What She Saw: A gripping psychological thriller with a heart-pounding twist Read online

  They sat in silence for a while, then Mrs Snowdon pushed back her chair. The sound of its legs scraping on the tiles set Beth’s teeth on edge. She watched as her teacher started putting her paintings back into the folder.

  ‘I’m not going to say anything this time, Beth, but if it happens again, I shan’t be able to turn a blind eye. I want you to know, though, that any time you need to talk, I’m always happy to listen. There are some big personalities in Year 11 and I could give you some strategies that might help in dealing with them.’

  Beth stood up. ‘Can I go now?’

  Mrs Snowdon looked surprised. ‘Yes, Beth, of course you can. I’m sorry to have made you miss some of your break time.’ She picked up the picture of the eagle and looked at it for a moment before slipping it into the folder with the others. ‘Oh, and about the competition. I’ll understand if you don’t want to submit your paintings, but it would be a shame not to. It really is a wonderful opportunity. Have a think about it.’

  ‘I will.’

  There were ten minutes of break left and, if Beth was lucky, she still might have a chance to talk to Keira. Leaving Mrs Snowdon to set up for her next lesson, Beth hurried back along the corridor. When she got outside, she stood on the top step and looked out at the sea of pupils in their maroon blazers. Where was Keira? It was a while since she’d spent a break time outside and, as she walked between the chatting groups, she began to feel more and more uncomfortable. She had nothing in common with the girls, with their expensively highlighted hair and plummy voices.

  She was just about to give up her search when she spotted the back of Keira’s head. With a smile, she started to walk towards her, but it was only when she got nearer that she saw Keira wasn’t alone. Carina and Charlotte were with her. They were sitting on a low wall, which was why she hadn’t noticed them. She stopped in her tracks, hoping that they hadn’t seen her, but they had. Carina lifted her blonde head and smiled and, as if at some invisible signal, Keira turned around too.

  Unsure of what to do, Beth stood there. For one ridiculous moment, she thought that Keira might help her out but, when she looked at her, Keira wouldn’t meet her eyes and a telltale redness had started to creep up her neck under her ponytail.

  What came next didn’t surprise Beth. She saw its inevitability in the moments before it happened. Carina flung her arms out wide, then flapped them as though she were a bird.

  Beth’s palms began to sweat and she waited. Just get it over with.

  Raising her voice to the soprano of a Disney princess, Carina pressed her hands to her chest and sang. ‘My heart soars like an eagle when you smile.’

  The crush of betrayal was too much. She’d shown Keira that poem in good faith. Unable to hear any more, Beth turned and walked away. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her misery.

  Seven

  Leona

  Sunlight picks out the last of the yellow daffodils that are growing on the steep slope behind the house, but the backyard is in shadow, so I’ve turned on the strips of fluorescent lighting in my workshop. I’ve got the radio on and the song I’m singing along to is something from the charts.

  In front of me on the bench is the pair of silver earrings I’ve just finished making. They are in the shape of leaves, fine strands of silver criss-crossing to look like delicate veins. I’m just attaching the hooks when my phone rings. It’s Scott.

  ‘Hi, babe. Can you do me a favour?’

  Scott’s voice fades in and out. He’s taken a group up to Helvellyn and I’m surprised that there’s any signal at all. I remember, two years ago, hearing how a young man fell down that mountainside. His walking partner had found him unconscious six hundred feet from the path, but had been unable to use his mobile. By the time he’d found help and the rescue team had arrived, it was too late. It’s a story I try to push from my mind when Scott’s out on the fells.

  ‘What is it, Scott? I can hardly hear you.’

  ‘I forgot to take the—’ All I can hear is static.

  ‘The what?’

  The phone goes dead, then after a few minutes, it rings again. ‘I’ll speak quickly in case we’re cut off again. Would you mind taking the lawnmower round to Mum’s? Her old petrol one’s packed up and I said she could borrow ours until she can get a new one. I would have done it yesterday but forgot all about it.’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind. I’ll go later this afternoon. I’ve got to make a delivery to a lady in Ambleside, so I can go on after.’

  ‘Thanks, love.’

