Girl Number One: A Gripping Psychological Thriller (30 page)

I wake at home the
next morning with a series of unanswerable questions burning a hole in my head,
horribly aware that time is running out. Not just for me but for Jenny, who is
still out there somewhere. There are so many things that need to be done. And I
have done none of them. The worst has happened, and I feel trapped in my own
bed by that truth, my arms and legs weighed down by these heavy, too hot bedclothes,
by the knowledge that I have failed.

‘Ellie?’

Someone
is tapping quietly at my bedroom door and repeating my name. Like a deathwatch
beetle. Tap-tap-tap.

Go away.

 
I know who it is, because there is only
one person it can be.

Mentally,
I turn away from the grief waiting for me on the end of that thought, circle
the terrible dark pit in my head, pushing away the reality I can’t yet accept.
That Hannah is gone.

 
Dad puts his head round the door without
asking permission.

‘Sorry, Ellie, were you asleep?’

If
only I could have persuaded my father to go home last night. Instead I feel
awkward, needing him gone but equally not wanting to hurt his feelings. He’s my
flesh-and-blood, my only remaining close family, and I can’t push him away just
because I desperately need to be alone.

‘Not
anymore,’ I say wearily, and turn my head on the pillows to look at him. ‘What
is it?’

‘Tris
is here to see you,’ he says apologetically. ‘This is the third time he’s
knocked at the door today. I told him you didn’t want any visitors, that he
wasn’t welcome, but I have to give it to him, he is nothing if not persistent. I
think he’s been standing outside for the past hour, in fact, just waiting. Should
I tell him to go home?’

My sleepy brain grapples with those concepts.
Tris. Here. Now
.

I groan, throwing back the bedclothes. I’m in pyjamas.
Baby-pink. Hannah gave them to me as a present last birthday.

‘No,
I’ll get dressed. What time is it?’

‘Just after twelve. I thought you might like a
lie-in.’

‘It’s
midday already?’

I swing my legs urgently out of bed and sit up.
My head throbs like someone’s hit it with a hammer and I have to wait a moment,
head bent, eyes closed, before moving again.

I have to call the police and tell the
inspector what I know. Yet how can I, when I’m not even sure of my own memories?
How to explain a vision seen while drowning? How to put a hunch about a
recurring nightmare into coherent words?

It
all feels a bit tenuous and unlikely.

I
can’t just walk into police headquarters and say,
the shadow man did it
. Not with my history of psychosis. They’ll
lock me up and throw away the key.

I open my eyes and try to focus on the problem.
‘Has DI Powell been in touch?’

‘He
rang last night to see how you were.’

‘Nothing since?’

My
father shakes his head.

‘So
the police haven’t found Jenny Crofter yet?’

‘I
have no idea.’

I’m still groggy, but reach into my drawer for
a clean pair of jeans. ‘Send Tris up, would you?’

He stares. ‘But you’re not dressed yet.’

‘I will be in a few minutes,’ I say. ‘And I
need to do my teeth. Count to, I don’t know, fifty, then let him in.’

As soon as the door
closes on my father, I pull my PJ top over my head and finish dressing. Jeans
first. Then a black vest top, in need of a little ironing. It’s the first thing
to hand, so on it goes.

In
the bathroom, I use the toilet, then brush my teeth and rinse out. I don’t
bother with earrings or make-up. I’ve been signed off work for a week, and
besides, it’s not going to be that sort of day. But I drag a brush through my
hair, since this is Tris, glad that I took ten minutes to shower when I finally
got home last night, and am just beginning to feel awake when I hear him coming
up the stairs.

‘Ellie?’

I
throw open the bathroom door.

Tris
is standing outside on the landing, looking haggard, his hands in his jeans
pockets. I see the pain and loss and fear in his eyes, and understand what he’s
feeling because I’m feeling it too. Except that I’ve pushed it aside for now so
I can deal with what’s next. There just isn’t time to break down. There will be
time later, but I can’t let any of that pain happen yet or it will rip me
apart.

‘Hannah,’
I whisper.

He
gives a jerk of his head. ‘I still can’t believe it.’

‘How
did it happen?’

‘You
don’t know?’

‘I
was told she swam over to help me, and must have been caught by the riptide.’

‘There
was so much going on. We realised you had disappeared, so we all swam back.
Connor was there. Denzil too, at one point. Everyone was shouting and diving
down to see if they could find you. Then the lifeguards came out on their
dinghy. It was chaotic.’ He shakes his head. ‘I didn’t notice she wasn’t there
until we followed the dinghy back to shore. Then Connor said, where’s Hannah?
And I couldn’t even remember where I had last seen her.’

I
touch his face. He’s trembling. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

‘Whose
then?’

‘No
one’s fault. You know that.’ I touch his forehead. ‘You know that here.’

‘She
was such an experienced swimmer.’

‘It
happens even to the best. The currents round the north coast are treacherous.
We all know that.’

‘But
Hannah … ’ His voice chokes. ‘Why?’

I
lean against his broad chest, listening to the muffled beat of his heart. I
loved Hannah too. Fiercely and forever. But I’m thinking,
not now, not this
. We have to move on, and come back to Hannah
later. I decide to let him have the moment though. It will comfort both of us.

He
takes an unsteady breath. ‘And I almost lost you too.’

‘Except
you didn’t. I’m still here.’

He
makes an abrupt noise under his breath, then seeks my mouth. I let him kiss me.
My hands cup his face as we kiss. I feel stubble along his jaw, and imagine him
pacing about outside the cottage since first light, probably.

‘Did
you come on the quad bike? With the trailer?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good,
you can give me a lift.’

He
draws back, frowning. ‘Where to? Shouldn’t you be resting?’

