We’ve been at the hospital since the ambulance brought Dad here at midnight. Earlier we’d taken it in turns to collect coffee, and chocolate and bags of crisps from the machines, trying to keep awake, just in case they brought news about Dad, but eventually our tiredness took over.
‘Any news?’ Thomas rubs sleep from his eyes, his voice croaky.
I shake my head. ‘Not yet.’
He brushes his fingers over his dry lips.
‘Do you want some water?’ I rise and make my way to the water cooler, and fill two cups.
I hand Thomas one, as he jerks a sideways thumb towards the door. ‘Should we ring the bell, do you think? Ask how Dad is?’
‘They said they would let us know.’ I swallow down the two tablets. ‘I know it’s hard being patient, but they are doing everything they can.’
It’s 9.30 a.m. when we finally hear.
‘Your dad’s out of danger,’ the doctor says as he approaches, and we let go of the tears we’ve been holding on to, and hug each other. ‘He’s going to be OK. He’s sleeping now. Go home. Get some rest. You should be able to see him by early evening.’
Chapter 50
Present Day
Amelia
It’s been three weeks since Rosamund’s horrendous attack, and although Dad is home from hospital, he is far from well.
Now, it feels as though the whole experience happened to someone else, not me, as though I witnessed it from an outside viewpoint looking in, as though I was never there at all. Maybe it’s my brain’s way of trying to deal with it.
We say goodbye to Elise today, and I’m standing at the back of the crematorium, a sea of pink outfits – at Neil’s request – in front of me, and so many more people spilling out of the door behind me. She was a popular girl.
Neil calls it a celebration of Elise’s life, not a funeral – and I get that. However fleeting her time here, it should be celebrated. Though in equal measures I admit to struggling. How can you celebrate the murder of a teenage girl?
I read how Rosamund led the police to where she buried poor Elise in a field near her home. It hadn’t taken the police long to find her. Or discover the bloodied jacket Rosamund wore when she killed Maddie, which she’d hidden in a hollowed tree trunk near Kyla’s bench. They’d also found remains of the jacket she wore when she killed Ruth, on the fire that Dad had made outside the cottage at Drummondale House. She’d been arrested for the young girl’s murder, and those of Ruth and Maddie, plus the attempted murder of Finn. The guilt that it was me who stabbed Finn still hangs heavy. In fact, it all feels surreal. A nightmare I can’t wake up from.
Neil rises, approaches the lectern, and puts down a sheet of paper with shaking hands. He’s lost weight, his face ashen. He clears his throat, and begins, ‘There’s got to be somewhere else.’ A beat. ‘I keep telling myself that. That somewhere, someday, I’ll see you again, and we’ll laugh and talk, and you can tell me about your day, and I will hold you in my arms, and tell you everything will be OK.’ His voice cracks, and he takes a deep breath. ‘Elise … Elise was my everything.’
He crumples, breaks down in tears – pushes his head into his hands. There’s movement in the front row, and an older man with a shock of white hair rises, stands beside him, and takes Neil’s arm.
Neil lifts his head from his hands, and goes on, ‘Elise was a bright, intelligent young woman setting out on life, who was taken long before she should have been. They say the departed wouldn’t want us to be sad, that they are at peace, but I know my Elise, and I’m pretty sure she’ll be bloody fuming that she’s up there too soon.’ He raises watery eyes to the congregation, as a low ripple of laughter drifts around the room.
We all struggle through heart-wrenching poems, a hymn, and words from the celebrant telling us about Elise’s short life. This is too much.
After the service, we are led out to the sound of Avril Lavigne singing ‘Keep Holding On’, and I look about me, witnessing so many tears. This tragedy will stay with me forever.
*
Outside, Neil stands some distance from the crematorium, surrounded by friends and family. Scattered across the grass are pools of weeping youngsters hugging each other. And some distance away in the car park DI Beynon, and DS McKay are getting into their car.
I go to leave, feeling as if I’m intruding on the family’s grief.
‘Amelia!’
I turn to see Julia, huddled into her pink padded jacket, her plait poking from a pink beret. Finn is walking beside her. He’s taken the whole pink thing seriously, wearing a cerise jumper, and pale pink trousers. I should have made more effort, perhaps – but it felt right wearing Mum’s pink scarf around my neck.
‘How’s your dad?’ Finn asks, once we’ve agreed, not for the first time, how tragic Elise’s death is.
‘Improving,’ I say. ‘And you? How are you?’
‘Getting there, slowly.’
‘I think I owe you an apology, Amelia,’ Julia says, reaching out and touching my arm.
‘For what?’ But I know. I know exactly what she’ll say.
‘I shouldn’t have accused you of stabbing Finn. Finn’s told me it wasn’t you, and now we know it was Rosamund, so … well, I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?’
Her words echo in my ears. ‘It’s fine,’ I say, looking up at Finn, knowing he lied for me, knowing I’ll never be truly guilt-free. ‘We’ve all been through so much.’
‘Are you going back to the house?’ Finn asks.
I shake my head – the thought of going to the house where Rosamund killed her stepdaughter gives me chills. ‘I should get back.’
‘Oh, come. We don’t know anyone … safety in numbers?’
‘OK,’ I say, feeling I owe him.
