He nods and leaves her.
She is desperate to get away for herself, to find Mark but also to give Maggie and William the space they’ll need once John’s body has been brought down from the peak where the burial chamber is situated.
When she heard John died at that location, she couldn’t help feeling more personally involved. Her plans for burying the gun,for her and Mark to experience a sort of catharsis in that precise spot seem like an intrusion on this family now, and so very wrong.
What was she thinking, wanting to dump her trauma on land that meant so much to someone else? How could she have thought it was okay to appropriate something so sacred to another?
She feels guilt. For being here with a bundle of selfish motives. For the trouble Emily caused the family last night and Ruth this morning.
Would John Elliott have killed himself if this chain of events hadn’t led him up to the burial chamber at that moment?
Possibly. Probably. He had brought a gun with him. Maybe.
Jayne watches from the doorway as William crosses the yard and shakes the hand of an older officer. The man claps his hand on William’s shoulder.
“We’re ready,” Toby says. Jayne sighs. It’s going to be a long drive and she doesn’t feel up to it. She asks Toby to take the wheel and she slips into the passenger seat. Ruth takes the back seat and lies down across it.
Toby isn’t a confident driver. He brakes too hard and too late, panics when he has to change lanes. He starts talking about the letter a couple of times. One minute saying it’s obviously a hoax, the next mulling over the language in it as if he’s taking it more seriously. Once, he asks her to phone Paul, and he looks worried when Jayne can’t get hold of him.
She feels as if she’s in shock. It’s all she can do to listen to him, let alone respond. There is so much to process. Last night. What Ruth has just told her.
She tries to call Edie, because Jayne wants to give her a piece of her mind. But Edie’s phone rings to voicemail, too.
She thinks of Emily, riding home alone in Paul’s car, and doesn’t know what to think about that.
Her eyes fix dully on the motorway, the glare, the spatter, thespeed, and the sound of the solitary bullet fired by John Elliott repeats in her head.
She tries to rest. What little sleep she got last night was terrible quality. But she can’t relax.
Out of the corner of her eye, she’s also aware of Toby continually checking the rearview mirror, which he’s angled to get a glimpse of Ruth in the back.
He seems worried. About her?
Jayne’s not sure.
But she does wonder, who is he really?
The town car pulls into Emily and Paul’s driveway.
Her home looks as beautiful as ever. It was Paul’s originally, but she’s never wanted to move. She loves it. It’s newly constructed on the site of an old bungalow that Paul demolished and rebuilt as a two-story home. He kept the original gardens, which had been beautifully landscaped. It’s in a quiet, leafy suburb. Emily loves that he’s never lived there with anyone else apart from her. She also loves the home itself. There’s a lot of glass at the back, and it’s full of light.
Paul’s car isn’t in its usual spot in the driveway. Emily swallows. The driver carries her bag to the door and waits while she unlocks it.
“Just put it in the hall,” she says. “Thanks.”
The door dislodged a pile of mail as it opens. Paul would have picked it up if he’d been here this morning. Emily feels her fear like a cold trickle down her spine.
“Hope the ankle recovers soon. Do you need me anymore?” The driver nods at her. He wants to go.
“No. I’m fine. Thank you for everything,” she says. “My husband will be in touch to make sure you’re paid for the extra time in the hospital, and for driving me home.”
He nods and walks away with a spring in his step. The end of a job. Time to go home to his life.
Emily wants to grab his sleeve and hold him tightly, keep him here. She’s afraid. But he’s done enough. She waves goodbye and turns and calls for Paul.
The house breathes silently around her in response. It’s empty, she can sense it, a skill learned in childhood. Opening her front door as a kid had a measure of risk in it and she feels the same creep of trepidation now.
The sound of the car leaving makes her feel vulnerable. She regrets not begging the driver to come inside with her, just to check everything’s okay.
