I take a step towards her and William holds me back firmly. There is a black patch on the back of Samantha’s head. From here, in the dim light, it looks like dark regrowth of roots. I don’t think that’s what it is, though. I think of the blood on William’s sleeve and something in my chest cracks open, leaking cold, cold water.
‘What did you hit her with?’
‘I was careful. I only used enough force to knock her out. At worst she’ll have a concussion. Just hope she can get to the hospital in time. It can be fatal if it’s untreated.’
‘William, you have to let me help her. I don’t know what you’re doing, but this isn’t – it’s not right!’
‘Help her? You have been helping her. You’ve been helping her with this continuing delusion that somewhere out there her daughter is still alive. You’ve stirred it all up for her again. Now look what’s happened.’
‘How do you know?’
‘How do I know what?’
‘That her daughter isn’t alive? You called it a delusion, which would mean you know something to the contrary.’
‘All right, Miss Marple, I think we’re done here.’
He’s been holding me by the wrist, and now he tugs at me insistently. When I resist he pulls me so hard my shoulder seems to pop. I yell out. William just continues to look at me in that same blank way. His eyes, already dark, are almost muddy, his pupils swollen and black. He drags me down the corridor, holding my wrist so tight I can feel the bones grind together. I clamp my teeth against the pain, so sharp it is almost sweet. William motions for me to be quiet before rapping on the closed door further down the hall that leads to Mimi’s recovery room.
I hear her voice, her weak-sounding ‘Come in.’
William opens the door a slice, just enough to poke his head around.
I say, ‘William, plea—’ and he gives my wrist one hard, sharp twist. My knees buckle. I have to hang on to the wall to stop myself crumpling to the ground. Hot breath catches in my throat, silencing me. His voice when he speaks to his mother is calm and gentle, the man I recognise, the man I know the bones of.
‘I’m just heading out, Mum.’
‘Okay, sweetheart. Are you all right? You look a little peaky.’
‘I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache.’
‘It’s the weather,’ she says, and I gasp loudly as my wrist sends out bright spikes of pain shooting up my arm. William’s hand tightens.
‘What was that?’ Mimi says. ‘Is someone there with you?’
‘Nope. Just me. I’ll see you later.’
‘Be good. And if you can’t be good—’
‘I’ll be careful. I know, Mum. Love you.’
He closes the door quietly and kneels down next to me in the darkened hall. I wish someone would walk in – Alex, maybe, on his way back from the greenhouse, or Samantha, groggy from her blow to the head. Anyone. I’m so frightened of this man. I feel like I’m going to die.
‘Come on, on your feet. We’re going for a little walk, you and me.’
We head outside into the bright sunshine. The air is very hot and still and heavy. I switch my head left and right for Alex. No sign. William has let go of my wrist now and I massage it against my chest. He opens the passenger door for me and I look at him flatly.
‘I’m not getting into the car with you. You’re crazy.’
‘No, Frances, I’m not. I’m just tired of having to look after you, get you out of scrapes. It’s like having a kid. You wonder why I’ve avoided having one? It’s because I know who’ll end up looking after it. Me. You can barely look after yourself.’
‘That’s not fair—’
‘Look at Samantha. Look at how she fucked it up. She didn’t know what her own kid was doing half the time. Edie was into all kinds of shit – drugs and black magic and she was something of a known slut, if you get my drift. You think you’ve got what it takes to bring up a kid? Look at what harm you can do if you don’t get it right. Look at how you end up.’
I stare at him, open-mouthed.
‘I’d rather bring up a lively, interesting kid than someone like you.’
His face darkens, but I can’t help myself. It’s always been my problem. Spoiling for trouble.
‘Don’t, Frances.’
‘You’re a repressed, dull man with nothing to show for all his years on earth except his bank balance and a stack of dirty photos. Your mother sh—’
Crack! I hear it before I feel the sting of the slap, right across my cheekbone. It’s hard enough to make my skull shake. I look at him in horror, one hand covering my face. His lips are pressed tightly together, eyebrows drawn. He looks furious, but when he speaks his voice still has that same, flat tone.
‘Get in the car, Frances. I won’t ask you again.’
I stare at him. I could run, I think. Maybe I could outrun him. I’ve always thought of William as a desk slob, someone weak-muscled and unfit, but when he gripped my wrist earlier I felt a lean, wiry strength there that belied his physical appearance. But if I could – and it’s a very big if – where would I run? William grew up here; he knows this area like the back of his hand. I’ve no money and my phone is still in there in the kitchen, plugged in and lying on the counter. So what do you do, Frances? the voice in my head asks me. Just what are you going to do?
‘I need to pee,’ I tell him.
He stares at me. I bend a little at the waist, my hands folded into my crotch. It’s a lie, of course, but now I’ve said it the urge has suddenly become very real.
I stare at him with round eyes. ‘Please. I have to go!’
‘Jesus, Frances,’ he says
