She shakes her head, then winces, touching her bandage gingerly. ‘No. I need … I need to tell you something.’ She pats the bed next to her, and Margot sits. The bed is high off the floor and Margot’s legs dangle like a child’s.
‘What is it?’ They’re sitting so close that their thighs are touching. Margot realizes, with a jolt, that Heather has suggested she sit so close so that the police at thedoor can’t hear what she’s about to say. Straight away Margot’s heart begins to beat faster.
‘Jess is going to write a piece about me. With my blessing. I’m hoping it will make the public understand a bit more, that they know I’d never be capable of killing the Wilsons. Not when I have Ethan to think about. It might help if … when … this all goes to trial.’
Margot’s holding her breath. ‘Right?’
‘My brain’s been all over the place since the accident. I can’t remember taking a gun to the Wilsons. I can’t remember driving back to the caravan park and trying to shoot myself in the barn. I can’t remember falling and banging my head. Since …’ she swallows, and Margot’s insides feel as though they’ve turned to ice as she wonders what her daughter is about to say next ‘… since it all happened I’ve been dreaming a lot. All these different thoughts have been racing through my head, fragments of memory. I’ve been trying to piece it all together …’ A tear falls from Heather’s eyes and drops onto her hand resting in her lap. Margot stares in horror at the teardrop, unable to move, to comfort.
Heather swipes at the tears. ‘I loved Flora. You have to believe me when I tell you that. I wanted to protect her. She was different from me. Flaky … dreamy. I never meant to hurt her …’
Margot puts her hand to her throat and fingers her gold locket, bracing herself for Heather’s next words.
Heather turns to stare at her mother and grasps her hand with such intensity that Margot almost pulls off the necklace. ‘Now I’ve got Ethan, I understand,’ she says. ‘I can imagine how you must feel. The pain of neverknowing what happened. The torment. It’s not fair to you, Mum. I’m so sorry. I knew the body at Clive Wilson’s house couldn’t belong to Flora. I’m going to tell you what really happened to her, okay?’ She squeezes Margot’s hand. ‘And then you can decide what to do.’
45
August 1994
The spell had been broken. Just like that.
They were walking in St James’s Park, admiring the pelicans. It had been romantic. The sun had been shining and she’d linked her arm through Dylan’s, like they were a proper couple. How grown-up she’d felt, how she’d enjoyed the admiring glances they’d received. Until Dylan went and ruined it.
Now he stood before her, in his tie-dye T-shirt and baggy jeans, his dark hair flopping into his bright blue eyes, and smiled the slow, lazy smile that used to turn her insides to mush. But not now. Now, instead of rushing up and throwing her arms around him, like she would have done earlier, or yesterday, the only desire she felt was the urge to punch him hard in his stupid, idiotic face.
‘What?’ he said, throwing his arms out. ‘What have I said?’
She placed her hands on her hips, like her mother did when she got cross with them. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps the little thing about wanting me to help you peddle your pathetic drugs. I thought you wanted to come to London to spend time with me. Away from Tilby. But no … no,of course not. You just want me to join your …empire,’ she spat.
He lowered his voice so that the couple next to them couldn’t hear. ‘Speedy has a good contact here. Said he’ll give them to me on the cheap.’ He walked towards her with the arrogant swagger she used to find so attractive, but now repellent. ‘Come on, babe. You’re sixteen. You could come with me when the fair moves on … There’s good money to be had from this, if we play our cards right.’
‘What a great future you’re offering me.’ She couldn’t help the sarcasm that dripped from her tongue. ‘A Bonnie and Clyde future.’
He laughed, but his eyes darted about nervously. She was getting loud and he was worried who could hear. ‘I’m not suggesting we kill anyone.’
‘Aren’t you?’
He stepped forward and tried to encircle her with his arms. ‘Babe. You like it. I know you do. I saw how you were when you snorted that coke the other night … but you don’t have to take drugs. Just help me sell them.’ His eyes clouded. ‘I owe Speedy and his brother Clive money, babe. I need to do this. I can’t mess with them.’
She pulled away from him. ‘It’s wrong. I don’t want any part of it.’ She’d felt out of control at the party the other night and she hadn’t liked it. She’d looked around at the crowd she was with, most of whom were off their heads on some substance or other, and she’d been disgusted by them all.
Dylan’s expression became more alarmed and he moved away from her. ‘I thought you were cool.’
‘Maybe I’m not. I want a career. I don’t want to be a drugs pusher or an addict.’
He laughed nastily. ‘You’re a baby. Just like your sister. A fucking prissy small-town girl with no ambition.’
‘No ambition!’ she shrieked, causing the couple in front of them to turn to look at her. ‘I’ve got more ambition than you. Heather was right about you.’
She stalked off before he could answer, heart thudding against her ribcage. When she’d calmed down a bit she stopped by a tree to catch her breath, expecting Dylan to have followed her. But he was nowhere to be seen. She felt a flurry of fear. She was alone, in London, with no idea how to get back to the coach. Calm down, she told herself. She could work it out. Marble Arch. That was where the coach had dropped them off. It would be okay. She took deep, gulping breaths, trying not to panic. As long as she was back before the coach left at five it would be okay.
Flora’s feet hurt as she took her seat on the coach. She’d spent all afternoon wandering around by herself. A kindly old man had pointed her in the right direction and she’d spent the last two hours hanging around the coach area, terrified she’d miss it if she strayed too far.
She didn’t see Dylan get on the coach, and was beyond caring if he came back or stayed in London. She sat near the front, by the window, next to a middle-aged woman who had her head in a book the whole way back. Flora clamped her headphones to her ears, so she could listen to her favourite song, ‘Martha’s Harbour’, on her Walkman. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about him everagain. What a lucky escape she’d had. There were plenty more fish in the sea, as her uncle Leo always said when one of his relationships failed, which was often.
Suddenly she longed to be at home, with her uncle and her mum, Heather and Jess. Safe and warm, away from Dylan and his druggie mates and the fair. She didn’t want to go back to the fair ever again. Behind the bright lights and the loud music there was a rotten, seedy underbelly.
It began to rain as the coach pulled into Eastville and she had to walk for fifteen minutes across town to the bus station. The rain continued to lash down and she only had her little velvet jacket to protect her from the onslaught. By the time she arrived she was drenched and shivering in her summer blouse and floaty skirt. The only sensible thing she had on were her trusted DMs. She sat on the bench trying to keep warm as she waited for the Tilby bus. Despite herself, she looked around for Dylan. Then she spotted him. He had bought himself a hot drink and was standing at the other end of the concourse, watching her. She caught his eye and he smiled, looking relieved to see her, but she didn’t return his smile. He’d left her in London. She’d never forgive him. She turned away, hardening her heart against him. It didn’t matter how sexy he was, or how he made her feel, she knew, deep in her gut, that he was bad news, and if she stayed with him he’d drag her further into his murky circle. She was sixteen, with the whole world at her feet. She’d meet someone else. Someone better. She didn’t need him.
