‘Matter? Of course it matters. Tell me.’
Another hesitation. ‘She felt worthless, inferior.’
He’s showing all the hallmarks of someone who has opened their mouth and wishes they hadn’t. But I need to understand. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. This isn’t the sister I knew. ‘Carry on.’
‘She said she’d spent her life trying to live up to you.’
It takes me a few seconds to compose myself. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ I stare at him, wondering if I can trust him. ‘It was never like that between us.’
He tilts his head slightly as if he’s listening to what I’m saying but wondering if he can believe me. ‘It’s why she stopped competing. She said the pressure to keep up with you got too much.’ He lifts his shoulders and leaves them suspended by his ears. ‘I’m sorry. That’s probably hard for you to hear. I tried to persuade her. Told her she mustn’t think like that. But you can’t tell people what or how to think. And she was getting better. Honestly, she was. We even had conversations about her coming off the meds.’
‘I thought she stopped training because of you.’
His shoulders drop, eyebrows raised. ‘Not me. Never. I told her she must start again. It was part of her DNA. It would make her feel better. No, Scarlett, you must believe me – I encouraged her to start again.’
‘Why didn’t the police tell me this? Tell Mum?’
10
SCARLETT
A knock at the front door interrupts our conversation. I pause from loading a bundle of my sister’s clothes into the suitcase. ‘I hope it’s not that dodgy landlord.’
George smirks, regaining his composure. ‘You met him, then?’
‘For my sins.’ I lay the clothes on top of a pile of others and leave him to it.
I open the door to a girl who looks no older than twelve. It’s only the ring in the side of her nose and a line of three matching ones climbing her eyebrow that tell me she’s older. She was at Daisy’s funeral, but I never spoke to her.
‘Hi. I’m from next door. I heard some noise, so I guessed someone was here. I’ve been collecting Daisy and Layla’s post but didn’t know what to do with it. I meant to bring it to the funeral but forgot.’ She hands me a wad of letters and a large, thick envelope.
‘Thanks.’ I’m unsure if it’s the vulnerability of this young girl, or her kindness, or just the bloody situation I’m in, but she makes me well up.
‘I hear you’re moving their stuff out. What do you want me to do with any more post that comes?’
‘I’ll contact the post office and arrange to have it redirected.’ I inwardly sigh at another chore to add to my list.
Bracelets jangle down her arm as she gives a quick wave. ‘Must dash. I have a lecture.’ It’s as if she can’t leave quickly enough.
I return to Daisy’s room and separate the post into two piles: one for Daisy and one for Layla. ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ I say to George. ‘Why didn’t the police tell me Daisy was on antidepressants?’
‘I really couldn’t tell you.’ He shakes his head. ‘Confidentiality, perhaps? Maybe, like me, they thought there was nothing to be gained from telling you. Until I opened my big mouth.’
‘George, you must tell me everything.’ I sigh. ‘We still haven’t got a definitive answer on her movements that night. The convention she went to. The blackout on her phone on the way home, and the fact that it was never recovered. The last time it was traced was to a train back from the convention.’
‘Yeah. The convention. The police didn’t seem that interested.’ He scoffs. ‘I was away that weekend. A family meal in London. I wanted Daisy to come with me, but she said she had other plans.’
‘Go on.’
He points to the piles of post on the table. ‘See that large envelope. I bet it contains info about the conventions she and Layla went to.’ There’s more to this guy who my sister was madly in love with than I first thought. I move the antidepressantsrevelation from the front of my mind to process later. It’s too much right now.
‘Conventions?’ I ask.
He peers around the room as if he’s looking for something. He steps over to the desk and picks up a leaflet from the top of the filing tray. ‘Here you go. Conventions. Festivals. Whatever you want to call them.’ He unfolds the leaflet and hands it to me.
I read aloud random words from the front. ‘Positive thinking. Guest speakers. Motivational, like-minded individuals who can turn your life around.’ I frown. ‘It doesn’t sound like Daisy’s sort of thing.’
‘Happy-clappy bullshit is what it is. I told the police she’d become obsessed with all this positive thinking, unlocking your success, crap. But they weren’t interested. You only have to look at her social media, especially her Instagram.’
