Kathryn reaches across and takes her mother’s hand. It’s small and frail in her own and she can feel all the bones and veins. If she could turn back time she would change it all. She’d be the bigger person because, in the end, she had succeeded in causing this pain.
Elspeth looks up at Kathryn with pale, watery eyes. ‘There’s something else that Jim told me.’
Kathryn braces herself.
‘Viola had children. A daughter. A twenty-year-old daughter.’
This hits her harder than the news of Viola’s death and the room spins. A daughter. And a much longed-for granddaughter for Elspeth. Probably beautiful and blonde and petite, like Viola herself.
But Elspeth hasn’t finished. She is grabbing her hand and telling her there’s more. Kathryn’s stomach turns over because she thinks she knows what Elspeth is about to say and she clutches her mother’s hand, like she’s eleven years old again, not wanting to let go. Not wanting to lose her, to lose everything she’s worked so hard for. She doesn’t want to hear the words but they float towards her anyway in her mother’s clipped tone.
‘When Viola ran off with Danny, they lived in a commune in Norfolk somewhere. Eventually they separated and Viola met another man, Dominic Green, and they had a daughter. A daughter called Willow.’
I can see you through the window. You’ve left the lights on and the curtains open; a great view into your shabby little flat. You should be more careful. All those potential Peeping Toms. You needn’t worry. It’s only me here tonight. Watching you. Waiting. You wear your grief well. Less makeup, not so tarty. You’re quite pretty beneath all that slap. Not like the others, though, with your copper hair. But that doesn’t matter to me. You see, I have a taste for it now. The kill.
And I’ve decided that you’re next.
42
Courtney
The flat feels empty, not homely, now that Willow has left, the walls bare of all the photos of Courtney and Una, just patches of lighter-coloured magnolia paint where the frames had been. Courtney surveys the place she once thought of as home. It was never much, but she and Una had made the best of it. Now it’s just an empty shell, devoid of Una and her warmth, Willow and her chatter. Kris, thankfully, has taken his stuff and she’s begun to pack her belongings into boxes. Her mum and dad will drive over tomorrow to take them to their house in Filton.
Yesterday she’d found one of Una’s hairbands down the back of the sofa. She’d held it for ages, staring at the long blonde hairs interwoven around it.
Una’s death has hit her harder than she’d ever imagined. She feels as if her old self – the Instagramming, selfie-taking girl, who was obsessed with hair and makeup and childish retro sweets, is now a thing of the past. The things she used to love now seem so … so frivolous in light of Una’s murder. Because, despite the lack of evidence to back up her theory, she still believes Una was murdered.
She’s on her knees on the scratchy brown carpet as she packs the last of the boxes when her mobile vibrates. She stands up wearily and goes to the kitchen table where it sits. Kathryn’s number flashes up on the screen. They’d swapped numbers after Courtney had collected Una’s things after her death in case Kathryn found anything else, but she never had. What does she want? Why would Courtney want to speak to Kathryn after everything she’s done? She ignores the phone and continues packing. She doesn’t know what to do with Una’s stuff. She thought about giving it to a charity shop – Una would have wanted that – but she can’t bring herself to part with her clothes, not yet. Sometimes she gets out her maroon coat with the velvet collar that had been her eighteenth-birthday present from her mum, and inhales the scent that still lingers on the fabric.
The phone rings again, then stops, then rings. Courtney continues to ignore it. As far as she’s concerned, Kathryn can go to Hell. If she wants to find out where Willow is, she can do it some other way.
It’s dark now and, although it’s April, the flat is cold. It’s her last night here. She feels as though she should have had a get-together or something, but now that she’s no longer with Kris she wonders if the rest of the band will want to remain friends. She’s heard from Vince a few times, but nothing from the others.
A crash from outside breaks the silence and she jumps. What was that? She gets up and goes to the little window that overlooks the lane that runs alongside her flat. An old metal dustbin that belongs to the old man in the flat next door has been knocked onto its side. She presses her nose to the glass, her heart racing. Someone’s there, crouching by the bin. A man dressed in dark clothing. She darts to the window that looks out onto the street. There’s a white van parked outside. It’s gone seven. Who does it belong to? She stands still, not knowing what to do. Is it a burglar? Why is he lurking around her building? She goes to the little side window again. The man’s no longer there. But the white van is still parked outside.