In My Wake: A Breathtaking Psychological Thriller With a Killer Twist Read online

  Every time I closed my eyes last night I kept seeing the look the old lady gave Will and myself yesterday. When she found out we were married. Does everyone in the village think the same way? Or was it just a shock to Mrs Hughes because she had only just found out the news on such a day?

  I could tell what she was thinking; I saw the thought flash across her eyes before she could guard it. She was judging me, as though I was somehow at least partly responsible for what happened to April. Perhaps she thought that stealing my sister's boyfriend was what pushed April over the edge. But it wasn't like that at all. April split up with Will years before I met him again. And even then it was just a coincidence.

  I wish I could have told Mrs Hughes all this yesterday, but the worst part was the little voice that has erupted in the back of my mind recently suggests it too. The doubt has been lurking in the recesses of my thoughts since Dad called me to tell me what had happened to April.

  Being in this house again isn't helping. The décor is different, but it very much still feels the same, especially when I close my eyes. In the dark, April feels so near, as if she could just easily sweep into the room at any moment as she always did and give me a start.

  I could convince myself that she is downstairs making herself a sandwich, or sneaking us some of Mum's shortbread from a large glass jar in the kitchen whilst we wait impatiently for Sunday lunch.

  I am having a hard time telling myself that she isn't here. That she is really gone.

  I take a deep breath, but don't open my eyes.

  The door handle squeaks as it opens.

  My eyes spring open.

  It's Eva.

  'Sorry, Mum. I thought you were still asleep. I just wanted to borrow some of your shampoo. The stuff in the bathroom smells funny. I told Granddad he needs to swap it for a different one ... Are you OK?'

  She looks at me uncertainly. 'Have you been crying again?

  'No, Eva, I'm fine,' I say, turning away from her to rummage in my suitcase and wiping my eyes on the back of my hand as discreetly as possible. 'I just ... I was just thinking about when I was your age in this house, that's all. It brings back so many memories being here again.'

  'OK ... Anyway, Granddad made breakfast – bacon and eggs. Dad is there too now. You should eat something so you have enough energy to face the day.'

  I smile, suddenly realising how I must sound when I tell her the same thing.

  I shower and dress, taking care to add extra concealer beneath my eyes before adding some mascara to freshen up my face. For good measure, I even add a little blusher to add some much-needed colour to my cheeks. Although I'm not sure if Will even looks that closely at me any more to notice.

  As I descend the stairs, I am aware of the murmur of voices from the kitchen at the back of the house. As I pass the shoe rack near the front door, I notice blades of grass clinging to the moist edges of Will's boots.

  'Morning, Hannah, Sweetheart.'

  Dad pulls me in for a clumsy one-armed hug where he sits at the dining table. I see Eva in the conservatory, tapping away on her phone, a plate of forgotten toast on the wicker chair opposite her.

  I take a seat next to Will at the table who kisses me briefly on the cheek in the presence of my father and pours me a cup of milky coffee.

  'Thanks,' I say with a smile, taking a grateful sip of the sweet, hot liquid.

  I set down my cup and look across the table to Dad, who looks as bad as I feel. His eyes are blotchy and his movements seem slower than usual. 'That was good timing, Hannah, Love. I was just going to do some fresh toast, since Will hasn't eaten yet, either.'

  'Do you want some help?'

  Will gets up. 'I'll take care of it, Tony,' he says, quickly. 'I can find my way around any kitchen.'

  He gives me a wink and disappears around the corner. As he does, I notice the bottoms of his taupe jeans are dark with damp.

  Will takes his time in the kitchen and I know he is trying to spend as little time as possible with my father. Will has always felt suffocated by family gatherings. His own parents split when he was a child and he hasn't seen his father since. Was claustrophobia the reason he went for an early morning walk?

  I look to my father. 'How are you this morning, Dad?'

