum sometimes.
Just as boredom was about to make her creep back to her room, Bella heard Mrs Andrews’ voice more clearly. She must be right by the door. Bella ducked back a little from the open stairwell just in case she was coming out; she didn’t want to be spotted and yelled at for eavesdropping.
‘No one knows what he’s capable of. No one knows him at all, not even where he came from. Just wish he wasn’t here. I really thought he’d leave after his kid was taken.’
Bella heard murmurings, and what sounded like a disagreement, and thought she made out the words ‘obviously wasn’t enough’, before hearing Mrs Andrews’ voice clearly again.
‘Anyway, I’ll make sure it’s on the agenda for the next meeting, even if you’re not bothered, Tina. Sorry I can’t stay for another—’
The lounge door swung open and Bella jumped up, moving swiftly towards her bedroom only moments before the women appeared. That’d been a close one. Bella listened as her mum and Mrs Andrews said goodbye and gave each other a kiss before the front door banged closed. The voices in the lounge became softer. Bella got back into bed. She guessed who they were talking about; he was all anyone seemed to talk about in this village. Bella wondered why he stayed too – she couldn’t understand why anyone would want to be part of this place, let alone if everyone was rude and horrible to you.
What on earth had he done to make them so nasty?
Sunday 14th July
At first, Anna assumed the banging on the door was Auntie Tina, but as she lifted her head from the pillow and checked the time on her mobile, she saw it was only six a.m. Who would visit at this hour on a Sunday? Then she heard quick footsteps promptly followed by a scream.
What the fuck? She launched herself from the bed, crashing against the doorframe in her rush to get out the bedroom.
‘Mum, Mum! What is it?’ Anna tore down the stairs, her pulse pounding in her neck almost as loud as her feet were on the treads.
Red liquid, from what appeared to be a burst plastic bag, pooled on the doormat.
‘Is it real? Is it real blood, Anna?’ Her mum was backing away as she repeated the words over and over.
‘I – I’m not sure, Mum.’ Avoiding the mess, Anna unlocked the front door, yanking it open quickly, hoping to catch the culprits red-handed. Literally. She peered out. No one was in sight, but as she drew her head back, she saw what had been hammered to the door. She didn’t want to worry her mother further, but she couldn’t exactly hide it either.
‘What is it this time?’ Muriel asked. Anna looked at her, taking in the frail woman whose shoulders were hunched in fear. This wasn’t on. Someone was taking joy in terrorising a vulnerable woman and it angered her. This felt different from a kid’s game. Personal.
‘It’s a doll’s arm,’ Anna said.
‘This is ridiculous. Stupid kids – bags of blood shoved through the letterbox, things hammered to the door – what do they think they’re playing at?’
‘Mum, listen,’ Anna said as she stepped back inside, over the red-stained mat. ‘It’s six in the morning – on a Sunday. How many kids do you know who’d be up this early? I don’t think it’s kids, I really don’t.’
‘So you think it’s him?’
‘I’m not saying that either. I mean, why would he? To what end? And why you? I haven’t heard of anyone else receiving these doll’s parts, have you?’
‘No, no. But the timing …’ Muriel carried on mumbling to herself, her thumbnail rammed in her mouth making the words indecipherable.
Yes, the timing was odd, she had to admit that; these things happening literally days after Billy Cawley’s release surely couldn’t be coincidental.
‘Look, you go get a bucket of warm, soapy water and I’ll take this outside.’ Anna pointed to the doormat. ‘See if I can salvage it.’ Opening the door, then lifting both ends of the mat together in attempt to prevent the liquid running off the edges, Anna shuffled outside. It was runny, not gloopy or sticky-looking, so she was hopeful it wasn’t real blood. She carefully walked with it down the side of the house to the back garden and laid it down on the lawn. Then she tilted it to let the liquid drain off. She watched as the red mess trickled into the green grass, staining it. Some had got on her hand; she wiped it in the grass too, but a pinky tinge remained. It was dye. Possibly just food colouring. She deposited the now-empty plastic bag in the wheelie bin as she went back to the front door and pulled at the doll’s arm. The nail had been driven through the upper part of the plastic arm. She had to twist it several times before it loosened. She pulled at it harder. It gave a pop as it came away and Anna stumbled backwards with the arm in her hand. The nail must’ve been hammered in with some force.
Anna turned the arm over in her hands, then frowned. There was something inside it, stuffed in the hollow. The opening was too small to get her fingers inside. She ran into the kitchen, almost knocking Muriel over, the water slopping out of the bucket she was carrying.
‘Anna! Be careful,’ she scolded, putting it down on the floor.
‘Sorry,’ Anna said. With the arm held on the worktop, she poked a metal skewer inside. After