‘I
can rest later. There’s something I need to do first.’ I head into my room to
grab a jacket, and see the long dark coat hanging over the open wardrobe door.
‘Whose is this, do you know? I came home in it last night.’

He
looks at it hesitantly. ‘That’s mine.’

‘
Yours
?’

Again Tris hesitates. Then he nods, and says, ‘Yeah,
it used to belong to my dad. It’s usually kept in the back of the car. When
they brought you up the beach to the lifeguard’s hut, you were shivering. I ran
to the car for a blanket to wrap around you, and found that instead. Not that
you needed a coat. The lifeguards had foil and blankets in the dinghy, and then
the paramedics arrived. But I left it with you, just in case.’

‘Thanks,’ I say softly.

‘You’re welcome. It was the least I could do.’
He takes the coat from me, running a hand over the black wool mix, shiny where
the fabric is worn, and then lays it carefully over his arm. ‘I’ll take it home
with me later.’

‘No,’ I say, holding out my hand for it, ‘let
me wear the coat, it will save you carrying it. I want to go home with you
anyway.’

He hands the coat back blankly. ‘You want to
come to our place?’

‘That okay?’

‘Sure,’ he agrees. ‘I was just wondering why.’

Because I
want to look round your farm to see if Jenny is being held there by your late father,
who may have risen from the grave as a zombie killer.

‘I
want to talk to Connor. To thank him for helping to save my life yesterday.’

I
shrug into the long dark coat, loving the way the sleeves are slightly too long
for my arms, and it falls almost to my knees. A bit too heavy for a summer’s
day, but maybe I’m in need of a little warmth today. I think of Hannah, and
hold back the brimming grief with difficulty.

‘Come
on,’ I say huskily, ‘let’s go.’

We
head down the stairs, and as we descend, I glance up at the closed door of
Hannah’s room. I can still smell her perfume on the air.

‘Shit,’
I mutter.

He
turns at the bottom of the stairs. ‘What?’

‘My
phone.’ I make a face. ‘I left it in my room. Go on, turn the bike round. I’ll
tell my dad I’m going out, and join you outside in a minute.’

He
says nothing, but carries on outside while I run back upstairs.

To
my surprise, I can’t take the stairs two-at-a-time as usual, and find myself
breathless at the top. But the doctor did say I might find my strength and lung
capacity would take a few days to return to normal. I did almost drown, after
all, and should probably still be in hospital.

My
phone is still on the bedside cabinet. I check it. No messages. No emails. No
notifications. That has to be a first. But Patricia did promise the school
would leave me to recover until I was ready to come back.

I
slide my phone into the deep pocket of his old coat, enjoying the padded
comfort and faint scent of his body still lingering on the dark wool. Then my
fingers close around something hard and cold at the bottom of the pocket.

Frowning, I pull the object out of his coat
pocket. It’s a school ID badge, precisely like my own, except this one is minus
its blue-and-white striped lanyard.

Miss
J. D. Crofter. Head of P.E. And there’s her miniature photograph. Smiling up at
me, next to a barcode.

It’s sunny again,
only a few soft clouds in the blue-chintz sky over the valley. A glorious day
Hannah will never see. I take a deep breath, then pull the cottage door shut
behind me. I’ve told my dad to go home to his caravan and get some sleep, that
I don’t know when I’ll be back. I had to stop myself from saying, ‘if I’ll be
back.’ What happens now is something I have to do alone. To alert the police
would be to risk Jenny’s life, assuming she is still alive. This is my fault,
has been my fault all along, and it’s up to me alone to finish it.

I
look up, try to enjoy the sun on my face; there’s a dark irony to the way the
weather has blessed us recently. The coat feels heavy on my shoulders now, too
hot for the sunshine. But I keep it on. Like a penance for not seeing the
pattern clearly until this moment.

Tris
is waiting for me on the quad bike, the engine running, his right hand keeping
the throttle open. ‘Hop in,’ he says, nodding to the small trailer behind.

I
climb in easily, and grip the sides of the trailer as he accelerates down the
lane. Sheep wool is snagged on the metal surround, and it smells of animals.
I’m jolted up and down as he turns down towards the ford, clipping the verge on
the sharp bend, but cling on stubbornly.

When
we get to the battered old sign for Hill Farm, I shout, ‘Not here,’ over the
noise of the engine, and he shifts in his seat to stare back at me. ‘Take me to
the old mill.’

He
stalls the engine, but does not restart it. ‘The old mill?’

‘Yes,
I want to see it.’

‘I
don’t think that’s such a good idea.’

‘Take
me to the old mill, Tris,’ I tell him. ‘Or let me off here and I’ll walk the
rest of the way.’

He
hesitates. ‘Ellie, there’s something I need to tell you.’

‘Don’t
bother. It’s over between us. It was over the minute Hannah died. Now take me
to the old mill.’

He
stares at me for a long moment, his eyes very dark. Then he faces front again.
Pulls in the clutch, kicks down into first, and gets the bike going. We jolt
off again like before. But the atmosphere between us has changed.

We
head down past sloping fields in full sunlight. The grass in the lower meadows
is ankle-high, dotted with patches of fresh green nettles and thistles, but
will soon be cropped once the sheep are moved down from the hills. There is
barely a breath of wind, and the mature oaks and beech trees that grow along
the stream are hanging heavy with new foliage. It is an idyllic scene, and on
any other day I would be enjoying it, admiring the beauty of the Cornish
countryside.

But
today is different.

I put my hand in the coat pocket, trace the rectangular
plastic block of Jenny’s ID badge. I think of her talking to me in the gym, whistle
dangling from a ribbon in her hand, her ID badge hanging round her neck on its
lanyard.

Why did
she go running in the woods again?

Was
Jenny lured there by someone she knew and trusted? Someone she never thought
would hurt her? Maybe two someones.