Back on the sofa downstairs, tears stream my face as I read from the pages, all written in Mum’s beautiful hand. Her thoughts and deepest fears all there in front of me, telling me how much she struggled through the awful disease, whilst putting on a brave face for the world – for us – for me.
It’s when I come to the pages she wrote when we visited Drummondale House – the night Lark and Jackson disappeared – that my tears stop, and my anxiety heightens.
I woke. Jackson wasn’t beside me. I don’t know what made me get up and leave Bluebell Cottage to try to find him. Maybe I knew deep down. Maybe I’d always known.
But I wish I hadn’t gone into the wood.
I didn’t take a torch, as the moon was so bright that night. I saw the masks first – six of them, hanging in the trees. I’d shuddered, was tempted to turn back, but then I heard it – the sound of lust, betrayal – and my blood ran cold.
I continued towards the sound. I shouldn’t have. The sight of Jackson and Rosamund – so crude, basic, like animals – will stay with me until I die.
I thought he loved me.
I thought she was my friend.
I close the book, my heart thudding. Jackson was having an affair with Rosamund. Jackson was having an affair with Rosamund. Oh God, my poor mum discovering them. My poor, poor mum.
But why hadn’t she said anything?
I recall how certain Mum was that Lark and Jackson’s disappearance weren’t connected. Had she thought Jackson had walked out on her? Planned to be with Rosamund? Had she been too proud to tell us what she saw? A surge of anger threads through my veins. Why the hell had she kept quiet about something that could have helped find Lark?
I head to the kitchen and make some strong coffee. I need a boost of caffeine, and to feel totally sober. I sit for some time at the kitchen table, sipping the warm liquid, my mind whirring back to that night at Drummondale House, and I’m suddenly there, sitting in the wing-backed chair at the bedroom window, seeing the flash of white, the figure in the trees. Had it been someone hanging up the masks? Elise? She was certainly obsessed with them. What if she’d seen Rosamund betray her father? What if she’d decided, a year later – now older, taller, stronger – that it was time to take revenge on Rosamund?
Rosamund had said Elise was in her bedroom the night Ruth was murdered. Ruth had been wearing Rosamund’s fur bed jacket. Had Elise mistaken Ruth for her stepmother? Sometimes revenge is the only way – that’s what Elise had said when they’d played Truth or Lie.
Was Elise still out there waiting to take her revenge on Rosamund?
But why did Maddie have to die? Where was Elise now? How did she get away from Drummondale House?
OK, yes there are loose ends, but my main concern is for Rosamund’s safety, even if she had betrayed my mum.
Had Elise left the mask on her stepmother’s doorstep? If she’d tried to kill her at Drummondale House, what was to stop her trying again?
I reach for my phone. I need to call her. Warn her. Let her know she could be in danger.
Chapter 47
Present Day
Amelia
I go to grab my mobile as it vibrates on the coffee table.
‘Thomas,’ I say once my phone’s pressed against my ear. Should I tell him my suspicions?
‘I’ve met an old mate, so Dad is about to head home. He wants to know if you fancy fish and chips.’ He sounds relaxed. Happy. I decide to say nothing.
‘Some chips maybe.’ I pray my brother doesn’t twig there’s something up.
‘Cool,’ he says, clearly not registering the wobble in my voice. ‘See you later.’ He ends the call, and I fumble with the phone, searching for Rosamund’s number.
‘Amelia, how lovely,’ she says when the call goes through.
‘Rosamund. Listen.’ My stomach leapfrogs. ‘I need to talk to you. It’s really important.’
‘Calm down, you sound like you might pop—’
‘It’s just—’
‘Hang on, I’m on hands-free and keep losing you—’
‘Pull over somewhere, Rosamund. This is really important—’
‘Tell you what; I’m not far from you. I’ll pop round. Be there in five.’ The line goes dead.
I look down at my phone. Maybe her coming here is for the best. I can suggest she doesn’t go home until she’s spoken to the police. Maybe she can book into a B & B for the night.
I watch from the window, waiting. Hoping she won’t think I’m over-reacting. In less than five minutes she pulls up, and I dash to open the front door.
‘Amelia? Whatever’s wrong?’ she says, locking her car, as she races up the path towards me. She pulls me into her arms, and I feel the fake baby bump, and I pull away. She clearly hasn’t broken the news to Neil yet. ‘You’ve worried me,’ she says. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘I’m so sorry.’ I lead the way into the house. ‘It’s just I really need to talk to you. It’s important.’
In the kitchen, I put the kettle on, and gesture for her to sit at the table. I take the seat opposite her, and twiddle a strand of my hair around my finger, arranging the words I want to say in my head so they make some sort of sense. ‘The thing is,’ I begin, ‘I found a book, well a kind of diary really, that my mum wrote before she died.’ I pause. ‘Rosamund, she saw you and Jackson together in the woods.’
‘What?’ Her eyes widen.
‘It was the night he and Lark disappeared. You were …’ I scramble for the right words, but she knows exactly what I’m trying to say.
‘That’s just not true. Look at me. Do I look the type of woman who would have sex in a wood?’ Her cheeks flush, and she avoids meeting my eye.
‘But why would she make it
