Final Cut(66)

She’s walked all this way. It seems impossible, yet the state of her clothes suggests it’s true.

‘You want something to eat?’

‘Please.’

I stand, but then Monica comes down the stairs with a pile of clothes. ‘Can you get these on her?’

I help Ellie peel off her damp T-shirt. She winces as I do. There’s a bruise across her back, another on the inside of her upper arm, and when I help her take down her jeans I see her legs are in the same state.

I know the wrong question now will make her clam up completely so I keep quiet. When she’s dressed, and though she hasn’t asked, I tell her her parents are on their way. There’s no response.

Monica returns from the kitchen with hot chocolate and a plate of jam sandwiches. ‘There we are,’ she says. ‘Tuck in.’

Ellie eats slowly and in silence, nibbling at the bread, forcing it down as though swallowing it dry. She blows on her drink and sips at that, too. It’s as if she’s embarrassed to be seen eating, as if consumption is shameful. When she’s done, she says she’s tired. Monica takes her upstairs to sleep while we wait for her parents to get here.

‘She’s in trouble,’ I say, once she’s returned. ‘She’s bruised. She’s scared. She’s protecting someone.’

‘David.’

‘She says it’s not him.’

I take the glass of wine she’s poured without asking. ‘There is something, though.’

‘What?’

I take out the photograph. ‘I found this. In David’s wallet.’

She examines it for a moment. ‘It’s Zoe.’

I nod.

‘Buy why would he have that? Unless he was involved?’

‘I don’t know. I just … Kat says he isn’t. And Ellie didn’t seem scared of him.’

‘So? Who took her, then?’

‘I don’t know. Do you?’

She seems momentarily offended. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘Nothing. It’s just … you’ve lived here all your life. You know more of what’s going on. Who everyone is.’ Monica looks sceptical. ‘More than me, anyway.’ I hesitate. ‘Someone drove her out to the moor and left her to find her own way back.’

‘But why?’

I remember the stories Alice used to tell me. ‘Punishment? To teach her a lesson. And it worked. She’s terrified.’

Monica closes her eyes. By the time she opens them a decision has been made.

‘I need to show you something.’

‘What?’

She goes over to the table next to the sofa and grabs a sheet of paper. She hands it to me and I unfold it. It’s a handwritten note; the words are tiny, meandering, as if it’d been written in a hurry.

‘Read it.’

I’m sorry, it begins. For what I did. I killed her. I killed them both. It’s my fault. I never meant to, but I didn’t have a choice. I loved them. I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it. I persuaded Daisy to jump when she threatened to tell on me after what I did to Sadie. I killed her. I buried her on the moor. And then Zoe ran away. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please forgive me.

There’s a signature, scrawled at the bottom. David.

I hold the note steady in my hand. I read it again, then look up. It’s wrong, I want to say. Fake. He can’t have written this. Sadie isn’t dead.

But how can I? She’d ask me how I know.

‘Why did he give this to you?’ I say instead.

She looks me straight in the eye. She can hear the doubt in my voice. It occurs to me that she’ll confess, admit he never wrote it, that she did. It’s as if she’ll tell me why, why she wants him to take the blame for Sadie’s death, for something that never happened, and for Daisy’s, too, something that did.

I will her to be honest. To tell me who she’s covering for, who really wrote the note. To reveal who hurt me, who really killed Daisy.

But she doesn’t.

‘I don’t know. It was put through my letterbox, this afternoon.’

I say nothing. Another thought comes. If David’s note is fake, then maybe his attempted suicide is, too. Maybe it was attempted murder.

‘Will you take it to the police?’

She hesitates. ‘Should I?’

I’m about to say yes, she should. I’m about to tell her why, that I don’t think David wrote it, which means his overdose might not have been self-inflicted. But then I realise they’ll question everyone. Including me. I’ll have to be honest about who I really am and my secret will be out.

I can’t have that, not yet, not until I’m sure I understand what’s happening here. I shake my head.

‘You’re sure?’

I nod. She sinks down into the armchair, seemingly relieved. I wonder what reasons she might have for keeping the note between us.

‘We need to help the girls,’ she says.

‘You said they were all right. That you were looking after them.’

‘I am,’ she says. She looks exhausted now. ‘I was. Or I thought I was, anyway.’ She reaches for her cigarettes. ‘But after what happened with Ellie? I thought she’d come to me, rather than run away. Maybe she doesn’t trust me any more.’