‘She… here… staying here. I’m sorry.’ The smell of burnt grass from the scorching sun, sharp and ashy, wafts over me.
‘What are you sorry for?’ the DC asks.
‘Daisy.’
The officer is fading. It’s as if she is moving away from me, but her hand is still on my shoulder, gently shaking me every few seconds. Blue, too, is slipping away from me. ‘What about Daisy?’
My eyes are so heavy. They just want to close.
‘Beth. Beth. Stay with me. What about Daisy?’
The smell of Justin’s well-tended roses drifts around me. I think back to our wedding day. My bouquet of red roses. Him all dapper in his black morning suit, waiting at the altar. I thought I’d won the lottery. I was so happy. I loved him so much… once. ‘And Mandy. Sorry… for… Mandy.’
‘Who’s Mandy?’ The DC shakes me harder and harder.
A tear slips down my face. ‘Mandy Malone… river. Me… killed her.’
The DC’s face blurs. ‘And Daisy? Did you kill Daisy, Beth? Or was it Justin?’
‘Me,’ I say faintly.
‘Why?’
‘Shouldn’t have… been here.’ It’s time to sleep. Sleep and never wake up. ‘Found out too much.’
‘Too much what?’
‘About Justin.’
The memory of the first girl who ended up in the lake flies through my mind, followed by the second, third, fourth and the fifth – Phoebe. Blondes, brunettes and redheads, it didn’t matter as long as they were beautiful and vulnerable. ‘Look in lake. Five bodies. I… killed… them… all.’
The DC puffs out a large breath. Her gaze leaves mine. She raises her hand to her forehead to shade her eyes from the sun as she looks at the lake.
‘Please get Connor.’ I think of my boy when he was a baby. His power to magnetise me with his purity. ‘I want my son.’
But it’s too late. I’m never going to see him again.
My eyes close. My thoughts disappear, and I take my final breath.
69
SCARLETT
I walk into the bar, where Tim is waiting on a stool, drinking a bottle of Bud. It’s bright and airy, a West Hampstead watering hole where I meet friends now and again. He smiles when he sees me. ‘What can I get you to drink?’
‘Anything but lemonade,’ I say with a smile. I point at his bottle. ‘I’ll join you.’
He laughs and turns to the bartender. ‘Two of these, please.’
The bar is quiet for five o’clock on a Saturday afternoon, but that’s OK with me. I’m not into crowds at the moment. ‘Fancy going outside?’ he asks.
‘Why not.’
We stroll through the bar to the pavement tables out the front and find a spot among the array of potted plants. ‘So how’re you holding up?’ he asks, settling into the padded seat.
‘Keeping busy. Back at work.’ I raise my bottle to his. ‘Cheers.’ I take a swig of beer.
‘So soon. I thought you’d have taken more time off.’
