it seems yesterday was that day.’
‘Is she ill, your mother?’
‘I think she’s showing some early signs of dementia.’ Anna was surprised at herself for telling Lizzie. But then she always had found it easier to talk to someone outside of the family, someone who didn’t know the people involved; couldn’t judge.
‘Ah. I’m sorry. It’s a terrible thing watching the person you love become less like the person you’ve known all your life, I’m sure. Nice that you’re here for her though. Are you the only child?’
‘Yep. It’s all on me. My mum and dad separated years ago, so Mum only has her neighbours and the other villagers to look out for her. You never really prepare yourself for a parent to deteriorate, to die – do you?’ Anna gave a half-smile. Lizzie’s skin had paled, and immediately Anna realised she’d put her foot in it. Shit. Lizzie had been coming out of the churchyard – what was the betting she’d been visiting the grave of one of her parents? Maybe even both. That would explain her odd ‘kinda, yes, no,’ response when she’d asked if she was visiting family. ‘I’m sorry, Lizzie – I …’ she faltered.
‘It’s fine. Really. And no, you’re right, you don’t prepare yourself – even in later years.’ Lizzie dropped her gaze. ‘But you especially don’t prepare when you’re just seven years old when it happens. How could a child ever envisage something happening to her parents?’
Oh, God. Anna flinched. ‘How terrible,’ she said, now wishing she hadn’t begun this line of conversation. Anna had never been very good with other people’s grief, and today she’d overdosed on it. As much as she wanted to move the conversation on to a brighter topic, she knew she’d opened this poor woman’s wound now, so had no option but to watch the blood flow out. ‘What happened?’
Anna’s question was met with silence. They carried on walking, side by side – Anna led them past Major’s Farm and along Langway Road, making sure to give a passing glance to each property, checking if anything unusual adorned their doors. They were almost at the turn that would take Anna back home when Lizzie finally spoke again.
‘Cancer,’ she said. ‘My mother died of cervical cancer. She was only twenty-four.’
‘I’m so sorry, Lizzie. That’s shocking. It must’ve turned your world upside down.’ Anna truly felt terrible for this woman – to have had such a young mother, then lose her. Her life must’ve changed dramatically afterwards. No doubt Lizzie had a long, probably painful story to tell, but Anna realised they were getting closer to Muriel’s road now and she didn’t really want to invite a stranger in. ‘Er … I’m going to have to head back, actually. Mum will be anxious – I’ve been longer than I thought.’
‘’Course. Sure.’ Lizzie looked around her, like she was lost. Of course. She’d dragged the poor woman quite a way from where her car was parked, through winding lanes. She was probably wondering how to get back to it.
‘If you go left here it’ll take you back onto the main road of Mapledon, then hook another left, back up the hill.’ Anna smiled.
‘Good, thanks. Oh, Anna – er … I have no place to stay, actually … so …’
‘Oh.’ Anna panicked for a moment, thinking Lizzie was angling to stay with her. Surely she wouldn’t ask that of someone she’d just met? She hesitated before remembering the B&B on the edge of Mapledon. ‘Have you checked out Bulleigh Barton? It’s a beautiful place, rolling hillsides, quiet. I almost checked in myself rather than stay at my mother’s! There’s a leaflet for it in the shop window. It’ll have their phone number – you’ll see it when you head up the hill.’
‘Great. I’d kinda left without any plan, really. And this didn’t appear to be a place where I could get a cheap Airbnb deal,’ Lizzie said.
‘No, I guess it doesn’t. There’s literally just that one place within ten miles, I think. Not many visitors to Mapledon …’
‘Not if they want to leave again, right?’ Lizzie said, unsmiling. The intensity in her eyes made Anna shiver.
So much for Anna having a ‘story’, Lizzie thought as she strode back to her car, her mind whirring. Visiting her mother who had dementia. Sentimental, and not exactly what Lizzie had been hoping to learn. Lizzie had failed to get Anna’s surname – or her mother’s name – no information regarding any recent events in this godforsaken village. She was no closer to finding out if he might be here. But, thanks to her new friend, she did now have a place to stay. Lizzie had finally got a mobile signal as she approached the top of the hill and booked herself into Bulleigh Barton for three nights. She reasoned that if she hadn’t found what she was looking for within that time, then she never would.
A couple of people had openly stared at her as she’d stood punching the number of the B&B into her phone outside the shop. She’d been tempted to strike up a conversation but had ultimately chickened out, the thought of the questions they’d ask her putting her off. Before talking to anyone else, she required a night to prepare. She may have already said too much to Anna, who might well go straight home to her mother and repeat everything she’d said. Thinking about it, there was a strong possibility that by tomorrow the whole village would know her name. Had she been too quick to introduce herself? Giving her full name had been a mistake. Anna hadn’t been that naive. But, she realised, if someone googled her, they were only likely to find articles she’d written, nothing about her past.
A journalist in Mapledon, though. How welcome would that be?
After sitting in her car contemplating for a good ten minutes, Lizzie reversed and instead of driving back down the main road leading out of Mapledon, she turned into the one that Anna had walked her down moments before. She pulled up outside the primary school, her heart fluttering furiously. A stream of disjointed memories had slammed into her brain from nowhere when she and Anna had walked past it. It had shocked her. So much so she’d felt debilitated; unable to move. These were things she knew she had to face if she were to have any chance of shaking off her past once and for all.
Lizzie put the car in gear and moved off again. She had an urge to see the bungalow – it couldn’t be too hard to find in such a small village and she had recognised the school, so maybe other places would be familiar as well. A tiredness swept over her, though, so she decided it would be a task best left to tomorrow. Because if he had come back, then going there would be too much to handle in one day. To face him would take far more strength than she currently had. She’d rather know what she was likely to come up against, be better equipped. Her plan to get information from the villagers was the one she should follow to limit the hurt, the pain she would undoubtedly feel all over again.
As Anna had said, Bulleigh Barton was on the edge of Mapledon, barely half a mile outside, situated down a narrow lane and reached via a long driveway. As soon as Lizzie stepped out of her car she immediately felt calmer, more awake and far less anxious than she’d been in the village. It was as though the air was purer, less toxic. She was greeted warmly by the owner, Gwen – a bubbly woman of around fifty with a soft, Irish lilt. Lizzie was offered tea and biscuits and then shown to her room, which had a luxurious double bed, a homely feel and overlooked the fields. It seemed, at least here, strangers were welcome. But maybe it was because Gwen had been an outsider herself once.
‘This is perfect, thank you, Gwen,’ Lizzie said, smiling.
‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your stay better, won’t you? You’re my only guest at the moment.’
‘Will do,’ Lizzie