Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
The line went dead. I dialled her back, the call going straight through to voicemail. We had a network notification for Lily’s number, which would also give us the location, but I had that anyway, if she was telling the truth. After what happened in Afflecks, I wasn’t confident.
I called Wrigley and he answered on the first ring. “Lily’s phoned me. She says she’s trapped at her dad’s house.” Which was odd; she’d been uncomfortable referring to her parents as mum and dad, but it had rolled off her tongue. “I’m about three miles away. I’ll head straight over.”
“Don’t go in there without back up. Wait on the main road – Vinny, get your arse up to Thornley End – Mia, do not go inside. Mia - ”
The reception dipped out, either side of the road shaded with tall, thick trees and a lack of residential properties requiring it. I was working off my sense of direction rather than sat nav, not having had the chance to programme it in and I didn’t have the oxygen in my lungs to say it out loud.
The roads felt like they’d been stretched, the car feeling like it couldn’t accelerate any more, the bends and turns limiting my speed.
I drove past the tiny centre of Thornley End, the church squat in its yard, like it was part of a picture off a chocolate box or a jigsaw.
The idyllic English countryside where secrets were buried between foxgloves and laburnum.
I parked up in the same spot as previously, the blackened bricks of Roselea looming through lush leaves as the wind rushed through them, dappled sunlight dancing on the dry ground.
Birdsong echoed from the bushes and branches, and I wondered whether anyone would notice if I sat down for five minutes and just was, no need to use words or even think, just to be.
The idea of a holiday was becoming more appealing, but I pushed fantasies of the French countryside and old castles to the side as I carried on towards Roselea.
A couple of messages came through to my phone, service catching briefly.
One told me that Lily had been seen on camera yesterday evening; we knew she was alive and not locked in somewhere.
The second was Wrigley, telling me Vinny and a team were on their way, and I was not, under any circumstances, to enter Roselea.
But we all knew I was never very good at following instructions.
There were no vehicles other than mine, so if Lily was here, she’d come on foot.
If she was here, then why? Had she been back here before, but if she had, it would oppose what she said about how she felt about her past. Being here would dredge up memories, even inaccurate ones, from the night of the first fire and her childhood.
The windows were clouded with grime, unseeing and dull. The door strapped closed with metal bars, but anyone with any motivation could’ve found a way through.
I checked my phone again, no signal. No way to call Lily. No way to call anyone.
The gates keened as I pushed them open, no attempt made to secure them, opening to a view of a garden that had been left to design itself. Oaks and sycamores, poplars and laurel provided a layered canopy, vast undergrowth hiding under their shade, the rustling of leaves not just from the breeze.
At the back of the house was an old patio, one I was now familiar with. Signs of the forensics team lingered, the area around the outhouse covered with soot and broken glass, a dropped chocolate wrapper and tissue, probably from a careless cop’s pocket.
There was a stillness to empty places that could be felt in your bones, a sense of being unwelcome because nonhuman things had taken over and they weren’t interested in guests or invaders. But the stillness I expected wasn’t there.
My skin felt like it was crawling, the back of my head felt pinpricks, and I was convinced I wasn’t alone here. I took the brick steps up to the back doors and peered through the window that was no longer boarded up.
Dust and ash and decaying furniture. Lives ended here, even for the ones who kept on living. The door to the kitchen had been blocked up by a piece of metal, but that was now loose, pulled away. Someone had been here.
Maybe someone was still here.
I slowed my breathing, something taking me back to gymnastics competitions when I was fourteen and about to perform the vault, the focus I needed, a way to block out the judges and people watching.
When I was fourteen, I was training most weekends, until it stopped.
When Lily was fourteen, she was in a secure psychiatric unit.
There but for the grace of god.
I pulled the metal off the wall, a task easier than it should’ve been, but I didn’t enter that way.
Always have two exits.
My heartbeat took over my body.
There was another door at the side of the house, what would’ve been the tradesman’s entrance, up a flight of steps where the stone had been worn by footsteps over a century.
The door hadn’t been secured, and it didn’t take much jiggling of the handle to open it, although if anyone was in the house, they’d now know they had company.
I left the door open, the light illuminating dancing particles of dust. Footsteps on floorboards, the creak of wood straining under my weight.
