‘Did you know she’s now being home-schooled because the bullying became so bad?’
‘No. But if you’d answered my messages, perhaps I could’ve helped her.’
He raised his voice. ‘How could you have helped when this is all your fault in the first place? I know what he was accusing you of saying to those callers. So what that bastard did to my daughter and Janine is because of what you started.’
Something about his expression told me he had his regrets, too, but quite what they were I couldn’t be sure.
‘Everything I have ever done is because I love you and our family. All I want is for us to be back together again. Is that too much to ask?’
‘No, Laura, everything you do is for your own good and it always has been. Everyone else is just collateral damage in the fight to get what you want.’
‘I may have made a few mistakes along the way,’ I conceded, ‘but this all began because you broke our family up.’
‘And it was the best thing I ever did, because the girls and Henry are in a safer environment without you. You are a bad force in all of our lives. Janine was a kind woman and worth a hundred of you. The only good thing to come about from her death is that people will remember her for the wonderful person she was.’
Not for much longer, I thought. In taking her iPad from her handbag the afternoon she died, I had access to the typed list of passwords she’d saved because she was too stupid to remember them. And that included both her bank details and those of End of the Line. Shortly before she met her maker, I’d transferred ￡40,000 from the charity’s account to her own. A further ￡5,000 had been deposited into her online gambling accounts. It would be a few more weeks before the accountants began their annual audits, and it wouldn’t take long to trace the missing money.
I clenched my fists and took a deep breath. ‘Tony, this isn’t the time or place to have this discussion,’ I continued. ‘Why don’t you come around to the house tonight and we’ll talk properly.’
‘No, Laura. You’re not getting it, are you?’ He sounded exasperated. ‘I don’t ever want to be in that house or anywhere near you again. You are poison.’
‘Eight o’clock,’ I replied. ‘Come round for then and I’ll make us something nice to eat.’
He shook his head as he approached his car and drove away.
CHAPTER TWO
LAURA – THREE MONTHS AFTER RYAN
There weren’t many mourners at Ryan’s funeral – a dozen at best and probably all family, from what I could see, although my view from inside the car wasn’t clear. There had been at least twice that number at Chantelle’s, and she was a filthy drug addict. But then who would want to be seen in public bidding a final farewell to an accused paedophile and murderer? It wouldn’t reflect greatly on anyone.
When the newspapers reported that a body had been found tangled up in fishermen’s nets off the East Sussex coast, where Ryan was thought to have stepped off the cliff, I crossed my fingers and prayed it would be him. It was only when he was positively identified through his DNA that I could truly relax.
The date and location of his funeral weren’t advertised, and it had taken many calls claiming to be a family member wanting to know where I could send flowers before I discovered the funeral director organising his service and the location.
Ryan’s body wasn’t driven in a hearse. No family members followed behind in black limousines and there was to be no church service or burial for him. Instead, he’d been taken in the back of an unmarked coroner’s van directly to the crematorium in neighbouring Kettering. The only flowers greeting his arrival were my lilies, hand-delivered and left by the door with an anonymous card attached reading I won.
Outside the crematorium, photographers from news agencies and a local TV station I’d tipped off took pictures and filmed his coffin being removed from the vehicle and whisked inside. I hadn’t only taken Ryan’s life away from him, I’d taken his funeral, too.
I decided against joining Ryan’s mourners and risk being unmasked, so I remained in my car instead. Although I’ll admit to feeling a little frustrated at not being there as the final curtain circled his coffin after all my effort. I wondered what they’d do with his ashes and if they’d be scattered somewhere near Charlotte’s. I’d never engineered the deaths of a husband and wife before. I’d find it hard to top that with my next candidates.
As everyone made their way inside, I recalled the last time I’d been to a crematorium was to say goodbye to Olly. There had been even fewer of us there than at Ryan’s funeral – myself and six of his vagrant friends, who I’d bribed with enough alcohol to last them a week. I wasn’t even sure if they knew who Olly was.
I missed talking to my friend. Even when we weren’t in touch, just knowing he was about somewhere had made me feel there was someone on my side. I still couldn’t understand how the coroner and policewoman had got when and where he died so wrong. Why did they dismiss my claims so readily? I was sure I was with him at least six months after they reckoned he was dead. Regardless, I was happy not to have shared his last breath.
My house was still empty when I returned home. Immaculate, but empty. Despite the number of open windows, plug-in air-fresheners and reed diffusers I’d placed in each room, the oily smell of fresh paint still hung thickly. The Polish decorators I’d employed had done a wonderful job of papering the walls and repainting the ceilings. Everything from the banisters to the skirting boards and door frames were now coated in a pure, glistening, Arctic white. It was like being inside an igloo.
I’d Pinterested, then replicated examples of rooms I’d seen in online interior design magazines. I used bright accent colours of yellows and greens for my new cushions, curtains and rugs. I had family photographs reprinted and framed to hang on the walls and arranged on the sideboard and windowsills. And I’d brought brand-new bedding and soft furnishings for the girls’ and Henry’s rooms. I’d done the same with Tony’s room, although once we were a family again, it wouldn’t be long before he returned to our bed.