Then She Vanishes(62)
I’m going to have to tell Margot. ‘Good detective work, DS Jack Renton.’ I laugh.
‘I’m wasted in this job. No need to thank me.’ He’s chuckling when he hangs up.
I try to ring Margot but it goes straight to voicemail so I leave a message. Even though we don’t really text each other – Margot’s always preferred to talk – I tap out a quick text anyway. If she’s speaking to Adam tonight she’ll want to ask him about the note as well. Why did he send it? What’s going on between him and Clive?
I go into the kitchen, my head reeling, and make myself a cup of tea to take to bed (Rory always thinks it’s weird that the caffeine doesn’t keep me awake like it does him). I’m returning to my bedroom when I hear the letterbox rattle. I slam my mug down, spilling tea, and dart into the hallway, thinking it’s Rory, just in time to see something fluttering to the floor. It looks like a leaflet. I bend over to pick it up. It’s a bus ticket – I recognize the local company’s logo. I turn it over, expecting a note on the back but there is nothing. When I read it again I see ‘BRISTOL TO TILBY’ printed on the front. And a date: 9 March 2012. The date of the Wilson murders. I wrench open the front door, hoping to catch the person who posted it, but the corridor is empty.
33
Margot
The back door slams and Margot’s heart leaps in her chest.
He’s back. Adam’s back at last. Where has he been all this time? Ethan must be exhausted.
She jumps up from the sofa. She probably shouldn’t have had that third glass of wine. She feels light-headed and has to hold onto the door jamb for support. She’s just read Jess’s text. She’d thought she recognized the words – she’d seen them before. It’s only now she remembers where: in the office when she was searching through the bookings to see if Clive or Deirdre had ever stayed here. They had been scribbled on a piece of paper and she’d moved it aside without really thinking about it.
She doesn’t know her son-in-law as well as she thought.
Adam strides in and her heart sinks when she sees he doesn’t have her grandson with him. ‘Is he at Gloria’s again?’ she says, trying to push away the jealousy. She’s hardly spent any time alone with Ethan lately, and when she offers, Adam tells her, in a slightly patronizing way, ‘You’ve got too much on your plate at the moment.’ In her lowest moments she can’t help but worry that he’s purposely keeping him away from her.
He runs a hand across his stubble, an aura of distraction surrounding him. ‘Ah, yes, but Mum lives on the way to the hospital. It was getting late. I’ll pick him up on the way to see Heather tomorrow.’
He slumps onto the sofa, still in his waxed jacket, eyeing the almost empty wine bottle on the coffee table. ‘Would you mind getting me a glass, Marg, as you’re up?’ he asks, as he reaches for the bottle. ‘Although it doesn’t look like there’s much left.’ His face is pale and drawn with tiredness, the bags under his eyes making him look older than his thirty-four years.
‘I’ll open another,’ she says, going to the kitchen to fetch a bottle and a glass. To her surprise, he follows her. He leans against the worktop and watches as she pours the wine. There is something brooding about his presence tonight.
Then his eyes flicker towards the two dirty plates still on the kitchen table and he frowns. ‘Who’s been here?’
She bites back her irritation. It’s still her house. ‘Jess. She popped over.’
‘You seem to be spending a lot of time with her lately.’
‘Yes, well, she was once very close to Heather. She knew Flora too.’
He takes the wine glass from her and clomps back into the sitting room in his walking boots. She follows, wondering how she’s going to bring up the subject of Clive. He reclines on the sofa, his face even more pinched. ‘I understand Jess reminds you of the past. But she’s a journalist, remember? You can’t trust her.’
Margot purses her lips. There’s no point in arguing with him. He would never understand what it’s been like for her all these years. Losing a child is one thing, but never to know what has happened to that child, never to know if her last moments were of fear, or pain, not to have been there to protect her. It will haunt her, torment her, for ever. That’s one of the reasons she’s never sold Tilby Manor. Just in case Flora is out there somewhere and manages to find her way home – although, deep down, she knows that’s not likely. But if there is just a sliver of possibility that her daughter might have run away, there is also a very thin thread of hope that she might return. And she doesn’t want to cut that thread. Ever. She’ll die here, she’s sure of that.
For a time Jess was like another daughter. And being with her makes Margot remember the past, yes, but more than that. It makes her house feel like a home again.
She takes a deep breath. ‘Adam. I don’t want to ask Heather. She’s still fragile and struggling to remember events leading up to the shooting. But I need to know. What did you argue about the night before her …’ she struggles to find the right word ‘… accident?’
He sits up, suddenly alert now. ‘Jeez, Marg …’
‘Was it about Clive?’
His eyes are round with shock. ‘What? Clive Wilson? Why would we be arguing about Clive?’