I moved fluidly, years of gymnastics and dance training embedded in my muscles.
Move light, move with the air, toe-heel and grace.
I heard my dance teacher’s voice, calling out steps from the side of the stage as we rehearsed and I heard the voice of my gymnastics instructor, the man who lived in my head with a bounty on his.
But the voice I heard now wasn’t his. It was my name, falling down the stairs and through the hallways of the house, the first syllable dragged out as if it was being sung.
Lily.
I resisted the urge to run, adrenaline kicking in, but the part of my brain that thrived off it counteracting impulsivity.
Slowly, slowly. Listening for everything. Old houses moved with the earth as well as their whispers, sometimes covering for someone who was trying to remain unseen.
“Meee – a.”
Clearer. Closer.
“Meee – a.” The last syllable was shorter, as if she was losing patience.
I climbed to the top floor, aware of the lack of stability in some of the floorboards, damage from the fire and then the years since, listening for another set of steps because I didn’t know where Stefan Taylor was, but I knew what he was capable of.
“Mia. Is that you?”
I saw her tied to a bedpost, sitting on the floor with her hands behind her back, rope entwining her to the bed and her feet tied together. Kernmantle rope.
“Lily. What’s happened?” I moved into the room, taking up a position where my back was to the wall so I could see both her and the door.
“Can you untie me?” Her voice quivered but there was no sign of tears.
“I will in a moment. Who tied you up?” I was still not clearer whether she was friend or foe.
“The boy who set the fire at my parents. The boy who told me to.” Then the tears fell.
“Stefan Taylor.”
“Yes! How did you know his name?”
“I’m a detective. It’s what I do. How did you get here, Lily?”
She kept looking at the doorway. “Stefan. He told me to meet him here.”
“So how did you get here? Where’s your van?”
“At the back of the old pub. I met him in the graveyard. It was him that night; I was with him and he said we could make sure I didn’t have to live here anymore.
That if they were dead, I could live with a nice family who wouldn’t make me do chores all the time and would let me have a mobile phone.
Then I could message him and even video call him, and I loved Stefan.
He was nice to me, Mia. He brought me gifts.
” She was smiling and her face was shining as she spoke about him.
“What gifts did he bring you?”
“Sweets and chocolate and things for my hair. I couldn’t wear them; my parents didn’t like me dressing up.
My dad wanted us to join a church; he thought The Holding didn’t teach enough about how we should live just off the land.
He thought Roselea should be the church and we should have retreats where people came and worked the land, only living off what we had here.
” She looked around the room, across the walls and to the wardrobe.
“This was my bedroom. It hasn’t really changed. ”
“It’s very simple.” That was an understatement. “Did you have pictures on the walls?”
“No. I wasn’t allowed as they weren’t necessary, unless I painted my own. My dad approved of that.” She pulled against the bedpost. “We need to get out of here. You need to untie me.”
“Why did Stefan tie you up?” I heard a creak I was sure wasn’t the house moving. There was someone nearby, someone on this floor.
“Because he wants to keep us together. Like he always promised.” She was oddly serene again.
“Here at Roselea?”
“Yes. Do you know this is where my dad and brothers died?”
“I do.” I needed to make a decision about whether to untie her. I checked my phone, still no reception. Vinny would be around twenty-five minutes away. “What happened that night?”
“I was out with Stefan, and we decided to set the fire. He told me what to do and we did it, and then we ran off and got in his dad’s car because Stefan could drive it.
” She was still smiling. “I was so happy, but he told me to get out of the car and wait in the churchyard and then the police came.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone what happened?”
“Because Stefan told me not to. So I didn’t say anything.” She pulled at the ropes. “Untie me, Mia.”
“Was it you who locked me in the toilets in Afflecks?” I started to untie her feet first, the knot loose and easy, surprisingly easy.
“I had to.”
“Why?”
“Because it was Stefan following me and I didn’t want you to see him. I didn’t know it was him. I’d forgotten what he looked like.” She stretched out her legs, wriggling her toes.
Her hands were tied loosely, and I wondered if she could’ve freed herself and why she hadn’t. As soon as I had the rope, I moved backwards, away from her, trust gossamer thin.