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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

Mrs Lang opened the clasp of the handbag hooked over her arm, like the Queen’s, and took out a handkerchief. She dabbed at her nose, then she looked up at her husband and they came to some unspoken agreement and turned. Mrs Lang’s shoe had sunk into the mud, and she struggled to raise her left leg. For a moment it looked as if she might fall, but her husband caught her elbow, and Guy stepped forward and bent to pull the heel free. The cameras clicked. Then the couple walked back to the car with Jeremy and Guy a few paces behind them. Will’s eyes flickered between Guy and Jeremy. While Guy delivered a few words of sympathy to Mr and Mrs Lang, Jeremy stood for a little longer, gazing not at the holly tree but beyond, to the building site, to the police tent that had been erected over the trench where the bones had been found. As Will watched, Jeremy brought one hand to his lips, kissed the fingertips, and then blew the kiss towards Alice’s makeshift grave.

28

The sun was high in the sky and the tide was out. Marnie and the dogs walked the estuary path. She watched the birds, delicate waders with narrow, scooped bills feeding in the mudflats and, beyond, small flocks of white gulls that hung in the air then swooped and danced, describing the wind with their movements. Marnie missed the feeling of Alice being with her but there was a kind of relief too. For the first time in more than twenty-four years, she was not afraid of finding Alice’s bones washed up on the estuary’s stony fringes. The sea assumed a new innocence that day. She felt a new affection for its great expanse and the black ribs of long-sunk vessels that protruded from the mud, the driftwood, the patterns of a billion tiny worm-casts amongst the ancient black rocks.

Marnie stayed on the shore, low down, out of sight of the journalists and police. She didn’t want to run the risk of seeing Will again. She didn’t doubt he’d be out there, lurking around the holiday park, watching, asking questions to which he already knew the answers so he could incorporate them into his story. It should be her story, Alice’s. Why should he get to write it, he who had lied, who had made Marnie lie too? He who had shouted at Alice the same day that she disappeared, and called her names, and made accusations? He’d been horrible to Alice, that last day. Mean and jealous and unkind. And it had been partly Marnie’s fault because she was the one who’d told Will that Alice was seeing Guy deVillars that evening and that was what had triggered his jealousy.