‘Did Amelia stab you, Finn?’ Beynon is leaning forward, as close as she can get to him without climbing onto the bed.
‘She was in a dreadful state – confused.’ Finn’s voice quivers. He lifts his hand. ‘I’m so thirsty.’
Julia jumps up, and pours water from a jug into a glass, then helps Finn take a sip. ‘Amelia thought I was going to hurt her,’ he says.
I tense. I shouldn’t be here listening to this. But Beynon seems unaware of her surroundings, her focus fully on Finn.
‘And then what, Finn?’ she goes on, insistent.
He pauses for a long moment. ‘Someone stuck the knife in me.’ He closes his eyes, and winces as though feeling the blade going in again, his face ashen.
‘Someone?’
‘Someone in a mask.’ There’s a beat before he continues. ‘The next thing I know, I’m on the bench, wearing the mask, bleeding out, and Amelia is there too, propped up against a tree.’ He’s becoming breathless.
‘You really should leave him alone now,’ Julia says. ‘He’s been through so much.’
‘Do you know who it was in the mask, Finn?’ Beynon persists, ignoring Julia. ‘Who stabbed you?’
He shakes his head.
‘Can we go back to why you were you out there in the first place, pal?’ McKay chips in, rubbing a hand over his bearded chin.
‘I got a text message from Maddie saying she knew who the killer was, that she needed to see me.’
‘I thought you couldn’t get a signal up there,’ Beynon says.
‘It was erratic, yes. But sometimes there was a signal.’
‘Rosamund got a call from Neil while we were up there, and a couple of text messages,’ I say.
‘So Maddie got lucky, aye?’ Beynon says. ‘So what did it say? This message.’
‘I can’t remember exactly. It will be on my phone.’ Finn furrows his forehead. ‘She said something about Elise would have wanted the dog. Said I was the only person she could trust.’
‘But you never saw her.’
He shakes his head again, and closes his eyes once more. ‘Julia told me Maddie’s dead,’ he whispers, a single tear rolling down his cheek. ‘Why would anyone kill her? Why would anyone kill my mum?’ His voice fades to nothing, and I stare at him for a long moment, relieved he’s going to be OK, and relieved too that he’s kept quiet about me stabbing him – though, in truth, I’m not sure I can live with the guilt.
‘Enough now,’ the nurse says. ‘Let him rest.’
‘You should go, Inspector,’ Julia rises, firmness in her voice. She grabs a pink padded jacket from the back of her chair, and puts it on.
Beynon rises too, and looks up at her. ‘Is he your boyfriend?’ she asks her.
‘No,’ she says. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’
‘Everything is my business in a murder enquiry, Miss Collis.’
‘Well he’s a good friend, is all,’ Julia says, as the police leave, followed by the nurse, and the door clicks closed behind them.
‘I’m so glad he’s OK,’ I say, about to leave too.
‘Well, you would be, wouldn’t you?’ Julia sounds suddenly bitter.
‘Sorry?’
‘It would have been murder if he’d died, Amelia. I saw the blood on you when you arrived at the farmhouse that night. It was his blood, wasn’t it?’
‘Julia.’ It’s Finn. ‘I need more water.’
She picks up the glass once more, and I make a dash for the door, my heart thumping.
She knows. She knows it was me.
Chapter 43
Present Day
Amelia
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ I say down the phone, relieved the girl with the pink hair who lives next door to me back in London – I so wish I knew her name – has agreed to look after my cat for a bit longer so I can stay with Dad and Thomas.
We returned from Scotland five days ago, and I’m staying at Dad’s for now. I feel safer here. Despite fears that Julia knows what I’ve done, I haven’t heard anything from her or Finn.
Dad called DI Beynon yesterday, and was told Finn is out of hospital, but, for now, no arrests have been made. They are still looking for Elise.
‘I feel awful putting on you like this,’ I go on down the phone to the girl with the pink hair. ‘Is she OK? You’re sure she’s no trouble.’ God I miss my cat.
‘She’s absolutely fine,’ the girl says. ‘Been an angel, in fact. Stay as long as you need. No worries at all.’
