Sleep became almost impossible unless I’d consumed a fewglasses of wine before bed and I became obsessed with finding out about thewoman who’d died. It felt totally wrong that I didn’t know anything about her,and I scoured the local paper’s obituary page, hoping to find what I waslooking for.
At last, ten days after that awful day, I found it: Inloving memory of Margaret ‘Maggie’ Palmer, formerly of Torminster, who passedaway suddenly at the age of eighty-one.
I stared at it, my heart beating fast.
It stated that the funeral was being held at the church inTorminster on Tuesday at 3pm and that all were welcome to help celebrateMaggie’s life. Not that I was planning to go to the funeral. I wasn’t sure thatwould be right.
But as the days ticked by and Tuesday rolled around, I wokeup knowing with certainty that I had to be there. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe Ihoped that paying my respects would help alleviate a little of the guilt Istill felt at not phoning for an ambulance that day. Or maybe I just wanted tohonour her as a person, even though I’d never even known her.
Whatever my motives, I knew I had to be there.
So I dressed in sombre clothes and arrived at the lastminute, slipping into a seat at the back of the church. And I listened withtears in my eyes to the vicar talking about this woman I didn’t know, but whosounded like such a kind person, who always tried to help those less fortunatethan herself – even strangers she met along the way – and was loved and admiredby everyone she knew. I hung back from the mourners at the graveside, watching fromunder the partial shade of a yew tree, and when I left, I made a promise tomyself that I would bring flowers to Maggie’s grave and they would be liliesbecause that’s what she’d been carrying that fateful day.
I also realised I’d reached a watershed in my life.
Living in Torminster was so tainted by bad memories now thatI felt an urgent need to leave the town myself. I couldn’t stand having to facethe curiosity and concern of neighbours and villagers who’d known Rachel andPoppy and were puzzled as to why they’d left in such a hurry. I honestly didn’tknow what to say in reply to their questions, so I began avoiding the localshops altogether, driving instead to the next town or the supermarket near theindustrial estate for my groceries.
Torminster no longer felt like home to me. And work was alsoadding to my burden. I felt I couldn’t give a hundred per cent the way I usedto, and when I analysed it, I realised it was because I was no longer copingwith the stress that came with the job – not when it was combined witheverything else that was going on in my life.
But if I resigned, what could I do instead?
Could I turn my hobby of pottery into a way of paying thebills? It seemed unlikely but I was desperate. I reasoned that if I rented outmy house, I’d have enough monthly income to downsize to a much smaller, rentedproperty somewhere else, although there wouldn’t be much left over. Perhapsenough to pay the bills but not much more. So I’d need an income from the wordgo, because starting up a successful pottery business certainly wouldn’t happenovernight.
I searched online and finally found something that seemed tosuit, and on the spur of the moment, I sat down and applied for the job.
I’d be working in a café in the village of Sunnybrook. Itwas just twenty miles from Torminster, but it was far enough away from thememories that haunted me, and I lay awake for hours, doing sums and working itall out.
The following morning, though, my courage failed me. It wastoo fantastical, thinking I could move and that everything would instantly bebetter. Realistically, I should stay right where I was, in the hope thateventually, Rachel and Poppy would come back.
But then, just as I was resigning myself to this, somethinghappened that turned everything on its head and made me realise that fleeingreally was the only option...
*****
I’d ventured out to the supermarket, and was pushing mytrolley to the check-out, when I spotted a familiar figure and my heartlurched.
Rosemary!
I left the trolley where it was and dived into the nextaisle, but it was too late. I knew she’d seen me. And sure enough, she caughtup with me just as I was hurrying for the exit.
‘Where are they? Tell me where they are!’ she demanded.
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know, Rosemary. I’d tell you if Idid.’
But she was visibly upset, shaking with anger andfrustration. ‘Poppy’s like my grandchild, for God’s sake. Can you imagine whatthat feels like? Not knowing where in the world she is? She could be anywhere!’
‘Hasn’t Darren been in touch? Or Rachel?’
‘No.’ She was almost in tears. ‘Darren phoned me to say theywere moving to Scotland because of his job and he promised to be in touch whenthey were settled and have me up for a visit. But I’ve heard nothing. They’vejust vanished and I’ve no idea why.’ She narrowed her eyes at me. ‘Butyoumustknow where Rachel’s gone. The two of you are thick as thieves. There’s no wayshe’d have left without telling you where they were going.’
‘But she didn’t. She just left, with Poppy and Darren. I’vehonestly no idea where they are now.’
‘I know what you did, Mackenzie,’ she said coldly, changingtack. ‘I was there and I saw what happened. I saw you drive off after knockingthat poor woman over, and I’ll make sure everyone knows about it if you don’ttell me where Poppy is.’
‘Rosemary, I can’t tell you if I don’t know myself.’ I wasdesperate to make her believe me, but I could see in her eyes she thought I waslying. ‘And I didn’t hit that woman.’
I turned in a panic and hurried away from her.
But she shouted after me, ‘I know where you live and I’mgoing to park outside your house until you tell me where they’ve gone.’
