Mike and I had eventually made up, although it had been hard work to get to that point. I didn’t want to hold what had happened against him – I could have, but I chose not to. It sounded like something Mum would say – to make a conscious decision to not be angry – but I didn’t want to live with the negative energy. Anger and resentment were bitter seeds – I couldn’t let them take hold. If I did, they would grow fast and spread like weeds, poisoning the soil.
Mike had been devastated to learn about Rachel – we all were – and blamed himself for what had happened to Amy. Everyone had misjudged her, it seemed – she’d even had Amy fooled. Mike’s remorse and the guilt he felt that I’d almost become Rachel’s third victim was enough for me to forgive him, in the end.
It had taken months of therapy to get Mike back on his feet. We paid off his business debts when I received my final bonus from the bank, and his work had taken a backseat for now, leaving him to concentrate on enjoying time with the children. This time it had been his turn to accompany Hannah to London. I hoped they were enjoying some father-daughter bonding time.
I’d resisted therapy, but the trauma had left its scars and it had been a long time before I could finally sleep in my own bed again. Mum and I had spent weeks cleansing the energy at Puffin Cottage. It had taken a complete crystal purification and multiple smudging ceremonies before I’d felt at home again in the cottage.
Instead of using booze to numb my pain, I’d taken up long-distance running. It turned out there was nothing like almost being killed by a deranged maniac to put you off the taste of vodka, and I now had some of my best creative ideas while pounding out miles along the sand. I still avoided Southend Rock, even long after the police divers had recovered Phil’s body, choosing instead the stretch of golden sand in the direction of Bamburgh.
Auntie Sue beamed at me excitedly from her seat on the small sofa next to Emily. After that night with Rachel, she’d decided that life was too short to live with regrets. It hadn’t taken her long to track Emily down, and it had been an emotional reunion.
Emily was beautiful, with skin like porcelain and hazel eyes, and she hung on Auntie Sue’s every word. They went for long beach walks and I would often watch them making their way back up the dune path, hand in hand, their faces gleaming with exhilaration and the salty air. The only time they weren’t laughing was when they did the crossword together – that was serious business.
Auntie Sue was almost unrecognisable. The way she walked and the way she laughed – I had never seen this side of her before. She was younger, lighter, freer. I saw now that all the years she had spent with us – ever since she came back to Seahouses – she had been a tightly-coiled spring. Solid, sturdy, but tense – and now she had been released. She and Emily had missed out on so much time and they were determined to make the most of their second chance.
Now that Mum was much more ‘steady on her feet’, as we all liked to say, Auntie Sue felt that she could finally leave her for a couple of weeks. She and Emily were flying to Santorini on Saturday, a place that they had planned on visiting before Dad had died. It would be Auntie Sue’s first holiday in twenty-five years.
Mum no longer seemed to have her bad days. At Diana Wheeler’s suggestion, she had joined the RNLI committee and become involved in some of Amy’s community groups. She had even started hosting meditation, yoga and mindfulness sessions at the village hall. It had taken a while for the classes to take off – meditation just wasn’t a thing in Seahouses yet – but people were gradually warming to the idea.
After Rachel was killed, we were worried that Mum could face charges. The police had been talking about whether her use of force had been necessary and proportionate for self-defence. I wanted to ask what level of force was appropriate for a psycho killer who had murdered one of your daughters and was trying to kill the other, but Mum was very zen about it. DCI Bell wasn’t assigned to the case at first, but as soon as she got involved, Mum was given the all-clear.
Izzy Morton Interiors was hard work, but it was slowly taking off – we were even considering taking on another member of staff. Most of it came through word-of-mouth – guests at The Stables frequently commented on the wonderful ambience of the hotel, and Jennifer never hesitated to recommend us. We had just wrapped up a project on a luxury hotel in Newcastle and were about to land a second contract with the same chain.
Although I put our success down to good fortune, Mum had other ideas – citing everything from karma, positive intention-setting, and the spirits of Amy and Dad watching over us. I didn’t argue with her, just in case Dad and Amy were listening.
Smiling at the thought of this, I padded into the kitchen to check up on Lucas. He was still working on perfecting Amy’s recipes and putting them together in a book. Each of us was dealing with the loss in our own way, and this was how Lucas wanted to honour his mother’s memory. It meant that we often ate the same dish three nights a week, but only Betsy complained.
Jake was watching him cook. It hadn’t taken much for Jake to go from solicitor to friend to boyfriend. He came to see me in hospital the