‘Thanks so much, I appreciate it.’ I end the call, and look over at Thomas, who has his back to me. He’s busy on his laptop at the dining-room table, working on the screenplay of a book that a film director he knew in the US has sent him. It’s good to see him trying to get back into something that resembles normal.
‘Your cat’s still OK then?’ he says, clearly having eavesdropped on my call.
‘Uh-huh.’ I move across the room towards him. ‘A tiny ray of sunshine, at least.’
‘Pretty sure you need to find out what that woman’s name is though,’ he says with a half-laugh, not looking up, his fingers dancing on the keyboard.
‘Yeah, it’s getting kind of embarrassing.’ I smile, and he mirrors it, but our smiles are weak and half-hearted. I go to turn away, and he stops typing, and grabs my hand.
‘Are you OK, sis? This has been total hell for you.’
‘For all of us, Thomas – you haven’t exactly come out of it unscathed.’ I pause for a moment, before saying again for the umpteenth time, ‘I’m so sorry about Maddie. I know I wasn’t her biggest fan, but she was so young, so full of life.’
Thomas releases my hand, and dashes fingers across his eyes, and I realise he’s changed recently – more open with his emotions.
‘I keep going over and over everything,’ he says. ‘I mean why would Maddie turn to Finn and not me? I realise I’m pretty lacking in the superhero department, but …’
‘I think she had a bit of a thing for him.’
‘Really? I didn’t notice.’
I shrug. ‘I could be wrong, of course.’
‘But who killed her and Ruth, Amelia? And who took Elise?’
‘I wish I knew.’ A beat. ‘If I’m honest, I’m still not convinced Elise was taken.’ I don’t say: I think someone killed her in the same way they killed Ruth and Maddie. ‘The thing is, we couldn’t get off the estate, could we? So how could anyone abduct her? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Well, let’s hope the police do a better job of finding her, than they did finding Lark.’ He pauses for a moment, as though allowing the thought of our sister to seep in. ‘You know what? I still dream we’ll find Lark one day,’ he says. ‘Haven’t given up hope.’
‘Nor me,’ I say. But it’s a lie. Truth is, I have given up hope, and it breaks my heart.
‘And I still think Finn took Elise,’ he says, his breath catching on his words. ‘I don’t want to believe it, but—’
‘No,’ I say, wanting to defend Finn. He lied for me. ‘He’s a good man, Thomas. I know he had issues with his mother …’ I rub my hands over my face. ‘Anyway, how can you tell if someone is a killer? They don’t exactly wear a T-shirt saying “I kill people”.’ I shudder at my stupid words. ‘And Finn is kind and cute.’ Cute? I wonder at my choice of word.
‘Kind and cute, aye?’ Thomas smiles. ‘I won’t suggest you google Ted Bundy.’
‘Oh shut up!’ But I’m glad he’s lightened things a little. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?’ I go to walk away. ‘I think there are some custard creams in the tin.’
‘No wait.’ He wheels his chair away from the table. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
‘Do I need to sit down?’ I say, picking up on his sudden serious tone.
He nods, and I perch on the edge of the sofa, my body tensing.
‘It’s not bad news,’ he says.
I relax my shoulders, reassured. ‘That’s a relief. I’m not sure I could take any more.�
��
‘In fact,’ he says, moving closer and taking my hands in his. ‘It’s good news.’
I look into his eyes, and it’s as though whatever he’s about to tell me has ignited a light there I haven’t seen for a long time.
‘The thing is,’ he begins, ‘before we went away, I saw another specialist.’ He pauses for a moment, and takes a breath. ‘I’d been having sensations in my toes, Amelia. I can even move my feet sometimes.’
‘Oh, Thomas.’ I fling my arms around his neck. ‘That’s amazing.’
‘Hang on,’ he says, as I release him. ‘It could be nothing, but he says there’s hope.’
A memory of seeing his toe twitch and his foot move when we were at Drummondale House filters in – how I thought it was my imagination playing tricks.
‘Oh, Thomas,’ I repeat, wrapping my arms around his neck once more, and kissing his forehead three times. ‘This is the best news ever. Why didn’t you tell me before? Does Dad know?’
He shakes his head. ‘I didn’t tell either of you. I didn’t want you to get hopeful, for it to turn out to be nothing. But now – well we need something, don’t we?’
