Bad Sister(80)
‘Brett? What does he know?’
‘Jenna. Poor Jenna. She only wanted it to go back as it was before. Before that man and his wretched boy came. I shouldn’t have asked her to lie.
‘Jimmy was meant to save us. Get the ladder. GET THE LADDER, JIMMY!’ Rosie’s shouts made Connie jump. Tears streaked Rosie’s face. Then she turned away, looking back towards the window.
‘I looked for Jimmy, he wasn’t there. He was supposed to be there. I panicked, the smoke was so thick. Black. I managed to get out. I left him there. He thought I was still in the room, he was shouting, shouting, Rosie, Rosie, where are you? I let him die. Banging at the window, screaming for help. I left him.’ She faced Connie again. ‘I only wanted to go back to what it was before. With Jenna’s dad. We thought we’d arranged it well. It all went so wrong. So wrong. We only wanted the money. The money to leave – just me, him and Jenna. We never wanted anyone to get hurt. I didn’t want him dead. I just wanted to be away from him.’
Oh, my God. Had the fire been set deliberately to get insurance money? It suddenly came together in Connie’s mind. Jimmy – that was Uncle Jimmy, the drunk. He was meant to be there to get them from the fire. Rosie said he fell asleep. So, he hadn’t been where he should’ve been, ready with a ladder to help them all escape. Why the hell had she gone that far for money? And with them all inside the house? That was an extreme measure to make it more realistic, believable. They must’ve assumed that people wouldn’t question it, wouldn’t think it was arson – an act to defraud – if they were all in the house at the time of the fire.
And Steph had been in on the plan. That’s why she was so angry at her mum, and had been for all those years. Because she’d been left, the plan completely ruined, no house, a dead stepdad, life not back to how she’d wanted it with her mum and real dad. Instead, she’d been left with useless Uncle Jimmy – knowing he’d been the one who let them down. Connie remembered Miles saying that Steph’s dad’s whereabouts were unknown. It made sense now – he’d obviously done a runner after the fire destroyed everything. Was he the one who took the insurance money? He needed to disappear so he didn’t have to answer awkward questions, so he couldn’t be implicated. Which left three others who knew the awful truth: Steph, who was carrying around her guilt; lecherous Uncle Jimmy, who was flat-out pissed all the time; and Brett, who until recently had been safely locked up in prison. Alone, confused, and believing he had started the fire. That was, until the therapist had worked with him, helped him recall the traumatic events of that night. Then he realised he had been set up to take the blame when the plan went so terribly wrong.
He had been the scapegoat. Just as he said.
Brett had been telling the truth. Why on earth hadn’t he appealed his sentence when he’d unearthed his real memories? But, then, memories weren’t evidence. What a terrible situation, how would he have been able to prove his innocence with so much stacked against him?
As quickly as Rosie had become lucid and cooperative, she switched off again. Her eyes returned to their dull, blank and staring state. Connie had heard enough anyway.
It was difficult, in that moment, not to despise the broken woman before her.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
Killing him had been the task that he’d been given – that had been his responsibility, but once the tattoo idea had begun formulating in his mind, it stuck – it had been so genius there was no way he could unthink it once he’d thought it. A lot of the plans had been outside of his remit – being in prison meant he’d had to rely on others. He’d been given the details, bit by bit over the year. It’d been a painstaking process, and one he’d had little say in – just instructions. But the tattoos were his contribution – although he’d still needed help to execute it.
Whatever. His part had been vital, he’d been needed.
It felt good to be needed.
And it wasn’t over yet.
He’d got her key copied easy enough. He’d left a message for her while he was there. To toy with her. It couldn’t hurt to have a bit of fun with her first.
Now he waited.
For part two.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
Connie
Wednesday 21 June
Connie replayed the visit with her dad and Rosie again and again as she travelled back to Devon on the overcrowded train. She hadn’t been able to get a seat until Birmingham New Street and now her legs were hot, her feet swollen – the tight skin acting like rubber bands around her ankles. She massaged them, wishing she could be home already, taking a cool shower, opening a cold bottle of lager.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she decided to visit Steph’s mum; what she’d wanted to hear. She guessed it was confirmation she was after, for Rosie to somehow convey that Brett had to be responsible for Steph’s death. Connie had been so convinced she was right, that he’d killed her – because Steph couldn’t possibly have jumped to her death, killing Dylan in the process. How had Connie been so wrong about that? She’d have to speak to Lindsay when she got home, tell her it looked as though she and Mack were right after all – Steph had killed herself and her son in a terrible act of fear. Fear that her lies were finally going to be exposed, that the hideous plan she’d helped her mum with and had kept secret all those years was coming out. She’d protected her mum until the end. No wonder she was so angry. As far as she believed, her mum had got away with it all – and dementia had taken all the bad memories of what she’d done. Steph had been left to carry all of the guilt.