‘No hurry,’ Margot assures her. ‘Take as much time as you need.’
‘I have an idea,’ I say suddenly. ‘What are you girls doing two Saturdays from now? I have vouchers for a spa weekend which are burning a hole in my handbag. Who fancies keeping me company?’
‘Count me in,’ says Margot. ‘I’m long overdue a pampering.’
‘To be honest, I don’t know if I can afford it,’ says Anna sheepishly.
‘Don’t worry about that, Anna. We’ll split my vouchers. So, how about it?’
Chapter 13
Navya, The First
It’s a parent’s duty to guide their child as best they can. To teach them to love and steer them clear from the path of hate. But there are exceptions to that rule. And this evening will be an example of that. Because I am to show the person I love most in this world how hate can be harnessed and channelled into a force for good. And we will do that together, by killing the one responsible for putting a bullet through my brain and robbing my child of its mother.
That is the plan. My plan, for us, together.
For years, I lay dormant. I fought for so long against allowing anything other than my vague presence to be felt. I remained silent when they whispered to me, begging for guidance, even though it broke my heart to think they believed I wasn’t listening. However, I felt every emotion they did. When they experienced happiness, so did I. When they felt love, I felt the same. When they were frightened, I too lived in fear. But more often than not, we shared sadness and pain.
Eventually their need for me became so desperate, I had no choice but to relent. Had I not, neither of us would be here today. They’d have deliberately fallen over that cliff edge and their body would have beenswallowed by the waves. No parent can stand idly by when they know there’s another way.
And when I allowed my voice to be heard, I grew wings powerful enough to carry us both.
They made a wise decision in keeping me a secret. Family, friends and doctors can never understand. They’d claim I’m being used as an excuse for questionable behaviour. That I’m a fantasy, a comfort blanket. But my child and I know the truth.
The names of the guilty were not hard to find. They had been arrested and questioned soon after that night, and all were later released without charge. An old policeman contact of my late husband’s wrote down their names and passed it to my brother-in-law. But he was not strong enough to act as we are about to act tonight. He failed us. I will not allow that mistake to occur a second time. Because I know we will only get the peace we crave when each of them who has hurt us dies.
I have decided Zain will be the first. Soon after his arrest, he fled the country, returning to his Iranian birthplace to live with extended family. Eleven years later and now in his late twenties, his name was easy to find on a business networking site. He’s back in the town he ran from.
So we have spent many an hour sitting inside a parked car, watching as he goes about his work alone as manager of a mobile phone repairs shop in a small, prefabricated building. And now, as dusk falls, it is time for us to come face to face not with the monster, but with the man. Monsters cannot be beaten. But fragile men made of flesh and bone can be.
I don’t allow myself to become consumed by fear as I lead this man into conversation with my child. He chats amicably while he replaces the screen on a cheap phone deliberately cracked for this moment. Through my child’s eyes I scan the room, searching for security cameras. There are none. It’s when Zain’s head is bent down and he’s distracted that we strike. Even when the pocketknife is plunged into his throathe feels no pain, only confusion. I sense panic in my conduit so I take complete charge, pull the knife out, struggling to keep a grip of the bloody handle, and make short, sharp stabbing motions into his neck until he is too weak and muddled to fight back, and sinks to his knees and then to his side. It’s over in less than a minute.
Then we pick up the phone and I scan the road outside for pedestrians, drivers or any other witnesses. When I’m certain there are none, I guide us three streets away to the car. Blood-soaked clothes are bagged up and left in the boot to dispose of later, along with the knife. Then we continue our journey as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened.
It’s in that moment everything shifts.
Quite unexpectedly, I feel myself slipping away. I stretch out my arms across an invisible doorway as gravity drags me inside where a dark abyss awaits.
I don’t want to go. I want to remain here forever. But someone is taking the choice away from me. I sense another voice is readying itself to replace me.
To my dismay, I realise it is Zain. His death is the catalyst for my release. He is ready to sully the vessel I was so fortunate to create and, since my own death, to inhabit.
I wish I could stay with my child, whom I love with all my heart. Even though my voice can no longer be heard, my essence will remain buried deep within my blessed child.
If you can still hear me, my love: I promise that I am with you, always.
February
Nine Months Before Bonfire Night
Chapter 14
Anna
I’m learning never to underestimate Liv. This isn’t what I expected when she suggested the three of us spend the weekend together at a spa. I expected a country hotel with a sauna, steam room, swimming pool and a few treatment rooms. But the moment Liv pulls up on the gravel driveway of this country estate and we enter reception, I know I’m out of my depth.
I slip off my sunglasses to take it all in. The arrow-like design of the charcoal-grey floor directs us to a grey and white marble reception desk adorned with two glass vases arranged with dozens of white peony roses. The desk is manned by two women, immaculate in appearance. Dark hair scraped back tightly, they wear identical black dresses and bright red lipstick, as though they’ve stepped out of that 1980s music video for ‘Addicted to Love’.
