Then She Vanishes(95)

Margot had left everything as it was the day Flora disappeared. Even her old posters of the Psychedelic Furs and Joy Division were still Blu-Tacked to the walls. ‘I thought being back in her old bedroom might help Flora to remember who she really was when she woke up,’ adds Heather. ‘Clive had used her as his pawn, his plaything, for years, keeping her dosed up on heroin and threatening her that he’d come for me if she …’ Heather’s crying now ‘… if she left or told anyone.’

Margot’s head is reeling. Deirdre had known. All this time. She’d helped her son, her sick, perverted son, keep Flora a prisoner for years. She’s a mother. How could she?

‘And then,’ sobbed Heather – Ruthgow hands her a tissue, which she uses to blow her nose, ‘she was so hooked on drugs I don’t think she cared where she was, as long as she was getting a fix.’

‘Oh, God.’ Margot groans, feeling sick. It was like the horrifying stories she’d read in the newspapers, young girls being kidnapped and kept locked up as prisoners for years.

‘And then?’ probes Ruthgow, gently. ‘What happened after that?’

She lowers her eyes. ‘I … don’t remember.’

Ruthgow looks at Margot, his lips set in a grimace.

‘Can I see Flora?’ pleads Heather.

‘I’ll see what I can arrange,’ he says, getting up from his chair and adjusting his trouser legs. They’ve gone slightly saggy at the knee, observes Margot. ‘Thank you, Heather. You’ll have to come into the station next week and give a formal statement. If you’re up to it, that is.’ He pauses at the door. ‘You have a motive now, Heather. I have to warn you, you might be charged with this.’

Heather sits up. ‘But I can’t remember what happened.’

‘Well, I suggest you try.’

Margot stands up, fists clenched at her sides. ‘You can’t charge her with this. If she did kill those – those bastards,’ she spits, ‘I don’t blame her. I don’t –’

‘Margot,’ Ruthgow says, his voice firm. ‘We’ll take a formal statement next week. Please try not to worry about all of that for now.’ He shoots Heather a knowing look before leaving the room.

They are allowed ten minutes with Flora, Heather riding in a wheelchair, even though she insists she’s strong enough to walk. But Brenda’s having none of it. ‘You’re lucky you’re being allowed to do this,’ she says, tucking a blanket around Heather’s legs.

‘Her sister has just been found after nearly twenty years,’ snaps Margot. ‘She should bloody well be allowed to do this.’

Brenda shrinks away in surprise. ‘I’m just saying. I don’t want my patient getting pneumonia.’ She insists on accompanying them to see Flora, even though, reluctantly, she allows Margot to push the wheelchair.

Flora is in the corner of the small four-bed ward with the curtain pulled closed around her bed. The others are empty. Margot wheels Heather into the cubicle, leaving Brenda sitting in a chair next to the ward’s entrance.

Flora has a bit more colour in her cheeks and a sheen of sweat above her upper lip but her chest still rattles when she breathes.

‘The naloxone is working. But it means she’ll have withdrawal symptoms. We’re trying to manage it as best we can,’ explains one of the doctors. A different one this time. A young woman.

Margot bends over and kisses Flora’s forehead, which causes her eyes to open. And then she notices Heather and tears seep out of the corners of her eyes and run down the sides of her face.

‘Hey,’ says Heather, taking her sister’s hand. ‘It’s going to be okay. We’re here for you. You’ll get through this.’

‘I thought …’ she coughs ‘… I thought I’d killed you back at the barn. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. The gun, it just went off … There was so much blood on your blouse and on the floor when you hit your head.’

Margot frowns. ‘What do you mean, sweetheart? What gun?’

Flora tries to sit up but Margot stops her. ‘Don’t try to move.’

Heather lowers her voice. ‘We struggled over a gun. I remember that much. In the barn.’

Margot turns to Heather. ‘But why didn’t you say that to DCI Ruthgow?’

Heather glances at her sister and Margot notices a look pass between them.

‘Mum,’ says Heather, ‘do you mind if I have some time alone with Flora?’

‘Of course.’ She kisses Flora’s clammy forehead and steps out of the cubicle. ‘I’ll be back in five minutes.’

She goes and sits next to Brenda, who pats her arm sympathetically. From where she’s sitting she has a view of the cubicle and the mint-green curtain surrounding Flora’s bed. She can just see the wheels of Heather’s chair underneath it. She can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but she can hear one of her daughters faintly crying and the word ‘sorry’ floats across the room towards her.

And in that moment warmth engulfs Margot, like she’s just downed a glass of brandy. She’d hoped and prayed for this moment so many times over the years that she’s lost count. But here they are at last: she and her two precious daughters. All under one roof for the first time in eighteen years. Safe.