‘I told you,’ Bridget says. ‘I invited her.’
‘I’ve just come from the police station. They told me about the Facebook page. It was you, wasn’t it?’ he says to Bridget. I look from one to the other in confusion. If Tim killed Sophie, how can he not have known about the Facebook page?
Bridget shrugs defiantly.
‘They’ll find out,’ he says. ‘They can trace these things. They’ll know within hours that it was you.’
‘Do you think I care about that?’ she says, her voice cracking. ‘I’m dying. Somebody had to bring them to account, those girls who drove Maria over that cliff.’
Tim’s face crumbles and he moves a step closer.
‘We don’t know what happened, Mum. You have to let it go.’
‘Let it go? How can I let it go? It won’t let me go. There’s something else too, something I need to know. He was going to tell me at the reunion.’
‘What? Who was?’ Tim runs a hand through his hair so that it stands up on end. Henry shifts even closer in to me and I put my arms tightly around him, stroke his hair. It’s OK, I will silently, not daring to speak or move.
‘Nathan Drinkwater.’ Bridget spits the words.
‘What are you talking about?’ Tim says, confused.
‘He sent me a friend request on Facebook. Well, he sent Maria a friend request. He said he knew I wasn’t really Maria, but that he knew something about what really happened the night she disappeared. He said he had something of hers to show me that would prove it. He was going to meet me at the reunion, but then you were there and you wouldn’t let me go in.’
‘But, Mum, this is crazy. Nathan Drinkwater is dead. He died years ago.’
‘What?’ Her rage abates, and for the first time today, Bridget looks vulnerable, lost. ‘He can’t be.’
‘He is. I looked him up, after Louise asked me about him when I saw her in Norwich. He died in a car crash in London. It was in the news, because he’d become famous in a very minor way, he wrote a couple of books, had a bit of success with them.’
‘Then who…’
She looks at Tim, then at me, her face ashen.
‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘But it wasn’t Nathan.’
Tim seems to wilt slightly, resting his back against the wall and rubbing his eyes. It feels like a chance and with the lethargy of a few moments before lifting suddenly, I am galvanised into action. I pick Henry up in one smooth movement and run down the hall with him and out of the front door, leaving it swinging behind us. Along the path, out of the gate. When I reach the comparative safety of the pavement I put Henry down and look behind me, still moving, dragging Henry by the hand, to see if Tim is in pursuit. Thump. I run straight into Sam’s chest. I clutch him, my whole body shaking uncontrollably.
‘Daddy!’ Henry says, all smiles, toast and trains forgotten.
Sam picks him up and holds him tight. Henry’s legs and arms close around him like a vice.
‘Thank God,’ Sam says into his neck. ‘I was just coming in, I couldn’t stand it any longer,’ he continues to me over Henry’s shoulder.
‘We need to go,’ I say, half-running towards the car.
‘What’s going on? Who was in there? It wasn’t…’ he trails off.
‘No. Bridget – Maria’s mum. I’ll explain in the car.’
‘Bridget?’ He’s standing still on the pavement and I tug on his arm.
‘Come on.’
With fumbling fingers I strap Henry into the back of Sam’s car and climb into the passenger seat. I close my eyes for a second, adrenaline still coursing through me, but Sam’s voice jolts me out of the moment.
‘Louise! Is Henry all right? Did she hurt him?’
‘No. He seems fine, he was perfectly happy when I got to him.’
‘Thank God. He must be exhausted. Let’s just get him home, and we can figure out what to do about Bridget in the morning.’
I rest my head back against the seat, my heart rate finally slowing. Now that Henry is safe, everything has lost its urgency. We head towards the main road out of Sharne Bay, Henry already fast asleep in the back. I stare out of the window into the darkness as it begins to rain, my thoughts broken only by the rhythmic sound of the windscreen wipers swishing gently back and forth.
As we swing onto the A11, the rain still beating a steady tattoo on the windscreen, I start to doze off, my head at an awkward angle against the window. I’m just slipping into that delicious state of total relaxation where you know you’re going to fall asleep but you’re still conscious, when Sam’s voice jolts me awake.
‘I can’t believe it was Bridget. What did she say?’ He sounds anxious.
‘She blames me for Maria’s death. Sophie too, but mostly me. The messages were about frightening us, punishing us for how we treated Maria.’
‘But how does she know —’
‘About the Ecstasy? She doesn’t. She thinks Maria killed herself. That’s why she blames me. Because of how I treated her. It was never about the Ecstasy.’
‘So she’s got no idea what really happened? She put you through all this, frightening you nearly to death, taking our child, just to get you back for a bit of schoolgirl bullying?’ I can sense his anger rising, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
‘She lost her child, Sam,’ I snap. ‘Neither of us can begin to understand what she’s been through.’ I try to think of Bridget as she was the first time I saw her – smiling, so hopeful with her tea and biscuits, but I can only see her as she was today: hollow cheekbones, suffering etched into her face as if someone had carved lines into it with a Stanley knife.
‘I know, I know. Sorry. It’s just the worry of this afternoon, Henry going missing like that. I thought we’d lost him, Louise.’ I reach out and put my hand on his knee and he covers it with his own. In the back, Henry stirs and whimpers. I turn round, removing my hand from beneath Sam’s, and reach back to stroke Henry’s leg.
‘It’s OK, Henry, go back to sleep.’
I look out into the darkness, thinking aloud.
‘The thing is, Bridget can’t have killed Sophie. She wasn’t even there for a start, and she wouldn’t have had the strength anyway. Sophie was strangled.’
‘It must have been Tim, then,’ says Sam.
‘No,’ I say. ‘He was there in the bungalow just now. He’d only just found out about the Facebook page himself. He’d been at the police station, they’d told him. He didn’t know, Sam. He didn’t know anything about it. And why would he have had Maria’s necklace anyway?’
‘Well, I don’t know about the necklace, but as for not knowing about the Facebook page, that’s what he would have said, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t think he was lying.’
‘Well, then… maybe it had something to do with Nathan Drinkwater,’ Sam says, swerving out to overtake a lorry.
‘What?’