‘I’m not afraid of death.’ It was as though her mum sensed her daughter’s tears hiding there. ‘I’m so, so tired,’ she said.
*
Rosamund didn’t come to the funeral, but Neil was there, sitting at the back of the crematorium, as Amelia, Thomas and their dad took turns reading poems.
Amelia sat at the front with her family. William hadn’t been able to take time off work to be with her, and once again it hurt that he hadn’t supported her.
As they listened to the celebrant talking about her mum’s life, Amelia glanced over her shoulder at the door, hoping it would open and Lark, like a miracle, would appear in her flowing black dress, and lace-up boots. She even hoped Jackson would turn up, with his perfect features and sandy-blond hair, but neither came.
Outside the crematorium she gripped her dad’s arm as they looked at the flowers.
‘I can’t believe she’s gone,’ he said. He was wearing his long black coat, despite the warm weather, and perspiration coated his forehead. He hadn’t cried during the service, but his eyes filled with tears now.
‘We’ll get through this, Dad,’ she said, squeezing his arm, moving in closer. But, truth was, she didn’t know how they would.
She kept thinking she saw Lark that day, as the sun glinted on surrounding trees. Her presence was so strong, like an angel sent to take their mum.
Later, back at the family home, she laid out the sandwiches she’d ordered from Waitrose, and tipped crisps into bowls. She put French Fancies – Mum’s favourites – onto her best china plates. Everyone knocked back cheap white wine, as though it might help with the awkwardness of it all.
Amelia’s grandparents had died a long time ago, and her mum had no brothers and sisters. She’d lost touch with most of her friends when she moved in with Jackson, but there was still a good turnout – mostly Robert’s colleagues from the museum, and a few friends from the am-dram society.
Following an argument with Maddie, Amelia left the gathering, and after a brief hug with her dad, she climbed the stairs to bed, burying herself under the duvet, and crying until she fell into a restless sleep.
*
After the funeral, Amelia returned to London to attempt to get her life back on track. Her dad and Thomas insisted they would be OK without her. But the truth was, she wasn’t sure she would be OK without them.
Chapter 42
Present Day
Amelia
Still reeling from believing Finn is the masked killer, and almost killing him, I struggle to sleep – tossing and turning, jolting in and out of terrifying nightmares.
At DI Kate Beynon’s suggestion, Dad, Thomas and I are staying at a B & B in Inverness overnight. We’re to stay in the area until the search of the estate is complete. Rosamund and Neil are here too, though I haven’t seen them.
By 5 a.m. I’m wide awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece everything together.
And then it hits me.
There were two people there the night I was attacked. Yes, I heard two people. I’d called to the other for help. Had the second person been Finn?
I throw back the duvet and head into the shower. The piercing water on my flesh goes some way to making me feel human again, but I can’t rid myself of a dull headache, despite taking strong painkillers.
It’s 9 a.m. when Beynon rings my mobile. ‘I’d like you to come down to the station, Amelia,’ she says, and my stomach twists. ‘We need to take formal statements from everyone, and I’d like to begin with you.’
*
Dad drives me to the police station, and agrees to wait for me outside.
Once in the building, I head for reception, my skin prickling.
‘Amelia.’ It’s Beynon, appearing through a side door. ‘This way, please.’
Once sitting in the kind of room I’d only ever seen in crime dramas, Beynon and DS McKay opposite me, I say, ‘Do I need a solicitor? This is all a bit formal, isn’t it?’
‘It’s just a few questions, Amelia.’ She smiles. ‘You’re not under arrest. We just need a statement from you, that’s all.’
‘OK.’
‘And also to see if you’ve remembered anything new since we last spoke.’
‘Like what?’ Should I mention the second person?
‘Anything at all that might help us with our enquiries.’
‘Well, someone attacked me,’ I say.
She nods. I’ve told her this before.
‘And when I came round I saw a figure on the bench … wearing that awful mask. Finn.’
She nods. ‘We know that was Finn. His blood was all over the bench. But we know he wasn’t stabbed there. Someone moved him. Do you know anything about that?’
I shake my head. ‘I’ve no idea.’ At least that much is true.
‘If you know anything at all, Amelia, now would be a good time to say.’
There was something about Beynon that reminded me of a girl I knew at my senior school – a girl I never wanted to cross. And part of me wants to yell that it had all been a huge mistake. That I thought, when Finn crouched down in front of me, that he was the masked killer. I stabbed him.
‘He isn’t the killer,’ I say in a rush. ‘I remembered this morning. There were two people there that night, I’m sure of it.’
Beynon bites down hard on her lower lip, her dark eyes boring into me. ‘Really?’ she says. ‘Well, we’re just waiting on forensics, and once Finn comes round from the coma and we can interview him, things will be a lot clearer.’ She leans back in her chair.
‘Is that it?’ I say. ‘Can I go now?’
‘Once you’ve signed your statement, yes.’
‘Inspector Beynon,’ I say. ‘Do you think Jackson had anything to do with this?’
‘Whoever did this violently killed two people, Amelia. There are similarities – the masks – the fact they are both young girls – but differences too. Rest assured, Amelia,’ she says, rubbing a hand across the back
