There were rumours that a girl had been raped there once – something our mother had only hinted at, but April later divulged to me in one of our post-bedtime chats when she saw that I hadn't understood. And another rumour suggested that a Jack Russell had been killed while out walking with its owner. Its leg was said to have been so badly lacerated by an unknown entity that the bone was visible ... if you believed the rumours, that was. Of course there were whispers of what had happened to Paige Wakefield too. But those are more like the winding section of the river Severn that runs beside Little Bishopsford; dark and muddy; nowhere near clear enough to fathom.
Naturally, since the woods were off-limits, April and I found ourselves gravitating towards the place as though something in us was drawn to it. Every time we set foot upon the twig-covered, thick earth of the forest floor we got a thrill of excitement. Although, we never went again after Paige Wakefield went missing.
The rules and restrictions laid down by our parents were so badly stretched before that though it was amazing we were never caught. Perhaps they did suspect, but April and I were most often accompanied by Will, who, being a few years our senior, probably lulled them into thinking we were safe.
But then, Paige Wakefield's parents probably once thought her safe too. And they turned out to be wrong.
4
A knock on the bedroom door makes me gasp out loud.
'Mum?'
Eva appears in the doorway. She has tied her black cardigan arms around her waist in what is definitely a tom-boyish gesture I recognise all too well. Her slim shoulders seem all of a sudden too small for her t-shirt which fits her loosely. Much of her hair has escaped from the amber bun I prepared neatly this morning and now hangs limply around her face. In a moment, I suddenly realise what Will means when he says how much she takes after me. I had always only seen April in her.
'Mum, are you all right? Dad wants to know if you are coming downstairs. He says you should eat something. But if you can't face it, we can bring some sandwiches up here to you, if you want?'
'No, it's all right, Eva. I was just about to go downstairs anyway.'
She looks uncertainly back at me, I see her eyes flit over the areas of skin where I have carefully applied makeup before she turns around and goes back downstairs.
Mentally, I shake myself and I draw in a deep breath that takes more effort than it should. I give myself another glance in the mirror, and aside from my shoulder-length sandy hair being tousled and slightly wild-looking (as it often does anyway) I don't look too bad.
As soon as I follow my daughter's footsteps onto the landing, the sound of murmuring voices reaches my ears. People are still milling around at the wake on the ground floor. I just hope that the unpleasantness at the funeral is no longer the topic of discussion.
Unfortunately, as I reach the lounge doorway I feel the bitter sting of disappointment.
A young man was asking, 'But how did someone manage to pull something like that off?'
An elderly man with a familiar-sounding voice responds, 'Someone obviously sneaked into the church before people arrived and stuck the labels over the top. It wouldn't take a great deal of effort – or brains ... What gets me is the fact that someone had the audacity to bring up that horrible old business today – or why ...'
'What do you think it m –' The younger man stops abruptly when he sees me walk into the room. He gives me a half-nod and a nervous 'Hiya,' then focusses on swilling his drink around with too much vigour so that a little amber liquid sloshes over the side of the glass and runs over his tanned fingers.
The usual living room furniture – including the Chesterfield suite and small dark wooden tables, have been moved to the edges of the room to allow for the guests to mingle. Despite the fact that the room is a decent size, the remaining mourners are doing a good job of making it look cramped. Every seat is occupied, so I automatically join the group nearest the doorway which includes my father, trying to pretend I hadn't overheard the speculation.
'Hiya, Love,' Dad says, handing me a glass of red wine from a platter on the piano. He awkwardly squeezes my shoulders and kisses my forehead. He is overly-affectionate at the moment, having gone from one extreme to the other as far as physical contact goes. He doesn't seem to know what to do with himself. I'm grateful Will didn't see him do that. I can just imagine him making a mental note to Google which stage of grief my father is in and provide me with a full rundown later. Glancing across the room, I see my husband talking to two local elderly ladies and hope he is doing a better job of remembering the villagers' names than I am at the moment.
My father looks awkward and casts around for something to say, trying to pretend they hadn't been discussing what happened earlier. 'Are you going to have a bite to eat, Hannah, Love?'
'No thanks, Dad. I'm not hungry,' I say with an eye on Eva as she drifts across the room. I see her pick up a few crisps from the buffet table and hover uncertainly by her father.
Everyone in the rough semi-circle is staring at me – Dad, the Reverend, the elderly gentleman I now recognise as Reg Green – a nearby neighbour who has always seemed to be an old man. His nephew Alfred who trailed off just now at the sight of me was a couple of years below me in school. I haven't seen Alfred for years, but his face isn't all that different – round and small like his build, so unlike his uncle's towering stature.
I heard from Dad that Alfred had moved to Spain a decade ago, and judging by the golden hue of his skin and sun-bleached highlights, he still lives there.
I wish now that I had taken more effort to lessen how bloodshot my eyes looked whilst I was still alone upstairs.
'Hannah,' Reg moves forward and shakes my hand firmly. I am surprised by how much strength the old man still has in his grip, despite his outwardly wilting appearance. 'I'm so sorry about April.'
He shakes his head sadly and I notice how watery his paling blue eyes look, unsure of whether they always have that appearance.
'Thank you. It's been a shock to all of us,' I say. I don't know how many more times I can say the same thing to people offering their sympathies.
'I was devastated when your Dad told me what happened,' the old man rasps. 'I still can't believe it now.'
'I know the feeling.'
'And what happened earlier at the service ... That was disgusting – I've never heard of such a thing happening at a funeral – and inside a church to boot!'
Reg looks suddenly wild-eyed and furious. He jabs a gnarled finger towards my chest and stares at me intently. 'Whoever was behind that sordid business should be lined up and shot!'
Although an old man now, and a little hunched with age, Reg still towers above me at well over six-foot. The effect at this moment is even more intimidating than years ago when April and I used to get told off if he caught us doing something we shouldn't around the village.
One time he caught us up an apple tree near the village railway station and despite the fact we were physically higher up than him, I have rarely felt so small and feeble.
'Well, of course ...' I say slowly, looking around at Dad for some support and noticing he too looks a little alarmed by his old friend's abrupt outburst.
'All right, Reg,' he says, nodding in a placating gesture. 'We have all been upset today, but whoever it was has had their five minutes of fame or whatever the hell it was they wanted. Best not bring it up again, eh?'