‘We do. We do.’ I kiss his cheek.
‘Hey that’s enough kisses for one day,’ he says with a laugh. ‘I’ve got my tough image to think of.’
‘I love you, Thomas,’ I say.
‘I love you too, sis.’
Moments later Dad appears in the doorway, shoving his arms into his coat sleeves. ‘Ready, Thomas?’
Thomas looks up at him blankly.
‘The cinema? Dinner at the Foundry Arms? Have you forgotten?’
‘Of course not.’ He looks at me and winks, closes down his laptop, and heads over to where Dad hands him his coat.
‘You forgot, didn’t you?’ Dad says.
‘Yep!’ They both laugh, as they head for the door.
‘I didn’t want to come anyway,’ I call after them, playfully.
‘You hate Marvel,’ Dad calls back.
‘I like Chris Hemsworth,’ I say, as they close the door behind them. ‘And Tom Hiddleston’s not bad either.’ The words feel too frivolous on my tongue. And I don’t hate Marvel. In fact, Dad mentioned earlier that they were going, but I haven’t got room in my head for films, or TV or anything much at all right now – every thought consumed by everything that happened at Drummondale House. But I get why they need to go. Why they need to act as if life is normal – because that’s all it is. An act.
It’s almost six o’clock, when I make my way into the kitchen, and pour myself a glass of gin, adding ice and tonic. I grab a half-empty tub of Pringles from the cupboard, and head back into the lounge. The only light is from the fire, but I like it this way – flopped on the sofa, taking short sips of my drink, munching on the crispy snacks.
After a while, I rise and head for the front window, where I take in the wide road, and the grass verge opposite that leads to the river. Berwick-upon-Tweed hasn’t had anywhere near as much snow as Scotland, but still people are huddled in warm coats and knitted hats as they scurry home, trying to stay upright on slippery pavements.
I squeeze my eyes together, and move closer to the window, peering through the glass. I loved living here when I was young. I was happy then.
Someone is standing across the road in the shadows. They seem to be looking straight at the house. My heart leaps into my throat. The young woman looks so much like Lark, and my eyes fill with tears. I know it can’t be her, but I so wish it was.
I place my hand on the window, as though touching her.
I’ve seen my sister often since she disappeared. On the street, her voice in a shop, even when I’m alone I think I can smell her musky perfume. I accepted a long time ago, it’s just my imagination.
But still, I race to the front door, and throw it open; almost slipping over as I hurry down the path in my slippers. But as I expected, the girl has gone – if she was ever there in the first place.
Back in the lounge I pull across the curtains, and bash away tears. I take another sip of my drink, my heart thudding. It’s post-traumatic stress – that’s what Dad said, when I told him I’ve barely slept since we returned from Drummondale House. Maybe see the GP.
When I do sleep, the nightmares are vivid. Just last night I felt sure I was awake as I staggered through the house, dragged down by snow, ears numb from the cold, calling out for Mum and Lark, begging them to show themselves, but I was locked in a dream, and when I finally woke, gasping for breath, tears came.
I flick on all the lamps, and head for the back window. I’m about to close the curtains when something catches my eye. Something’s hanging in the tree at the foot of the garden. My heart picks up speed once more. I should close the curtains, but my curiosity won’t let me. Instead I grab my coat, and gingerly open the back door.
The garden sensor-light springs to life as I step onto the patio, and my stomach lurches. It looks like a face in the tree. The mask?
I step closer, looking about me.
A bang, and my heart jumps into my throat. I grab my chest, realising within seconds it’s the next-door neighbour putting something into their wheelie bin.
As I move closer to the tree, I see it’s only a plastic carrier bag caught in the branches, waving in the wind. I turn and race back into the house, and slam the door, my body alive with pulses, and wrap my arms around myself. My stomach is a tight knot; my chest fizzes. I need to calm down. Finally freeing myself from my frozen position by the back door, I dash into the lounge and take a gulp of gin.
*
It’s some time later that the doorbell rings and kick-starts my out-of-control pulses once more.
I creep, trembling to the front door. ‘Who is it?’ I call.
‘Hi, Amelia, it’s only me – Rosamund. Can I talk with you?’
