My Sister's Bones(84)

I don’t respond but I know I have to keep him talking.

‘But Kate?’ I go on. ‘She met her in Brixton . . . She said she lived there.’

‘Another little day trip,’ he says. ‘I’ve got some old friends there. Nice, wasn’t it, Hannah? Some reporter Aunt Kate turned out to be, eh? Didn’t even see what was right under her nose. Dumb bitch.’

‘And the baby?’ I ask. ‘Did she have him in hospital?’

He shakes his head and smiles.

‘Do you think I’m stupid?’ he says. ‘I wasn’t going to risk hospital with all those do-gooder types. Nah, she had him in here. Fida delivered him.’

Fida. She knew that Hannah was in here. Why didn’t I listen to her?

‘I believe you two have met,’ he says.

‘How . . . how do you know that?’

‘I was following her. Knew she was up to no good. I saw her through the window,’ he sneers. ‘Thankfully, you did the job for me. Scared her off.’

I go cold. She had been so close to telling me. If I had let her then none of this would be happening.

‘She shouldn’t have done that,’ he goes on. ‘I told her to keep her mouth shut but she disobeyed me. Still, she won’t be doing much talking for a while.’

‘You did that to her?’ I say, thinking of Fida lying on the stairs. Why didn’t I go straight next door and call an ambulance?

‘She’s a clever girl,’ he says. ‘Too clever for her own good. But she slipped up; thought I wouldn’t find out that she’d called the office and asked the dozy receptionist for my home address. Silly girl. But dirty as hell in bed. She’s a bit like Hannah, the product of a broken home. A war zone. And, like Hannah, I rescued her. You could say I’m a bit like Saint Kate in that respect, eh?’

‘You are nothing like my sister,’ I whisper.

‘What’s that?’ he says. ‘Come on. I want to hear you.’

‘I said you’re nothing like my sister.’

‘Well, no, I suppose I’m not cos I’m alive and she’s dead. You seem to have that effect on people, don’t you, Sal? Your dad, your mum, Kate, all gone.’

‘Mum loved you,’ I say. ‘She would be devastated if she knew.’

‘Can I tell you a secret?’ He spits the words out and I can taste his breath. ‘Hannah, I’m going to tell your mother our little secret.’

Hannah doesn’t respond. He’s broken her. My lovely feisty, argumentative girl has gone. She’s just a shell. The old Hannah would be fighting her way out of here. Instead she’s just watching, letting this go on and on.

‘Okay, I’ll tell her,’ he says, brushing the knife across my face like a feather. ‘Your mum dealt with it stoically. Better than I expected.’

‘Dealt with what?’ I ask. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’m talking about your mother,’ he says, returning the knife to my throat. ‘Your darling mother who you hated. Mouthy old girl she was, just like you. She thought the sun shone out of my behind for a time but then she started sticking her nose into my business, thought she could play games with me. Talking into her machine day and night like she was f*cking Miss Marple.’

I hear my mother’s voice on the Dictaphone as I close my eyes.

Tiny little thing, can’t be much more than three or four, in the house next door.

‘Mum knew?’ I whisper. ‘She knew about David?’

‘She saw him in the garden a couple of times,’ he says as he adjusts his weight so his elbows dig into my stomach. ‘But who’d believe her? Most people thought she was off her rocker anyway. And so I did the kind thing and booked her into that care home.’

‘What? Mum didn’t have dementia?’

‘No,’ he says. ‘But I had a bit of fun letting her think she did. I started moving things around, made her think she was losing it. Christ, she thought her dead kid had come back to haunt her. By the time I made that call she was practically begging to be put away.’

He shakes his head and laughs.

‘You need help,’ I whisper. ‘You’re not well.’

‘That’s rich, coming from a bloated alcoholic,’ he says. ‘Yeah, that’s very good, Sal.’

‘Why did you do it?’ My chest is so tight now it feels like my heart will burst out of it. ‘Why our lovely Hannah?’

‘She wasn’t our lovely Hannah,’ he says, a smile creeping across his face. ‘She was the result of a quick fumble between you and some spotty teenager.’

‘She was an innocent young girl, Paul.’

‘Innocent, that’s a laugh,’ he says. ‘She’s a little slag, like her mother. You’ll spread your legs for anyone, won’t you, Han?’

He lifts himself off me and walks over to where Hannah is sitting with David.

‘Move,’ he says to the boy, pushing him away. David doesn’t make a fuss, just sits down on the floor. His obedience is chilling.

‘As I was saying,’ he continues. ‘She was a proper little slag.’

I look up. Paul has his arm round Hannah’s throat. He’s pulled her off the bed and is leading her towards me.