  He shrugs and for a moment he seems like the parent I remember; strong, determined and unyielding. But something flickers in his face and I worry that his facade will give completely and shatter onto the oak table between us.

  He takes a deep breath. 'I'm all right, Hannah. As well as to be expected. The Reverend says we have to take each day as it comes. We mustn't get ahead of ourselves.'

  I nod. 'Have you heard from Mum at all, this morning?'

  'Actually, I have. She rang about an hour ago to vent her anger over how the police haven't caught anyone over ... well, about what happened yesterday.'

  'Do they have any idea who was behind it?'

  Dad shakes his head. 'Like I told your mother, it's probably just teenagers messing around. They hear rumours and then think they'll be clever. Don't give a hoot who they upset. It's not like when you and April were little. These days, people let their kids loose and then get irate if they get accused of anything. Barbara caught shoplifters in the village store one day a few years ago – had them arrested. The next thing she knows, she gets a brick through the window ... Things are different now, Hannah. We are best leaving it alone if you ask me. I just wish whoever was responsible left us alone yesterday.'

  My father looks more tired than ever. I feel more tired than ever. The only way sleep came last night was when Will had finished clearing up downstairs and slipped into bed with me. He lay beside me, our bodies close. He stroked my head and whispered a rhetoric just like my father's; yesterday was just teenagers messing about; a result of village rumours, Chinese whispers.

  Dad sniffs. 'Anyway, I told your mother they are doing their best up there in Telford police station.'

  'Telford? What's wrong with the village police station?'

  'Oh, that shut down years ago – just after old Tom retired.'

  He smiles as he looks at me. 'There have been a few changes to the village since you've been away, Hannah. Us old fuddy-duddies don't just sit in suspended animation the whole time you're off in the big city, you know.'

  'It's just York, Dad. Not New York.'

  'Well, it might as well be. You can't sneeze in this place without the whole village knowing about it.'

  'Hmm,' I say, sipping some more coffee and thinking of how April, Will and I used to get told off by elderly villagers for climbing local trees, but how we roamed for miles beyond the boundaries laid down by our parents and not once did we get caught. We crossed all sorts of lines without anyone suspecting a thing.

  Will returns with a plate of hot toast, setting it on the table. 'You might like York, Tony. You should come and stay with us some time – we just about have the room if we put up a bed in my loft office.'

  I glance across at Dad as I take a tiny rectangle of foil-wrapped butter from the bowl in front of me. Will knows just as well as I, that Dad would never take up such an offer for fear of imposing on us in our two-bedroom terrace.

  'Well, that's very kind of you both. But I wouldn't want to be a pain. Best if you come out here for a visit – better for Eva, too, get some fresh air in her lungs. Much more space too – you can visit your old haunts, remember what it was like to be carefree. Maybe we could go for a walk after breakfast. All four of us?'

  I'm sure I feel Will stiffen slightly beside me, but I smile. 'Sure, Dad, that sounds nice. It certainly would do Eva good to be away from a screen for a while.'

  Eva gives a vague 'What?' from the conservatory at the sound of her name, still not tearing her eyes from her phone.

  I find chewing my toast difficult with a dry mouth as I silently pray that there are no more unwanted surprises lurking in the corners of the village. I remind myself that my father needs our support now. That is why we are here. He needs us.

 
If it wasn't for him, we would never have come back.

  7

  By the time we are all out and about, the sun is already warm, bringing out the colour in the various hanging baskets about the place and the sky is a bright blue. There isn't a cloud in sight.

  Everything is calm today. Peaceful. We are walking through a chocolate-box village.

  Dad insists on giving us a guided tour of the place almost as though we have never been to Little Bishopsford before. I can imagine he does this with his guests. Showing them around, going the extra mile to help them find what they are looking for.

  I wouldn't be surprised if he helps them with their luggage from the tiny open railway station we now approach if they asked him to.

