Celia takes my hand, but I can barely feel her touch – my fingers seem to have gone completely numb. ‘In through the nose.’ She breathes with me. ‘And out through the mouth.’ She guides me through this mantra a few times until my breathing finally slows a little. ‘Much better. Okay, keep up the deep breathing and I’ll be back in a minute. I just need to wash my hands.’
While Celia disappears into the bathroom, I keep up the breathing and, while I still feel as though someone’s sitting on my chest, at least I’m no longer gasping like a landed fish. I wonder why she needs to wash her hands, unless she thinks I’ve got some contagious bug.
Celia returns to the room and retrieves her bag from the foot of the bed.
‘Why are you wearing those gloves?’ I croak. I’m sure she wasn’t wearing them a minute ago.
‘Oh, I always wear surgical gloves when I give injections. It’s part of procedure. Hygiene, dear.’
‘Injection?’ I pant. ‘What injection?’
‘No need to look so worried.’ She smiles. ‘It’s just a fast-acting sedative to help calm you down. It works far better intravenously than a pill. I often give it to patients who are suffering from panic attacks and anxiety. You’ll feel calmer in no time.’
‘No,’ I protest. ‘I’ll be fine, I’ll try the breathing thing again.’ But the panicky feeling only worsens. My head flops back against the chair and I’m scared that I’m about to black out.
‘Nonsense.’ Celia brushes aside my concern. ‘You’ll feel so much better.’
I shake my head and tap my chest, trying to will air into my lungs. But nothing’s working. I want to tell her that I’m feeling a little better now. That I don’t need an injection. That I don’twantan injection. But I daren’t pause my slow-breathing exercises in case that awful, black dizzy feeling returns.
Celia rolls up the sleeve of my jumper. I’m breathing more deeply now, thankful that the dizziness is gradually receding. I’m actually beginning to feel slightly better. I open my mouth to tell her in no uncertain terms that I do not want her sedative, but it’s too late. I’m dimly aware of her administering the injection – a sharp cold sensation on my skin.
‘There. All done!’ Celia declares with a smile. ‘We’ll have you sorted in no time.’
I try to turn my head at a knock at the door, but I feel suddenly and strangely too relaxed to move. Must be the sedative kicking in. That was quick.
‘Right on time,’ Celia says brightly. ‘That’ll be Malcolm. I’ll get the door. You stay there, Zoe.’ That phrase seems to have amused her, and she shakes her head with a smile. ‘Don’t mind me. It’s an inside joke.’
Celia disappears from my line of sight, and I realise that I genuinely cannot move. It’s very disconcerting. I wonder how I’m going to be able to get back into bed. I knew Celia should have left me where I was rather that shifting me into this chair. Maybe Malcolm will help her move me back.
He comes into the room carrying, of all things, a backpack. Celia closes the door behind him.
I want to greet Malcolm, but I can’t seem to move my mouth. And strangely, he doesn’t even acknowledge me, other than a brief glance in my direction. The two of them sit huddled together on the edge of the bed as Malcolm opens up the backpack. They’re discussing something intensely in low voices, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.
Celia suddenly remembers I’m still here. ‘Are you okay, Zoe?’ She glances up and stares at me. But she doesn’t look like herself. She’s lost her soft, gentle demeanour. Her eyes are hard, assessing, critical.
I still can’t open my mouth. In fact, I can’t seem to move a muscle. I need to tell Celia that her sedative is making me feel extremely strange. That, actually, I’m quite scared. Surely she should be checking up on me, making sure I’m okay. She’s a nurse. I’m her daughter-in-law. But she seems more concerned with Malcolm and his backpack.
Maybe I’m having an allergic reaction to the sedative. Or perhaps I’m simply frozen in shock after finding out about Dina. But this feels like something far worse than that. I can’t move a muscle. I can’t open my mouth. I can barely breathe.
This bridal suite must be jinxed. The last time I stayed here, my sister was murdered. And now something very strange is going on with Celia and Malcolm. What are they doing here? Why are they ignoring me?
Another strange sensation of déjà vu comes over me. Of Celia taking control of another situation. Only she wasn’t with Malcolm that time. I try to catch hold of the memory that’s sitting just out of reach on the edge of my consciousness. And then, just like the last time, it hits me in the solar plexus like a freight train.
Thirty-One
THE DAY OF THE WEDDING
It’s hopeless. Toby isn’t listening to me. His hands are still locked around my sister’s neck, choking her. Killing her. I’m screaming for help, so caught up in this nightmare that I barely register someone banging on the door.
When I finally hear it, it feels as if I’m moving in slow motion as I turn and run to the door, almost losing my footing on the wet floorboards. But I manage to fling it wide open, and Celia and Nick tumble into the room.
‘Stop him!’ I cry. ‘My sister! He’s hurting her!’
‘Close the door!’ Celia snaps at her eldest son.
He does as she asks. ‘What’s going on? We heard yelling.’ Nick’s gaze lands on his brother. On Dina as she sinks to the floor, limp as a ragdoll. ‘Toby! Who’s that? What are you…?’
My fiancé stands above Dina, panting, his eyes glazed.
