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.’
‘That’s so brilliant. Thank you so much …’ I glance down as another text from Rik flashes up on my phone. Can I help? I think quickly. Rik is a geek. I should have thought about it before. Quickly I start typing. Any dirt on Fiona Rose, a Brighton lawyer, or info on what really happened to Kimberley Preston. xxx. Then as an afterthought adding, any dirt on Matthew Roche would be a bonus.
Pressing send, a bubble of hearts float up the screen of my phone, then I turn back to my laptop.
*
I spend the following day finding out everything I can about Fiona Rose, when I google her, finding out there are many. But as I whittle them down by location, I find one listed as a partner at Hollis and James, a law firm, which fits with her ambition to become respected and credible. It mentions her previous position at a firm in Cobham, Surrey, called Dentons. But not a whole lot more than that. Studying the headshot of her, estimating her at around my mother’s age, I take in coolly appraising eyes, a posture that suggests confidence, feeling my heart sink. Pitched against my mother, it’s easy to imagine who the police would find more plausible.
Scrutinising her social media, I search for her parents, but in every visible aspect of her life, there is no sign of them or any other family members, as my mother’s words come back to me. Allie’s parents sent her away, then they disowned her.
Sighing, I try to imagine what that must have felt like. When her parents found out she’d been involved in Kimberley’s death, I wonder if they ever forgave her. And if they didn’t, what that could do to a person. As a teenager – then later, as an adult, carrying all that unresolved anger and bitterness. It would seriously screw someone up, to the point that if you were bitter and twisted enough, you’d stoop to anything to get revenge.
Maybe that’s what this is about. Revenge.
At last, I receive a message from Mandy. Thank you for your message, Jess. All I can tell you about Matt is to never believe a single word he says about anything. He’s the worst kind of liar – insidious, yet utterly believable. Nothing he does is without a self-serving motive. To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone had tried to kill him. There isn’t much more I can add. But I do hope you find the evidence you’re looking for.
After I read the message, I keep it to forward to PC Page. And Mandy’s right about needing to find evidence. Turning back to my laptop, I think about what I definitely know. I have my mother’s account of Kimberley’s death, and about what happened to her and Allie/Fiona after. Then Charlie. Then I remember my mother’s words. So many deaths … Kimberley, Charlie, my parents … Then poor Charlie Brooks …
Suddenly my heart is racing. What about Charlie’s parents? Might they have been seeking some kind of retribution for their son’s death, even this many years on? I know enough about revenge to understand that it’s one of our deepest instincts. I try to imagine how it must have felt, seeing their son’s body hanging from our apple tree, as powerful emotions take over. The sorrow, empathy, regret, my mother must have felt. Not only had she lost Kimberley, she’d been faced with another death.
Frowning at my screen, I wonder where Charlie’s parents live now. Charlie Brooks. Death. 1996. Steyning. I type the words into the search bar, then start scrolling down the list of links. A couple of news items I haven’t seen before have come up, one of them mentioning Charlie’s father, Harold Brooks, a well-known local businessman.
After typing Harold Brooks Steyning into the search bar, a photo comes up. It’s black and white, grainy, alongside a piece about the growing success of his health foods business.
Clicking on the next link, there’s a
