‘No.’
‘Instead you moved away and never thought about me again. You went to school and university while I was locked up. You got pregnant and you got Tom.’ She pauses, then lets my hand go. ‘I’m in love with him. We made love.’
‘I don’t believe you. Tom wouldn’t do that.’
She laughs. ‘Oh, Vicky, sometimes you are so na?ve. Of course he would. And he did. We did it in the kitchen in Spain, on the table. It was beautiful.’
I launch myself against her. I’m not sure what it’s meant to achieve, and in fact it doesn’t achieve anything except to make my bruised body and head hurt even more. But even though I’m weakened, I am bigger and heavier than she is and I manage to pin her down with my weight. As she struggles out from under me I sink my teeth into her arm.
She yelps, shoves me off and jumps up. I lie in the dirt, panting, defenceless and angry, glaring up at her.
‘If he means that much to you,’ I say through teeth gritted against the pain, ‘save his life. He’s not going to be much use to you dead.’
She clumps up the stairs and switches the strip light on. Tom is slumped awkwardly at the bottom, rolled up, one knee under his chin, one foot wedged against the wall. She must have dragged him all the way through the kitchen, out into the hall and pushed him down there. God knows what damage that will have done.
‘Amber, for Christ’s sake! Call an ambulance.’
‘Fuck off, Vicky. You don’t understand anything.’ She switches the light out again and slams the door.
Great.
It takes me a long time to get back into a sitting position. I allow myself half a minute to recover, then start to move, pushing through starbursts of agony, scraping my bottom across the brick floor until I get to Tom. I rest my head against him and catch my breath. I can’t feel him breathing or hear anything and my face is sticky when I lift it away. I pass out for the second time.
43
AMBER OPENS THE door to the girls’ bedroom. The light beside Polly beams slowly revolving stars on to the ceiling. She’s sound asleep, her fine blonde hair fanned on the pillow. She is such a darling. Emily’s bed is empty, the covers thrown back. Not expecting this, Amber looks behind the door, then checks the wardrobe but she’s not hiding there. She darts out again and into their bathroom, her foot snagging on a splintered floorboard. She swears under her breath and switches on the light. No Emily. She searches the whole floor, checking under beds and in Josh’s room.
Then a small voice pipes up: ‘Daddy? Mummy?’
Amber leans over the banister. The master bedroom light is on. She calls Emily quietly and listens in the stillness for her response. There’s nothing at first, then Emily’s voice again; more anxious this time, a tremor in it. She must have found the blood. Amber’s mouth dries as she tries to think. She takes a deep breath and walks downstairs calmly, as if her being there in the dead of night is perfectly normal.
‘Emily,’ she calls. ‘Where are you, sweetie? It’s only me. Daddy had to go out and meet Mummy, so I’m looking after you.’
There’s a shuffle, the padding of small feet. But no sign of Emily. Amber frowns, irritated. ‘Emily? Come out now, darling. You’re not in any danger.’
Silence. Then from the shadows a frightened little voice asks, ‘Why is there blood?’
‘It was that burglar. The one who got in before. You remember. He’s gone now. Daddy had to fight him. But don’t worry. The police will be here soon.’
Emily steps out into the light. She stares, her mouth hanging open, taking in Amber’s blood-smeared hands and face. Amber glances down at the knife in her hand and back at Emily, who turns on her heel and runs into the kitchen.
‘Emily. Don’t be scared.’
In the silence she imagines the child crouched behind the island, holding her breath, trying not to make a sound. She closes the kitchen door behind her and leans against it.
‘You can’t hide from me for ever, sweetie. Come out. I’m not going to hurt you.’ There are red footprints everywhere; hers, Vicky’s and Emily’s, and long tracks of blood from where she dragged Tom.
She loses patience and steps forward, comes round the island and Emily backs away, puts the table between them and starts to scream her head off. Amber launches herself forward and grabs her, but Emily sinks her teeth into her hand and jerks out of her grip. As she tries to get by, Amber grabs her again and this time holds her securely. She feels a moment’s anguished guilt. This is how Maggie held her that time. Before she handed her over to Luke.
‘Emily, it’s me. It’s Amber. For heaven’s sake – I’m trying to protect you.’
‘I’m scared.’
‘I know.’ What should she do now? She hasn’t thought about this. When she left the flat her mind had been full of Tom. But that was fantasy and now she has killed him. What is she supposed to do with the child?
Emily starts to cry. ‘I want my daddy.’
‘Your daddy’s in the cellar,’ she says. ‘He needs help. Why don’t you go and find him?’
Emily wipes her nose on her sleeve and eyes her suspiciously. She’s never liked the cellar. Not since Amber told her a scary story about it. Amber can feel her confusion, her desire to trust someone she’s known all her life and her instinct to avoid danger.
‘Bluebeard isn’t down there,’ she says in a wheedling tone. ‘Just Daddy. He’s hoping you’ll help him. If you don’t go down, he might bleed to death.’
‘You said he was out.’
‘No I didn’t.’
‘Yes you did. You said he went to meet Mummy.’
‘Now why would he do that, Emily? They’ve split up. Daddy doesn’t love Mummy any more because Mummy did something bad.’
‘What?’
‘I’ll tell you later,’ she whispers, pulling a reluctant Emily towards the cellar door. She flicks the light switch.
‘There, you see. I’m telling the truth. Now in you go.’
Emily leans tentatively past her. She turns to Amber again and Amber nods.
‘Go on. You’ll be fine. I’ve rung for an ambulance. They’ll be here soon. I’m going to make sure Polly and Josh are OK. I won’t be far away if you need me.’
‘Mummy?’
I open my eyes with difficulty and follow the sound to the top of the stairs where a small and familiar figure is gazing down at me.
‘Oh my God. Emily. Where’s Amber, darling? Does she know you’re out of bed?’
‘She’s gone upstairs.’
Oh Christ. ‘Can you come down here? Can you do that for me?’
‘What’s happened to Daddy?’
‘He’s going to be fine. I promise. I need you to look in my toolbox and see if you can find something to cut me free.’
She’s very good, very careful as she clings to the wooden banister and swings herself round, stepping lightly over her father’s body. She drags a stool across the floor and climbs up to the toolbox, delves inside and comes out with a pair of wire-cutters. I notice she avoids looking at Tom.