It seemed a good idea to make her killing part of a burglary. Back in the hallway, I kept my eyes averted as I edged around her dying body and went into the front room. It was a cosy room with a neat traditional three-piece suite, coffee table, dresser, and a bookshelf. It was to this latter I was drawn, my eyes glued to the photograph frames that sat between the rows of books.
Olivia and my father in each one. Smiling, staring into one another’s eyes, his arm around her shoulder, her hand in his. I peered closely at my father’s face looking for evidence that he’d been pretending, because he couldn’t have been as content with this woman as he had with my mother, could he? Yet, in every photograph he looked happy – so damn happy I felt a rage envelop me and I smashed every frame to smithereens.
Upstairs, her handbag was sitting on the bed. I emptied it out and found her purse. There was an eye-opening amount of cash inside; I took it out and shoved it into my jeans pocket. To reinforce the burglary scenario, I pulled out more drawers and tossed the contents on the floor. I would have liked to have ripped her surprisingly sexy underwear to shreds and to have taken my father’s boxer shorts downstairs and soaked them in her blood.
Only the thought that the police might consider such acts indicated something personal rather than a random burglary stopped me. Something personal might have made them investigate her life more closely… and by extension mine. It also might have made that too bright solicitor think that something wasn’t quite right. He might have wondered how convenient it was that her life interest in the house was no longer a problem.
It was best to keep it to the burglary-gone-wrong scenario. I filled my owl-patterned holdall with jewellery, a small bedside clock, and some medication from the bathroom cabinet.
It was time to go, to leave the area before it became busy with rush hour traffic.
I stopped halfway down the stairs and looked to where Olivia lay on the hall floor. Blood had soaked into the carpet, making it glisten in the sunlight filtering through the glass panels of the front door. It would be impossible to get the stain out. We’d need to replace it before putting the house on the market. It was good to focus on the practicalities while my eyes watched for any signs of life. There didn’t appear to be any: strain as I might, I couldn’t see the slightest breath.
I moved closer, careful to stay outside the circle of body fluids, the blood augmented by a pale yellow stain that spread out from her hips. Her body was excreting everything and the noxious stink made my nose twitch.
She was, I was relieved to say, very dead, and it was safe to look at her face without fear that I’d catch her last moments. Her eyes were open. So was her mouth. Had she died calling for help?
Perhaps she’d died calling for my father?
I wondered if he had died with her name on his lips… or my mother’s… or even mine.
It was too late for regrets, but I suddenly wished I’d asked Olivia if she’d loved him, if she’d known he was lying, if she’d any inkling he had another wife living not many miles away. Most of all, I was sorry I hadn’t asked her if he’d ever mentioned he had a daughter.
With a last look, I hefted the straps of the now heavy bag over my shoulder and opened the front door. I peered up and down the road. When I was sure it was empty, I stepped out, pulled the door shut quietly and kept my head down as I walked to the gate. A quick check each way and I was on the footpath and making my way home.
The swirling confusion of thoughts had gone – or perhaps not gone as such, more buried under a thick coat of numbness. When I’d killed Jemma, I’d believed I was too young to realise that sometimes the things we want, aren’t the things we should get.
I was older now, and I knew I’d got exactly what I’d wanted.
The money to provide for my mother was the main aim but, and I was only admitting it to myself now as the numb fog was clearing, there was another reason – my father had been so keen on providing for Olivia after his death – now they could rot in hell together.
15
The Higgins’s had a newspaper delivered. Three days after my visit to Olivia Burton, Mrs Higgins pointed out the headlines to me over breakfast.
GRIEVING WIDOW FOUND STABBED
‘I don’t know what the world is coming to!’ she said, tutting loudly. ‘The poor woman. She’d just lost her husband too. Shocking!’
I shook my head when she tried to hand it to me to read. ‘I’m not sure I could read about anyone else’s sadness.’ I hadn’t told Mrs Higgins about my father’s bigamy. To my relief, it seemed to have escaped the attention of the press. It would be easier for me if it continued that way. Secrets – his and mine – were best kept hidden away.
‘Yes,’ Mrs Higgins said, folding the newspaper and putting it to one side. ‘You certainly have had your full share recently, you poor thing.’
‘I’m planning to go back to school next week. Try to get back into some routine.’ I saw her lips tighten, knew that she was trying to find the right words to tell me her news. She’d been kind to me, I decided to make it easy for her. ‘You’ve been lovely, and I really do appreciate it, but I’m going to go back home today.’
The look of relief on her face was almost comical. ‘Are you sure it isn’t too soon?’ When I shook my head, she carried on, ‘Well, it’s probably just as well, we’re planning a trip to Canada, leaving next week. I did have a word with Rachel, and she said you’d be welcome to go there, if you needed to.’
The Robinsons had three golden retrievers and five cats, all of whom were given free rein of the entire house. I’d rather move in with my mother. ‘That’s very kind of her, but I’m better getting on with my life. Hopefully Mum will be back home soon.’
‘I do hope so for your sake,’ Mrs Higgins said. She got to her feet. ‘Let me give you some supplies to take with you.’
I hadn’t planned on going till that afternoon. It seemed she had other ideas. An hour later, with my few belongings shoved into a borrowed holdall, and sufficient supplies to last me a couple of days hanging in an orange plastic bag from one hand, I headed home.
I’d sold the car the previous day. It brought less than I thought, but the four thousand I got for it plus the hundred I’d taken from Olivia’s purse left me in funds for a while. Not enough to pay off the arrears on the mortgage, but the thousand I lodged would keep them sweet for the moment.
It also meant I had enough to pay for my mother’s care… for a while anyway. I’d been afraid to visit for fear they’d ask for money, phoning every day instead, getting the same story each time. Mum didn’t seem to be improving. That afternoon, I’d visit and see for myself.
I put away my belongings and the supplies Mrs Higgins had given me, then sat and stared out the window. I wasn’t sure what my next step was regarding the house in Thornbury. The sooner I could get it sold, the better. I’d know where our finances stood. I’d never had to consider where the money came from to pay for what I needed before. I asked, and mostly, I got.
Now, I was having to do a crash course.
I could hardly ring the solicitor and tell him that life interest he’d mentioned wasn’t a problem any more. I’d have to wait till her next of kin contacted him. With no idea who this was, or how long it was going to take, it looked as if I was going to have to wait.