by A J Waines
As Miranda was wheeled away to begin her recovery, I was being checked over in A&E. I didn’t have concussion, just a throbbing bruise on the back of my head, a few cuts on my face from the broken window and a nasty cough from the fumes, for a few days.
Over the next few days, Con and I took turns to sit by Miranda’s bedside in intensive care. We watched her damaged body writhe and squirm as the sores and blisters raged under their dressings. Her eyes stayed shut, while machines helped her breathe. There were problems with her respiratory system, thermal damage and pulmonary irritation, but the doctors were optimistic about her recovery.
During those hours, my hurt pride and resentment about my sister being with Con melted away for good. What really mattered was that Miranda had the chance to live her life to the full and be happy – and I was grateful beyond belief that I had her back. It was clear Con really cared about her and I had to admit they appeared to share more of a connection than he and I ever did.
She didn’t stir for hours at a time. Then, on the third day, she suddenly let out a faraway moan. After that she muttered in her sleep, whispering funny little phrases such as ‘sequin feathers’ and ‘fountain lady’. She was coming back.
Part of me wanted her to stay where she was, in some dreamy promised land. I knew that as soon as she woke up she’d feel terrible pain. All the same, I felt blessed that I was there when she opened her eyes. She asked me what time it was, then said, ‘I could murder a sausage roll.’
Chapter 51
Sam
I’ll never know how it happened, but when the fire officer had finally helped me up from the floor of the gents’ toilet at the Arts Project, Rosie was nowhere in sight. Only the cats and dogs canvas bag was left lying on the floor. She’d managed to slip away from the scene of the crime once again.
The police had called me in that same day. They’d assured me Rosie’s time was up. They were convinced that the new evidence put her well and truly in the frame for Erica’s death. The scuffs on the stairs matched damage to a pair of Rosie’s boots and a local window cleaner had come forward to say he’d thought Rosie was Erica’s home help, as he’d seen her let herself into the house more than once. It was all there, it just needed piecing together.
The police assured me Rosie couldn’t go far. In her rush to get away, she’d left her credit cards, her phone and another mobile I recognised as Miranda’s in the canvas bag. Rosie only had what she was carrying in her pockets. They’d launched a ‘manhunt’, confident she’d be in custody in a matter of hours. They promised to ring me the moment they brought her in.
If Rosie went back to her flat in Streatham the police would stop her, they said. She didn’t even have the keys to get in – they were also in the bag, next to a set of my old ones.
Still inside the bag, too, was the smashed viola and the rare stamp. She hadn’t even taken those precious things with her.
I couldn’t work out whether Rosie had left the bag with me for safekeeping or abandoned it for good. She must have known the police would be closing in on her. They were now keen to question her about Greg’s death, too. It was the end of the line for her.
Nevertheless hours turned into days and still I didn’t get the call.
If I’d learnt anything from this experience, it was that sometimes, with the best will in the world, you can’t save everyone. Likewise, even the best psychologist in the world can’t always predict what people will do.
I finally needed come to terms with this where Joanne was concerned, as well as with Rosie. I wasn’t a mind-reader and could only do what I thought was right in any given circumstances. Perhaps, too, I had to learn this same lesson on a deeper level with Miranda.
One thing was certain, I needed to be kinder to myself. Grant myself some slack. I had to grasp that sometimes my best would never be enough.
Once Miranda was discharged from hospital, I returned to my flat feeling like I was coming home from a gruelling expedition through the desert. My bones ached; I was knackered from spending hours in a plastic hospital chair, propping my eyelids open at Miranda’s bedside, and I was emotionally wrung out.
I thought I’d lost my sister.
With indentations still visible on my neck from Rosie’s knife, I’d been lucky to get out in one piece, myself.
When I let myself in, I stood with the door ajar and listened. Rosie had only ever had my old keys, so she couldn’t possibly be inside, but even so, with Rosie, you could never be entirely certain.
I waited a while, heard nothing, then shut the door. I dropped my bag on the sofa and went straight to bed. I crawled the duvet without undressing, but sleep didn’t come. Instead, I lay staring at the map of cracks on the ceiling, mulling over the pieces of the puzzle that had snapped into place, following my interview with the police.
I’d told them what I knew about the stamp and the smashed viola Rosie had left behind and it linked up to their interview with Karl Hinds after the crash. They told me that when the police raided the Hinds’ property in 2001 and Mick Blain had made a run for it, Karl was the first one to get to him on the forecourt after he fell from the drainpipe. In his dying breath, Mick had muttered something about Rosie and a ‘fortune under the bridge’. Karl didn’t have a clue what it meant at the time, but during the quartet’s second visit, something must have clicked.
It made sense. During one of my sessions with Rosie, I remembered that she’d mentioned Karl asking the quartet if they were each playing the same instruments, during the second visit, as they’d had in 2001. He wanted to make sure Rosie had the same viola.
Karl also admitted to the police that he’d made a call to one of his associates about Rosie’s ‘fortune’. That must have been the phone conversation Rosie remembered hearing the day of the crash. It was the stamp Karl was after when he followed the van, that afternoon. Only it plunged into the lake before he could get his hands on it.
I pulled the duvet up tightly under my chin and followed one of the cracks from the light fitting all the way to the wall, trying to figure out where Rosie might be and what she was up to.
Who would she turn to? How long would it be before the police caught up with her?
Chapter 52
Rosie
Dear Sam
I’m at London Bridge Tube station, near St Luke’s Hospital, because I have a journey to make. I had to come here. It’s the only station that has any proper connection to you. I need to write this letter, then I’ll leave you alone, I promise.
