The Family Game(89)

There’s another smell in the kitchen, though. I look across to my warped reflection in the copper pots hanging over the gas cooker. Then my eye catches something on the ground jutting out from the other side of the kitchen island. An ankle, a shoe, a foot. Tom Ford heels, and green nail polish. It’s Matilda.

I dash around the island unit where I find Eleanor and Matilda propped against the cupboards in front of the cooker, the doors of which are open. The soft hiss of gas fills the room. I grab a tea towel and thrust it over my face, leaning past their bodies to twist off the gas dials.

Then I drop to a crouch beside Matilda, checking her pulse. She stirs, sluggish, eyes fluttering open, drugged and dazed. I move to Eleanor; her pulse is slow and stable though she does not stir.

‘Harry. Harriet,’ Matilda groans, her eyes glazed. ‘Careful. He’s in a mood,’ she slurs.

‘Who’s in a mood, Matty?’ I ask, though I know the answer.

‘Little Eddy Teddy Bear,’ she giggles. ‘I feel mushy.’

They’ve been drugged with whatever Sylvia and Anya got; I’m guessing.

‘I know,’ I tell her. ‘Do you think you can stand up, Matty?’

She looks at her towering shoes with a frown and shakes her head. I dutifully remove them.

‘How about now?’

She shifts forward slowly, making her way up onto all fours. ‘I think someone put something in my drink,’ she mumbles, more to herself than to me. ‘Not the first time,’ she giggles. Then, after a moment, she pulls herself up to a very wobbly stand using the kitchen island as leverage. ‘I’m up. I’m up.’

‘Okay, we need to keep it quiet, Matty, okay?’

Matilda lifts a finger to her lips and nods earnestly.

I take her hands in mine and hold her gaze, focusing her. ‘Matilda, it’s very important you do what I say now, okay?’ She nods, squinting at me with concentration. ‘I need you to take your mother somewhere and hide. Okay? Can you do that?’

Matilda suddenly seems to notice her mother for the first time down on the floor beside her, and she covers her mouth to stifle a giggle. ‘Oops. Her too. Oh, okay. I can, we can, do that. Safe. Yep.’ She nods for an extended period.

‘Great. But you need to hide away from here. Do you understand? It’s not safe in the house. Something is going on.’

She nods her head and juts out her lower lip. ‘Yeah, Daddy and Eddy are fighting again. We can hide. I’m a good hider,’ she whispers, tapping the side of her nose.

‘Do you know where the hunting hides are, Matty? The hide at the edge of the forest?’

She grins.

‘Good, go there. If I don’t come and get you by the morning, you need to call the police, okay?’

She juts her lip out. ‘No phone.’

Fuck.

There’s no way around it. I fish my own phone from my pocket, remove my passcode settings, and hand it to her. ‘Do not lose this. And do not use it until the morning. I’m going to try and sort this out, but if I can’t, you need to call the cops when it gets light.’

Matilda looks baffled at the concept but gives an undaunted shrug. ‘Good for you, Harry,’ she says cheerfully, then claps me on the back and raises the phone. ‘No cops till daytime.’ She uses the phone to salute me then promptly turns to inspect her prone mother.

I watch her pocket the phone and when I’m certain she knows what she’s doing, I pick up my discarded shovel and head out of the kitchen.

As I shift through the house, heart thumping light and fast in my chest, a plan begins to form. I know what I need to do. I need to find Robert. He set this game in motion; he must have a solution, a plan. I’m aware my plan is basically to find out Robert’s plan is, but I think it’s fair to admit that he’s had longer to think this through than I have. And it’s definitely time we had our chat.

At the entrance to the new wing, I see Edward slumped against the glass on the other side of the security door. I only catch him from the back, his suit jacket crumpled and rucked on the transparent wall, his white shirt collar stained with the blood still dripping from his hair line. He’s locked himself in there, his bloody fingerprints smeared across the control panel. Someone must have got to him before me.

I watch his shoulders gently rising and falling as I approach and, safe in the knowledge that glass door is locked, I sink to the ground behind him, my breath fogging as I crane to get a better look at his face.

Over his shoulder I can see his lap, his blood-stained hands and the small pinkie ring on his little finger. It’s not Edward; it’s Stuart. Something inside me unclenches.

I tap delicately on the glass next to Stuart’s head. He jolts up, shocked at my proximity, and as he turns, I can see his movements are as slow and fuzzy as Matilda’s. There must have been something in the drinks this evening, or the coffee. Stuart wouldn’t have been drinking, so it must have been the latter.

His face is a mess; his right eye swollen, bruised shut, the wound to his right temple congealed, but there are blood stains on his cheek and neck all the way to his collar. He must have just gotten away from Edward, crawled in here where he knew he’d be safe. Edward doesn’t know the passcode to the new wing. I remember him trying to ignore his call the other day before Eleanor tapped in the keypad code. He wanted to see it, to get in here.