They sounded close. Beth limped her way down what would once have been a vast corridor, past what remained of a grand staircase. Droplets of blood trailed behind her. She rounded a corner, and the walls opened out again. This part of the hotel was much more dilapidated than the rest. This must have been where the fire had hit the worst. Beth shivered as the damp air seemed to seep into her bones.
‘Daisy, Peter, I need you to shout. Where are you?’
‘Mummy!’
It sounded as if Daisy was right beside her.
She scanned the room. In a black corner was one of the few remaining doors. The roof was still standing above it. Beth crossed the chasm of the room to the doorway. The handle was long gone. Beth scratched at the frame. Someone had attached a padlock onto the door, holding it closed.
‘Mum, is that you?’
‘Yes. I’m here. Hold on!’
Beth glanced around the floor. A large chunk of masonry sat a few feet away. She grabbed it, whacking it down on the lock. The timber crumbled, the padlock shattered. Beth heaved the door open. The smell of decay filled her nostrils as she stared into the darkness. She could just about make out two shapes in the corner.
‘Mummy!’ Daisy cried.
‘It’s okay. I’m here. Everything’s okay now, I promise.’
She rushed to her children, enveloping them both in her sore, bleeding arms.
‘But it’s not, is it?’ Peter’s voice wavered on the edge of tears. Beth glanced over her shoulder, assessing the distance she had travelled, wondering how much her son had heard.
‘It is, she’s gone. She can’t hurt us anymore.’ Beth sobbed as she grappled with the ropes tethering them to their chairs.
‘But the damage is done, isn’t it? Zoe is…’ Peter couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. He broke down, and Beth realised he’d heard more than she would have wanted.
‘Where’s Daddy? Is he okay?’
As Beth hugged her daughter, Peter pulled away.
‘You’re safe,’ she whispered, avoiding answering her daughter’s question.
‘Are we?’ She could hear bitterness in her son’s voice.
‘Yes. It’s over.’
And Beth hoped that was true.
60
A fresh start. Hopefully, the last one, but you never know.
Beth’s hair, dyed a vibrant flame red now, was cut shorter and pulled up in a bright yellow scarf, tied in a neat knot on top of her head. Two small, plastic, cherry-shaped earrings dangled playfully from her lobes, green and red projected onto her neck by a shaft of winter sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window.
She lifted a pile of books from a cardboard crate and placed them onto a shelf in the corner of the room.
Daisy was doing okay, all things considered. The kids were both finding it difficult to cope with everything. But they constantly amazed Beth with their resilience. Christmas would be challenging. But they would take each day as it came. There would be good times, and there would be bad. She was certain of that. Beth didn’t expect any of this would be easy. But she was a master of making the best of a situation.
Daisy was too young. She hadn’t been told the ins and outs of it all. Beth knew the day would come when she would hear the stories and make up her own mind. Until then, Beth would enjoy her time with her.
Peter was harder work. He refused to forgive her, would barely remain in the same room as her. He’d heard fragments of what unfolded at the hotel. Devastated that Beth had known about Zoe and hidden it from him. She had lost him, as she’d known she would all along. But at least he was alive. He blamed her for what had happened to Zoe.
He blamed her for Charlie’s death too.
And Beth supposed he was right to. This had all started with her.
Margot had not been able to let go of the wrongs that she perceived. She had tried so hard, but ultimately, she had given in to her hatred; her desire for revenge. A basic primal instinct.
Beth hadn’t changed her name this time. She didn’t want to lose the last part of Charlie she had left. Couldn’t do that to the kids, it wasn’t fair. But they moved away. Away from Brighton, the place she had called home for longer than anywhere else in her life. The only life her children had ever known. There was no choice.
People treated them differently after the tragedy at the hotel.
They would never let Beth just be Beth. There was always that questioning look in their eyes. And so she had done what she did best. She had run away and started again.
She placed the last of the volumes onto a shelf, returning to the box on the floor in the middle of the room. Pulling out one of Charlie’s sweaters that had been wrapped around a vase, she held it close to her face. His smell enveloped her, swirled around her head, and for a moment, she thought the grief might consume her again.
She wanted to seal that fragrance in, keep it forever. She never wanted to forget.
And a sadness and longing that she suspected would never leave her, filled her heart. She smiled wistfully. The loss of Charlie along with the death of her mother had been catastrophic. She had not seen her for years, it was too dangerous, but they spoke on the phone when they could.
So many lives lost on Beth’s conscience.
Crying had never come naturally to her. She had learned to fake it over the years. It was what people expected.
Each day she tried to look for a new reason to carry on. One good thing in her world. Sometimes it was almost impossible, but then she only had to look at Daisy. Hear her giggle as she chased the new puppy around the garden. And there she found her good thing. Leaving her was not an option.
And so she went through the motions. Pretended to smile, laugh, and cry. She would chat to
