Page 66 of The Vow
Then we’re almost there, driving up another section of the Downs, before we turn into the lane. Slowing down, Cath parks outside our house, then sits there for a moment. ‘I don’t mind waiting out here – unless there’s anything you’d like me to do?’
I look at her. ‘I don’t really know what I’m looking for – but if we both look, maybe we’ve a better chance of finding something.’
As I get out of her car, I fish in my pocket for my keys, my resolve strengthening, knowing for my mother’s sake, we have to find something. Unlocking the door, when I push it open, a cold, alien feeling overcomes me. It feels like forever since I was last here. Picking up the post lying on the doormat, I push the door further open and go inside, Cath following me towards the kitchen. It’s untidy, the floor needs sweeping, with plates and mugs left all over the place. Glancing through the post, apart from one letter addressed to Matt, most of it’s formy mother. Leaving the letters on the table, I make a mental note to pick them up later.
Torn between clearing up and searching the house, I turn to Cath. ‘Is there any chance you could help me tidy – just a bit? Even if we put the dishwasher on, it would be a start.’
But as I start clearing the table, Cath turns around. ‘Leave the kitchen to me, Jess. Why don’t you look upstairs?’
While she makes a start, I walk out of the kitchen, glancing into the living room where the vile painting of Matt’s is still in place on the wall. Silently I make my way upstairs, but halfway up, I’m struck inexplicably with unease. At the top, I head for my mother’s room, taking in the clothes and shoes strewn across the bed and carpet, all of it Matt’s stuff. Maybe she was about to get rid of it or perhaps the police have gone through everything? Anger rises in me. Suddenly I want every trace of him out of here. When I hurry downstairs, Cath looks up in surprise.
My voice is tight. ‘I need some plastic bags. I’m getting rid of Matt’s clothes.’
*
Knowing the police will have gone through Matt’s pockets, as my mother will have before them, even so, I check again, then roughly fold each item, filling the first bag, then another, until the bed is clear, then the floor. Then I go to the wardrobe. As I open the door, something falls out, startling me so that I cry out, as I realise how on edge I am. Picking up the coat that must have fallen off its hanger, all that’s left is a holdall that’s on a shelf. Pulling it out and finding it empty, I shove it into another bag, trying to think. If anything was hidden in this house, where would it be?
Methodically I check my mother’s chest of drawers, but otherthan clothes and the trace of her lingering scent, there’s nothing to find. Then slowly I go to my own room. If someone’s still trying to hurt my mother, the next obvious target is me.
*
It’s late by the time we get back to Zoe’s. Upstairs in my room, I shower, wanting to wash away any trace of today, then pull on a t-shirt and jogging bottoms. Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I reach for my bag and search inside for my mother’s post.
There’s a load of junk mail and what looks like a couple of bills. But then I frown. The letter for Matt isn’t there. In all the upset of calling the police, I must have left it behind in the kitchen. Then my mind is racing again. I’ve been so caught up in searching the house, I’ve completely forgotten about Allie – or Fiona, as she now calls herself.
‘Jess?’
Hearing Zoe’s voice call from downstairs, I jump up, fetching my laptop and taking it with me. In the kitchen, she’s already serving up bowls of curry and rice, and a plate of warm naan bread.
‘This looks amazing.’ As Cath joins us, she glances at my laptop. ‘You’re still busy, Jess?’
‘I need to see what I can find out about Fiona.’ But there’s more. I need to look for anything about Kimberley, if there are any news cuttings from that time; any links between my mother, Fiona, Matt. Frowning, I look up. ‘Where can you look up old newspaper reports?’
‘You could try online?’ Zoe suggests. ‘There are archives, too. But that’s where I’d start. About Fiona … do you know anything about her?’
When I shake my head, she goes on. ‘It’s just that one ofNick’s golfing friends is a lawyer – in Brighton. I’m sure he’d do some digging if you wanted him to.’
At the prospect of more help, relief fills me. ‘That would be amazing.’
‘I tell you what.’ Zoe sits down opposite me with her phone. ‘I’ll text Nick now. I think James is with him in the Algarve. What did you say her name was?’
‘Fiona Rose. She used to be known as Allie Macklin. The name of the girl who died is Kimberley Preston, in case he needs that.’ Hardly able to believe she’s doing this, I take a mouthful of curry. ‘Thanks.’
*
After we’ve eaten, I take myself off to one of the armchairs in the sitting room. Opening my laptop, I google Allie Macklin. Then out of curiosity, I google Matthew Roche and a list of headlines come up. ‘Local man missing,’ and ‘Missing man suspected murdered.’
Sitting there, I try to think. Then slowly I start to type into the search bar.Kimberley Preston 1996 teenager death.
Even though it happened over twenty years ago, there are links to news articles and screenshots of newspaper front pages, but it’s no surprise that the death of a teenager would have been headline news. As I read about the parents of Kimberley Preston, instead of dissociated names, they become my family: Kimberley my aunt, her parents my grandparents. People I’ve never met, a chapter of her life my mother rarely talks about. And at last, after all this time, I understand why. In the aftermath of Kimberley’s death, their lives must have been devastated.
I focus on a photo of an elderly woman, grief clearly written in her eyes, in the lines of her skin. Kimberley’s grandmother –my mother’s grandmother, more family I’ve never known about. Then I find another photo of happier times, of my mother and Kimberley, with their parents.
As I continue searching, another story comes up. This time it isn’t a headline, but mentions Charlie Brooks, who after losing his girlfriend, Kimberley Preston, hung himself from a tree in the garden where she’d died. Realising it must have happened in our garden, shock hits me. It’s as my mother said, one reckless action from which waves of heartbreak rippled; are still rippling, even today.
While I’m searching, Rik texts me from Falmouth.Miss you.It’s followed by a line of red hearts. I text him back.Miss you too xx Will fill you in on everything xxx.
Zoe comes back into the kitchen. ‘Jess? I just heard from Nick. When James gets a chance, he’s happy to look into this. He couldn’t say when, but he’ll be in touch with you when he’s back.’
