‘He died eating his own words,’ whispers Rose.
‘What?’ I say.
‘I’m guessing that is what stuffing his own newspaper article in his mouth is meant to mean?’ I take a step back, no longer able to process any of the horror I have witnessed tonight. I think I’m going to be sick. I rush to the kitchen and lean over the sink but nothing happens. Then I look up at the wall and see that the chalk poem has changed again.
Daisy Darker’s family were as dark as dark can be.
When one of them died, all of them lied, and pretended not to see.
Daisy Darker’s nana was the oldest but least wise.
The woman’s will made them all feel ill, which was why she had to die.
Daisy Darker’s father lived life dancing to his own tune.
His self-centred ways, and the pianos he played, danced him to his doom.
Daisy Darker’s mother was an actress with the coldest heart.
She didn’t love all her children, and deserved to lose her part.
Daisy Darker’s sister Rose was the eldest of the three.
She was clever and quiet and beautiful, but destined to die lonely.
Daisy Darker’s sister Lily was the vainest of the lot.
She was a selfish, spoilt, entitled witch, one who deserved to get shot.
Daisy Darker’s niece was a precocious little child.
Like all abandoned ducklings, she would not fare well in the wild.
Daisy Darker’s secret story was one someone sadly had to tell.
But her broken heart was just the start of what will be her last farewell.
Daisy Darker’s family wasted far too many years lying.
They spent their final hours together learning lessons before dying.
‘Why is Rose’s name crossed out?’ I whisper. ‘She’s not dead.’
‘I can see you breathing,’ I hear Rose say to someone in the hallway.
I rush out of the kitchen, but not in time to see who she is talking to. The confusion I experience is sickening when the sound of a gun shatters the silence. I watch in horror as Rose falls to the floor in the hall, and I feel as though my whole world is breaking, not just my heart.
Forty-five
31 October 6 a.m.
low tide
I rush to Rose’s side and kneel down on the floor beside her. There is so much blood, too much. I don’t know what to do, but I don’t think it would make any difference if I did. I try to focus on Rose’s beautiful face instead of the puddle of red spilling out beneath her. The clocks in the hall all start chiming that it is six o’clock, and I wish that they would stop. I want it all to stop. Time never heals anything in this house, it just hurts. I’m sure Rose must be dead, but then she opens her eyes, stares at me and frowns.
‘Daisy?’ she whispers.
‘I’m right here, Rose. Everything is going to be okay,’ I say.
She smiles, but it’s an inadequate disguise for her pain. ‘You always were a terrible liar,’ she says.
Then she closes her eyes, her head falls to one side, and I know that she’s gone.
‘Why?’ I scream, no longer afraid. ‘What have you done?’ I stand up and turn to stare at the person who shot my sister, no longer caring what might happen to me. ‘You were always so loved by all of us. I loved you more than I think I’ve ever loved another person. Why did you shoot Rose? Answer me! Why?’
But Trixie doesn’t answer.
Rose’s veterinary gun looks very big in her small hands.
Her eyes are wide and wild. She wipes a tear from her cheek, then she runs.
Rose
Daisy Darker’s sister Rose was the eldest of the three.
She was clever and quiet and beautiful, but destined to die lonely.
She spent her childhood with books, despite her good looks, a smart little worker bee,
But achieving your dreams isn’t always quite what it seems, and heartbreak is rarely funny.
Becoming a vet meant more to Rose Darker than listening to her lonely heart.
But there’s a price to pay when you push everyone away, some of her choices were not smart.
Preferring pets to people is not a crime, in many ways it was the right choice.
So Rose worked alone, made the vet’s practice her home, until no one remembered her voice.
When the time came, even she knew who to blame when the gun was fired at her chest.
All work and no play meant there was little to say, as she took a first but final rest.
Forty-six
31 October 6:10 a.m.
low tide
I can’t believe that Trixie shot Rose, but I saw her holding the gun in her hands before running up the stairs. I don’t understand anything that is happening, but I am afraid, and even more confused than before. I try to remember what I was like when I was fifteen years old, but I can’t imagine what on earth must be going through my niece’s mind right now. My mind is blank. A child I thought I knew so well that she could have been my own is really a stranger to me. A dangerous one.