‘Because you broke his nose.’
‘But you hate Wrigley.’
‘Oh, you are so fucking stupid.’
She moves closer. Instinctively, Flo backs away.
‘Wrigley and me. We’re together. Soulmates.’ She smiles. ‘If it’s any consolation, he did kind of like you. But I couldn’t have that. So, I made him prove himself to me. By fucking with you.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘He told me to come around here.’
‘And I told you – my mum will be home any minute.’
‘No, she won’t.’
Rosie pulls her hand out of her pocket. She holds the serrated knife. The one from the exorcism kit. The one Flo swore to her mum that Wrigley didn’t steal. Fear crushes Flo’s insides.
‘We’re going to have so much fun, Vampirina.’
FIFTY-SEVEN
He watches the chapel. He is lying belly down in the grass behind a tall headstone. He daren’t get any closer. Not yet. Not till it’s darker. Not after her daughter saw him at the window yesterday.
He mustn’t make any more mistakes. But it’s difficult. He’s in constant pain. He’s tired. His head feels odd, thoughts slumbering around sluggishly. His whole body feels like it’s slowing down on him, stuttering to a halt.
Earlier, he heard the drone of the police helicopter. Searching. They must have found the bodies. So far, they’ve missed him. But he can’t keep hidden for long. With his filthy clothes, stench and festering ankle, he’s not exactly indistinctive.
But he’s come so far.
He needs to see her, to talk to her. That’s all.
He messed it up last time. Badly. All those years looking for her – his only clue the one letter she had sent him and a faded postmark. And then, he had found her by chance. In a soup kitchen. He had been shuffling along with the other homeless and suddenly she had been there. Smiling, happy, with her white collar gleaming around her neck. He could barely believe it, but he would know his sister anywhere.
He hadn’t dared talk to her. He had bided his time, watching her, working out the best approach. He had always been like that. A watcher. Slow to act, except when the anger took over. Like with Mum. She had pushed him too far and he had lashed out. Only afterwards did he become aware that he had lashed out with a bread knife in his hand.
It was the same with the husband. That night in the church. He hadn’t meant to hurt him. Well, maybe just a little. After all, he had seen how he treated his sister. How he shouted at her, hit her. He had wanted to punish him. But he went too far.
When she came to visit him in prison, she had told him she forgave him. But she made him promise not to tell anyone about them. And he had agreed. He knew he had let her down. She had said she would come back. She never did. But he forgives her for that too.
She’s not there at the moment. Just the daughter. And a girl has arrived. He’s not sure, but he thinks she’s the same girl from last night.
When the boy first turned up at the derelict house, he had hidden in the cellar. He’d heard voices above him. And then a scream. He had rushed out. Chased off the attackers and freed the girl. When he realized who she was, he had hidden again. She couldn’t see him. Not yet.
Confusingly, the daughter has just let her attacker inside. He wonders whether he should do something but, for now, he just watches. Watching over his niece, he thinks. His family. He smiles, then yawns. Soon she’ll be home. They’ll be together. At last.
FIFTY-EIGHT
I’m not sure how long I lie there, in the darkness, lover-close with Saffron’s rotting remains. At first, I lose it. I scream. I kick my heels against the boot. I feel the fine threads that tether me to sanity snapping one by one.
And then a tiny part of my brain reaches out and clutches on. You’ve been here before. You survived then. You will survive now. You have to. For Flo.
I need to keep calm. Focus on something other than the heat, the smell, the irrational fear of movement in the darkness next to me. The sound of gasping, wet breath and skeletal hands fumbling to pull away the soiled sheet.
Stop it. Just stop it.
Saffron is dead. And I need to stay alive. For my daughter. Is she still at home with Mike? Have they tried to get hold of me? Are they starting to worry, perhaps thinking about looking for me, calling the police? Or are they giving it more time?
Time. How long have I been here? I got to the house around four. My perception is warped. Time moves more slowly in the dark, in fear, in pain. But it must be several hours since I arrived. Eight or nine o’clock. The light outside will be fading. Wrigley said he wanted to wait until it was dark.
Then we’re going for a drive.
Can he drive? I have to presume so. Not so unusual in the country. Lots of parents have private land and kids start to learn before seventeen. But where are we going? What is he planning?
I tense. Footsteps on gravel again, the clunk of car doors opening. Something being shoved on to the back seat. A door slams. Then a creak and lowering in the suspension as someone climbs into the front. The engine starts. We’re moving. I’m bashed and bumped around in the boot, feeling every pothole in the road through the deflated tyres. Thrown together with Saffron’s soft, decomposing body, the damp of bodily fluids seeping into my clothes. Then, finally, it’s over. The car lurches to a stop. I lie, breathing harshly, listening. Wrigley climbs out. He’s taking something out of the back. Then suddenly the boot opens. Fresh air. I breathe it in hungrily.
Wrigley reaches in and lifts out Saffron’s body. I try to focus my eyes. It isn’t quite dark. Twilight. He’s putting her body in … a wheelbarrow. Draping a blanket over her. But where are we? I can see sky, a sprinkling of stars. To my right, a fence, a gate. I recognize it. The chapel. We’re at the chapel.
I should scream, cry for help. My tongue feels like it’s working again. Someone might be passing and hear me. As if reading my mind, Wrigley turns and pulls something out of his pocket. He leans in, grabs my hair and stuffs a dirty rag in my mouth.
‘Be right back.’
The boot slams shut again. I scream my frustration through the rag. Although Saffron’s body has gone, the smell remains. I try to roll myself into a better position, to ease the cramp in my arms and legs. Why has he brought us here? What the hell is he doing? And what about Flo and Mike? Fear gnaws hungrily at my guts.
A few minutes later the boot opens again.
‘Your turn.’
He is surprisingly strong. I find myself lifted and dumped into the wheelbarrow. With my legs and arms bound and the rag in my mouth, I can do little to resist. I try to look around. We’re in the pull-in outside the chapel. The rear of the car is turned towards the church. In the near dark, the quiet of this country lane, you’d be hard pressed to see anything, except perhaps a shadowy figure pushing a dark lump in a wheelbarrow up the path. There are no lights, only a faint sliver of moon. I feel despair lie heavy in my chest.
Wrigley pushes the wheelbarrow towards the chapel. My bones rattle. I glance towards the cottage. The lights are on. But is anyone home?
‘Y’know, this has all worked out really well,’ Wrigley says conversationally. ‘I’d been wondering how to get rid of Mum’s body, but discovering the vault was a gift. Where better to dump a body than in a burial chamber, right?’