And in front of her, slumped on the floor, Rachel. Anna gets to her, pulls her up to her feet, drags her out of the shed as fast as she can, pulling her back towards the house. When they’re a safe distance away, she lets go of Rachel, placing her gently on the ground. She’s barely conscious, her hands tied in front of her, her ankles too. Then she returns to the burning shed, pulls Lucy away too, scared that she’s going to aggravate her injuries. Terrified that if she doesn’t move her, she’ll be caught by the flames.
A siren in the distance, getting closer by the second. Voices, a thundering of footsteps past her.
Rachel and Lucy are safe. But where the hell is Marie?
Part 6
57
A month later. Lucy doesn’t want to be back in a crematorium with its stench of lilies. Death flowers. The smell is crawling up her nostrils. But she had to come, had to support Rachel. Anna can’t. She’s been recalled to prison for breach of her licence. The bond holds between them all, the three of them united through the horror of the last weeks.
The chapel is full. Colleagues of Edgar, friends of the family. They come up and quietly say hello to Rachel, kiss her cheek or touch her on the shoulder, patting baby Rowan on the head. No one looks with any curiosity at the young woman sitting on her own.
Lucy owes Rachel. She knows this. She touches her forehead, the skin pink, nearly healed. She knows what happened now. They told her everything when she came round after the attack. As she had ten years before, Marie was lying in wait outside, and took her chance to strike while Rachel was upstairs and Lucy was in the garden. She attacked Lucy by hitting her over the head with a blunt object, possibly an empty bottle, and once she was out cold, she went for Edgar and Rachel.
She didn’t get far. The police found her in a field just outside the ring road. She’s been held in custody ever since. Anna hasn’t seen her yet, though she has told Lucy she looks out for her in the echoing corridors of the prison.
They sing hymns, sit, stand at the right moments. Lucy’s thoughts are stuck on their roller coaster. Edgar did good work; he wasn’t a good man. His ego, his infidelities – all of it brought them to this point. It’s hard to feel too much sympathy for him. At least this way, his reputation has been mostly preserved. The Ministry of Justice has tamped down any suggestion of impropriety – it’s their reputation at stake, too. Same with the university.
Such a waste. This room’s packed with mourners, fellow academics from all round the world, all the researchers with whom he’d collaborated on such important work. A women’s prison has just been opened in the north of England based on his principles. The speaker is giving the eulogy, laying out Edgar’s professional achievements. A lot of plaudits.
No mention of his misuse of Ministry of Justice funds to set up his secret experiment. No mention of how the power of it went to his head. The closest it comes to uncovering his misdeeds is when he’s described as amaverick, who marched to the beat of his own drum.The room ripples with knowing laughter.
One brief reference to him as a family man. No one can labour that description of him, even in a eulogy.
Lucy still has so many questions. There’s so much she’ll never know; how Marie escaped, why the house in the Highlands was burned down, whether it was Edgar or Marie who was responsible for the attack on Tom and Victor. However friendly Rachel might be to Lucy, she’s still on the outside, shut out from the endless meetings Rachel’s had with the police, visit after visit to the house by teams of forensics.
‘I’d like to invite you now to take part in a moment of quiet reflection, while we play a piece of music from one of Edgar’s favourite recordings, Barber’sAdagio for Strings.’
A shuffling, rustling, as the congregation settles itself down. The music begins. Despite herself, Lucy feels her eyes welling up, unable to resist the emotions of the occasion anymore. Her feelings are still all over the place – love for Edgar, the memories of how his work inspired her through the years after her mother’s death. The guidance he gave her when there was none to be found from her father.
He wasn’t who she thought he was, though. Pull back his mask, and there was darkness inside.
58
It’s strange to go back to normal after the drama of the last few weeks. Lucy struggles to concentrate much of the time. With Edgar gone, so has the point of her studies here. Her feelings are still so confused, so full of conflict, that she’s finding it hard to move on. The image of his dead body haunts her dreams.
A couple of weeks after the funeral, Rachel messages, asking Lucy if she’d like to come for supper. It’s a Friday, the night of another Formal Hall, and Lucy accepts Rachel offer with enthusiasm, relieved that she won’t have to get through a night of insinuation from the likes of Alexandra and Jessica. They’ve been friendly since Edgar’s death, but not in a way that seems genuine, questioning her about the scurrilous details like vultures picking through carrion.
Lucy picks up a bottle of wine en route and makes her way to the house. It’s a balmy evening, the sky clear, a light breeze tossing around the last of the blossom from the trees. Hard to believe the situation she found herself in just a few weeks ago. The headaches have stopped now, the wound fully healed.
She’s missing Edgar less than she was. With him gone, the spell of the obsession has been broken. She can see now how much she had latched on to the idea of him, looking for any source of support. It’s good that Rachel has been able to forgive her for her affair with Edgar. Lucy is not proud of what she did.
Rachel hugs her when she arrives. She’s lost weight, her shoulders bony under Lucy’s hands. It must be tough. The hall is lined with cardboard boxes full of paperwork, the screens from the loft piled up in the study at the front of the house. Rowan’s asleep in a pushchair in the hall.
‘It’s going to take months to sort through it all,’ Rachel says. ‘I’ve asked college if there’s anyone who could help me. Presumably they’ll want to archive some of his earlier research material – his life’s work is here. It might be useful one day – parts of it, anyway.’ She stops, hitting herself gently on the head with the heel of her hand. ‘I’m being so stupid. Would you help me?’
‘Are you sure?’
‘You’re the perfect person. You worked so closely with him at the end. I’ll let college know I’ve found someone – if that’s all right with you?’
‘I’d love to help.’
They go through to the kitchen. It’s still homely, but the warmth has gone, dust on surfaces, brown leaves on some of the plants. There’s a fragrant smell coming from a pot on the stove, though.
Rachel pours a glass of wine for Lucy, one for herself too, and they sit at the kitchen table.
‘How are you?’ Lucy says.