  I watch him as he explains to Eva how a friend of his in the village tends to the hanging baskets of rainbow flowers in the station. Although looking thoroughly uninterested, she snaps a picture of the basket on her phone; her way of feigning some interest, I suppose. Dad should think himself lucky – that is more than either myself or Will get out of her these days.

  When I explain this to my father, I notice his cheeks are a little red and patchy and he is struggling for breath.

  He won't hear of us going back to the house so soon, but I manage to talk him into resting on one of the benches at the platform for a few minutes before we move on.

  When I voice my concerns that he does too much he dismisses them, reminding me that Penny helps him with a lot of the tasks like cleaning and besides, what he does do keeps him active.

  'Don't fuss, Love,' he says, leaning back into the wood of the bench which bends slightly to accommodate his weight.

  Eva can't resist the opportunity to dive back into her phone at the unexpected break and she explains how she talks to her friends from school online to Dad who pretends to be more clueless than he is. I think he is struggling to find something in common with her and I suddenly feel guilty for not letting the two spend more time together. I've always made one excuse or another to dodge family occasions, mainly for Will's sake. I know he doesn't feel at ease around my relatives.

  On the next bench further down the platform, Will drops his voice low. 'Don't worry, Hannah. You know your father isn't young any more. He can't bound about like he used to, but he is fine, really.

  'Dad has never bounded about,' I say. He is just under a decade older than Mum and it has always been obvious. I sigh. 'I'm just worried he is overdoing it. He seems to have aged a lot since his visit before Christmas.'

  'I know what you mean, but he seems happy enough.'

  'Do you think it is good for him running a bed and breakfast by himself at his age?'

  'He's only just in his seventies. Plenty of people his age are still working these days.' He smirks and adds, 'Just look at Rod Stewart.'

  'That's not funny.'

  'At least I've got you to look after me in my old age.' He smiles, causing the beard I've always thought he looks too young for to twitch.

  'Don't be silly. You're not that much older than me. We'll end up going down the street with a walking frame each.'

  'We could get matching ones.'

  'His and hers.'

  Now I laugh too and I feel my shoulders ease. Even though it is still mid-morning, the sun is hot and I enjoy how it warms my face and bare arms. But a great sadness lodges itself in my chest that April is not here to enjoy it with us.

  'So where did you go this morning? Before breakfast, I noticed you had wet boots.'

  'I just popped out to get more bread from the village shop. Tony was running low on a few other bits too.'

  'Oh? It's not like him to run out. He is usually so organised.'

  'He has got a lot on his mind though, hasn't he?'

  'Yes, we all have.'

  I was so exhausted yesterday that I didn't get a chance to discuss the day's events alone with Will. I try to form my thoughts on the matter at the funeral into words but I feel Will's body tense almost as though he knows what I'm thinking.

  'Listen, Hannah. Your Dad has got me thinking. He keeps talking about how family is important.' He slides his hand into mine. 'I want to cut down on all the hours I've been working. Spend more time with you and Eva.'

  It seems like Will is always shut away in his loft-office these days. He works as a freelance computer technician. Lately, he has been on call a lot and I am often left eating alone at the table with Eva who is so absorbed in Facebook and goodness knows what else that she hardly even acknowledges my presence. I often find myself saving remnants of a home-cooked meal for Will to reheat when he gets home from a call-out, or when he emerges from his office late at night.

  'I'd like that too,' I say. 'But what about saving up for a bigger place?'

  I enjoy my job as a teaching assistant, but it would take us a lot longer to be able to afford the house we want – with an extra bedroom and a green garden brimming with life, somewhere to have real plants and patio furniture. A far cry from the small yard we have lined hopefully with AstroTurf and potted roses; in reality, it is only a place to keep our bins.

  Will shrugs. 'It was just a thought. All this has affected me too you know. What happened to your sister, I mean ...'

  An odd feeling I can't define always arises in the pit of my stomach when Will avoids using April's name. I suppose it is his way of distancing himself from her; pretending they never really knew each other. I'm not really sure whether it is for my benefit or for his.

