Anna gazed back towards Billy Cawley’s old bungalow, the memory of the game Knock, Knock, Ginger making her skin crawl. They’d been having innocent fun, hadn’t they? Being here now, she could envisage the two of them like she was seeing the imprints of their younger selves. Ghostly figures. She’d not allowed herself to think about Jonie for a really long time before today. But she knew, despite not consciously remembering her, what had happened that sunny afternoon was part of her. Had affected her more than she’d ever cared to admit to. Now, facing Tina, everything rose to the surface. Tears slid down her face.

‘Don’t. Don’t cry. Tears won’t help anyone,’ Tina said.

She’d created a shell, one that had hardened over time. They all had.

‘Sorry.’ Anna brushed the tears away with her fingertips. One word, weighted with guilt, years in the making. Not once had she uttered that word when it happened.

It wasn’t her fault, after all.

But Tina thinks it was.

‘Why are you back?’

Instinct told Anna not to mention the doll’s head.

‘Came to see Mum.’

‘Never bothered before.’

‘No, well – being the anniversary year …’ Anna felt herself cringe; she dropped her gaze.

‘So, you thought you’d come back to where it all began?’ Tina swept an arm out in front of her, indicating the bungalow. ‘Got a guilty conscience?’

And there it was. Thirty years on, the man responsible having served time in prison, and still Anna was getting the blame. Well, she wasn’t that little girl anymore: the meek, mild-mannered pushover Bella. She was Anna, and she’d had to work hard to overcome her weaknesses; she’d worked hard to heal the mental scars left behind.

‘No,’ she said firmly, shaking her head. ‘Have you?’

Chapter Seventeen

2019

Lizzie

She didn’t know where to begin looking for the grave, or even if she should. Voluntarily opening old wounds probably wasn’t wise. But then, coming here seeking him out wasn’t a wise decision either. Yet, here she was. Facing her demons.

As she slowly lifted the metal latch and stepped through the wooden gate into the church grounds, Lizzie shivered. It’d only been a gentle breeze brushing against her skin – a warm one at that – but it had triggered hundreds of goose bumps to appear on her pale, freckly arms. It was like a ghost had touched her. Walking briskly to the church door, Lizzie put all thoughts of ghosts to the back of her mind. The door creaked loudly as she opened it. Inside was silent. Cool. Empty, as far as she could tell. Flowers adorned the ends of each pew and at the altar stood a huge display of white lilies, daisies and aster – all left over from a wedding, she presumed.

A stray memory came to her. She’d been inside this church before. Sunday school – she remembered being at a small table at the back, sitting with other children. She’d gone a few times, but then something had happened; there’d been a reason she stopped attending. But what was it? She filed the memory away with all the other half-formed, blurry memories of her early childhood.