Then She Vanishes(72)

Flora put a finger to her lips and inclined her head towards the stairs in a follow-me gesture. Jess looked confused but she shadowed Flora down the stairs until they were standing in the hallway by the front door. Goldie came bounding up to them and Flora had to shush her as well. ‘Please, don’t make any noise,’ she whispered.

‘Are you running away?’ asked Jess, her big brown eyes wide with horror.

‘No. But don’t tell anyone, particularly Heather,’ whispered Flora. ‘I’m going on a day trip. Away from Tilby. With Dylan. Will you cover for me? If anyone asks we’re at the fair. We’ll be back before dark. Mum will never know I’ve gone. But, please,’ she urged, ‘don’t tell Heather.’

Jess shrugged. In her nightclothes with no make-up she looked younger than fourteen. ‘Okay.’

‘Promise.’

‘I promise.’

‘Okay. Great.’ Flora sat on the bottom step and slipped her feet into her heavy DMs, tying the laces quickly. She jumped up. ‘I’ve got to go.’ She kissed a surprised Jess on the cheek. ‘Thank you.’ She hoisted the bag further up her back, gave Goldie a quick hug, and snuck out of the front door, turning once more to flash Jess a grateful smile.

From her bedroom window Heather watched Flora move deftly over the gravel driveway, like a cat burglar. And then she eyed Jess’s empty bed. She’d heard every word they’d said and it broke her heart. Don’t tell Heather.

There was a time when Flora had told her everything. They never kept secrets from each other. And now here she was, sneaking off to spend the day with her boyfriend, asking Heather’s best friend to lie for her. She remembered Dylan’s cruel words from the other day. Always tagging along after her. You’re such a cling-on. She hates you.

Was it true? She was beginning to think that maybe Dylan had been right.

If there was one thing she’d never doubted before, it was Flora’s love for her. But since the other evening, when she’d whipped – it still made her cringe to think of it – Dylan, and Flora had pushed her over, her sister had been avoiding her and the chasm between them was widening. She couldn’t allow that to happen. They’d been through too much together.

She’d shot their father for Flora, for Christ’s sake.





39




Margot


The air is stale inside the compact interview room and Margot has to remind herself to breathe. Her palms are sweating and she pulls the scarf away from her throat. It feels like it’s choking her. Oh, how she hates confined spaces. She’s happiest when she’s in the open, or when she’s riding her horse across the Gallops. It’s only then she feels she can really breathe. She takes a sip of warm water from the plastic cup a sympathetic WPC had given her when she first arrived.

Adam had offered to come with her to Bridewell, but she’d refused, saying she would rather be alone. But she’s regretting that now. It would have been better to have someone with her. She wishes Heather was at her side or, failing that, Jess’s reassuring, no-nonsense presence.

She’d been to see Heather that morning to tell her about Flora.

Heather was making excellent progress. The police still hadn’t formally interviewed her and wouldn’t until the doctors determined that she was well enough. A police officer continued to stand guard outside her door. Sometimes they even came into the room and sat quietly next to the bed. Margot was sure this was in case Heather said something incriminating in her sleep. She hopes she hasn’t.

Heather had been dozing when Margot arrived that morning. She was on so many drugs and painkillers, plus intravenous antibiotics because the wound to her chest had become infected, and they made her sleepy. But her brain activity was normal, there was no sign of swelling, and the doctors said, once the infection had gone and her wound began to heal, she could be discharged. Discharged where? That was the question that most bothered Margot.

Margot had sat on the chair next to Heather’s bed and stroked her hair away from her face. ‘Heather,’ she had said, ‘are you awake?’

Heather’s eyes had fluttered open and she’d smiled. She sat up and asked if Margot had brought Ethan with her.

‘Adam’s bringing him later.’

Heather flopped back against the pillows. ‘I miss him so much. I just want to get out of here.’

‘I know, sweetheart.’

She had turned her face away from her mother and Margot suspected she was crying. ‘This is all just a nightmare.’ She sniffed. ‘That solicitor you employed came to see me yesterday and was asking all sorts of questions. Do you really think I’ll end up having to go to court?’

Of course you will, Margot had wanted to say. As soon as the police are able to interview you, you’ll be charged. I have no doubt. But she can’t tell Heather the truth. Not now.

‘Listen, love. The police called. There’s been some news.’

Heather had turned her tearstained face back to Margot. ‘What news?’ Her eyes were hopeful and Margot’s heart sank. Not good news, she wanted to say.

‘The man who – who the police think you shot, Clive Wilson, well, a body has been found in the basement of his house. A body that’s been there a long time. They think …’ She’d gulped. It never got easier to say it. ‘They think it’s Flora.’