“I didn’t want Callum dead. He helped me. Why would I want him dead?”
“Because he was going to the dean. He was going to confess how he got you the test answers for your finals.”
“He was selling answers to everyone. You and your maths test. Hollis. Oliver bought more than a few. Even Lorna after she had that woman-hating lecturer again. Why should I be any different?” She staggered back into the eaves.
“You took his money. Instead of leaving it for his parents, you took it.”
“We all did!” Her knees bent, but she caught herself on the wall before she fell. “We all took some. For his sake. To cover for him. To protect his family from the truth. Don’t you remember?”
“I remember you came home the next day with a new Fendi Baguette handbag.”
“Callum helped me. He helped me! I would never hurt him.”
“Then why did you?” Maeve whispered.
Ellie gave a half-smile. Blood trickled down her chin. “All I did was ask him not to pick up the phone. All he had to do was listen. Why doesn’t anyone ever listen to me?”
Maeve dropped the tire iron and lunged, knocking Ellie to the ground. Her fingers tightened around Ellie’s throat. Her skin was so soft. She really did moisturize well, and with that thought, Maeve detached. The hands squeezing Ellie’s neck tight were not Maeve’s hands. The rage forcing her to maintain the pressure was not Maeve’s rage. She floated above it all. It was someone else doing what needed to be done.
When a hand lay on her shoulder, she lashed out in retaliation. But it was only Lorna kneeling beside her to tell her it was over, to tell her it was done. Lorna turned on the light from her phone and Maeve looked at the body beneath her. It no longer moved. The eyes remained open, the sclera lined red from burst capillaries. A glob of red drool trailed from her lower lip. It was over. And suddenly Maeve wanted it not to be. She wanted Ellie to get up.
“Fuck you,” she said. “Did you hear me? Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you!” She slapped Ellie’s face. “Aren’t you going to scold me for my language? Go on then. Fuck you!”
No answer. So she slapped her.
“Fuck you!”
And again.
“Maeve.”
“Wake up you stupid bitch and yell at me. Fuck you!”
And again.
“Wake up!”
“Maeve.”
A hand tugged at her arm.
“It’s over. Maeve, it’s over. It’s done. Let her go. Come on. Let her go.”
Lorna guided her down through the house and back through the foyer. Maeve waited there, watching the flameless fireplace, feeling the presence of Caskie’s body behind her, while Lorna went to retrieve the ring of keys from Oliver’s body. She returned, picking broken glass from her jumper, and unlocked the front door.
They both sat on the ground just in front of the door, nestled between the two cracked urns, and listened to the wind. The clouds were finally beginning to clear, revealing the brilliant blue sky that had been hidden from them the entire weekend. Maeve tried to make shapes out of the remaining clouds, but nothing could distract her from the feel of Ellie’s skin underneath her hands.
“I guess if we smoked,” Lorna said, “now would be the time.”
“I guess.”
The air was cold, but Maeve still felt hot. She didn’t know if she would ever be cool again, or if her skin would always feel like it was on fire.
“What are we supposed to do now?” she asked.
“Well,” Lorna said. “We have about an hour and a half until sunset. We could go for a walk. Make something for dinner. I didn’t eat lunch and it’s almost three, so . . .”
“I mean James Caskie isn’t coming back for us.”
Lorna sighed. “I know.”
“There’s no one we can use as an alibi.”
“It’s only Saturday. We have a whole day before anyone starts to suspect something’s wrong. We’ll figure something out.”
Rain dripped from the gutters, streamed into the car park. Maeve followed the trail with her eyes to her own car. She felt guilty for having vandalized it when she really had just paid it off. And then she felt guilty for feeling guilty about a car, when she had done so many other bad things in the last forty-eight hours.
“We don’t smoke,” Maeve said, “but what would you say to a drink?”
“I’d say it’s an excellent idea.” Lorna rose, but when Maeve moved to do the same, Lorna motioned for her to sit. “I’ll get it. We both need some time out of this house.”
Maeve looked at the open door. “But what if—”
Lorna placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine, Maeve. There’s no one else in the house.”
Maeve listened to Lorna’s footsteps cross the foyer. Then she chewed on the cuff of her jumper, bounced her knee up and down, but it wasn’t enough to dispel the energy within her. The tears came and she could not stop them. She thought she’d feel relief once the job was done. That her guilt over Callum would be assuaged. But it had only been replaced with guilt over Hollis and Oliver and Ellie. She didn’t know if this guilt would ever leave her. Maybe it would. Maybe one day, its last vestiges would fade to nothing. But for now it remained wedged inside her, a weight in her chest. She wiped the tears away, but they kept rolling down her cheeks. She had no control over them, and sitting still was no longer helping.
“Lorna, I’m coming to help.”
But when Maeve entered the study, Lorna wasn’t there. She checked the conservatory, but this, too, was empty.
“Lorna?”
Her voice echoed in the lobby.
“Are you in the kitchen? Were you getting snacks, too?”
As Maeve moved toward the dining room, she heard a noise from the back hallway.
“Lorna? Stop being silly.”
But there was no response. Maeve worried the cuff of her jumper. Lorna always shouted at the stupid people in horror films, the ones who followed strange noises instead of running away. But this wasn’t a horror film. Lorna was fine. And if she wasn’t, Maeve had seen enough pain to last the rest of her lifetime. Lorna was her friend. She wouldn’t let any harm come to her.
Maeve stepped around MacLeod’s body.
“Lorna?”
A scratching sounded to her left, around a corner that led to a narrow hall. Maeve followed the sound. Windows at the back of the house provided the little light that was left that day. The damp air made her cough, and she almost missed the bark. A small shadow scratched at a door on the left. Maeve held up the light on her phone.
A small dog with shaggy brown fur panted in the hall. It remained at the door as Maeve approached.
“Hello! What are you doing here, Gizmo?”
The dog’s ears perked up at its name.
“Lorna? I thought you said you were leaving Gizmo with friends.”
She bent down to pick him up, but he darted away. The door he’d been scratching at cracked open.
“Lorna, are you in here?” Maeve pushed it in and held up the light.
It must’ve been an optical illusion.
A double bed. A Take That poster. A crate of food with Oreos and tins of beans. It was all so familiar. But it couldn’t be. Her Caldwell Street bedroom wasn’t supposed to be here. Not hers or Lorna’s. These weren’t among the things Lorna said she took from the house before she set the fire.