CHAPTER 33
I close the biography as the train approaches Bath Spa station, my mind reeling.
Dorothea was famously single. How could she have had a husband that nobody knew about? I remember her telling me and my mum that she’d never been married when we stayed with her.
Robert Falkner. RF. Was the lighter his?
An unwanted scene from my childhood suddenly pops into my memory.
Me, in bed, trying and failing to block out the sound of my parents arguing downstairs after a night out with the neighbours.
‘It was the way you spoke to him,’ my dad ranted.
‘All flirty, like. All …’ He put on a high-pitched voice that was supposed to be an imitation of Mum, ‘Karl, you’re so funny.
And Karl, that’s such a good point. It’s obvious something’s going on between the two of you. ’
My mum, pleading, telling him it’s not true, that he’s just the neighbour who happens to be married to Val.
That it’s him she loves. Over and over again, his accusations, her denials.
And then the inevitable sound of something being thrown and then a fist slamming the table, escalating to him using her as a punchbag.
And me, hiding under the covers, not protecting her.
Not doing anything to help or to stop it, even though I knew what was going on.
A coward. I was a coward. And then I remember another conversation, in Dorothea’s studio, where I admitted to her how I felt I’d failed my mum and she had taken my hands in hers and assured me I wasn’t a coward, that I was just a scared little girl who had felt powerless.
Dorothea was the one who built me up, gave me the confidence and the belief in myself.
I spent years after that, fighting for justice, exposing corruption through my job, and now I owed it to Dorothea to do the same for her.
Josh has never hit me. He’s never hit me.
He’s never hit me. He’s not my father. I don’t need to feel afraid to go home.
I repeat this to myself as I step off the train and onto the platform.
I almost expect to see Josh, rigid with anger, waiting to make sure I’m not lying about being alone, but he’s not around – that I can see anyway.
I check my Find My app and see that Josh is at work in Filton.
And then I look again. I’m mistaken. He’s in Filton, yes, but not at work. He’s in our old flat.
I can’t get rid of this anxious, twitchy feeling all the way home in the taxi.
When I get in, Solly greets me eagerly and I make a fuss of him and then change into Dorothea’s old hiking boots and take him for a walk across the fields.
I trudge over the uneven ground and then stand looking over the views of Bath in the distance.
I inhale deeply, trying to breathe the stress away, to rid myself of this nerve-jangly feeling.
The sky has darkened as I head back and thunder rolls overhead.
I’m on high alert for any sounds of motorbikes, or footsteps, thinking how lonely this little area on the outskirts of a city centre can be with its winding lanes and narrow passageways, hills and woods.
It starts to rain as I pass Dennis’s house and I decide to pop in to check on him.
I turn into his gate, pulling the hood of my rain mac up over my hair.
His old Skoda is in the driveway but he could be taking Cady for a walk.
I head around to the side of his house, where the entrance is, and then freeze.
I can just make out the back of someone peeking around the corner from the side return to his garden.
He is crouched low, and a big waxed coat like the sort fishermen wear is pulled up, obscuring his head.
Is this the same guy who attacked Dennis before?
Is he lying in wait, hoping to pounce as soon as Dennis leaves his house?
Solly pulls at the lead and I get out my mobile and find Dennis’s number. I quickly punch out a text. MAN OUTSIDE YOUR HOUSE. DON’T COME OUT. CALL POLICE.
I continue to back away, inwardly praying that Solly doesn’t bark or alert the person crouching in front of us that we are here.
Solly, thankfully, backs away with me. I hope Dennis is calling the police but he might not see my text.
I back out the driveway, almost bumping into the Skoda.
And that’s when I notice the motorbike almost hidden by the hedge.
Fear seizes me. I need to do something. I call DI Shirley straight away.
‘Imogen? Are you okay?’
I explain the situation as quickly and quietly as I can.
‘Don’t put yourself in danger. I’m sending a car,’ she says before hanging up.
I don’t know what to do now. I don’t want to leave Dennis but at the same time I don’t want to put myself in danger.
Coward.
The thought pops into my head with the force of a bully’s taunt. If I’d been less of a coward my mum might still be alive. I should have kicked up a stink when she told me we were leaving Dorothea’s house and going back home. To him. I should have done more.
We stand there, Solly and me, on the edge of Dennis’s driveway.
Where are the police? From my viewpoint I can still make out the figure, no longer crouching but now standing to reveal his full height.
He is tall, and broad. I watch in dismay as he rounds the corner and disappears from view into Dennis’s back garden.
I begin to pace nervously. And then, thankfully, a police car turns up and two uniformed officers step out.
‘He’s over there,’ I cry, pointing wildly in the direction of the back garden.
Without saying anything they rush off around the side of the house and I wait, hoping that the man hasn’t broken in or tried to attack Dennis. Is this really all linked to Dorothea? The whole thing doesn’t make sense.
And then I see the man in the fisherman’s waterproof being led around the side of the house, flanked by the officers. It’s not until they get closer that I see the man’s face. He looks up at me with surprise and I gasp.
It’s Harry.