I listen in silence, taking the occasional drag as Margot tells me the sequence of events of that fateful morning.
Heather had taken Flora back to Margot’s house at the caravan park with the idea that she would work on convincing her sister that they needed to go to the police. She left Flora sleeping in her room to make a cup of tea but when she returned Flora had gone. The drawer to the half-moon chest in the hallway was open and, straight away, Heather knew what her sister was about to do because it was where the key to the gun cabinet was kept. Heather raced into the barn just in time to see Flora taking the shotgun from the cabinet. ‘It’s the only way I can stop them doing this to someone else,’ Flora had said.
Heather tried to wrestle the gun from Flora’s grasp. But it went off and the bullet struck Heather in the chest. She stumbled and hit her head. Flora thought she had killed her. She was so devastated that she no longer cared what happened to her. She took Heather’s car (‘God knows how she drove it when she’s never had a lesson even if it is an automatic,’ said Margot) and headed for Deirdre’s house in Tilby. She knew the road name as she’d heard them talking about it. The West Ham sticker in the window made her sure she was entering the right house.
After she’d shot them she took a bus back to Bristol.She was too scared to hand herself in, instead managing to score heroin and sleeping rough. One day she saw me coming home from work and followed me, dossing down in the derelict building opposite. Apparently she was trying to reach out to me. She worked out which apartment was mine and then she managed to sneak into my building behind a neighbour and pushed the bus ticket through my letterbox in an attempt to tell me she was in Bristol. But I hadn’t made the connection because I’d thought Flora was dead.
‘She thought she’d killed Heather,’ Margot finishes. ‘And she was scared to come forward. She told the police everything before her stroke. Gary,’ she coughs, ‘um, DCI Ruthgow, has been amazing. Heather will face no charge. And poor Flora …’
‘What will happen to Flora now?’ Surely she won’t be prosecuted for murder, not after everything they did to her and what she’s been through.
Angela at the police press office told me earlier that this was just the tip of the iceberg. Clive had been prolific and Flora was getting too old for him. If Heather hadn’t found her when she had, I’ve no doubt Clive would have killed her. Maybe he would have given her just that little bit too much heroin and buried her in the basement too.
It was just by chance that Clive and Deirdre had bumped into Flora that August night. They’d been coming back from the fair where Clive and Norman had been doing some dodgy drugs deal. Apparently, according to Margot, Clive had recognized Flora from the fair and had taken the opportunity to lure her into the car, knowing she wouldn’t be afraid if his mother was there.
It’s Deirdre’s role in all this I can’t get over. How could she have helped her son to abduct these women, turned a blind eye as he drugged and raped them? I’ll never understand it.
‘Flora’s too ill to face charges,’ says Margot. ‘Temporary insanity would be her plea, though I’m sure if it ever … if it ever came to her being fit enough to stand trial, although that’s not likely …’
‘Oh, God, Margot. I’m so sorry.’
I close my eyes, tears seeping out from underneath my lashes as I think of Flora as I like to remember her: a sixteen-year-old girl in love, floating about her sunny bedroom in her long skirts and DM boots, singing along to ‘Martha’s Harbour’ and no doubt thinking of Dylan.
‘Despite the stroke, and how ill she is, at least she’s safe. She’s away from those monsters,’ says Margot.
‘I know. I understand.’
‘Don’t forget about us, will you?’ she says suddenly. ‘Heather would love to see you again. She’s allowed to come home at the weekend.’
I open my eyes, blinking away the tears. ‘You’re both stuck with me now,’ I say, as I gaze across the river. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ And I realize that this is what I want. To grow some roots. To enjoy my life with Rory here in Bristol. Maybe to have children one day. To be a mum. I’ll learn from my parents’ mistakes, not become like them. Because I have Margot as a role model.
‘I’m glad.’ Her voice sounds lighter. ‘Thank you for being there for me. For being a friend to me and Heather, above being a journalist.’
I’m surprised. I never consciously understood thatthat’s what I’ve done. But it’s true. I’ve held back much more than I would if another family had been in the same situation. I kept Margot’s confidence, when asked, not writing about finding Flora having overdosed on heroin, or going after Leo and revealing what I knew about his dalliance with the underage Deborah Price. I’d needed Margot and she’d needed me. We were there for each other.
I’m smiling as I end the call, promising Margot that I’ll visit Heather at the weekend. And then I stand up, pocketing my phone as I make my way home, to Rory and our future.
Epilogue
Heather
Three months later
My sister is propped up in bed, her head resting on a layer of pillows when I visit, her dark hair sleek and shiny and cut to her shoulders. She’s no longer in a hospital but a rehabilitation centre for stroke victims. It has a view of Tilby Bay from her window and sometimes, when it’s quiet, you can hear the waves crashing against the rocks below. It’s therapeutic, and Flora has always loved the sound of the sea.
I take out the book I’ve been reading to her every day for the last week.Rebecca.She never got the chance to finish it before she went missing, and even though she occasionally reads to herself, her eyes get tired. I take her hand, her good hand, and she squeezes mine, a sign for me to continue. The signet ring on her little finger glints in the late-morning sun. She’d been delighted when I returned it to her. Before the stroke, Flora told me Deirdre had stolen it when she’d snatched her.
It’s been a long road to recovery for Flora. She’s only now starting to regain a little speech; before she’dcommunicate with me by blinking, once for no and twice for yes. I take her out when it’s a nice day, wheeling her chair along the seafront, and she closes her eyes and takes deep breaths, cleansing her lungs. She’s no longer dependent on the heroin that ravaged her body over the last two decades. She has put on some weight and looks healthy, younger now that her face has filled out. She has defied all the odds, but I knew she would. She’s strong, my sister.
I visit her every day without fail. Making up for lost time, I suppose. I often bring Ethan with me, although today he’s at nursery. When he first met Aunty Flora he’d been scared, running to me and hiding behind my back. But eventually he’d warmed to her, no longer noticing that one side of her face droops and that she finds speech difficult. I think the fact we’re so alike helps. He knows this is Mummy’s sister. Sometimes Jess comes, too, and the three of us sit together and listen to 1990s music in companionable silence, born out of our shared history and a bond that growing up together can sometimes bring.
Flora has never been charged. She was too ill to be formally interviewed under caution, and then she had the stroke. The drugs have done so much damage to her nervous system. But I haven’t given up hope. I have no doubt she’ll make a full recovery. It might take a while, but she’s determined. Even though the stroke isn’t what any of us would have wished upon Flora, I still thank my lucky stars every day that she’s here. And I know Mum does too.
Mum, as always, has been amazing. The caravan park has been sold and she’s put in an offer on a largebungalow with sea views where she’ll live with Flora. They are due to complete any day now. Adam and I have bought a smallholding not far away, just big enough for a few horses. Adam has taken a job at the shooting range, and starts there next month. We’ve had to work on our marriage. He feels guilty that he never believed me about the Wilsons having something to do with Flora’s disappearance, and it’s taken me a while to forgive him for that. But life is too short: the last few months have taught me that much. And I love Adam. I want it to work between us.
Mum and the police officer, Gary Ruthgow, have grown closer, going on dates and enjoying each other’s company. I always suspected she had a thing for him. But it’s wonderful to see her truly happy at last.
Watching how Mum tends Flora so patiently and with such love has made me want to be a better mum. A better person. Everything I did – have done – was for love.
