‘There must’ve been some kind of accident.’ Justin thumps his palm on the steering wheel. ‘There’s no way I’ll get you to your appointment on time. I’ll have to take the back roads. Call them. Tell them you’re going to be late.’
Sickness rises up the back of my throat. I reach into the footwell for my bag. ‘I can’t miss this appointment.’ I take out my phone and call the oncology ward. Justin swerves the car, shunting me sideways. My stomach lurches. I wish he would get rid of this car.
‘The council needs to do something about all these bloody potholes. And I need to get this car seen to again. The steering’s still not right.’
Hopefully, he’ll get another hire car like the bright red BMW the garage gave him recently when he took this damn car in to have the steering fixed. A nurse finally answers my call. I relay what she tells me to Justin. ‘They said to get there as soon as we can. The treatment will still go ahead.’ I drop the phone in my lap.
‘Good.’ He takes the turning off the roundabout that leads to the winding country back roads to the hospital. ‘Stop scratching, Beth.’
‘I can’t help it,’ I cry out. ‘It’s hell.’ I throw my head against the seat and claw at the itching through my cardigan. ‘I’ve got to go back to the thirty-milligram dose. I should never have agreed to the decrease.’
‘You can’t. Not until we speak to the consultant.’
‘That won’t be until next week.’ The itching spreads to my shoulders. My nails tear at the skin.
He grabs my hand. ‘Beth, stop it. It’ll get infected.’
‘I can’t go through another day like this.’
He holds my hand, forcing me to stop scratching. ‘So – what about our anniversary? I was thinking about booking a hotel by the coast. Now we have Immy, we can take more breaks. It’s great to get some freedom back, isn’t it?’
I rip my hand away from his grasp and thump the dashboard. ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’
His eyebrows shoot up as he turns to look at me. ‘Get what?’
‘She’s trouble.’
‘We’ve been over this.’ He takes a deep breath and lets it out. ‘This is exactly why we have to resolve this medication issue. You’re seeing things that are simply not there.’
I pick up my phone and open the HomeWatch app for the camera Justin installed at the back of the house last summer – the one I told Immy didn’t exist. ‘Oh no!’ I cry out.
‘What?’
I turn the screen to him.
He slams on the brakes.
‘What have I been telling you?’ I say. ‘You’re so wrong about her.’
37
SCARLETT
The heat claws at me. Beads of sweat slide down my spine. I place a finger on my sister’s face. ‘What happened, Daisy? Did you come here?’
If she did or didn’t, one thing’s for sure.
Justin knew her.
Ripping the photo from the board, I shove it in my shorts pocket. I need to take a closer look and get it to the police. But for now, I need to get away. Coming here was a mistake. Or maybe not. Perhaps this is enough to persuade DS Porter that I’m right.
I hurry out, lock the door and rush down the stairs as if someone is chasing me. Outside, the grounds, the house, everything sharpens. My mind is made up.
I must go.
I consider making a run for it. But I’m miles from another house, let alone a village. And in this heat, at this time of day, it would be foolish to try.
But I’m past caring. I’m fit. I’ll run. I have to get back to the police station and show this photo to DS Porter. Surely, it’s the proof he needs to act.
