I exhale a sigh of relief as she disappears from view, and I head for Molly’s Café.
Through the window I spot Dad already settled at the back, a mug of tea in front of him.
‘Amelia,’ he says, as I enter to a waft of tempting smells. He pats the seat beside him. ‘Come and sit down, love.’
A young chap approaches and I order some coffee. He thrusts a menu into my hands, and disappears.
‘What do you fancy?’ Dad says.
‘Give me a sec,’ I say, shuffling out of my jacket, before sitting down.
‘Your hair looks nice.’
‘No it doesn’t. I didn’t have it done.’
‘Well I’ve always liked it when you don’t drag out your natural curls.’
I smile, and we look at the menus. ‘I think I’ll go for the prawn salad sandwich in granary,’ I say.
Dad’s eyes flit across the choices. ‘It’s amazing news about Thomas, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but yes, definitely something to keep us buoyant in a sea that’s intent on dragging us under.’
‘Very poetic.’ I smile at him.
‘I try my best.’
‘And yes, it’s great news. We certainly need it.’
‘We do indeed.’
‘I saw Rosamund yesterday, Dad.’ I avoided telling him last night and this morning, but to not mention her visit now feels deceitful. ‘She came round when you were at the cinema.’ I pause for a moment. ‘Someone left a mask on her doorstep.’
‘Well she needs to tell the police, not you.’ Something shifts in his eyes, and he shakes his head. ‘That bloody woman.’
‘I know you don’t like her but—’
‘I think I’ll have poached egg on toast.’ He puts down his menu.
‘Dad?’
‘She’s a thoroughly dislikeable woman.’
‘Mum liked her.’
‘Mum didn’t know her. Not really.’
‘And you did?’
‘Are you ready to order?’ The young man is back with my coffee. He puts it down in front of me, as I reel off our order in a monotone.
Once he’s gone, I continue. ‘I know she let Mum down but she’s sorry, Dad. Why do you hate her so much?’
‘Not hate, Amelia. Hate is too strong a word. Let’s leave it, shall we?’
‘But you promised me a heart-to-heart.’
‘Not about bloody Rosamund Green.’
I lean forward. There’s something else. I know it. ‘Dad?’
‘OK, if you really want to know.’ He breathes in a sigh. ‘She made a pass at me, a very long time ago.’
‘Rosamund?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised. Your dad wasn’t always a dusty historian.’
I smile, remembering how Mum described him that way.
‘As I say, it was a long time ago, when your mum worked in Rosamund’s flower shop. There was a party.’ A long pause fills the air, and the sounds of chatter and clanking cutlery fill my senses. ‘She flirted with me during the evening, but your mum couldn’t see it, kept telling me how friendly she was. That she hoped I liked her. And then—’
‘You turned her down, I hope.’
‘Of course – what do you take me for?’ He looks hurt, as though he can’t believe I would think otherwise. ‘But she didn’t like being turned down. Was used to getting her own way, a product of parents who spoilt her rotten, apparently. And of course she was – and still is – a beautiful woman. Anyway, it was after that party that she sold the shop, and never contacted your mother again. Until—’
‘Mum left you for Jackson?’
He nods. Takes a gulp of his tea.
‘So she got in touch with Mum because you’d broken up?’
‘It seemed that way.’
‘Why didn’t you tell Mum when she made the pass?’
‘At the time, I thought it would make things worse. Your mum was already low from losing her job and her supposed friend. Later, when I realised Rosamund was back in touch, I didn’t think your mum would believe me. Our relationship was fragile by then; I didn’t want to damage it beyond repair.’
‘It was a long time ago, Dad.’
Our food arrives, but I’ve lost my appetite. I glance out of the window, onto the street. ‘Do you ever think you see Lark, Dad?’
‘Do you?’
I look back at him tucking into poached egg, and say, ‘I know it’s wishful thinking, but I sense her sometimes. Like at Mum’s funeral. It was as though she was with us.’
He puts down his cutlery, reaches across the table, and takes hold of my hand. ‘We’ll find her one day.’
‘No, Dad, we won’t.’ I pull my hand away. ‘We have to stop believing that. We wouldn’t have ended up trapped in the middle of nowhere with two people murdered and another girl missing, if we’d let Lark go. We have to let her go, Dad.’
He looks down. I’ve hurt him and instantly regret my choice of words. ‘I’ll never let her go, Amelia. Not until someone proves to me she’s dead.’
I gulp back tears. Dead. It’s so final. Like poor Ruth and Maddie. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘I know you didn’t. We’re all so volatile at the moment. But then it’s not surprising, is it?’
I shake my head. ‘I’m just not sure how much more any of us can take,’ I say, burying my head in my hands.
Chapter 45
Present Day
Amelia
Outside Molly’s Café I kiss Dad goodbye, and watch as he limps up the road. With a brief wave, he turns the corner towards the museum. Gone.
I feel suddenly lost, as I loop my bag over my shoulder. I need to head back down Marygate, to where I’ve locked up my bike. I need to get home.
I’m not sure what makes me turn to look in the window of the antique shop next door to Molly’s. But I see it. Propped in the corner of the window by the door, a horrifying contrast to the china teapots and vases, fob watches and red brandy glasses: the mask.
The ground moves beneath me, and my legs give way as everything spins.
The mask.
I open my mouth to cry out, unsure if I say the words out loud, or in
