Chapter One
Thursday 18th April, 2019
4.05 p.m.
I thought Dad’s blood would smell of him, that soft citrus scent I’ve known all my life. But all I can smell on my hands are bitter pennies.
I look down at his face. He’s so white, so quiet.
Is this really happening?
‘Quick, get up!’ A hand grabs at my shoulder, trying to pull me up. ‘Mum’ll be here soon.’
I think of Mum’s reassuring smell. Peach perfume. Sometimes sweat. Chocolate on her breath. I want to squash my face into her neck and tell her everything that’s happened, every little detail. Then I want her to tell me it’ll all be okay, that she understands, that she will always understand, for ever and ever.
But I can’t tell her the truth. I have to be strong. We have to be strong.
‘Drop the knife,’ a voice hisses.
I look down at the large knife that’s in my hands. God, I didn’t even realise I was still holding it. Only this morning, Mum was using this knife to slice a grapefruit in half. I see the remains of the grapefruit on the side, probably already rotting.
I do as I’m told and the knife clatters to the ground, specks of Dad’s blood spotting the kitchen walls as it lands.
The same walls Dad spent all of his birthday weekend painting.
The bitter stench of his blood invades my nostrils again and I’m folding right over, a silent scream coming out.
‘What have I done?’ I say over and over as I stare at my dad.
A finger is put to my mouth. ‘Shhh. Count to five.’
Outside, a bird sings. It sounds all shrill and panicked. Must be a goldfinch. Mum pointed one out to me once. It was in Joel’s tree, high up, its little red face staring down at me. Mum said Grandma Quail used to tell her people’s souls live on in animals and I remember hoping it was Joel watching us.
Now I hope it isn’t. I wouldn’t want him to see what I just did.
The clock ticks and the three of us stand around Dad, his blood congealing beneath the soles of our feet as we wait for the sound of Mum’s key in the lock . . .
Chapter Two
Thursday 18th April, 2019
4.07 p.m.
Welcome to Forest Grove, Utopia of the Woods
Home to Strong Branches and Deep Roots
Melissa cycled past the village’s welcome sign and into the forest, the wheels of her mountain bike juddering over the sludge of leaves and knot of fallen branches. She liked the forest after a downpour, the squish of the damp leaves beneath her wheels, the smell of the mulch and drenched wood drifting up to her. The sun was now scorching those leaves, though, revenge for the shock of rain earlier, and it was warm again.
Prime barbecue weather, Melissa thought to herself as she smiled up at the sun.
She intended to begin the long Easter weekend by kicking back in the garden with a glass of home-made cider in one hand, a barbecued (and heavily buttered) corn on the cob in the other. Screw the diet! In fact, maybe they could invite Daphne and Maddy over, even get Patrick’s parents to join them all? Make a night of it.
After, she and Patrick could stay out in the dark and talk all evening like they used to. Patrick needed some chill time. He was running to be a parish councillor and with the local elections coming up in May, combined with his job as a director of a marketing company, he seemed more stressed than usual.
Yep, a few ciders in the evening sun would do the trick!
In fact, they might even have something to celebrate if things had gone well for their elder twin, Lilly (elder by five minutes, as she loved to tell people, not wanting anyone to forget she came out before her twin brother, Lewis). Today was the day she’d be finding out if she’d got the lead role in Forest Grove’s annual ‘Musical in the Woods’ production, this year The Sound of Music.
It meant a lot to Lilly, nights spent whispering lines to herself over and over, mornings spent scrutinising her expression in the mirror to ensure she was projecting just enough Maria von Trapp without sacrificing the modern take she was giving the role. They were all hoping against hope that all those drama lessons Patrick bought for Lilly after she lost out on the lead the year before hadn’t gone to waste. Whatever happened, though, Melissa would be proud of her daughter for working so hard at something she was passionate about.
Melissa pumped her legs to make the wheels turn faster, desperate to get home to her family and that cider. As she enjoyed the breeze on her bare shoulders, a real sense of contentment fell over her. Finally she could say that yes, she was at peace here in the forest, the warmth of her family and friends pressing in close to her like the branches of an old oak tree.
She looked over her shoulder briefly, thinking of the ancient oak that sat in the heart of the forest.
The bad times were behind her.
Her street began to come into view then as the forest thinned out. New Pine Road was the closest street to the forest, forming one half of a circle around the woods, the village’s original street, Old Pine Road, forming the other half. There was a mixture of four- and five-bed houses on the road, each of them dominated by the same large triangle of a window that looked out over the pine trees from the back. Though Melissa and Patrick were in one of the smaller four-bed houses, they had been lucky enough to get a plot at the end of the road, meaning they were at the curve of the woods, giving them forest views from both the back and the side of their house. Nothing beat curling up with Patrick on winter nights, the log fire burning as they looked out at the dark pine columns with a glass of Baileys in their hands. Or summer evenings gathered around their fire pit with the kids as they talked and laughed into the night, the trees swaying in the moonlight before them.
That view was a daily reminder of how very far they had come. How far Melissa had come. Yes, their mortgage was astronomical, but all that scrimping and saving, all that hard work, meant she was able to continue living in the town that had been her sanctuary from childhood . . . and now it would be a sanctuary for their three children too.
She pedalled out from among the trees, enjoying the familiar judder of her bike tyres over the gravelled street, a feeling that meant she was nearly home. She passed one of the largest houses, catching sight of its owner, Andrea Cooper, attending to her immaculate lawn. Andrea was the founder of the ‘Friends of Forest Grove High’ and admin for the town’s Facebook group. Melissa’s friend Daphne called her ‘Scandrea’, referring to the fact that she loved a good scandal.
At that moment, Andrea was kneeling down on a floral knee rest, snipping away at her rose bush with the precision of a heart surgeon. She was wearing the Forest Grove ‘uniform’ of Hunter wellies and Joules raincoat, her platinum hair in a perfect bob. Melissa still remembered her tottering around on stilettos with permed hair and her cleavage spilling out when they were teenagers. It was only when she met her husband, local police officer Adrian, that she replaced the stilettos with those Hunter wellies.
As Melissa cycled past, Andrea looked up, regarding her with cold eyes. Melissa shot her a smile just to annoy her, then pedalled faster until she got to the end of the street. Melissa jumped off her bike and wheeled it to the front door, surprised not to hear the usual clamour of music, laughter and clattering pots and pans from behind the door. Maybe they were all in the garden?
She pulled her helmet off, her shoulder-length blonde hair sweaty and standing on end, then went to open the front door.