The Vow - Debbie Howells Page 0,72
was safely ensconced in her dull suburban life, that she held the trump card. But as I walked away, I swore on my life that one day, our roles would be reversed. It would be me holding the trump card. This time, it would be Amy no-one would listen to, Amy who ultimately suffered and who at long last, paid the price.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
With Matt still missing, my conviction grows that the police are right and Amy is connected with his disappearance. From speaking to Matt, I know exactly where she lives, in the house I know from way back, on a quiet lane. I don’t think even Matt knew it was her gran’s house. For a moment, I picture it as it was when we were teenagers; the thick walls with stories embedded in the age-old Chinese wallpaper; where overgrown hedges and flint walls guarded an alchemist’s garden. I wonder if it’s changed. Then I try to imagine how life is there, in a home tarnished by the memory of what happened all those years ago.
One evening before Amy’s arrest, idle curiosity – or obsession, as no doubt some people would call it – took me to that house. Amy’s house. As I stood outside, I couldn’t believe she’d made it her home. It used to be a magical place with a wilderness of a garden. Now, the memory of what happened here is hidden behind the neat front lawn, the closed wooden gate, the curtains masking the glow from an upstairs window.
My idle curiosity satisfied, I drove back to Brighton, as something Matt said came back to me. It was about Amy refusing to sell the cottage, and it causing endless rows between them. At the time, it had puzzled me, but now, knowing who she is and who it used to belong to, I wonder if there’s more to it than she’s letting on.
Back in my flat again, I was struck by the fact that that this was some coincidence. I’d thought about calling her to confront her about Matt, but also, because I was curious, to find out what she knew about me. Instead, I poured myself a drink, trying to ignore my conscience pushing me to do what I didn’t want to: to tell the police what I knew about Amy and what she was capable of.
But seeing the house again stirred up memories of that day, twenty-three years ago, as I remember the teenager who died. The elderly woman who took the blame, a woman who was innocent. Amy and I knew that, just as Amy and I know the truth. But it’s a truth that will remain hidden, like the vow we made, forever binding us, in silence.
Blood sisters.
Suddenly irritated, recklessness gripped me. Picking up my phone, I dialled the number I’d found online for Amy’s business. Waiting as it rang, imagining what her reaction would be, irritated with the way she’d clung on to Matt, wanting to shake her up. At last, she picked up and I had my chance.
‘Hello, Amy.’
There was more to say, but it was all I managed to get out before she hung up, then immediately blocked me.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The first time PC Page calls and asks me to come in to the station, it’s only days since Matt’s gone missing. I try to keep the annoyance out of my voice, as we arrange a time that’s supposedly mutually convenient; knowing I have no choice. But after the call ends, the pressure is palpable. Presumably it’s to do with Matt, but I’ve no way of knowing what Amy’s said to them. If she’s said too much, who knows what conclusions the police may have jumped to.
It’s early afternoon when I drive along the seafront towards the police station. The sea swell is a surging grey-blue, the sky scattered with white clouds. When I park and get out, I pull my jacket around me against the wind, before heading inside. A young officer leads me along a typically bland corridor with white walls and a brown carpet, until he stops outside a cracked-open door. As he knocks, inside, from behind an untidy desk, PC Page looks up.
‘Please come in, Ms Rose. Take a seat.’
As I walk in, I take off my jacket, slinging it over the back of the chair, wondering why a phone call wouldn’t do and why it’s so important for me to come here.
‘DI Lacey’s joining us. He won’t keep us long.’
Alarm flickers through me. I haven’t been