Then She Vanishes(46)

It’s not until they’ve settled at either end of the sofa, Margot with another drink in her hand, Jess with water, that she reveals the nugget of information she’s been keeping to herself.

‘When the police called about the fingerprints, they said something else,’ she admits. ‘About Heather.’

Jess sits forwards, her eyes brimming with expectation.

‘Her car was caught on CCTV earlier that morning. The morning of the shootings. At around five a.m. Fifteen miles away. In Bristol.’

Jessica’s eyes widen. ‘In Bristol?’

‘Yes. Southville.’

‘What would she be doing there?’

‘I don’t know. The police asked if we know anyone who lives in that area but we don’t. I just don’t understand what she would have been doing in Bristol at that time in the morning. I keep thinking about it. Was she looking for her victim, with a shotgun in the car? I just …’ Margot covers her face with her hands.

‘Oh, Margot …’

They’re interrupted by the shrill buzzing of Margot’s phone. They both turn towards where it sits on the coffee table. Margot reaches for it. ‘It’s Adam. I’d better answer,’ she says.

Margot’s never heard her son-in-law sound so animated. ‘I’ve had a call from the hospital, Marg. It’s Heather. She’s come around. She’s awake.’





25




Margot


Margot doesn’t think of the millions of questions swirling around in her brain, or that she’s just left Jess sitting outside the ICU as though she’s no more than a chauffeur. All she can concentrate on, as she runs down the corridor, only half aware that Adam is following, and brushes past the policewoman still standing guard and into Heather’s room, is that she’s awake. Her daughter is awake.

The doctors warned Margot when it first happened that Heather might not be herself if she came around. That the longer she spent in a coma the higher the chance that she could be in a permanent vegetative state. No, all Margot cares about is having her baby back in her arms. Her warm-blooded, breathing, conscious daughter.

Heather is propped up by pillows when she comes in, although her face is pale and she’s still attached to a drip. Margot rushes over to her and tentatively gathers her into her arms, careful of the wires. ‘Oh, my darling,’ she says, into Heather’s hair. And then she sits beside her on the chair and takes her hand.

Heather stares at her, and just as Margot begins to wonder if her daughter recognizes her, her face breaks into a watery smile. ‘Hi, Mum,’ she says, and it’s like music to Margot’s ears. The sweetest, most wonderful sound she’s ever heard. She wants to bury her head in her daughter’s lap and sob, with relief and fear. But she doesn’t. She needs to be stoic. She knows there’s still a long way to go.

Instead she blinks away the tears. ‘Oh, sweetheart.’ She brings Heather’s hand to her lips. ‘We’ve been so worried about you.’

‘My mouth is dry.’ Her lips are sore and cracked. Margot takes the cup of water from Heather’s side table and places it to her lips. Heather leans forwards to take a few sips, then leans back against the pillows. Margot can see through the glass panel in the door that Adam is outside talking to the doctor. Why hasn’t he rushed in here to see his wife?

‘How are you feeling, sweetheart?’ she asks, aware of what a silly question it is.

‘I feel like I’ve had a fight with a bus. Was I in some kind of accident?’

Margot’s stomach tightens. She doesn’t know. ‘Um. What exactly has the doctor said?’

Heather looks around the room, bewilderment in her eyes. ‘That I’ve had an accident.’

Margot brings the cup back to Heather’s lips. ‘Well, let’s wait to speak to them, shall we? Can you remember anything?’ What were you doing in Bristol? Why did you kill Clive and Deirdre Wilson? She has to bite her lip to stop her questions spilling out of her mouth.

‘They said I was in a coma.’

Margot puts the cup down. ‘Yes. That’s right. For seven whole days.’

Heather touches the bandage on her head gingerly.

‘Is it sore?’ Margot asks.

Heather shakes her head, then winces. ‘A little.’ She’s struggling to keep her eyes open. ‘Ethan?’

‘Ethan’s fine. He’s with Gloria.’

‘I feel so tired,’ she says. Margot’s heart hammers. Heather closes her eyes again. Is she back in the coma? Margot leaps up. ‘Heather.’ She shakes her gently. ‘Heather. Sweetheart.’

Heather groans a little and her eyes flutter open. ‘I’m just tired,’ she says, and closes them again.

Dr Khan comes into the room, Adam following close behind. She’s the same female doctor that Margot has seen sporadically during the week. ‘She was talking to me,’ says Margot, trying to quell her panic, as though she’d been given this wonderful miracle only to have it snatched away again.

Dr Khan, who looks to be in her late thirties, with gold-rimmed glasses and a glossy dark bun, bustles over to Heather, checking her vital signs. Then she turns to Margot and Adam. ‘Don’t worry. She’s just sleeping. Coma patients are often tired when they come around. And it can take a few days – longer in some cases – for the disorientation to wear off. Heather only woke up a few hours ago.’