Everything clicks into place, just as Robert told me it would, and I realize what Robert wants me to do. What his tape has been leading me towards.
I don’t have a family of my own; I lost them long ago. But I do have something.
I gently place a hand on my abdomen and slow my breathing. Robert is offering me a chance at a new family. I have a little girl growing inside me, whose family need me to keep them safe.
‘I’m coming back now, Edward,’ I say into the receiver. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
47 The Whole Family
Sunday 25 December
Light spills under the crack beneath the boot room door as I listen for voices. I don’t know what has been happening in the house since I left, but it can’t be good. After a moment I try the door handle, hands numb with cold.
The stark white corridor beyond must be one for staff, as it’s unlike any other part of the building I’ve seen. I follow it along until I see a room ahead, shadows dancing within, and only once I’m sure it is silent do I peer inside.
A small television plays on muted, a Christmas movie. Beside it, a small table covered with well-leafed magazines, and at the end of the room a low grey sofa on which Sylvia and Anya slump, seemingly asleep.
‘Hello,’ I try softly, but the two women do not stir. ‘Shit.’
I approach carefully, kneeling before the unmoving pair. I touch Sylvia’s shoulder gently. She slips onto Anya. I raise my fingers to her nose; she’s still breathing, just unconscious.
I let out a huff of relief. Both have drained coffee cups abandoned in their laps. Drugged but alive.
I leave them where they sit, carefully closing the door to their break room behind me.
Further along the corridor, I find myself in a cavernous working kitchen. Leftovers from tonight’s dinner are covered in wrap, ready to be stacked and refrigerated. Breakfast trays are laid out ready to be filled for the morning. On the kitchen island, mince pies cool on wire. The smell of them mixes with the scent of rot coming off me, making me want to vomit.
There’s another smell in the kitchen, though. I look across to my warped reflection in the copper pots hanging over the gas cooker. Then my eye catches something on the ground jutting out from the other side of the kitchen island. An ankle, a shoe, a foot. Tom Ford heels, and green nail polish. It’s Matilda.
I dash around the island unit where I find Eleanor and Matilda propped against the cupboards in front of the cooker, the doors of which are open. The soft hiss of gas fills the room. I grab a tea towel and thrust it over my face, leaning past their bodies to twist off the gas dials.
Then I drop to a crouch beside Matilda, checking her pulse. She stirs, sluggish, eyes fluttering open, drugged and dazed. I move to Eleanor; her pulse is slow and stable though she does not stir.
‘Harry. Harriet,’ Matilda groans, her eyes glazed. ‘Careful. He’s in a mood,’ she slurs.
‘Who’s in a mood, Matty?’ I ask, though I know the answer.
‘Little Eddy Teddy Bear,’ she giggles. ‘I feel mushy.’
They’ve been drugged with whatever Sylvia and Anya got; I’m guessing.
‘I know,’ I tell her. ‘Do you think you can stand up, Matty?’
She looks at her towering shoes with a frown and shakes her head. I dutifully remove them.
‘How about now?’
She shifts forward slowly, making her way up onto all fours. ‘I think someone put something in my drink,’ she mumbles, more to herself than to me. ‘Not the first time,’ she giggles. Then, after a moment, she pulls herself up to a very wobbly stand using the kitchen island as leverage. ‘I’m up. I’m up.’