Anna is relieved to get back down into the kitchen, so homely in comparison to the claustrophobia of the loft. Maybe they’ve let their imaginations run away with them. None of it’s possible. Remotely plausible.
Lucy’s head is dropping with tiredness. Anna’s exhausted, too. Rachel is pacing from side to side, seeming unable to settle no matter how many times she sits down at the table. Anna wants to tell her it’s all right, it’s going to be fine, but she doesn’t have the words.
‘You should lie down,’ Rachel says at last to Lucy. ‘You’re falling asleep in your chair.’
‘I should wait up, though.’
‘There’s nothing to be done until Edgar gets back home. We don’t know anything until we’ve spoken to him.’
‘But what if—’
‘We don’t have any idea what he’s been doing with this secret prison. It could be legit. He’s very senior, he’s got all these connections at the Ministry of Justice.’
‘But—’
‘You’re exhausted, Lucy. It’s not going to help anyone if you collapse on us. Come on, let’s all try and get some rest. While we still can.’
There’s no arguing with her. Even if Anna wanted to.
Anna’s trying not to think about the fact that the last time she shared a room with another woman, she ended up staring a corpse in the face. Lucy is only too alive, though. Young, too, falling asleep almost the moment her head hits the pillow of one of the twin beds to which Rachel has shown them.
Anna can’t sleep, despite how knackered she is. There’s an unreal quality to everything now, the air wobbly, askew, as if she’s stepped through some fissure in time. She clutches hold of the bedspread, hoping its woven texture will help to ground her, but it doesn’t work. She’s there but she’s not, floating above her own head in observation.
It’s running on fumes, that’s what’s done it. Nothing has been real since the nightmare began with Kelly’s death. In the space of three days, Anna’s gone from being in prison to becoming what feels like a fugitive. Though she still doesn’t know what she’s trying to escape. Or who.
Without interruption at last, away from the catastrophe of this household, Anna’s thoughts come back to her own predicament. She’d thought that the fire at Tom’s house had been intended to hurt her, but perhaps she was wrong. Edgar could have been involved; there’s an explanation for it, implausible as it may seem. After all, he did have a reason to get rid of Victor.
But then, someone might be after her – the screech of the tyres as the car tried to hit her outside prison rings in her ears still. Anna rolls over, clutches the bedspread more closely. The terror she’s fended off all day is closing in. She can’t give way to it, though, can’t give in. It might have been an accident. Pure coincidence that the moment she stepped out of jail, a car went momentarily out of control.
Should she share everything with them, these two women she’s never met before, has no reason to trust? Of course not.Trust no one, that’s been her rule for all these years, and she sees no reason to change it now. She’s not going to tell them about the phone, the way it rang and rang yesterday. It’s got nothing to do with all this – they have enough to think about already.
She shivers, despite the duvet, the bedspread in which she’s cocooned. Maybe she’ll never be warm again, never free her mind of all these sounds and smells that linger, haunting her.
Then fear grips her by the throat, bringing her straight back into the here and now. Perhaps Victor wasn’t the intended target of the fire. Maybe someone was trying to kill her, not him. She’s never going to be able to sleep. The hold tightens, her heart rate rising to an unbearable level. It was her; someone wanted to shut her down. They knew somehow that Anna was meant to be staying at Tom’s house last night.
But how the hell would they know that? The only person who knew apart from Tom and Anna was the probation officer she spoke to, who agreed to vary the address on Anna’s licence so that she was lawfully permitted to sleep there. Mentally, she steps back, pours cold water over the hand of fear clutching at her. It lessens its grip.
Tightens again. Anna curls up as small as she can, trying to hide from the thoughts that are besieging her. There is someone who might know. Someone who is closely involved with the criminal justice system. If Edgar has the power to set up a secret safehouse for murderers . . .
She’s being ridiculous. There is no link between Edgar and Kelly. Kelly has nothing to do with this. The situation is bad enough without Anna coming up with far-fetched theories.
She closes her eyes. She’s so tired – if only she could sleep.
It feels like no time has passed when she’s woken by a hand shaking her shoulder. Anna opens her eyes to find Rachel leaning over the bed.
‘I need your help,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry to wake you, but you seem less out of it than Lucy.’
Anna looks over at the girl, whose mouth is open, her head thrown back. She’s snoring.
‘What is it?’ She follows Rachel out of the bedroom and downstairs.
‘Edgar’s sister called. She’s just realised that Edgar didn’t put any nappies in the bag for Rowan. Would you mind taking this?’ Rachel says, gesturing to a full carrier bag.
‘Taking it where?’
‘She lives in a village outside Oxford. There are no shops nearby. You can take my car.’
Why can’t you do it?Anna puts the question out of her head. ‘I don’t have a licence,’ she says instead. ‘I’m not meant to be driving. It’s not that I don’t want to help.’
