Of course there wasn’t.
Maggie tuned Nick out. She concentrated only on Duncan, and as the blood left his body and he faded in front of her eyes, she lifted her voice and spoke only to him. ‘That walk we did on Saturday up the hill, when we saw that wee frog in the grass, and the branches of the trees were all dancing away in the breeze – mind that? And I finally identified a dunnock disguised as a sparrow, and you said all I needed was the Fair Isle jumper and clipboard to make me a proper bird watcher, you cheeky bugger? And we had ourselves a wee paddle in the stream. And all the time I was wanting to say it but that’s not me, I’m not a heart-on-her-sleeve kind of girl, am I? I was wanting to say you’ve given me a life. You’ve made me that happy, Duncan Clyde, and I think I’m not being too big-headed if I say I think I’ve made you happy too? Me and Isla. Oh aye, we’ve had a good life, you and me, and nothing’s forever, eh? But we’ve had it good. We’ve had it so, so good, and I don’t have to say it because you know you’re the love of my life and I wouldn’t change a thing.’
But he was gone.
He had gone, before he could hear her say it.
Now Nick was saying something. He was moving towards her. She made herself breathe, slow and even. She closed her eyes, and she took herself off on that walk up the hill with Duncan, to the wee frog and the dunnock and the stream flowing by.
But it didn’t happen.
Nick said, ‘How very touching,’ and then he was pressing something into her palm, and when Maggie opened her eyes she saw it was the handle of the knife, the knife he had used to stab Duncan. She tried to pull her hand away but his hand was round hers, forcing her to grip the handle.
‘Perfect,’ he said cheerily, walking away from her and looking down at Duncan, head on one side. ‘Just . . . here, I think.’ He dropped the knife. ‘And there would be a bit more stuff knocked around, I feel. You made it too easy for me, Mags.’ He grabbed a shelf unit and pulled it over, books and ornaments tipping out onto the carpet. Then he pushed over a chair.
‘A tragic sequence of events. Duncan wanted to reconcile with me, but evil stepmother Mags wouldn’t let him. Things got a bit heated. You’ve always been so fucking volatile, Mags! You’ve always hated me for no reason and resented my closeness to Dad – so much so that you made out I was some kind of nutter and persuaded him to abandon me all those years ago. When you found him texting me, you smashed his phone. Where’s Dad’s phone?’
Dad. The word was all wrong on his lips.
‘Never mind, I’m sure I can find it. In the bedroom charging?’
He was back in less than a minute with Duncan’s phone, holding it by the edges. He bent to Duncan’s body and took Duncan’s hand in his gloved one.
‘Ooh, goody, fingerprint recognition. Dad always did like a gadget.’ He straightened; strolled to the couch. ‘Okay. Let’s see. I’ve left my phone in the house, switched on, so it should get this pronto, eh, Mags? Nick. So sorry for everything. Can we talk tomorrow just us two? Dad’s old-school. Would spell out the “two”. Maggie went apeshit. Or no, Dad doesn’t swear. Maggie went ballistic after you left. Don’t come back here. I’ve locked myself in the loo. She was scaring me TBH. Going to try to calm her down. Let me know time and place if you want to meet. Dad. Would he add a kiss? Probably, in the circumstances. Right. Perfect. Off it goes. It’ll flash up on my screen, and there’ll be nothing to say whether I was there to read it or not. The wonders of modern technology.’
He came back round the couch and dropped the phone on the floor, then picked up a chunky vase and brought it down hard on the screen.
‘He tried to restrain you, to fight you off, which is when you hit your head on the door frame.’
He came back to where Maggie was lying and picked her up, quite gently, in his arms. He carried her to the door, and then he suddenly spun, whacking her head on the wooden frame.
Maggie’s vision blurred as he carried her back across the room and dumped her down by the couch.
‘You went for him. Killed him with the knife. Enter stage right the anxious stepson, having hot-footed it here after receiving a worrying text message from dear old Dad. I’m extremely concerned for his safety. And rightly so, as it turns out.’ He picked up the vase, grimaced, and smashed it into his own face.
‘Oof!’
Then he stooped to force Maggie’s hand round the base of the vase. ‘You went for me too, of course. Fortunately, that was an unequal contest! I had to restrain you and call an ambulance and then the cops. You don’t mind if I use your phone, do you?’
He left the room and returned with her phone. ‘I’ll maybe leave it a while. Would take me what, fifteen, twenty minutes between receiving the text message and getting here and calling the emergency services?’ He squatted down next to her. ‘What kind of mother are you, killing Isla’s dad and getting yourself banged up for murder, leaving her with no one?’ He smiled into her eyes. ‘No one but her big brother.’
‘No,’ went Maggie, her voice all hoarse. ‘You leave Isla alone! What has she ever done to you?’
Nick seemed to consider the point. ‘Get herself born?’
He stood, and walked to the smashed French doors.
Isla.
What would become of Isla? She would have no one now. No one but Nick, going up to her at the funeral, maybe, to explain everything in his convincing way.
He had thought it all through. That text message – oh aye, he’d planned it all. And there were witnesses to how overjoyed he and Duncan had been to be reunited. Michael might not cooperate, but the wife, Lulu, would tell the police how made-up dear Nick had been to see his da again. Probably give him an alibi too.