Before I can say more we’re interrupted by Mum striding across the lawn, looking more formidable than usual. Sian and Orla trail behind her. Damn it. I’d forgotten about the playdate.
‘Here she is. The Wicked Witch of the West,’ Nathan mumbles.
Usually I’d laugh. But not today. I’m still furious with him.
I greet Sian and Orla enthusiastically, steering them into the house. I round up Amelia, who’s upstairs doodling in her art book. She looks sullen until she sees Orla and then she jumps up from her bed. It’s the most excitement I’ve seen from her in days. Evie is in the corner of her bedroom playing with her teddies and the china doll. She hardly looks up when we enter.
Amelia loops arms with Orla and Sian says she’ll have her back by six. As she’s leaving, she pauses at the door. ‘I’m so sorry to hear about your cousin.’
It must be all over the village, although Selena hasn’t been named on the news.
‘Thank you.’
She gives me a hug, enveloping me in the smell of her freshly washed hair. ‘I hope everything else is okay. The girls? The business?’
I long to tell her everything, this woman I hardly know. ‘When the girls are back at school, shall we go for a coffee?’ I say instead.
She smiles kindly. ‘I’d love that.’
I watch them drive away, my heart twisting. I hate Amelia being in a car without me. I worry about accidents but Sian seems sensible. It’s there, all the time, the underlying fear that the girls will be taken away from me. Just like Natasha was taken away from Mum. From all of us.
They live on the other side of the village, I think, trying to convince myself that she’ll be fine but I can’t help texting Sian half an hour later on the pretence of forgetting the pick-up arrangements but really to check if they’ve arrived safely. Sian doesn’t text back straight away, and as I clear the kitchen, I’m trying to vanquish visions of crumpled metal and ambulances. Eventually, ten minutes later, she reiterates that she’ll be bringing Amelia home at six.
I can still see Nathan in the garden with Mum. They look like they’re having a heart-to-heart, heads bent together, ignoring the rain.
I’m stacking the dishwasher when Ruby wanders in, startling me. I’m still not used to her walking around. When Selena was alive, Ruby was handled with kid gloves. I wonder again what will happen to her. Nathan needs to tell the police that he’s Ruby’s real father. It might prevent Nigel taking her home with him. I don’t want him near that little girl if he’s violent.
‘Hi, Aunty Kirsty,’ she says, smiling shyly. She has her favourite fluffy mouse tucked under one arm. I notice that one of her front teeth is missing. ‘Can I go upstairs and play with Evie?’
I glance at her legs. She hasn’t worn the braces since she took them off in the garden. When she arrived on Friday she’d been frail, in a wheelchair. Now – much to everyone’s surprise – she’s walking about, even if it is a little shakily. ‘Of course, but are you strong enough to climb the stairs?’
She sticks out her chin stubbornly, reminding me of Selena. ‘Yes. If I’m careful. Mummy would never let me try. She said it was too dangerous if I fell. She didn’t like me walking.’ Her eyes fill with tears. Selena had been over-protective, like me. Natasha’s death must have had an impact on her too. It’s understandable. I’d be the same if my daughters had Ruby’s problems.
‘Oh, sweetheart, I’ll help you,’ I say, rushing to her. I want to wrap her in my arms. She holds my hand as she leads me to the stairs. I stand behind her, like I used to with Amelia and Evie when they were toddlers, as she slowly climbs. It takes her a while, and she seems a bit out of breath when we reach the top, but she’s smiling broadly, showing her gappy teeth. Her strides are more secure as she crosses the landing. She seems to know straight away which door is Evie’s and pushes it open eagerly. Evie squeals in surprise to see us and jumps up from her circle of stuffed animals.
‘You have a visitor,’ I say, stroking Ruby’s long, fine hair. Her little chest is rising and falling rapidly and I experience the frisson of terror I have when I’m worried about Evie or Amelia. ‘Will you look after Ruby for a minute, honey? I just want to ask Aunty Julia a quick question.’
Evie takes Ruby’s hand and leads her into the middle of the room. I’m just about to leave when I see Amelia’s art pad in the middle of her bed. Almost without thinking I pick it up and flick through it. I stop at the most recent one. It’s a sketch of a ghost chasing a girl. It’s bleak and heavily shaded. I’m impressed but there’s something disturbing about it. I put it back where I found it.
I poke my head around our bedroom door to see Adrian immersed in his novel. He’s hardly spoken to me since yesterday, and I fear the chasm between us is widening since Selena’s death. For a while I felt closer to him as he helped me with the breakfasts and seemed to take more interest in the running of the guesthouse. Now it seems he’s retreated into himself again. And I don’t understand why. He doesn’t look up when I ask him to listen out for the girls, just grunts in response.
I race down the stairs, noticing that Nancy has disappeared and didn’t ask for her money on the way out. I find Julia in the front room. She’s sitting alone on the sofa with papers on her lap. She’s frowning as she reads but looks up when I enter. ‘Are you okay?’
I get my inhaler out. ‘Sorry,’ I say, after I’ve taken a few puffs. I fill her in on Ruby. ‘I’m wondering if she has asthma. She seemed really wheezy after walking up the stairs. It could be lack of fitness but …’
She gathers the papers from her lap and puts them into a bag that’s beside her on the sofa. ‘I’ve got my doctor’s bag upstairs. I can check. Have you registered her with a GP yet?’
‘Yes. I spoke to someone this morning. Early. I need to go in and fill out some forms.’
‘When you do, I’d like to come with you, if that’s okay.’ She frowns, her brown eyes flitting to her bag, then back to me. ‘I’ve just been looking over Ruby’s notes. There’re a few anomalies.’
‘Anomalies?’
‘Not in what I’ve read but in what Selena told me. She said Ruby has Crohn’s, right?’
I remember our conversation that first morning. ‘Yes. Crohn’s. Allergies to dairy and wheat. And growth problems. She also said she thinks she might have ME.’
‘Umm,’ Julia says, biting her lip. ‘That’s what she told me. Here, the night before she died.’
