‘This is so kind of you.’ She appears uncomfortable. Good. She won’t think twice about leaving in the morning. ‘But I don’t want to be any trouble. I’ll be gone before you get up.’ She’s saying all the right things.
I briefly smile. ‘I’ll take you to the airport. Justin will be busy.’ It’s been a long time since I drove his car. But I will this once.
‘Oh, no. I’ll call an Uber.’
‘Absolutely not.’ I’d rather not get up at the crack of dawn, but at least that way, I’ll know for sure she’ll be gone. ‘I insist. What time’s your flight?’
‘I’m not sure exactly.’ She gives a brittle laugh. ‘I’ll have to check.’
I walk to the fitted double wardrobe built into the wall opposite the kitchen area. Sliding open the doors, I pull out a clean set of towels and hand them to her.
We stand in an awkward silence, like two teenagers in the dinner queue on their first day at a new school, until a voice startles us both. ‘All sorted.’ Justin walks in.
I bite my lip. He’s brushed his hair. ‘Takeaway sorted. Come and join us, Immy. I’ve ordered enough for four, and Beth never eats much, do you, darling?’
I bite my lip. I should tell her to go. Order an Uber now and get her away from here as quickly as possible. But Justin’s look silences me.
Please don’t do this to me again. We won’t survive it this time.
When you marry someone, you think you know what you’re getting into. But we never truly know someone. Not really.
I should’ve left him after the last time.
But I can’t.
He’d never let me.
I know too much.
7
SCARLETT
Layla’s mother has a broad Scottish accent. ‘Daisy, the wee little dynamo. She loved that girl.’ I struggle to follow the rest, but I get the information I need. After ending the call, I phone the Aberview Centre.
Two days later, I’m in the back of an Uber. Twenty minutes later, it navigates a sprawling drive to a country manor. It’s more like a grand hotel than a rehab clinic. The nausea that has gripped my stomach since Daisy died now burns my throat as I get out of the car.
A busy receptionist, short and lean, asks me to sign in and accompanies me to a plush room with large arched windows overlooking the manicured lawns. I almost miss Layla sitting in one of four chairs facing a coffee table in the middle of the room. She jumps up when I come in. I gasp. I’ve only met her a couple of times, but she’s a mere shadow of her former self. She’s as thin as a pole, her eyes sunken. Veins protrude from her emaciated arms. I try not to let the shock show on my face.
She’s wearing a white, floaty dress. She drifts over to me and unexpectedly embraces me. I return her hug. ‘I can’t believe it. Poor Daisy,’ she cries in a low, hollow voice.
‘Thank you’ is all I can manage. I can’t cry. I’m here on a mission. And nothing must get in my way. Along with George, Layla is the closest chance I have to getting some answers.
The effort to embrace me seems to take an immediate toll. Layla returns to her chair and collapses into it. She takes a sip of water from the glass on the table. ‘I so wanted to come to the funeral. I really did.’ She speaks slowly in a low tone. ‘I spoke to my mentor at length about it. We agreed it was probably best for me to stay here. I did seek out the chaplain, though. He did a little service for me… for Daisy.’
‘Can I get you a drink?’ the receptionist asks.
I manage a smile for her kindness and ask for a black coffee. She hurries out of the room, leaving a muted silence, until I speak. ‘So how are you doing?’
Layla shrugs.
‘I spoke to your mum,’ I say. ‘She sends her love.’
‘Ah, Mum.’ Layla sighs as if she’s utterly fed up. ‘I must be such a disappointment to her and Dad.’
‘She sounded nice, caring.’
She stares at me blankly.
