There’s a beat of silence before Courtney says to me, ‘Did you ever suspect that Arlo was capable of murder?’
I shake my head vehemently. ‘Never. I’m not going to lie, he was always a little obsessed by wealth. He hated living in the commune, everyone having the same. He hated “being poor”, as he put it. But I never …’ my stomach turns ‘… I never thought he’d be capable of murder.’
How will I ever trust anyone again?
46
Three months later, Willow
We’re in the middle of a heatwave. The city feels stagnant with it. The air is breezeless, cloying with traffic fumes and cut grass. I can’t even walk to the end of the street without sweat running down my back.
But Clifton in July is a joy to behold, and I love it here. I love the little pavement cafés and the boutiques and the beautiful old buildings that shimmer in the sun. I love the view of the suspension bridge, even with the knowledge of what took place there, and the hot-air balloons in the cloudless cornflower-blue sky.
When I’m out and about I feel a bounce to my step for the first time since Arlo was arrested and subsequently charged with the murders of Matilde, Jemima and Una. He’s denying it, of course. But the evidence mounting up against him is undeniable. His van was taken away and analysed. Fibres from Jemima were found in the back. Una’s phone was in his flat, plus another phone, a spare with the message he sent on it pretending to be Peter. He also had a backpack containing Jemima’s clothes. Plus there’s the CCTV footage of a man fitting his description on the bridge at the same time as Jemima. He’s also been charged with obtaining money fraudulently and the assault on Kathryn.
I visited him once in prison, not long after he was charged. He sat there in front of me with unwashed hair and a cut down his face from some fight. He never admitted anything to me, and as I sat opposite him, I could barely look at him without disgust. ‘Why can’t you plead guilty and save everyone the stress of a trial?’ I hissed.
But he just smiled, refusing to say anything. Refusing to admit that he’d driven into Matilde with his van, or charmed his way into Jemima’s affections only to kill her, or pretended to be Peter to lure Una onto the bridge. And why had he been hanging around Courtney’s flat? Was he planning to murder her, too?
My brother might have thought he had his reasons but, when it came down to it, they were just excuses when, really, his instincts are animalistic: tokill. And with each kill his need grew more insatiable.
As I got up to leave he did say, ‘I was only thinking of you. Why should we get nothing? She’s family, for fuck’s sake.’
The irony is he didn’t have to kill for the money. If he’d only told Elspeth who he really was I’m sure she would have wanted a relationship with him. He’d grown up with tales from our own mother about what a wicked mean old woman Elspeth was, rich but controlling, with her little pet cuckoo who had kicked Viola out of the nest. My mum had vowed never to have anything to do with her mother again. I didn’t know any of this. Mum never talked to me about her childhood. I didn’t even know that she’d had rich parents. She told me they were dead. That was it. Arlo, being so much older, must have heard a different story. The real story. And maybe, back then, Elspeth hadbeen a harder woman. How was he to know that she was softening in her ripe old age and that she’d wanted a reconciliation with her biological daughter? How was he to know that Elspeth had left it all too late?
Elspeth has taken me under her wing. I’ve moved in with her and she’s showing me the ropes of the businesses. Since they found out that Arlo and his girlfriend Daisy were stealing from the art gallery, it’s starting to have a healthy turnover again. Kathryn has hired a carer who comes in each day to help Elspeth, and between us we do the rest, although we agree that Elspeth is perfectly capable of doing things for herself and we shouldn’t pander to her, despite her heart condition. This was hard for Kathryn at first – her constant fear of being ‘cut off’ still ever present. But she’s learning that as much as she needs her mother the feeling is mutual. It’s taken the pressure off her, and I like to think she no longer feels threatened by my presence.
Kathryn and I had a heart-to-heart when I first moved in. She admitted to me how badly my mother treated her, and how she’d betrayed her trust by telling Elspeth about her relationship with a boy called Danny. I feel ashamed of how my mother was. She sounded spoilt and selfish, with a nasty, sadistic side to her. Maybe that’s where Arlo gets it from. But no. I’m not going to make excuses for him. As far as I’m aware, my mother wasn’t a killer. She was a good mother to me. I like to think that running off and joining a commune, living a non-materialistic life, meant that she wanted to be a better person. And even though our childhood was unconventional, living as we had on a large farm with twenty other people, I washappy. Even when Dad took up with another member of the commune and left us all behind I didn’t really miss him. He was never particularly paternal and I sometimes wondered if living on a commune was a way for him to bow out of his parental responsibilities, knowing there was always someone else to keep an eye on us, or to give advice or discipline. Mum, on the other hand, I miss terribly. But I’m glad she’s not around to see what Arlo has become.
I enjoy working with Kathryn at the gallery, and I hope she knows she can trust me. I’m not interested in taking her place or my grandmother’s money. I’m just happy to have a semblance of a family after my own has fallen apart so catastrophically.
Grandma, as Elspeth likes me to call her now, enjoys the tales of my childhood. She doesn’t want to hear about Arlo. To her, it’s like he doesn’t exist – and we know she’s good at that because she did the same when my mother left. But now she asks endless questions about Viola, as she still refers to her.
‘Did she ever mention me?’ she asked once, and I lied and said, yes, of course. And Elspeth – Grandma – would lean back in her chair with a serene smile at the thought that her daughter hadn’t forgotten her after all.
On Sunday Courtney calls for me and we amble into the village for lunch.
Courtney and I have become good friends. I was worried at first that she’d blame me for Una’s murder, that I was somehow accountable by proxy because it was my brother who killed her. But on the contrary we’re bondedby it, and the same applies to her and Peter. They’re dating, and she’s moving to London to be nearer to him.
‘When are you leaving?’ I ask her, as we link arms and head to our favourite café.
‘Next weekend. I’ve found a job in a salon in Covent Garden and a house-share in Streatham. Not far from Peter.’ She blushes when she mentions his name. She’s got it bad. ‘You know, you could come too. We could find a place together.’
‘I’ve thought about it. But I can’t leave Elspeth – Grandma. It still feels weird to call her that. Not yet, anyway. Not when I’ve only just found her. I’ve moved around so much in the last few years, it’ll be nice to put down roots for a while.’
‘I understand. But you’ll visit, won’t you?’
‘You bet.’ We fall into a companionable silence before I ask, ‘How’re things going with Peter?’
‘Really well.’ She grins. ‘I’ve never felt this way about anyone.’ Then she looks sad.
‘What is it?’
She shrugs. ‘I don’t know. I suppose I feel like I’m leaving Una behind. And I know it’s a big ask, but will you visit her grave for me? She’s buried in the same cemetery as her mum.’
Although I never knew Una, my eyes smart. ‘Of course I will.’
‘I think Vince goes sometimes.’ She gives me a knowing look. I know she’s trying to set us up but that would be too weird. I already feel like I’m living Una’s life, inhabiting her space, getting close to her best friend. Going out with her ex would be one step too far.
