‘Why didn’t you tell the police any of this after … after …?’
‘I didn’t want them to think that was why Heather killed them.’
‘Over a dog.’ She laughs. ‘But that’s ridiculous.’
He frowns. ‘I know that, but the police would try to find any spurious link, wouldn’t they?’
Margot gets up. She feels woolly-headed after all the wine. She needs a warm drink. Adam follows her into the kitchen with the empty wine glasses. ‘I’m sorry I got angry,’ he says, his shoulders relaxing. ‘The note, it was a stupid thing to do. I regret it.’
She clicks the kettle on and Adam sits at the wooden table, his head in his hands. She can’t help but think there’s more to it. Yes, three hundred pounds is a lot of money to lose but that level of anger at a man who died at the hands of your wife? It makes no sense to her.
‘Did you ever get the money back?’
‘No. Clive wouldn’t admit there was a problem. He continued to promise us a puppy.’
She rests a hand on his shoulder. He still has his coat on. She desperately wants to give him the benefit of the doubt. She has to believe in him, for Heather’s sake. For Ethan’s. ‘I’m sorry, Adam.’
He places his hand over hers. They stay like that for a while, then Margot moves away to make hot chocolate. After a few minutes she hands Adam a mug. ‘Here, drink this.’
‘Thanks.’ He takes a sip, even though it’s piping hot.
She sits next to him, at the head of the table. ‘So is that what you argued about? The night before? Money? The puppy?’
He lifts his head, his eyes puzzled. ‘No. Heather was onmy side about all that. She thought Clive was just stringing us along, too. No, it was something else. She …’ He stares at his mug intently, not meeting Margot’s eyes.
‘What then?’
‘She got this idea in her head that –’
They are interrupted by the shrill sound of the landline.
Adam jumps up. ‘It’s a bit late for phone calls. It could be Mum ringing about Ethan, or the hospital.’ His face is grey.
Margot is on her feet, too, almost running to the little half-moon table in the hallway where the phone is.
‘Hello.’
‘Hello, Margot? It’s Gary – Gary Ruthgow.’
Her heart picks up speed. ‘Gary …’
‘I’m sorry to be calling late. But we’ve found a body. Remains. Bones, really, dating back fifteen to twenty years. And we’re not a hundred per cent sure yet, but …’ Margot’s legs threaten to buckle underneath her weight ‘… I think you should know we’re looking into the possibility that it could be Flora.’
34
August 1994
Heather’s hand trembled so violently that the riding crop fell from her fingers to the grass at her feet. Dylan cowered before her and she noticed blood seeping through his thin tie-dye T-shirt. What had she done?
It had happened again, just like before. The blackout. The rage. She couldn’t even remember doing it, just the familiar bubbling sensation in her head, the flickering orbs of light sweeping across her vision, like the beginnings of an ocular migraine, and then the overwhelming feeling of anger before everything went black. And when she opened her eyes she was faced with this. An injured, cowering mess in front of her.
He had his hands over his head, as though expecting another blow. When it was obvious no more was forthcoming he straightened up, staring at her with wide, disbelieving eyes. He winced as he reached around, gingerly touching his T-shirt. There were beads of blood on his fingertips. He stared at it in horror. ‘You crazy, fucking bitch.’
‘I – I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry.’
‘You beat me with a riding crop, that’s what fuckinghappened.’ He took a step back, as though he was afraid of her. ‘I only asked for Flora. You just flew at me.’
Heather cast her eyes around the garden. Nobody else had seen, thank goodness.
