PROLOGUE
She had to die. Of course she did. But not like the others. No. People would come looking for this one. The others could simply disappear. This one had to be found.
The car moves steadily along the dual carriageway. Just keep to the speed limit, not too fast, not too slow. Can’t risk being pulled over by the police. Not far now. Friday night is risky for transferring a body. The distance too. But it’s the safest bet.
The next exit leads to the country park adjacent to the canal. It’s the right kind of place – quiet by night, busy in the morning. Any of the bridges crossing this stretch of water will do.
As the car pulls onto the dirt track leading into the park, they extinguish the lights. The full moon is enough. Everything is going to plan. Nice and smooth. The car crawls to a stop. It’s a busy route. Plenty of dog walkers in the morning. Any tracks will be lost in theirs.
They climb out of the car and walk the short distance to the canal, looking in both directions for any sign of life. All is quiet, save the drone of central London in the distance and the water lapping against the towpath. The nearest railway bridge is two minutes away. It’s dark beneath, and the dank, earthy smellgives way to the stink of piss and cheap alcohol, even after the council moved the druggies on. This will make the perfect spot.
They move quickly now and head back to the car. Scouring the area one final time, they open the boot and remove the blanket wrapping the body. The young woman is so slight, she’s easy to hoist over a shoulder. They grab her bag and half-walk, half-run back to the bridge, where they drop her on the ground and rearrange her in a foetal position. Wiping their gloved hands together, they admire the way her body’s angled, as if she’s asleep. They place her bag beside her and return to the car.
1
TWO WEEKS AGO
SCARLETT
My sister died from a drug overdose, they told me.
They’re wrong.
I stand by the empty grave watching the six pallbearers carry the coffin effortlessly along the meandering tree-lined path. There was nothing of my beautiful sister. She was as slim as a pin. This isn’t right. We’re burying her without answers.
I swallow. My throat aches. I can’t break down. Not yet. Mum needs me. My gorgeous, loving, vivacious sister, Daisy, has left a hollowness nothing can fill for us both. A void from which I fear we will never recover.
I should’ve tried harder. I’ll never forgive myself for that. We’d become distant in the months before she died. Before the police found her body by that canal. But life had got in the way for both of us. Her university work, with increasingly imminent deadlines. Me with my heavy training schedule and trying tobuild my health and wellness business. What was she even doing at that canal?
George. The man Daisy spent every spare moment with. He got in the way, as well. She gave up competing when she met him. I miss us spurring each other on in the triathlons we completed together, even when it was a race to the finish line. I recall how effortlessly she ran. That graceful long stride. Her wiry legs floating along, feet barely touching the ground. She could always run faster than me. I was better in the pool.
I glance around me. People stand back respectfully, silently. I pick out faces in the gathering. Daisy’s childhood friends, my aunt and uncle, other young people I’ve never met, probably her university crowd.
George stands with the coffin, trying to hold it together. His jaw is clenched, fists the same, his pain evident in the paleness and physical exhaustion dragging at his face.
A quiet sadness hangs heavy in the air. The weather isn’t helping. It can’t make up its mind. Showers a moment earlier have given way to bright sunshine. A rainbow forms across the cloudy sky. Daisy loved rainbows. When we were young, we always ran outside trying to claim that pot of gold whenever we saw one arched over the fields bordering the back of our house. I inhale deeply.
The coffin is lowered into the ground. The vicar mutters words, but my mind is elsewhere. Mum sobs quietly. I draw her towards me and hug her. I don’t know how long we stand there. The minutes don’t matter at a time like this. When I finally lift my gaze and look around, people are turning, heads hanging, walking away. Tears blur my vision. I wipe them away and swallow another sob. Mum slips from my grip and wanders over to the vast array of bouquets. She reads some cards. I join her, inhaling the smell of freshly cut grass. It marries well withthe flowers. My sister was well loved, that’s for sure. It’s another reason why none of this makes sense.
‘You coming?’ Mum says eventually. ‘We should get back for the wake. People will be arriving.’
‘Give me a minute,’ I reply.
She walks off to a waiting car as I step back to my sister’s plot. I kneel at her grave. The sun dances behind another cloud. A dark shadow falls over me, matching my mood. ‘I’m not sure what happened here, Daisy, but it’s not what the police are saying,’ I whisper. Specks of rain brush my face. ‘But I’ll find out what happened to you. I promise I will. And I swear those responsible will pay.’
2
SCARLETT
Mum insisted on holding the wake at our family home, despite my protests. ‘Save yourself the hassle, Mum. Let’s hold it at the pub.’
‘It’s what Daisy would’ve wanted,’ she cried. ‘It’s the least we can do.’
I got it. I’d want my final goodbye to be held here at home, too.
Guests funnel between the familiar rooms, each one holding its own memory. George stands by the kitchen table. He’s striking, in a boyish kind of way with brown tousled curls, and a perfect complexion. My sister always got the good-looking ones. The table has been extended to full length and covered with sandwiches and nibbles and a large D-shaped cake Mum and I baked yesterday. George catches my eye, a sudden steeliness in his countenance. How I’d love to have a conversation with him, but the time hasn’t been quite right. He grabs a sandwich, takes a bite and leaves the rest on a paper plate.
I busy myself serving tea and coffee from the centre island. Mum got out the best cups and saucers. The ones she usually saves for special occasions. Christmas. Easter. Visiting family. I bet she never thought she’d see the day she’d have to get them out for her daughter’s wake. People place their orders, muttering similar condolences. ‘I’m so sorry,’ a stranger says. What else can they say to the sister of the woman who died from a drug overdose? ‘Daisy was a gem.’
