Page 33 of The Diary at the Last House Before the Sea

River snorted in disbelief. ‘So, what do you reckon? My grandfather murdered his beautiful young wife and buried her body under the apple tree in the garden?’

‘Or upstairs on the third floor.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ River pushed the diary back into Clara’s hands. ‘Edwin Brellasham wasn’t the easiest of men by all accounts. As far as I can gather, he wasn’t a great father either. But I’m sure he didn’t go around killing people.’

‘OK.’ Clara winced at her overactive imagination and tendency to speak without properly thinking things through. Geoffrey had been clear about what he'd seen. ‘Sorry. That was a step too far. But don’t you think it’s strange that Audrey has been almost airbrushed out of Brellasham family history?’

River jabbed his finger towards the painting. ‘There’s an enormous portrait of her right there in front of you.’

‘Which your grandfather refused to display. It was only put up, after he died, by your father, who was badly affected by Audrey’s death. I mean, he saw?—’

Clara stopped and bit her lip.

‘You mean he saw what?’ asked River.

‘I don’t know,’ murmured Clara.

Geoffrey’s admission that he’d seen his stepmother that fateful night had been raw and unexpected, and Clara didn’t feel right sharing it with anyone. Not even his son.

River frowned and folded his arms. ‘You’re getting too caught up in all of this, Clara. It’s not some conspiracy theory you can solve. Audrey was a woman with mental health issues. What happened back then was terribly sad and, yes, it’s a bit odd that the third floor is still kept locked and boarded up, but that will all change when this house is sold and the developers move in.’ He paused, looking pained. ‘Everything will be opened up.’

‘And any evidence will be destroyed.’

‘Evidence? Listen to yourself, Clara. You’re looking for confirmation of a crime that never happened. You need to get on with organising the fete that you’re so invested in and let the past stay where it should, in the past. This is all plain…stupid.’

Clara was winded by his telling off, and River’s face softened. ‘Look,’ he said, reaching out his hand and briefly touching her arm. ‘I don’t mean to be harsh but there’s so much going on in the here and now, why fixate on a woman who’s long dead? OK?’

Clara nodded. Perhaps he had a point and she was becoming obsessed, as her mother had warned her.

‘Does my father know about the diary?’ River suddenly asked.

‘No. My mum thought it would upset him to see it, and she didn’t want rumours about my gran being a thief – allegedly a thief – resurfacing.’

‘I can see what she means but I think he should have it, don’t you? Audrey was his stepmother, after all.’

‘Yes, I know you’re right. He deserves to have it and I will give it to him, though I might wait for the right moment, seeing as he’ll probably kick off about my gran taking the diary in the first place.’

‘It’s always best to pick your moments, I find, when dealing with my father. He’s not the easiest of men, either. Or the most understanding when people, like me, don’t measure up to his high standards.’

River tried to smile but it was so filled with pain, Clara felt a rush of protectiveness towards him.

‘He can certainly be tricky.’

‘You can say that again.’

‘He can certainly be tr?—’

‘Oh, please!’ interrupted River. ‘I thought we were both grown-ups now.’

But he laughed, which warmed Clara’s heart.

‘Anyway.’ River twisted his mouth. ‘I’d better go in search of my missing father, and I’ll see you at one o’clock tomorrow at the picnic, if not before. I imagine Bartie’s looking forward to it.’ He paused, a frown on his face. ‘Do you know much about Bartie these days? You know…about what he’s been up to? What he’s like?’

‘Not really. I hadn’t seen him for years until he arrived with you. Why?’

River shrugged. ‘No reason.’ He hesitated but then pulled himself up tall. ‘Right. Don’t stand here staring at that picture. It makes you seem weird.’

‘Understood,’ said Clara, turning her back on Audrey.

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