I’ve grown used to uncomfortable silences and conflict in this house, but it has never felt as awkward as it does this morning.
I lead DS Mark Goodwin from the front door into the kitchen of the main house, where Finn and his parents await us. He’s the only friendly face I’ve seen in days and I’m glad he’s here. Finn and I have barely spoken since our row two days ago, and Dave and I aren’t making eye contact. I’m not picking up a vibe from Debbie, so I assume neither of them have told her about our conversations. Perhaps Dave lied when he told me that Debbie knew he went to school with those girls.
‘Firstly,’ Mark begins as he takes a seat, ‘I want to reiterate how sorry I am that you found out about the latest development from the media and not from me. I had a couple of days’ annual leave and it was a breakdown in communication between departments that meant it was released publicly before anyone briefed you.’
‘Do you know who those bodies are?’ I ask.
‘All I can say – and as always, this goes no further than these four walls – is that two adult skeletal bodies are with the Home Office pathologist.’
‘Adults?’ I repeat. ‘Not children?’ ‘No.’
A knot unravels in my stomach. I don’t know why it makes such a difference that they’re adults, as they are still two more victims. But it does.
‘They were discovered buried in the garden, by the rear wall,’ Mark continues. ‘We believe them to be male and female, but they are missing body parts.’
‘Which parts?’ asks Finn. ‘Their heads.’
I shudder.
‘Could they be the previous owners of the house?’ Mia asks.
‘It’s a line of inquiry we are looking into,’ Mark says. ‘The former residents disappeared, quite suddenly by all accounts, back in the 1970s. We haven’t been able to trace any living relatives, so confirming them via a DNA match might take a little time.’
Debbie turns to Dave but his gaze is now fixed to the floor. She takes a tissue from a packet and dabs at her eyes but she’s not quick enough to catch her tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘Everything about this story is just so awful . . . those children missing for so long, their poor parents and now two more bodies . . . Sometimes I wonder if this is ever going to end. Every day, that house and what it’s been hiding is all I can think about. I just want this to stop.’
Dave places his arm around her shoulders. I’m a little taken aback by her emotion because I don’t recognise this Debbie. I’ve never given any thought to how the discovery might have affected her.
When Mark leaves soon after, I miss his calming presence in this turbulent environment. It’s like, when he appears, everyone is on their best behaviour and I can pretend we’re all normal, when in reality, we are far from it. Or maybe I’m not ready to admit to myself I like being around him more than I should. There’s a warmth about him that makes me believe, one day, this nightmare will come to
an end. God only knows how high the body count will be by then.
We retreat to our own corners of our private, messed-up worlds. Dave heads to work; I’ve told Debbie I’m having Sonny again today, so she’s off running errands in town; and Finn packs his van with his tools, leaving us without so much as a goodbye.
I return to the Annexe and re-read the messages Finn has sent me since our argument. I’ve reached the point where I don’t know what angers me the most: that he wouldn’t listen to me about Dave, that he thinks that dosing me up with antidepressants is going to solve everything, or that he’s vocalised what we’re all thinking but no one has said – I’m a useless mother. It’s the latter that stings the most. I know I should have organised a therapist by now but I’m putting it off because I know they’ll want me to relive these last few months again. It was and still is so hard to deal with first time around, let alone do it again. I expected Abigail Douglas’s funeral to give me closure and let me focus on connecting with Sonny. Instead, it’s been replaced by a need to learn what else Dave is keeping from us.
I need to find a way of embracing my baby and discovering the truth without neglecting either. But where do I start? And then it dawns on me: I’m alone in the house. The others won’t be back for hours.
If I want the truth, I’m going to have to find it myself.
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