Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
KAT
The next note appears on Monday, lying on my doormat beneath the letterbox as I come out to grab a cup of coffee. Another plain white envelope with my name on it in the same block capitals as the others. I stand in the living room in my socks, looking at it for a long time before I pick it up.
Inside, a single card with four words in red.
I was there too.
My legs give, and I sink to the floor, sitting there with the card in my hands and the envelope on the floor while I tremble. I hoped whoever it was had given up, but he’s back.
I was there too.
The confirmation that he’s someone who saw exactly what happened.
That afternoon in the woods, and whatever they saw, they’ve been carrying it for fourteen years the same way I have, and now they want me to know that they know. Why?
Why not call the police? Why all the scaring me?
I call Liam to let him know, and it’s a good thing Ellie’s already left, as there’s no stopping him from coming over.
He’s here in twenty minutes, all clenched fists and rage. ‘He was right here; if I hadn’t left to shower, I might have caught him.’
‘You’re not to blame.’
I pass him the card, and he reads it without speaking. The card bends where he holds it so tightly.
‘I was there too,’ he mutters. More to himself than to me.
‘He’s not going to stop, is he?’ I pull my knees up to my chest. ‘How did we miss someone being there?’
‘We were just scared kids.’
‘I didn’t see anyone,’ I press. ‘Would your dad have had anyone with him?’
He’s quiet for a moment before shrugging. ‘I guess, he might have.’
‘Let’s go over what we remember,’ he says, sliding down beside me and wrapping an arm around my shoulder. ‘The whole afternoon. Everything you remember.’
It’s so long ago that the day is murky. Over the past years, I’ve tried so hard to avoid going back to that last day, trying to stay in the good times with Liam.
I close my eyes.
‘Your father had been gone most of the day,’ I say.
‘I’d seen his car heading past our house on the dirt road that morning.
I waited until Martha was busy before heading out to find you.
I’d been waiting for a chance to get back to you since Martha caught me peeping through the window. It must have been a week at least.’
‘I remember.’
‘You were by the well, throwing stones in when I found you, and I told you why I hadn’t been around.
You were mad that I saw what I did, I think.
You were bruised around your face, dark and purple.
I hated your father then. I sat with you for a long time, and we shared a bag of crisps I’d pinched from home.
And we talked, or I talked really, and I told you I was going to find a way to help you. ’
‘You said that maybe I could be your brother,’ he says.
My throat tightens. ‘And you—’
‘I kissed you,’ he says. Low. ‘It was all I knew of affection, the physical side. I didn’t understand it.’
‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘I’m still forever grateful you were my first kiss.’
He takes my hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of my fingers.
‘Then he came home and found us.’ I feel sick when I remember the way his dad had looked at us. He’d seen the kiss, I think. It made me feel sick. ‘He grabbed me, and you bit him.’
‘I couldn’t protect myself, but I knew I couldn’t let him hurt you the way he hurt me.’
‘And after he punched you, he came after me, and I ran, and he was faster than I expected, but he caught me when I circled back. Right next to the well.’
‘I tried to hurt him again, hitting him with a loose branch. But I wasn’t strong enough, and he laughed. When he hit me again, he let you go. I still remember how much the kicks to my ribs hurt.’
‘I started running to get help, but when I looked back, there was blood all over your face. I thought that he’d kill you if I left.’ I take a breath. ‘So I ran at him, and I pushed him over the wall of the well.’
‘I still can’t believe all it took was a shove for him to die. I thought about killing him so many times.’
‘There was that terrible crack, and then silence. Nothing but birdsong and our perfect forest. If someone was there, they had to be in the trees. But I can’t remember seeing or hearing anyone.’
‘There are so many spaces where someone could have hidden.’
‘Exactly.’ I look at him. ‘But how did they get there?’
He’s still for a moment.
‘My dad had to have brought him back to the cottage,’ he says. ‘A child to make me play his games with.’
Despite him being long dead, I hate his father with renewed energy.
I think about the cottage. The boys were in the middle of that terrible room, and the men were around the edges with their drinks.
‘It’s possible,’ he says. ‘I don’t know. I don’t remember anyone.’ He looks at his hands. ‘I tried so hard to forget.’
I grip his hand. ‘It’s okay.’
I was there too.
‘Martha didn’t send them, and my parents never knew. It has to be either one of your dad’s friends or one of the kids. But why would they want to hurt me?’
‘Revenge,’ he says.
‘But why? They couldn’t have known me. I was just some kid who shoved your dad in the well. If it were an adult, you’d think they would have told the police if they cared this much. And if it was a kid, you’d think they wanted your father dead too.’
‘Martha knew what was happening in that cottage, maybe others did too. She was protecting my father’s reputation and her position. She feels guilty over not helping. Maybe this person does too. Or thinks I should.’
My head aches.
‘So,’ I say. ‘Not Martha and not Greg. You’re sure about Greg?’
‘I’m sure.’ I want to quiz him more on how he knows, but the way he says it is definitive. Hope he’s not dead. Kind of.
‘But how did he find me?’
‘You’re pretty unforgettable, to be fair. Maybe he saw you on social media, or somehow figured out who lived nearby and found you via your name at university.’
‘Or he recognised something about me that he knew from before.’
My hand goes to the stone at my throat.
We both look at it.
‘The necklace,’ he says.
‘It’s not exactly common,’ I say. ‘A heart-shaped stone on a cord. If someone who was there that day saw it—’
‘They’d know,’ he says.
Fuck.
‘How’s your list going? Anyone connected to your father? Any names you can remember from that summer?’
He unfolds a paper from his pocket; it’s less a list of names than a list of descriptions. Boys, men, the occasional girl. People he saw once, others who were more familiar. Some of the men have first names, but none of the boys does.
‘I guess we start with the men. Martha told me that some of my dad’s friends were involved, including one of the local policemen. Maybe we can search the old paper and news?’
‘We’ll find him, Kat,’ Liam says, pulling me against him. ‘And when we do, he’ll never torment anyone again.’
There he goes again, threatening permanent consequences.
‘You mean it?’
‘I do.’
And the thrill that runs through me is one that’s both dark and deliciously warm.