‘But why haven’t they tried to kill you too?’
A chill washes over Emilia. ‘That’s what’s terrifying me. I think I’m next.’
40
Daisy,
2005
Daisy couldn’t relax that Christmas. She missed Ash with every fibre of her being, but more than that, she couldn’t stop thinking about Donald. It consumed her every waking moment, and she dreamed about the morning she’d found her mother dead: the sterile tidiness of the living room, the lingering smell of cigarettes mixed with the metallic smell of blood.
She couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone of her suspicions about Donald being the Doodle Man, especially not her father. She needed some kind of proof first, and she was determined to get that when she went to stay with Ash.
It snowed in Yorkshire on the morning she was travelling to Devon. Her father was worried about her as he drove her to the station. ‘Let me know if there are any problems. I’ve checked the weather and down south it’s milder. You must bring Ash up to see us next time.’ And then he and Shannon waved her off as the train pulled out of the station. She felt a pang of love for them as they stood, arms wrapped around each other, snowflakes falling onto their shoulders and woolly hats. He’d have a fit if he knew she was going to the home of a potential killer.
The journey was long and slow due to the snow. It wasn’t until they passed Birmingham that the journey became easier and the snow-topped fields turned green.
She had to change trains at Plymouth to get to the little village station where Ash and Donald were waiting for her. It wasn’t the village where she’d spent the first ten years of her life with her mother, but it wasn’t far, less than two miles away.
Donald smiled warmly at them as she fell into Ash’s arms.
And then she remembered why she was there. As much as she adored Ash – although her feelings were conflicted now – it was Donald she had to concentrate on for the moment.
Donald insisted on carrying her bag and they followed him out of the station to the car park at the back. The sight of his sticky-up hair made her stomach turn. It had been eight years and there were now strands of white in his sandy mop but she was sure it was him, and she wasn’t fooled by his helpfulness or his cheery nature.
It was a short drive back to their home, a big old house by the sea. It wasn’t until they turned down a lane and pulled into an expansive shingled driveway that she realized this was the only house for miles around.
‘Wow, this is remote,’ she said, as they stepped out of the car. A strong wind smelling of sea salt whipped around her, pulling at her hair and the hem of her coat, like an eager child.
‘We love it here,’ said Ash, leading her to the pretty front porch with its pointed white roof. ‘Secluded, just how we like it.’ It should have sounded romantic, but with Donald just yards behind them it made her shiver. She’d had all these plans for confronting him, but how could she do that now they were here, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by fields and little lanes and sheer cliffs and the sea, which sent spray flying into the air so that she could taste the salt on her lips? Confronting a killer in a place like this wouldn’t be wise.
Ash steered her into the house, which was huge and rambling but lived-in and homely, with a farmhouse kitchen that looked out over the cliffs and the sea beyond. Stef stood at an Aga, her hair curled around her attractive face. When she saw them, she rubbed her hands on her apron and embraced Daisy in a whiff of Chanel perfume and cake mixture. ‘I’ve just put a Victoria Sponge into the oven,’ she said, beaming at them. ‘Ash, love, why don’t you show Daisy around?’
‘Gladly.’ Ash twinkled at her and grabbed her hand. God, she already loved the warm, welcoming house, with the lights at the windows, a large Christmas tree in the hallway, and the garland decorated with pretty tartan bows woven around the banister.
And she was about to throw a bomb that would blow it all up.
Perhaps she was mistaken, she thought, hoped, in the days that followed. Perhaps the fact this man had sandy-coloured hair and a double crown was just a coincidence. After all, there couldn’t be only one man in Devon fitting this description. And she’d never seen his face. He seemed nice too. Jolly, loving, constantly checking in with her and Ash, making sure they were happy, comfortable. It was hard to believe that Ash had suffered a breakdown as a teenager with a family like this.
The day before she was due to leave for home she’d managed to convince herself that she’d got the wrong guy. Of course it wasn’t going to be Ash’s dad. She was self-sabotaging. That’s what this was. And she very nearly pulled it off, the deception that she’d got the wrong man.
Until she saw the Sunday newspaper on the arm of the chair the day before she was due to leave.
And the doodles in the margins.
41
Emilia can’t stop thinking about her conversation with Ottilie. She’s sandwiched between two very large men on the packed tube train, and she notices that a guy standing up, holding the railing above, is watching her. He is around her age, maybe a bit younger, with spiky light-brown hair and dressed casually in baggy jeans and a beige Harrington jacket. She can tell he’s watching her because every time she looks up from the Wikipedia page on her phone she’s pretending to read she catches his eye and his glance slides away.
When the train pulls in at Richmond she hurries out into the open air. It’s still raining but has reduced to a light warm drizzle, and by the time she’s marched through town and up the hill towards her house, she’s sweating. She stops at the brow, peeling off her waterproof mac, not caring if she gets wet, and then she glances at her watch. She’s got half an hour before she has to go and pick up Wilfie and Jasmine. It’s a forty-five-minute round trip to collect Jasmine too, but she’d drive the length of the UK if it meant making sure her children got home safely.
The streets near her house are empty and she starts moving again.
Then she hears footsteps behind her.
She resists the urge to look around and continues up the hill, picking up her pace despite the stitch in her side. The footsteps are closing in. She can’t physically move any faster unless she breaks into a run, and she no longer has easy access to her personal alarm because she’s taken her coat off. She tells herself to relax, but Louise’s body flashes in her mind and fear grips her. There’s nothing for it. She runs, the exertion causing the pain in her side to intensify, but she can’t stop: her life depends on it. She’s suddenly certain of that. Is it her imagination or is the person behind her running as well? She rounds the corner to her street, relief surging through her that her house is in sight, and doesn’t stop until she reaches her driveway. The man who had been watching her on the tube is walking past. His hands are deep in his pockets and he’s not looking at her as he crosses the street and turns the corner. Is it a coincidence that he just happens to be walking this way, and so close behind? She takes a few deep breaths, waiting for her heart rate to return to normal, and is just about to head into the house when she hears her name called.
She turns in the direction of the voice and sees Jonas getting out of his car, which is parked further down the street. Her heart sinks as he approaches.