Final Cut(25)

‘Thick as thieves.’

‘Who? Daisy and Sadie?’

‘What happened to your arm?’

She’s staring at my scar.

I don’t answer. I don’t want to tell her about the accident, but then she grabs it, her movements surprisingly quick, surprisingly strong.

‘You should get it seen to.’

I pull my arm back. ‘Tell me about Sadie. You said she wrote a note, too?’

‘They killed her.’

‘Daisy? They killed her?’

She folds her hands in front of her and stares out of the window. There’s nothing there, just a blank grey square in the wall, flakes of snow drifting beyond it, catching what’s left of the afternoon light like burnt paper.

‘Geraldine?’

More voices. This time there’s a knock on the door.

‘Geraldine?’ comes a voice, echoing mine. ‘Everything okay?’

I look back over my shoulder, but before I can answer Geraldine grabs my arm again, her face crumpled with pain. I feel terrible for what I’m doing, for the places I’ve taken her.

‘She’s here. My Daisy.’ Her gaze rests at a point over my shoulder.

‘Here?’ I say. I look round. There’s a woman there, dark hair, a pale green tunic. I wonder if she looks like Daisy, or like Daisy might now.

‘Geraldine?’ The newcomer looks from Geraldine to me. She notices the camera, clearly angled towards us both. ‘Miss?’

Suddenly, there’s another hand on my arm. The grip is strong, firm.

‘Miss, I think you’re upsetting her.’

I shrug off the woman’s hand, but it’s no use, too late. I’ve lost Geraldine completely. She’s returned to the television, apparently unaware that it’s no longer switched on.

‘I was just leaving,’ I say. I’m about to hold out my still-shaking hand when I’m gripped with the desire to do more, to embrace her, the conviction I won’t see her again and that that will be a terrible shame. So I do, I hug her, and though at first I think she’s going to recoil, she doesn’t. She’s still for a moment, then she leans into my embrace, her hands go round my back, she holds me tight. We melt into each other. She whispers in my ear, her voice tiny and desperate.

‘Please …’

‘What?’

‘Has it stopped?’

‘What?’

‘The girls. You have to help them.’

‘Who?’ I say. ‘Which girls?’

‘Help them. Please.’

My mind goes to Kat. And to her friend. Ellie.

‘Who? What’s wrong?’

She looks at me, her expression impenetrable. ‘Miss!’ says the voice from behind, stern now. I stare into Geraldine’s eyes, but something has dimmed. I hold her instead. It’s all I can do.

‘I have to go. I’m sorry.’

‘Come back for me, then.’

‘I will,’ I say, standing up. I feel terrible, even as I lie, but what else can I say? Her eyes close in relief.

‘Daisy …’ she says, but it’s half murmured; she’s drifted off once more, hovering somewhere between the past and the present, between pure fiction and misremembering.

‘Don’t leave me here,’ she says, and for a moment I wish more than anything that I could tell her I won’t.

The doors hiss open, but my taxi has gone. The driveway is empty save for a solitary car over by the entrance. Inside, I can make out a silhouetted figure, and I get the feeling it’s been watching the exit, waiting for me to come out. When I turn to look for the car park, the road is lit by the mysterious car’s headlights. It reverses and turns, the driver’s profile flashing momentarily into view. I’m filled with the sudden conviction that it’s David, though as it recedes doubt creeps in. No one is watching me, I tell myself. It’s coincidence, that’s all, another visitor leaving in a hurry. I’m being paranoid.

Back inside, I call Gavin; he arrives after twenty minutes.

‘You’re a lifesaver,’ I say as I get in, and he laughs.

‘Well, I couldn’t leave you stranded here, could I?’ He leans towards me, just slightly. ‘You’re not cold?’ he says. ‘Did you wait inside?’

I ignore his questions. ‘Shall we?’

We pull out of the car park. At the bottom of the drive he turns left, back towards Blackwood Bay. I can tell he’s itching to ask what I was doing there and, sure enough, after a minute he coughs delicately.

‘You went to see Daisy’s mother?’

‘Yes. I wanted to find out what she thought.’

‘And?’

‘Well,’ I sigh, ‘she’s really confused. But she insisted Daisy didn’t kill herself.’

‘She’s not the only one. Like I said.’

‘Who else?’

‘A few people. The woman who ran the guest house I stayed in when I first arrived, she said there’d been loads of talk when Daisy was first presumed dead but then it kind of fizzled out.’ He hesitates. ‘But if her own mother said she didn’t do it …’

‘I know. But she’s pretty muddled.’

‘So, you believe her? What does she think happened?’