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Back The Scarlet Dress Save as PDF
Chapters (84)
  1. Dedication
  2. Prologue
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. Friday
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. Saturday
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. Sunday
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. One Week Later
  77. 71
  78. Afterwards
  79. 72
  80. Acknowledgments
  81. Reading Group Questions
  82. More from Louise Douglas
  83. About the Author
  84. About Boldwood Books

‘It’s a fish,’ said Marnie. ‘Mr deVillars caught it for you.’

‘I don’t want it,’ Denise said.

‘But—’

‘I don’t want it! What are you doing bringing disgusting things like that into the cottage?’

Denise had stood up angrily, pushing back her chair. She’d picked up the bag and taken it outside. Marnie stood at the back door and watched as her mother walked in her slippers down the incline to the bottom of the garden, swung the bag back by its handles and then threw it. It flew into the air and fell into the mass of undergrowth that lay between the end of the cottage garden and the start of the estuary.

‘There,’ she said. ‘Let the magpies have it.’

She’d turned and marched back into the cottage. She’d washed her hands under the cold tap and dried them on the tea-towel, then she’d sat back down on the chair, and she’d started to cry. There was no reason for her tears that Marnie could see, but it was frightening to see her mother crying like that, as if her heart was breaking.

‘It’s never going to stop,’ she’d sobbed. ‘It’ll never be over.’

Marnie had gone to Denise and stood beside her, patting her back, trying to comfort her.

‘I’m sorry, Mummy!’

‘It’s all right, Marnie. It’s not your fault.’

‘Please don’t cry.’

‘I’ll be fine in a moment. Don’t worry. It’s nothing. I’m being silly.’

* * *

The handle of the door to John Morahan’s bedroom turned and the door opened a crack. Mister stood to attention. Marnie slid the cutting back into the card, snapped it shut.

‘Marnie? You OK in there, love?’

She shoved the card back into the pile of her father’s discarded stuff. And from somewhere managed to fake a smile of reassurance as the old man’s anxious face peered round the door.

47

After Marnie had taken his hand and led him away from Alice’s caravan on the evening she disappeared, Will had stolen a bottle of vodka and taken it down to the beach. He’d drunk almost half its contents and then he’d left the bottle in the sand and staggered back into the holiday park. John Morahan, alerted by the traveller woman, had found him outside Caravan 49, taken him back to the chalet, and put him to bed. Will had vague memories of John telling him he was a prat, but that was the last thing he remembered. Later still, he’d got up and gone out again; the only evidence for this was his cut foot. It was possible – probable given what had happened before – that he’d returned to Caravan 49.

The not remembering was killing Will. Those lost hours. What had he done? Who had seen him?