The Piggy Farmer (The Barrington Patch Book 3), Emmy Ellis [electric book reader txt] 📗

Not for the first time, she cursed her father’s dodgy heart. She wouldn’t be surprised if hers went the same way, what with all the stress.

Chapter Two

The Barrington Life – Your Weekly

JESS WILSON’S FUNERAL

Karen Scholes – All Things Crime in our Time

Sharon Barnett – Chief Editor

FRIDAY EVENING EDITION. JULY 11TH 1997

As many of you know, our lovely little Jessica Wilson was laid to rest, the police finally releasing her body to her parents. What a turnout. Thanks to everyone who came to show Joe and Lou their support — and thank you for doing what they wanted by buying your children something nice rather than spending it on flowers.

What I came to realise as I stood in that church and stared at that tiny coffin was: life is never guaranteed. We gad about thinking we have all the time in the world, don’t we, making plans for the future, when that very future isn’t always there waiting for us. Jess was supposed to grow up and fall in love, marry, and have kids. Instead… Well, we all know what happened. Tragic.

No bones about it, the police are useless. I’m not sorry for saying that either. I mean, come on, what were they doing, picking their noses? That child should never have been snatched, never have been held against her will, and never, ever should she have been dumped by The Beast on Sculptor’s Field. What kind of society do we live in for that to happen? Makes me sick.

The second kidnapper who was in the back of the van is still at large. We need to remain vigilant, watch our kiddies, in case whoever that was decides to do it again. Hold your child’s hand a bit tighter. Don’t let the smaller ones play outside by themselves. If it takes sitting on your doorstep while they kick a football in the road or whatever, that’s what you have to do. They’re precious, our kids, and if I find out someone’s ignored these rules, I’ll be letting Lenny know. He’ll deal with you.

Anyroad, I got carried away there. Once again, thank you for going to the funeral. Big hugs to Sharon for buying the balloons with Jess’ name on them. When we all let them go, I got massive goosebumps and hoped Jess could see them from Heaven. She’s an angel now, forever in our hearts.

Lou sighed and pushed The Barrington Life leaflet across the kitchen table. It had arrived an hour ago, Karen Scholes probably rushing home to write it. Sometimes, that woman was macabre the way she jumped on anyone’s misfortune and spread it around the Barrington. All right, Lenny had probably told her to do it, but still, some things could be left alone, couldn’t they? At least until tomorrow. It wasn’t that Lou didn’t want Jess in the forefront of people’s minds, she did, just not this minute.

She was drained from the funeral, absolutely washed out having to speak to so many people, accepting their condolences, lying and saying she’d be okay when she fucking well wouldn’t. She’d never be okay again. It had seemed like her body didn’t belong to her anymore, going through the motions, shaking hands, allowing people to hug her, and all the while, her soul had screamed: “Stop! Make this stop! Please, just leave me be.”

While she was grateful they’d come, taking the time out of their lives to attend, she wished she’d limited it to family and close friends. Instead, it seemed all of the Barrington had turned up, hundreds coming together as a community to mourn the heart-breaking loss of her child, some having to remain outside the church. Or, as she’d bitterly contemplated when the crowd was twenty-deep around the hole in the ground, they’d come for the excitement, something to bring drama to an otherwise shite day, and then had a reason to get bladdered in The Donny from the free bar Lenny had provided, not to mention the gorgeous spread, a buffet he’d paid some company to make. There had even been a cake made by Nicola in The Shoppe Pudding, little pink wellies on top, anchors for a fondant girl with curly blonde hair and a pretty ballerina dress.

A sweet Jess, as she’d been while alive.

Lou had taken it, wrapped it in a napkin, and once home, she’d placed it in a box and hid it at the back of a kitchen cupboard. One day it would crack, become distorted, a memory ruined by time, and she’d mourn that fondant girl along with the real thing.

No one would mourn more than her, she was sure of that. She was still in a state of shock, living in a surreal world where her daughter was gone but her heart refused to accept it. To get through since the discovery of the body, she’d pretended Jess was staying with family, on an extended holiday down south. Cornwall, playing in the sand, building castles. She’d have a pink bucket—Jess loved pink—and a pink spade, and she’d have a strawberry ice cream in a cone. She’d giggle when the sea whooshed up to bite her tiny toes, screeching as it chased her up the beach.

I’ll never hear that giggle again except in my head.

Joe had gone to bed, dog-tired from grief, from the enormity of standing there while such an obscenely small casket had been lowered into a just as obscenely small hole, so Lou had some time to herself now, precious time away from someone worrying over her. She got up and wandered upstairs to Jess’ room, quiet, so Joe didn’t hear her in his sleep and wake, asking if she was okay.

Everything was exactly as it should be in this toddler’s paradise, and every night since the kidnap, Lou had closed the curtains and switched on the lamp. Every morning she did the