a proper search,’ Ross said. ‘I’m sure other Forest Grovians will be more than happy to help.’
‘I don’t know, Ross,’ Melissa said. ‘We need to leave the police to it.’
‘Fat lot of good they’re doing,’ he said in disgust.
‘There’s not much else they can do, Ross,’ Jackie said. ‘We’ve all seen the police presence. Remember, it’s been less than a day since it happened.’
‘They don’t know Forest Grove like we do, though!’ Ross replied, picking his mobile phone up. ‘If we want to get anything done around here, we need to do it ourselves. I’ll give Tommy Mileham a call, get some of the crew together.’
‘The Crew’ was the name of the original residents of Forest Grove, a tight-knit group of five couples who’d ingrained themselves in each other’s lives over the past twenty-six years, bringing their children up together, spending most weekends together, even holidaying together. It had been that crew who had all been there for Melissa and her mother all those years ago too.
‘I think we need to let the police do their job, really,’ Melissa said, panic fluttering in her chest. Usually, she’d be up for the rest of the community getting involved and sorting out any messes in the village, like when the local allotment was getting vandalised. Bill and Ross had set up a nightly watch and eventually found the culprit, a man from the next town who was trying to jeopardise their chances of winning the county allotment contest. His punishment? He was never allowed to enter the village again, even being marched off the premises of the Neck of the Woods pub when he was seen there a couple of years later with his grandchildren. That was what punishment meant in Forest Grove: ostracism, something that struck fear into the village’s residents.
But this time, Melissa didn’t want the full force of the village behind this, not until she knew what had happened herself.
‘Melissa’s right,’ Jackie said. ‘Don’t go getting all gung-ho, Ross.’
‘Fine. If you say so,’ Ross said with a sigh as he put his phone away.
Melissa breathed a sigh of relief.
‘You must be so worried about the kids,’ Jackie said to Melissa, unplugging the sink and pushing her red glasses up her nose as she regarded Melissa. ‘Any mother would be, to know her children saw their father like that, especially little Grace.’
‘How did they seem when you came to look after them last night?’ Melissa asked.
‘In shock, sweetheart. What about you? It must be so awful for you, worrying about your husband, worrying about the kids too.’
Melissa nodded. Jackie always seemed to get to the crux of the matter. ‘It is. I don’t know how best to approach it. They’re just bottling it all up.’
‘Never any good,’ Ross said.
‘Only natural, though,’ Jackie said. ‘Same happened when our Riley saw the dog get run over when he was seven. Remember that, Melissa? You were living here then.’
‘Oh yes, that was horrible.’
‘Riley didn’t speak for a week,’ Jackie said. ‘I even thought about taking him to see Kitty Fletcher.’
Kitty Fletcher was a local therapist whose book, Raising Children the Kitty Fletcher Way, was a bit of a bible for the mums of Forest Grove. Its premise revolved around not allowing children any screen time at all and focusing instead on outdoor activities.
Think of the glossy screen of a tablet, TV or phone like the open mouth of a dementor from the Harry Potter books, sucking the soul out of your children, Melissa remembered Kitty saying once when she launched her book in the village’s courtyard. At that very moment, Lilly had been taking a selfie for her new Instagram account, which Melissa had let Lilly set up for her thirteenth birthday. Melissa was sure Kitty’s eyes had been drilling into her as she’d said that and she couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. She and Patrick had promised themselves they’d reduce the kids’ screen time, something Patrick was always banging on about anyway . . . but then he wasn’t with the kids as much as she was.
Melissa had taken the kids to the Woodland Wonderland area that Kitty had helped create. It was behind the visitor centre and was a large outdoor sensory area that would supposedly keep children entertained for ‘hours on end, whether they’re one month old or sixteen years’. Alongside the usual bug hotels and wooden play equipment for little ones, there were also ‘chillhouse’ huts where teenagers could hide away and talk. There were