There’s a rhythm to her speech that makes her words sound rehearsed. I sway on my feet, waiting for either of my brothers to say something, but they remain silent. Martin is a large, calm presence in the corner, taking it all in.
“Dominic was fine when I left him,” Vera says again.
Danny gets to his feet then, taking his time, watching her. “I don’t believe you.”
Vera gives him a pleading look. “When you rang me about the accident, I was back in London. I was so shocked. I always worried about Dominic using that ladder, but I never imagined... and then, by the time I got back to Summerbourne, the morning’s events were the last thing on my mind.”
“I don’t believe you.” Danny’s voice is louder this time.
“He was fine when I left him,” Vera insists. “You have to believe me.”
“And Mum?” Edwin asks, his voice cracking. “Martin has old statements that say”—he swallows—“someone witnessed you push her.”
Vera looks from him back to Danny. “Your mother fell. Or jumped. It happened so quickly. I didn’t—”
“She wasn’tmymother,” Danny snarls.
Edwin leaps up then and grabs Danny’s arm, turning him away from Vera. “Danny, wait...”
I meet Martin’s gaze, and his expression is alert, calculating. I have no idea whether we’ve had four minutes or forty in this overheated box of a room.
“What do you mean?” Vera pales. She reaches trembling fingers toward the mug of tea, but doesn’t touch it. “Who—?”
Danny stutters, seemingly unable to name his biological mother. “Seraphine’syour real grandchild,” he says in the end. “She’s Ruth and Alex Kaimal’s daughter.”
Vera stares at him. Then looks at me. She shakes her head. And then her focus turns inward, as though she’s scanning her memories, searching for something to prove or disprove this.
“Gran,” Edwin says. “Dad and Laura. Danny’s their son.”
Vera draws in a breath, her gaze flicking around the room, looking at anything but us while she thinks. Danny draws himself up, and steps closer to the table. He bends forward, bringing his face down to Vera’s level, and finally, she looks at him.
“You killed them, didn’t you?” Danny says. “Mum and Dad. Ruth and Dad.”
Vera’s voice is strained. “No.”
“I don’t believe you.” Danny draws a shaky breath. “I hope they lock you up and throw away the key.”
Martin’s colleague stands aside as Danny marches from the room.
The anguish in Edwin’s eyes as he looks at Vera before setting off to follow Danny makes my heart ache. I glance over my shoulder as he tugs me through the door, but Vera isn’t watching us leave. Her head is turned away, her expression distant; she has already retreated inside herself.
Only Martin watches us go, and there is a gleam of satisfaction behind his sympathetic expression. I don’t know how helpful our visit has been to the investigation into Vera’s alleged crimes, but I suspect the glimpse it’s given Martin into the puzzle of the Summerbourne twins will make up for any official disappointment. Martin’s colleague closes the door softly behind us, and we flee to the fresh air and freedom of the car park.
Edwin drives, and I sit in the passenger seat. Danny doesn’t speak a word to either of us on the journey home.
35
Seraphine
ISTAND WITHJoel in the Summerbourne hall. He has offered to drive Laura back to her home in London tonight, to give us three—Edwin, Danny, and me—a chance to sit down together and talk. Not that Danny is aware of this plan, since he stalked off toward the cliffs as soon as we got back from the police station, declaring he wanted nothing more to do with any of us. If he’s not back by dusk, I will go and find him.
Laura is taking a stroll around the garden with Edwin before she leaves—for old time’s sake, she said, although I suspect she wants to talk to Edwin alone. I’m surprised to find this doesn’t bother me. The truth is exposed, and we each have to process it in our own way, and anyway, I’m inclined to see Laura less as a threat now, and more as an ally.
Alex and Kiara are out on the driveway, transferring items from Kiara’s car to Alex’s. They’re going to drive back to Leeds together tonight, and arrange for Kiara’s car to be collected during the week. If I turn my head now, I can see them throughthe hall window: Kiara closing the trunk of her car and clutching a bag against her chest, Alex reaching an arm out as he walks toward her.
“You’ll be okay,” Joel says, and I turn away from the scene of my father hugging the daughter he wishes was his.
Joel stands at the bottom of the stairs, his thumbs tucked into his jeans pockets, watching me. The shape of him makes me think I would fit against him perfectly if I stepped closer—my cheek against his chest, his arms curved around my back. But a swell of memories makes me keep my distance: my shame at believing he might have been Laura’s attacker; my horror that I caused the injury that gave him his scar; my lingering embarrassment about the night I kissed him and Ralph Luckhurst punched him.
