‘Did you remember to lock the door?’ Trixie whispers. She looks terrified.
Rose rushes forward, her hands shaking so much that she struggles to slot the key in the lock. Then she flicks off the light. Our eyes don’t have much time to adjust, but it’s possible to see the outlines of one another thanks to the moonlight from the window. The clocks in the hall start to strike five a.m., and Trixie covers her ears trying to block out the sound. It reminds me of me and my sisters when we were children, closing our eyes and counting the seconds to help us feel less afraid.
One Mississippi . . . Two Mississippi . . . Three Mississippi . . .
We didn’t only do that when there was a storm outside.
One Mississippi . . . Two Mississippi . . .
Sometimes we did it to distract ourselves from what was happening inside Seaglass.
One Mississippi . . .
Just like now.
When the clocks stop, we all sit in silence again. In the dark. Huddled together against the fear as well as the cold. Then we hear more footsteps.
Someone is coming down the stairs.
Forty-four
31 October 5:05 a.m.
less than one hour until low tide
Rose and Trixie both look terrified, as the slow, steady footsteps continue along the hall, stopping right outside the library door. The handle turns very slowly, then the door shakes when the person on the other side realizes it is locked. We all hold our breath as the door rattles, until the house is silent again. The sound of footsteps resumes, and I hear the squeaky hinges of the door belonging to the cupboard under the stairs. None of us speak. I think true terror always tends to steal its victim’s words.
Time passes, I’m not able to tell how little or how much. We listen to someone walking from room to room, and the sound of them dragging something behind them, twice. Then the house is silent again. We strain to hear something else – anything else – but our ears can only find the sound of eighty clocks still ticking in the hallway, and a few seagulls out for an early morning fly.
‘I think they might have gone,’ Rose whispers, then looks down at Trixie. ‘The tide should be far enough out for us to wade to shore now. We just have to get to the front door. Maybe we should be brave and take a look?’
‘You don’t have to speak to me like I’m a child,’ Trixie whispers back, looking and sounding like one.
‘Or we could wait?’ I suggest. Bravery has never been one of my strengths.
Rose ignores me – as though she might know something I don’t – and takes one last look at the Wall of Achievements. She appears to be reading the poem I wrote. Then she says something I find so hard to comprehend that, at first, I can’t answer.
‘I’m only going to ask this once. And I feel ridiculous and ashamed that I’m asking at all. But are you behind all of this, Daisy?’
I stare at her for a long time, but she can’t even look me in the eye. I don’t know how or why she would think such a thing.
‘No,’ I say, wiping a tear from my cheek. Rose stares at the floor, looking sorry. But words don’t come with gift receipts; you can’t take them back.
‘Daisy would never do something like this,’ whispers Trixie, and I’m glad someone in this family sees me for who I am.
Rose turns to her. ‘Whatever happens, I want you to stay back behind me. Okay?’ she says, and our niece nods while standing perfectly still, literally scared stiff. Rose creeps towards the library door, leaving me no choice but to follow. Poppins tries to do the same, but my sister shoos her away.
‘No, Poppins. You stay here for now. We need to be as quiet as possible.’
The dog looks at Rose as though she understood every word and sits back down on the rug.
Rose slowly turns the key until the door clicks unlocked, and I notice that her hand is trembling. Then she opens the door quickly, as if there might be someone behind it, but there is nobody there. ‘Stay back,’ she whispers over her shoulder, as she steps out into the hall. I watch from the library as she creeps towards the cupboard under the stairs, already knowing that whatever she finds inside will be something none of us want to see. Rose reaches for the handle, hesitates, then opens the cupboard door.
I can’t see what she can from here, but her body language isn’t good.
‘Stay there,’ I whisper to Trixie and she nods. I step out into the hallway to look over Rose’s shoulder, and what I see shocks me more than anything else tonight. Lily’s body is on the cupboard floor, her head is hanging down as though she is staring at the mirror tied to her hand. She has been left next to Nana, Dad and Nancy. And Conor. His neck looks broken, and there’s a yo-yo wrapped around it. What looks like a newspaper page has been stuffed inside his open O-shaped mouth, and there is a red ribbon holding it in place. I have to look away when I see him.