We emerged from the cellar to find Charles in the corridor that led to the bar. The door was shut, blocking his way, with Brenda on the other side. Charles and Brenda were shouting at each other, Charles demanding to be let in, Brenda telling him to leave.
‘Hello, Charles,’ Jasmine said.
He turned around. His mouth fell open.
‘Oh. Oh, my angel,’ he said, rushing towards her. ‘You’re alive. You’re alive.’ I thought he was going to burst into tears.He really does love her, I thought. He might have found her using a creepy app. He might be a killer and a liar, a man who had cheated on his dying wife with a teenager, but he genuinely loved Jasmine. ‘Come here.’
He had his arms outstretched, the rifle hanging by its strap from his shoulder.
Jasmine took a step back, palms raised to ward him off, eyes fixed on the gun.
Charles followed her gaze and said, ‘Oh. This.’ He pulled the rifle from his shoulder and set it aside, propping it against the wall, still within easy reach. He tried to embrace Jasmine again, but she took a further step back.
At the same time, Brenda opened the door. She saw Jasmine, then me, and said, ‘Shit.’ Avril was hovering behind Brenda.
‘What’s the matter?’ Charles said to Jasmine. Then he tookme in. ‘Oh, I get it. It’s all lies. He’s the guilty one. He killed Zack, and Morag. He’s on the run from the police. You can’t believe anything he says.’
‘Is that right?’ Jasmine said.
‘Where have you been?’ he asked. ‘Did my son try to hurt you? What happened?’
‘Can we go and sit down?’ Jasmine said. ‘I’m cold. Is that all right, Brenda?’
‘What are you up to?’ Brenda asked.
‘Either we all go and sit down or I go to the police right now and tell them about you killing Lewis and locking me up.’
Charles whirled back around, snatching up the gun. ‘You? You killed my boy?’
‘An accident.’
Charles pointed the gun in Brenda’s direction and Brenda moved back to hide behind the door, but Jasmine said, ‘Charles, stop. Put the gun down. We’re all just going to talk. Okay? In fact, why don’t you give it to me?’
To my amazement, he did as she asked.
‘That’s good. Okay, let’s all go into the– what do you call it?– the lounge? Let’s sit. Talk. Have a drink.’
But before we could move, the back door opened again. It was Holly.
She took in Jasmine, then shook her head.
She ran to me and threw her arms around me. ‘Oh, thank God. You’re okay.’ She was out of breath and sweaty. She must have run the whole way.
I looked over Holly’s shoulder at Jasmine, who rolled her eyes.
‘How lovely,’ she said. ‘But I really need that drink.’
We all went into the lounge. The fire was burning in the hearth and the pub reeked of beer and whisky, tabletopscrowded with empties, the aftermath of the celebration. The seasonal bunting that was strung around the room already looked outdated. Brenda went straight behind the bar and, with shaking hands, poured herself a shot of vodka.
‘Anyone else want a drink?’
‘Can I get a large Coke?’ Jasmine said.
Charles asked for a whisky and I requested water. Holly did the same, and I stood beside her at a small table. Jasmine had been wrong about her. The way she had immediately run up to me when she’d arrived, the clear relief on her face to see I was okay– if I’d had any lingering doubts, they were gone now.
Charles went to sit beside Jasmine, but she nodded at the seat across the table. He was clearly confused but went along with it. I stayed standing until Brenda came back over with the drinks, at which point I took a seat.
Now I was sitting, I realized how exhausted I was. Everyone else in the room looked exhausted, too, with the exception of Jasmine. Despite her ordeal, she was burning: with indignation and anger, and something else. She was acting like a woman with a mission that hadn’t been completed yet.