  The phone cuts out again and I shove it back into my pocket before starting to clear up my workbench. As I do, I smile at the thought of seeing Scott’s mother. I liked her the very first time Scott introduced me to her, and I know Fay has a soft spot for me too. Sometimes when I visit, she’ll have baked her delicious pecan brownies specially, knowing how much I love them. It won’t happen today, though, as she’s not expecting me.

  Picking up the leaf earrings, I hold them up to the light and inspect them. They are one of my more popular designs and, this week alone, I’ve made six pairs. If things carry on the way they have been, I’ll soon be able to afford to rent a workshop in Ambleside – one with a small shop attached. How I’m looking forward to the day when I’ll no longer be reliant on the money that goes into my bank each month. Money that Scott knows nothing about.

  I carefully lay the earrings onto the pad that sits inside the little blue box I’ve just got out of the drawer. Leona Designs is written on the lid in silver. If anyone had asked me what I’d be doing when I was thirty-seven, a jewellery designer wouldn’t have even been on my list, but I’ve taken some courses and it’s something I know I’m good at. As I close the lid, I think how strange it is that it was Ria who made it all possible.

  At the thought of her, my stomach clenches and the feeling of contentment leaves me. Last night I woke up again to a racing heart, sweat drenching my nightdress and that same feeling of dread I’d had before. Unable to face the darkness in the room, I’d stumbled out of bed and opened the curtains, trying not to wake Scott. I hadn’t managed it though and, when he’d asked me if I was all right, I’d made up a story of a bad dream which he’d had no reason to disbelieve. He’d lifted the duvet and I’d climbed back in, resting my head against the dark hairs of his chest and feeling grateful for the warm comfort of his body. But, even as he pulled me close and stroked my hair, I knew that it would be a long time before I managed to sleep again.

  ‘Damn you, Ria!’ I hadn’t meant to say the words aloud, and the sound of my voice echoes inside the empty space of the workroom. Is this how my life is going to be now? I put the boxes, containing the jewellery I’ll be delivering, into carrier bags with the same simple silver writing on them, then let myself out of the workshop.

  Our cottage is on the end of the terrace, the rest being holiday rentals and weekend homes. As the season hasn’t started properly yet, it’s the only one occupied, but in a few weeks the cottages will start to fill up. The shared grass area at the front is bare too, but by June, the holidaymakers will have unfolded their green canvas chairs and will be sitting, glass in hand, watching the sun set behind the mountains. If they see me, they’ll raise their chilled white wine in greeting and I’ll feel obliged to ask them about their day and listen politely as they talk about the walk they’ve just done or the museum they’ve visited. The path that runs along the outside of the cottages will be littered with their walking boots.

  Scott has taken on the job of unofficial grass cutter and the lawnmower is in a shed near where my car is parked. I lift it into the boot and, as I’m doing so, a flash of white catches my eye under the hedge at the side of the drive. On closer inspection, I see it’s a carrier bag and, when I pull it out and open it, I find it stuffed full of clothes: a pair of walking boots, a navy hooded top, a pair of jeans and an old walking jacket. I recognise them all as Beth’s. I wonder what they’re doing there.

  Thinking I’ll ask her later, I reverse
out of my parking space and drive away. In the rear-view mirror, I watch the house with its grey slate walls and small-paned windows get smaller and, as I leave it behind, I get the feeling, once again, that the past is about to catch up with me.

  Pushing the thought away, I pass through the village, then drive the three miles to Skelwith Bridge, where I take the road to Ambleside. It doesn’t take long to drop off the jewellery, leaving me free to go to Fay’s house. She lives in a white flat-fronted house in Birch Road and, when I get there, she’s in the garden at the side of the house, taking in her washing.

  ‘Leona. What a lovely surprise!’ She greets me with a kiss, then holds me at arm’s length. ‘Are those dark circles I see under your eyes? I hope you haven’t been overdoing things.’

  I must be looking particularly rough for her to comment like that and I hope against hope that she won’t start asking me any awkward questions.

  ‘I’ve not been sleeping too well,’ I tell her. Deliberately making my tone light. ‘Mice in the roof.’