  An uncomfortable, creeping sensation moves up my arms and over my shoulders. The idea that we are being watched forces its way into my head and I feel more tense than ever.

  The thought that we shouldn't be here is strong once again in my mind.

  Even beneath the warmth of the sun, I feel oddly chilled and I sit up straight on the tarnished bench looking this way and that.

  Nothing looks out of place. Dad and Eva continue to take turns tapping at my daughter's phone oblivious to anything else. The four of us appear alone.

  I am aware of the dense trees lining the platform opposite us. They already threaten to take over the quiet railway station, but now they sway ominously, as though hiding some other secret.

  Will scans around too, wondering what I am looking at. 'What is it?'

  'It's nothing ... I just thought I heard someone else coming onto the platform, that was all.'

  But that was not all. In a few short moments, I was convinced that someone was beyond our vision, lurking, taking us in without revealing themselves.

  Someone who didn't want to be seen.

  8

  Dad continues leading us around the village as if we are carefree visitors. Perhaps it is all for Eva's sake, as this is the first time she has seen the village herself. I'm finding the tour interesting. It's actually quite nice to see the place through the eyes of a tourist. The place looks friendly, quaint, untainted.

  A simple holidaymaker could easily think themselves safe here.

  Dad takes us through a cluster of small semi-detached houses with neat front gardens and invites Eva to guess which one her father grew up in.

  I feel I'm more interested than she is. April was the one that Will's mother invited over for the occasional dinner, not me. This house, with its bountiful hydrangeas and stone birdbath, is virtually as unfamiliar to me as it is to my daughter.

  Only once, I tagged along with April to visit a teenage Will. He tells us all now that it looks just the same, right down to the curtains his mother left behind when she sold the house and moved off to France.

  Dad informs us that a young solicitor lives here now so we do not linger too long.

  Since leaving the railway station, I feel the need to check over my shoulder every now and then. I feel at odds with my surroundings. The scene of the village around me looks so idealistic, like a painting. A dense cloud of green brush strokes, with straight lines of grey stone cottages and silver streams dappled by golden highlights. The scene is peppered with stone vases of rainbow-coloured flowers here and th
ere.

  I decide eventually that I was being silly earlier, letting my imagination run wild. What I thought I sensed at the platform was surely nothing more than a wayward dog walker.

  It feels surreal being back in the village. For the most part, not much has changed. Many of the cottages, however, are now holiday lets, painted dove grey with brightly-coloured trendy doors and potted ferns.

  The strangest thing is being back without April. Instead, it is Will and I that walk hand-in-hand, the loving couple. Eva looks bored as she pads along next to her grandfather who insists on pointing things out to her here and there.

  I notice how the dappled sunlight filtered by the trees make the highlights in her long hair shine a warm gold, just like April's. I've seen my sister in Eva so many times over the years, but suddenly it seems so much more pronounced today.

  We walk quietly past the church. It seems like so much more than a day ago since we were inside.

  My eyes sting and I focus on the old village hall which has now been converted into a stylish and modern home, complete with a vegetable garden outside. Dad says the family drive their children over to Great Bishopsford Academy every day – the same school Will, April and I all attended at some stage.

  As we pass the next corner, a modern children's play area comes into view that didn't exist when we were young. A tangle of brightly coloured climbing frames reminds me of the days when Eva always used to nag me to take her to the park. Now she barely gives the place a glance as we walk by and I feel a great sadness that such an innocent part of her life has dissolved, never to be seen again.

  Dad insists that we venture up the steep street near the edge of the village to reach a new gastropub he has been raving about. I wonder whether he should push himself so hard up the harsh gradient.

  'Dad, be careful. I think you should take it a bit easier. Maybe we can go back to the house and get the car instead?'

  I look around to Will for support, but my father interjects. His ruddy cheeks are determined.