Memories are fickle, don’t you think? Greg accused me of being in on the plan to crash the van from the start, so he could get his hands on the violin amidst the mayhem, but hand on heart, I can’t remember any plan. He had a map in my handwriting, but I could have drawn it afterwards. I can’t believe I had a hand in it. I’d never have risked all our lives, never have risked losing my viola in order to steal Max’s violin. Besides, I would never have come to you – to get my memories back, would I – if I’d been involved?
Although, I hate to admit it, but his story kind of makes sense. I won’t believe a word of it, though, unless I get those memories back – the ones of the conversations I’m supposed to have had with Greg. Only you’re not there to help me with that, are you? So I don’t see how I’ll ever really know.
Anyway, Greg paid the ultimate price. You might have heard he was stabbed and I’m afraid to say I was the one who did it. I know it wasn’t my place to pay him back, but he really did ask for it. You wouldn’t have liked him.
The police have stopped looking for Richard now. I meant to tell you. I think he’s lost forever. Strange, isn’t it?
Now, to the real reason I’m writing to you.
I tried very hard to be the sort of person I thought you’d like, Sam - the kind of person you’d want as a sister or best friend, but I can see it wasn’t enough. You don’t feel the same way. I know that now. To you, I was only ever a patient. I wanted so much for us to be together, for you to be my soul-sister, and now
I know that isn’t going to happen.
I’m sorry for the way things ended. I didn’t mean to frighten you – but everything was going so wrong. Erica once said I was like two sides of a coin; I could flip between loving a person to hating them in no time at all. I think I know what she means – I’m a bit like my dad, don’t you think? What happened to Erica was a terrible shame – she caught me unawares and I’m afraid I panicked. It was unfortunate, I admit, but I wasn’t attached to her like I am to you. I’m sorry I had to keep it from you. I wanted to tell you about it, but I knew it would only have come between us.
Sorry for the other things too. I didn’t set out to hurt Miranda, I just wanted her out of the picture so we could be together.
When you revealed the truth to me about my dad, you gave me the BEST gift I’ve ever had in my life. Did you know that? What you said about him makes the world of difference. It means I can forgive you, in the end, for not wanting to be my friend. It means I can forgive my dad and let go of all the rage and hurt I’ve felt, thinking he didn’t want me.
Knowing my father actually LOVED me, after all – it changes everything. I thought he didn’t love me enough to take me with him when he died but, like you said, he loved me TOO MUCH to want to end my life. Wow – what a revelation! I didn’t know therapy could be so powerful. I can never thank you enough for that.
Anyway, my gift to you is inside the canvas bag. Who would have thought there were two mysteries to solve at the Lakes – the violin Greg stole and the stamp Mick Blain would have come back for, if he hadn’t fallen to his death? You can sell the stamp, keep it or give it to the police – whatever you like. I don’t mind. It’s yours.
I’ve thought about what to do next, long and hard. My first thought was to go and find Mum and Dad. That’s why I came to the station. I was going to wait for a train so I could make that special, final journey to see if they’d have me – second time around. To see if we could start again.
But I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to do the right thing, instead, and hand myself in to the police. I’ve told them I’m on my way.
That’s where you come in.
I’ve told them you’ll vouch for me. I think once they know the whole story, they’ll understand. I didn’t set out to hurt anyone, after all. You know that, don’t you?
The police will want to be in touch with you soon, no doubt, so you can explain everything. I know you’ll do your best to make them see that I’m a good person.
I know I can count on you, Sam.
I will love you always.
Rosie XX
~
Coming soon from AJ Waines
Perfect Bones
(Dr Samantha Willerby Series – Book 3)
When art student, Hayden Blake, witnesses a murder on a London towpath, the police need him to identify the killer without delay. But there’s one problem: refusing to leave his canal boat and traumatised by the shock, Hayden has been rendered mute by the horror of the event and can’t speak to anyone.
In a desperate bid to gain vital information before Hayden’s memories fade, The Met call in trauma expert and Clinical Psychologist, Dr Samantha Willerby.
When Hayden finally starts to communicate through his art, the images he produces are not what anyone expected and before Sam can make sense of them, another murder takes place. With her professional skills stretched to the limit, Sam strives to track down a killer who is as clever as she is – someone who always manages to stay one step ahead.
The third book in the Dr Samantha Willerby series, Perfect Bones is a tense and creepy Psychological Thriller that will send your pulse racing.
For updates, join the Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bamGuL
About the Author
AJ Waines is a number one bestselling author on Kindle. She has sold over 400,000 books worldwide and topped the UK and Australian Kindle Charts two years’ running with Girl on a Train. The author was a psychotherapist for fifteen years, during which time she worked with ex-offenders from high-security institutions, gaining a rare insight into abnormal psychology. She is now a full-time novelist with publishing deals in France, Germany, Norway, Hungary and USA (audiobooks).
Her fourth novel, No Longer Safe sold over 30,000 copies in the first month, in twelve countries worldwide. In 2016 and 2017, the author was ranked in the Top 10 UK Authors on Amazon KDP (Kindle Direct Publishing).
AJ Waines lives in Hampshire, UK, with her husband.
Find out more at www.ajwaines.co.uk or follow her Blog. She’s also on Twitter (@AJWaines), Facebook and you can sign up for her Newsletter.
Also by AJ Waines
The Evil Beneath
Girl on a Train
Dark Place to Hide
No Longer Safe
Inside the Whispers
Writing as Alison Waines
The Self-Esteem Journal
Making Relationships Work