‘Rosamund?’ I open up to see her eyes shimmering with tears. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’m so sorry to bother you. I didn’t know who else to turn to. Neil’s still in Scotland, and, well …’ She rummages in her bag and brings out a mask like the one the masked killer wore.
‘Oh God.’ I step backwards.
‘It was on my doorstep. I don’t know who put it there.’ Her eyes fill with tears.
‘Come in,’ I say.
She pushes the mask into her bag, and steps in. She shuffles free from her coat, hangs it up, and sniffs.
I don’t know whether to hug her. Truth is, I barely know the woman, and although I’ve forgiven her for deserting my mum – some people can’t deal with other people’s grief and sadness – I can’t say she’s somebody I wanted to see again.
She bends to take off her boots, and stands them against the wall. ‘I have this horrible fear that it was Finn who left the mask on my step,’ she says.
‘Finn?’
‘Yes. Apparently he’s just come out of hospital, which seems more than a coincidence, don’t you think?’
I lead the way into the kitchen, saying nothing until I reach the fridge. I turn. ‘But why would he?’
‘I’m convinced he killed Ruth and Maddie, took Elise, and Lark,’ she says. ‘I mean he lived up there on that lonely estate with an overprotective, strange mother. He’s textbook psychopath.’
‘The police don’t seem to think so.’ I sound defensive.
‘I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before they catch him out. Apparently he’s staying with Julia in Eyemouth. It makes me uneasy that he’s so close.’
I shudder. Have I got it wrong? Had he tried to kill me that night after all? ‘I just don’t think it was him,’ I say.
She touches my arm again. ‘Well let’s agree to disagree, shall we?’
I nod, deciding not to enter into a debate. ‘Listen, I was about to have a glass of wine.’ I open the fridge, and grab a bottle of sauvignon blanc. ‘Oh God, sorry,’ I say, remembering she’s pregnant.
She smiles, and lifts her hand, as though to say, don’t worry. ‘I’d love a cup of coffee, th
ough.’
I reach for the kettle, and shove it under the streaming tap. ‘You’ve got over your hatred for the demon coffee beans then?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You went off coffee.’ I turn and tilt my head. ‘Didn’t you?’
‘Yes. Yes, that’s right.’ Her cheeks flush, and she squeezes her hands into fists. ‘Well, that’s all passed now thank goodness.’
We stand. Waiting for the kettle to boil. Awkward. And I find myself making small talk. ‘I’m having a makeover tomorrow.’
‘Makeover?’
I laugh. ‘Well, I’m getting my hair cut in town – that’s as adventurous as it gets for me.’
Another awkward silence follows, and I feel I have to fill it. ‘Does it help you get through this awful nightmare, knowing you have to stay strong for your baby?’ Her face crumples, and I instantly wish I’d kept my mouth shut. But I remember that warm feeling inside me when I was carrying my own baby. It was as though I had permission to be happy.
‘I can’t imagine life without Elise, if that’s what you mean,’ she says. ‘I know she’s not my daughter, and we’ve had our differences in the past, but when I fell pregnant we bonded. Though I think I know what you’re trying to say.’ She pulls her phone from her bag, and taps the screen. ‘Here,’ she says, thrusting it towards me. ‘It’s the latest scan of baby Green. It was taken yesterday.’
I gulp back tears as I take in the tiny image.
‘If you look closely,’ she says. ‘You can make out his toes.’
I make a weird noise, as I force back invading tears.
‘Are you OK?’ she says, pressing her hand on my arm. ‘I’m so sorry if I’ve upset you.’
‘No, no you haven’t. I’m fine.’ I hand the phone back, and turn away from her, fumble a spoonful of coffee into a mug. I pour on boiling water. Add a splash of milk. ‘Sugar?’ I say, glancing over my shoulder.
She shakes her head.
I take a breath and hand her the mug, before splashing wine into a large glass.
And then it hits me.
The scan she just showed me. The one she said was taken yesterday. It was dated 10th October. ‘Did you say you had the scan yesterday?’ I ask, to be sure.
I Lie in Wait: A gripping new psychological crime thriller perfect for fans of Ruth Ware! Page 19
