‘You got someone else to do it for you, then. Sophia?’ I hazard.
‘No. Sophia knows nothing about any of this.’
‘Who then? You know who. I know you do. Please, I’m begging you. My son is in danger.’
There’s a long pause. I can see from her eyes, which are flickering wildly, that she’s struggling with some inner conflict. Finally, she appears to come to a decision. ‘You’re right,’ she says. ‘She’s gone too far this time. It was my daughter – Daisy’s sister, Beth.’
‘Beth?’ I repeat, holding my breath.
Meg seems almost to be talking to herself. ‘I never should have told her what Charlie told me, but at the time, I thought she had a right to know and I suppose I thought it might help her gain a kind of closure. But it had the opposite effect. As soon as she found out about you, she became obsessed with tracking you down. And it didn’t take her long. We’re all easily traceable nowadays, if we have an online presence.’
‘Where is she?’ I demand. ‘Where does she live?’
‘She was always a difficult child.’ Meg ignores my question. ‘Even before Daisy died. She could be so kind and loving one minute, then if she lost her temper, she was a terror. I used to call her my girl with the little curl. You know the rhyme. “When she was bad, she was horrid”.’ She pauses. ‘But it was serious, and it got worse as she got older. She could be violent. It was frightening sometimes. Daisy was the only one who could calm her down. She adored her little sister.’
‘Where is she now? Has she got Dylan?’ I demand impatiently.
‘We tried to ignore it,’ she continues. ‘We hoped that she would grow out of it. But then after Daisy died, she became worse. She blamed Doug and me for what happened. And she was right. We were to blame. We had a party that night, the night Daisy died. It went on into the early hours of the morning. We let the kids stay up and nobody noticed when Daisy wandered off.’
‘And your son. What about your son?’ I ask, remembering the photo in Doug Foster’s house.
‘My son blamed us too. He left when he was sixteen. We haven’t seen him for years. After he left, I had a huge fight with Beth.’ There’s a pause. ‘That’s how I ended up in this chair.’
‘What?’ I say, stunned and appalled. ‘She did that to you. How?’
‘It was an accident. We were screaming at each other. We tussled and I fell down the stairs. We covered up for her, of course, and told everyone that I tripped.’
‘Is that why you gave my description to the police? To cover up for her?’
She moves her head slightly. ‘It was her idea. She showed me a photo of you online – your author page – and told me to tell the police I’d seen you that night. I didn’t want to at first, but then I thought there was a certain poetic justice to it. You escaped without punishment for one murder. I thought it made sense for you to take the blame for another.’
‘And the man you said you saw visiting Charlie – you made that up?’ I say, thinking aloud.
‘Yes, that was to deflect attention away from Beth. It was all to protect her. You’ll do anything for your children.’
It’s true. I’ll do anything to get Dylan back unharmed. I would rip out my own heart or strangle this helpless old woman in front of me if I thought it would help.
‘Has she got Dylan?’ I repeat. I’m even more terrified that he’s in danger now I’ve heard Meg’s story. If Daisy’s sister was capable of injuring her mother so seriously, what else is she capable of?
‘Will she hurt him?’ I ask. My voice cracks.
There’s a pause. ‘No, I don’t think so. She’s not a bad person. Not really. Whatever you might think. What happened to me was an accident. She didn’t mean to hurt me.’
Not a bad person? How can Meg be so deluded? What about what she did to Charlie?’ But I don’t have time to argue.
‘Where is he?’ I entreat. ‘You must tell me.’
‘I’m sorry, I honestly don’t know, but I’ll phone her. I can talk her round. She must know she’s gone too far.’
‘No, don’t. Please don’t. Promise me,’ I blurt. I don’t want Meg warning her that I know – alerting her to the fact that I’m coming. ‘Just tell me where she lives, please.’
Meg seems to consider, then to my relief, she agrees. ‘This is only to help your son,’ she says. ‘I don’t care about you.’ She gives me a local address in an estate on the other side of town and I scribble it down on the back of a receipt.
‘Wait. You won’t hurt her, will you?’ Meg calls anxiously after me as I move towards the door. ‘Tell her I want to talk to her. Tell her to phone me. I can persuade her to hand over Dylan. There’s no need for any violence.’
Thirty-five
Ever since the accident, I’ve been a careful driver. Theo always used to complain about how slowly I drive and would make fun of me for getting stuck at junctions because I would always give way. He wouldn’t recognise my driving now as I roar up the hill to the edge of town and veer around the corner into Elm Grove estate, screeching to a halt outside a normal, modern, cookie-cutter house.
It’s surrounded by a plain, trimmed green lawn. There’s nothing to distinguish it from its neighbours and nothing separating it, except for a low wall, which stretches out a couple of metres.
There’s no car in the driveway, but the garage is closed, so there could be someone at home. A black cat runs up to me as I rush up the path. It meows plaintively and rubs its cheek against my leg