  ‘Little blighters,’ she says, with a rueful shake of the head. ‘That’s what comes of choosing to live in the back of beyond.’

  ‘I’d hardly call Church Langdon the back of beyond, Fay.’

  ‘It is to me. Come on, I’ll make us some tea.’

  She goes back into the house and I follow her in, taking a seat at the kitchen table. She fills a kettle and takes a couple of mugs off the mug tree. ‘How’s Beth?’

  ‘She’s fine. Why do you ask?’

  ‘No particular reason,’ she says, dropping teabags into the mugs. ‘I just like to know my family are well and happy. Has she got a boyfriend yet?’

  ‘Goodness, Fay, she’s fifteen for heaven’s sake. There’s plenty of time for that. Besides, anyone interested in Beth would have to sit a three-hour exam on how to treat her well if Scott had anything to do with it. I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes.’

  ‘Scott might be a bear of a man,’ Fay says, putting a mug in front of me. ‘But inside he’s a pussy cat.’

  I laugh, thinking of how safe I feel in his arms. ‘You’re right there.’

  It was his gentleness that had first attracted me to him all those years ago, that and his warm brown eyes and the thick dark hair he always wore a little too long. It wasn’t long after I’d moved to Church Langdon from Carlisle. I was in an outdoor clothing shop in Ambleside, trying on fleeces, and Scott had been standing next to me, testing the weight of walking poles in his outstretched hands. When he’d dropped one, the clang as it hit the hard floor had made me jump and when his eyes met mine, I’d found it hard to look away again.

  ‘He adores her, you know.’ Fay is looking at me, her hands wrapped around her mug.

  ‘Of course, I know. She loves him too. What’s brought all this on?’

  She looks away. ‘Oh, I don’t know. It would have been my anniversary today and I suppose I’m just being sentimental.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, touching her arm. ‘I should have remembered.’ Scott’s father died when he was a boy and since that time, according to Scott, Fay has never so much as looked at another man. It’s a shame as I know she’d make someone very happy.

  ‘I wouldn’t expect you to, darling. It just makes me think about you and Scott… Your situation.’

  ‘Our situation?’ I find it hard to believe she used that term. ‘I presume you’re talking about the fact we’re not married?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to be?’

  I can’t believe she’s asking me this. Doesn’t she know me at all? ‘No.’

  The abruptness of my answer seems to shock her. ‘Forget I said anything, love. It’s not really any of my business.’

  I force a smile. Wondering why this has come up now. ‘You know we don’t hold with marriage, Fay. We love each other and that’s all that matters.’

  ‘And you’re certain Scott feels the same about it?’

  I’m stunned into silence. He hasn’t said anything to me recently and I’d just presumed he’d accepted the way things were.

  ‘Has Scott said something to you?’

  She hesitates. ‘Of course not.’

  Getting up from the table, she walks over to the cupboard and pulls out a cake tin with a picture of a West Highland Terrier on it. She takes off the lid and I know, from the delicious smell, what’s in there.

  ‘Would you like one?’ she says, offering it to me. ‘I made them specially.’

  As soon as she says it, she realises her error. Her face falls and she puts the tin down on the table.

  ‘You knew I was coming, didn’t you, Fay? It was Scott who put you up to this.’

  The brownies sit between us in their tin, evidence of his deception. What was he thinking of, enlisting his mother to do his talking for him?

  Fay looks away, embarrassed. ‘He loves you, Leona, and he wants to make it official. You can’t blame him for that.’

  ‘No, but I can blame him for not talking about it to me first.’ I fight to keep my frustration in check. After all, it’s not Fay’s fault. ‘I think I’d better go. I’ll just get the lawnmower out of the boot.’ I look at the car through the window, realising it probably won’t be necessary.

  Fay guesses what I’m thinking. ‘It’s true I asked Scott if I could borrow the lawnmower. He didn’t make it up.’

  ‘Well, that’s something then.’ I don’t want to argue with her as she’s the nearest thing I have to a mother now. Instead, I take a breath and smile. ‘I’ll put it in the garage, if you like.’

  ‘That would be kind of you. Thank you.’

