Bad Sister(79)

‘Catch her?’

‘Talking to herself. But not in a random way, muttering like I’ve known her to do in front of us. No, sometimes, when her eyes are focused and intense, rather than vacant, she says things that make more sense. As if she’s having a proper conversation with an unseen person.’

‘Does she ever have visitors – her son, for example?’

‘She only has a daughter listed, but as far as I’m aware she hasn’t visited for years, not since Rosie’s first year here. And there’s Brett, but he’s not her son. He’d lived with them before the fire, as his dad was Rosie’s husband. Second husband, I believe. Very sad.’

‘What was sad?’ Connie played dumb about her knowledge of the fire, of Steph.

‘The fire. That’s why Rosie’s here.’ She spoke quietly again, as if her words might upset Rosie. ‘The husband died when Brett set the fire. On a bad day, Rosie mutters about it, not in a coherent way – the words are jumbled and she repeats certain words and phrases, but I have been able to piece stuff together, sometimes.’

‘Like what?’

‘Oh, like how it’s all his fault, she shouldn’t have trusted him. How she’s a stupid woman, he’d always let her down. Why would this time be different, that sort of stuff. I might be wrong, though, like I say – it’s my interpretation of her muddled snippets of sentences.’

‘But you also said she says different things, when she doesn’t realise you’re there?’

‘Yeah, she has more lucid moments. That’s when she seems to be saying the opposite, where she talks about how it all went wrong. She didn’t like him, but it wasn’t meant to have happened like that.’

Connie’s blood cooled in her veins. That was weird. Was Rosie telling one story to others and another to herself?

‘Thanks for taking the time to talk with me, it’s been really helpful. I won’t stay for much longer. I’ll just finish chatting to Rosie then I’ll be off. Don’t let me keep you from your work.’ Connie wanted to have another moment alone with Rosie, so she needed to get the nurse out of the room.

To someone who didn’t know what Connie knew about the event, Rosie’s words might not mean much; it was hard to connect it all and make sense of it. But, for Connie, it was beginning to make a little sense. She waited for the door to close, then went to Rosie. She pulled her chair around, away from the window, turning it to face her. She sat right opposite Rosie and got level with her eyes. What she was about to do was cruel, went against everything her training had ever taught her – but she didn’t have much time. Or much choice. And if Rosie really had dementia, hopefully her actions wouldn’t have an effect.

She took a deep breath.

‘Rosie. Look at me. I’m Connie. I’ve come here to ask you some questions. About the fire.’

Nothing.

God forgive me for this.

‘Rosie. Your daughter, Jenna, is dead. Brett killed her.’ The words came out clearly, despite the shakiness of her voice.

Rosie’s eyes widened. Her pupils – dark, big – moved and focused on Connie.

Christ. What had she done? What a terrible thing to do to this poor woman.

Rosie’s lips parted. Connie held her breath.

‘Ahhh, noooo.’ It was almost a wail.

Connie froze. Was she going to scream, cry? She looked towards the door, hoping no one was nearby. But Rosie quietened again. Connie didn’t know what to do, so she placed her hand over Rosie’s. It was cold, waxy. Her mind conjured Steph and Dylan’s dead bodies on the metal gurney in the morgue. Goosebumps prickled her arms.

‘Poor … Jenna.’ Rosie’s eyes shone with tears.

‘I’m so sorry.’ But Connie had started this now, she felt compelled to continue. ‘What happened in that house, Rosie, the night of the fire?’

‘It wasn’t … his fault.’ Rosie’s words sounded almost brittle. ‘It was mine.’

Connie’s hearing was temporarily drowned out by the banging pulse in her ears.

‘Why was it your fault, Rosie?’

She stared into Connie’s eyes. The coldness of Rosie’s hand spread up Connie’s arm. She took her hand away.

‘It wasn’t meant to happen like that.’

‘How was it meant to happen?’

‘Fucking Jimmy!’ she shouted.

Jimmy? Connie scrambled about in her memory, she’d heard that name before. From Steph, she was sure.

‘What did Jimmy do?’

‘He didn’t. He didn’t. He … he fell asleep.’

This was getting confusing. Connie had to piece this together. How could she pull this back?

Rosie lurched forward, grabbing Connie’s arm. ‘I made a mistake,’ she hissed. ‘I couldn’t face what I’d done.’

‘You set the fire?’ Connie blurted.

Rosie shook her head. Side to side, more and more violently. ‘I made a mistake, I made a mistake.’

‘It’s okay, Rosie. It’s all over now.’

‘It’ll never be over. Not until we all burn.’

‘No. It’s going to be okay, really.’

‘He’s been here. He hates me. He knows.’