The back door opens. ‘Amelia?’ It’s Dad, stepping in and bringing with him a waft of fish and chips.
Rosamund looks down at me, and places her finger against my lips. ‘Shh,’ she whispers.
‘Amelia,’ Dad calls again. ‘Your chips are here, don’t let them get cold.’ Blissfully unaware I’m in the corner held at knifepoint he opens a cupboard, singing to himself as he pulls out a jar of pickles. ‘Amelia!’
He finally turns, and the jar slips from his fingers, crashing to the floor, glass shattering.
‘Dear God,’ he cries, limping across the kitchen, but he stops when Rosamund pushes the knife deeper into my flesh, so close to cutting through the skin again. ‘Christ, Rosamund, what the hell?’
I’m silent, the pulses in my head thumping. Knowing the trickles of blood on my throat is nothing to what Rosamund is capable of.
‘Let her go,’ Dad cries. He edges forward, blinking furiously, and Rosamund rises to her full height and before he can step away, she lunges at him, plunging the knife into his stomach, then pulling it free. He falls to the floor, yelling in agony.
I let out a scream. ‘Dad,’ I cry, trying to get up.
But Rosamund is quick. She has the knife back at my throat in an instant.
‘You do know this means you both have to die,’ she says.
‘Why?’ Dad whimpers, his body crumpled in pain.
‘Oh, it’s nothing to do with you, Robert. Don’t give yourself any credit. That was a very long time ago.’ She turns to me. ‘It’s OK; your father turned me down. You’re a good man, aren’t you, Robert? Such a shame Caroline couldn’t see that. Even she couldn’t resist Jackson.’
I want to hit out – she’s going to kill me anyway – but I can’t move. I’m frozen in fear.
Chapter 48
Present Day
Amelia
Rosamund closes her eyes for a brief moment, sucks in a sigh, and moves the knife away from me. I stay still. With one stroke she could slit my throat.
From her crouching position, she thumps down on the floor and, knees bent, she sits next to the half-open kitchen door, the knife dangling in one hand.
‘It was your mum’s letter to Neil that changed everything,’ she says, her voice calmer. ‘I knew it was from Caroline when I saw it lying on the doormat eighteen months ago, the swirling, elaborate handwriting so familiar. It was addressed to Neil and I knew that whatever she had to say wouldn’t be good. But, when I opened it and read her words, those of a dying woman out for revenge, I couldn’t believe how cruel she could be. Her spiteful decision to tell Neil that she saw Jackson and me in the wood the night Lark and Jackson disappeared, when she had only weeks to live, was wicked. I thanked God when she died.’ She lifts the knife and presses her finger against the blade. She doesn’t wince as it pierces her skin, or when a bubble of blood rises to the surfaces and drips to the floor.
There’s so much I want to say, but I can’t find the courage.
‘If Neil had read that letter he would never have forgiven me. He’d forgiven me too many times before.’ She leans forward and rubs her bloody finger across my cheek like war paint. ‘If your mother hadn’t sent that letter none of this would have happened, Amelia – it’s her fault so many died.’
‘So Neil didn’t read it. You found it before he could?’
She nods. ‘That’s right.’
Dad lets out a groan, and I look over. He’s holding his stomach, his eyes closed.
‘Please call an ambulance.’ Tears roll down my face. ‘He’s losing so much blood. Please, Rosamund. He’s bleeding out. He’s going to die.’
She laughs, long and hard. Hysterical, crazy laughter, that reminds me of a mechanical clown I once saw on a pleasure beach as a child, that gave me nightmares for weeks.
‘Oh, Amelia.’ She holds her chest, her laugh petering away, her face transforming to a look of disgust. ‘Do you really think I’m going to pick up the phone and save his life?’ She strokes my cheek once more with her bloody finger. ‘You both have to die. Don’t you see? You know too much.’
She’s so absorbed in her own fantasy; she doesn’t seem to hear the click of the front door opening. Thomas?
‘When Neil holds his baby son, everything will be as it should be,’ Rosamund continues, stroking her fake baby bump as though she still believes she’s carrying a child. ‘It’s Neil I love. It’s Neil I’ve always loved. Jackson and I would never have lasted. None of the other men meant anything.’
Rosamund has her back to the kitchen door seemingly unaware it’s edging open an inch at a time. Thomas?
With a jolt, she presses the knife against my throat once more. ‘I need to finish you off now,’ she says. ‘You and then your precious father.’
‘She’s got a knife,’ I yell, and Rosamund swings round, but before she can speak, the door slams hard against her head, with the sheer force of something behind it. She slumps forwards, her head cracking against the corner of the kitchen unit, her eyes rolling.
I gulp back tears and confusion as I look up into my brother’s dark eyes, as he moves into the room in his wheelchair. ‘Thank God,’ I say, breathless. ‘Call 999. Dad needs an ambulance. Fast.’
Chapter 49
Present Day
Amelia
Someone knocking on a door some distance away wakes me from a fitful sleep. My neck is sore and bandaged. My head throbs in pain. Two nurses, talking in whispers as they hurry through the Intensive Care Unit waiting room, pay me no attention as I shuffle up in the fake leather chair.
I squint at the sun’s rays shining through the high windows, dust particles raining down on the long, narrow room. I grab my bag, and rummage for a couple of painkillers.
Thomas is asleep in his chair,