  Wanting to make amends, I reach into the tin and take out one of the brownies. It’s rich and chocolatey, but I can’t enjoy it. Not when Scott’s given me something else to worry about. Finishing it quickly, I dust the crumbs off my lap, then stand up.

  ‘I’ll see you soon, Fay.’

  I’m about to put on my coat when she comes around the table and takes my hand in both of hers. She’s a head shorter than me and it’s hard to believe that, at six foot three, Scott is her son.

  ‘Don’t be too hard on him, dear,’ she says, her forehead creased into a frown. ‘He only wants to look after you.’

  I don’t answer but let myself out, wondering how she’d feel if I told her that I’d had enough people looking after me to last me a lifetime.

  * * *

  When I get back home, there’s still a coil of anger inside me. Instead of going back to my workroom and getting on with something, I pace the living room, picking things up and putting them down again, seeing it through my family’s eyes. There are too many cushions on the settee. Some have ruffled edges, others patchwork covers: an assortment collected from charity shops and flea markets. None of them match any of the others or the floral cover of the settee. In fact, the whole room is a hotchpotch of colours and textures. Without realising it, I’ve turned the small stone cottage into my own personal Aladdin’s cave. Scott jokes that I’m in danger of becoming a hoarder, but every item is precious to me.

  In my hand is a white china duck, its body decorated with a daisy chain of blue flowers. I bought it in a craft shop in Grasmere and it sits on the mantelpiece alongside two brass candle sticks and a carved wooden elephant. Stroking the duck’s shiny back, I look out of the window wishing Beth would come home, needing her company. But her bus isn’t due for another half an hour and even when she gets home, there’s no guarantee what mood she’ll be in.

  Feeling nostalgic for the closeness we once shared, I put the duck back on the mantelpiece and go upstairs, thinking that I might sort out some washing. As my workshop takes up most of the backyard, and the kitchen is too small for a tumble dryer, clothing hangs from airers in front of the radiators. Picking up the empty washing basket from the bathroom, I take it into my bedroom and start lifting the clothes from the rails.

  The window is at the front of the house and looks out across the top of Blackstone Farm to Langdon Fell. The view is the first thing Scott and I se
e when we wake up each morning and I never tire of it. There’s a deep window seat in front of it and I sit there, trying to conjure up the feeling of peace that the view usually gives me. It won’t come, though. I can’t get Fay’s words out of my head. They go round and round like a song I’ve heard too many times on the radio. He wants to make it official. You can’t blame him for that.

  A wave of insecurity washes over me. Scott’s asked me before, but I’ve never taken him seriously, brushing it aside with a joke. If I say no too many times, is there a chance he might leave me?

  The thought has come out of the blue as in the nine years we’ve been together, I’ve never doubted him. I can feel myself getting anxious – am aware of the shirt clutched in my fist. Even as I’m thinking it, I know I’m being ridiculous, but how is it I’m so certain of him? I thought I’d known Ria, but it turned out I hadn’t known her at all… Or the things she was capable of.

  Ria. My eyes are drawn to the built-in wardrobe at the side of the room. The urge to go over to it is strong. I try to distract myself by folding up some of Scott’s T-shirts and putting them away in the chest of drawers but, like a recovering alcoholic, I’m unable to fight it. With a quick glance at my watch, I drop the last T-shirt onto the bed, then cross the room and throw open one of the wardrobe doors. Kneeling in front of it, I use both hands to push aside the bags and shoes that are jumbled on the floor below my hanging rail.

  I stare at the wooden boards and the pull becomes even greater. I don’t do anything to start with, then, hesitantly, I reach out my hand and ease my fingertips under the edge of one of them. My heart flutters in my chest like a caged bird. At this moment, I want to be anywhere except here, but I can’t stop.

  The board comes up easily and, from the dark bowels between the joists, I lift out the envelope that’s hidden there. Still not certain I want to, I lift the flap, my heart racing. My hands are shaking as I pull out the contents. A photograph lies on top of some others and, even though I knew it would be there, the knowledge doesn’t prepare me for the strength of the emotions that threaten to overwhelm me when I see it: sadness, shock, revulsion.