‘Shh.’
Her sobs become uncontrollable, taking over her entire body. ‘When I got back… it was too late. He was at the bottom of the stairs. I thought, I thought?—’
‘Hey, enough!’ I say sternly, pulling back and holding her shoulders, forcing her to look at me. ‘This is not your fault, Sandy. You’re not his nurse. I should’ve never let you take on so much responsibility. It’s me who should be apologising.’
‘Scarlett.’ The voice is one I recognise. Deep, male, wary. ‘Can I take you home?’
‘Jackson. How did you know we were here?’ I say, brushing tears from my cheeks.
‘We worked it out. Mr Ryans insisted that you have a lift home whenever you need it.’
I don’t have the energy to refuse and let Jackson lead Sandy into the back of the Mercedes. He gently wraps one arm around her shoulder and takes the burden off her legs by tucking her other arm in his. She’s still sniffling when she sits onto the back seat. Jackson pulls her seat belt across her and fastens it into the holster, then he turns to offer me a hand.
‘I’m okay, thank you,’ I say, genuinely touched by his compassion for Sandy.
When I climb into the car, I fold Sandy’s cold hand in mine.
Jackson’s phone rings and he draws up the black glass divider between the front and back of the Mercedes as he punches the button for the speakerphone.
‘Greg, I’ve got them.’
‘Good. What about the other thing? Did you find anything on Jack Jones?’
I sit forwards to listen but the partition reaches the roof and I can’t hear a word. I’m too weary to deal with work and Jack Jones right now. I rest my chin on Sandy’s head and close my eyes.
Jackson wakes us and helps Sandy out of the car. Carrying my dad’s torn clothes, Sandy’s handbag and the documents from my meeting at Eclectic – which feels like more than just a few hours ago – he walks alongside Sandy as I lead us to the house.
‘I think I’m going to make a cup of tea,’ Sandy says. ‘Geoffrey, would you like tea?’
‘That would be lovely.’
I hang my coat on the stand by the door then stare at the bloodstains – on the chair lift at the bottom of the stairs, on the wood floor, sprayed on the wall. ‘I’m going to clean this up.’
‘Would you like me to do that?’ Jackson asks.
‘No. Thank you. You’ve already done enough.’
As Sandy and Jackson head to the kitchen, I make my way upstairs, my eyes taking in each drop of blood. I follow them into my dad’s dark and empty bedroom. I flick on the light and my eyes are immediately drawn to the soup bowl cast into the middle of the floor, red sauce spilled across the carpet. Dad’s small lamp has also fallen to the floor by the bedside table, the bulb shattered. The bedside table is out of place from its normal position parallel to the bed. A water glass rests on its side in the crevasse between the table and the wall.
I take a step back, absorbing the scene. The duvet is in a messed bundle, as if it’s been flung from one side of the bed to the other. I wonder if that’s what has knocked Dad’s favourite picture out of place at the opposite side of his bed. It’s a framed photograph of Dad, Sandy and me on Brighton Pier, each of us holding candy floss. It’s always positioned where he can see it, a perfect angle, just so. Now it faces away from his bed.
I rest my back against the wall and slide to the floor, taking in everything that’s wrong with this tableau, rubbing my hands up and down my suddenly ice-cold arms.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Jesus! Jackson, you scared me.’
He steps into the room and turns his head almost in sequence around the same evidence I just witnessed.
‘He struggled,’ Jackson says matter of factly.
‘He was weak,’ I tell him, rising to stand by his side, my arms folded across my chest.
Jackson continues to stare at the bed. ‘How weak?’
I shrug. ‘Very weak. Struggled to feed himself, clean himself, walk even.’ As I say the words, my brows scrunch and the subtle shift in the air makes me think Jackson is having the exact same thoughts as me. ‘In theory, he’d have struggled to throw his bowl or even cast his duvet to the other side of the bed.’
Jackson drags his fingers along his jaw but doesn’t speak.
