Gardner was woken on the sofa by her mobile.
Unbelievably, she was still holding a glass of wine. She must have only just drifted off or that would be all over her!
Disorientated, she put the glass on the coffee table, glanced at her watch – almost eleven – and reached for her mobile. She’d been expecting a call from Yorke this evening and was disappointed to see it wasn’t him. The number was unknown.
‘Hello?’
‘Emma.’
She bolted upright, no longer disorientated. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
‘Emma, are you there?’
Her stomach turned somersaults. She took the phone from her ear and looked down at it with widening eyes, tempted to throw it at the wall.
‘Emma, are you there?’
She could still hear him.
‘It’s Jack… Emma… it’s—’
‘I know who it is,’ she said, putting the phone to her ear. ‘How did you get this number?’
‘You gave it me. Years ago. Before.’
She nodded, realising she must have had this number for over ten years. Time flew.
She rose to her feet. ‘What do you want, Jack?’
‘To see you.’
‘Why?’
‘You’re my family. My only family.’
‘You never cared about family.’ You never cared about anything, actually. Anything at all.
He didn’t reply. Did her words hurt? No, don’t be ridiculous.
‘I’ve changed,’ he said, eventually.
Impossible. You can’t change. ‘I’m not interested.’
‘Please, Emma, I’m your brother—’
‘You’re a murderer.’
Another long pause. ‘It was an accident. I’ve paid my debt. I’m different now.’
Bollocks. ‘Look, Jack, if this is true, I’m happy for you. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than you finding some peace. But I’m busy right now, with work, something big.’
‘What’re you saying, Emma?’
‘I can’t do this right now.’ Or ever to be honest.
‘Surely we owe it to Mum and Dad, to put this behind us, to move on—’
You never gave a shit about them! ‘Jack, I’m going to go now.’
‘Aren’t you even going to ask me where I am? What I’m doing?’
You’re in a halfway house – Yorke has already told me. ‘Goodnight, Jack.’
‘How’s my niece? How’s Anabelle?’
Gardner hung up. She could feel her heartbeat through her entire body. She stared at the phone as if it was a dangerous weapon. With trembling hands, she blocked the number.
It wouldn’t make any difference. If he wanted to call again, he’d use another phone.
She’d have to change her number.
How’s my niece?
How’s Anabelle?
She threw the phone down on the table as if it was contaminated and reached for the glass of wine that had almost ended up down her front.
She drank it back and emptied the rest of the bottle into the glass.
How’s my niece?
She stared at the mobile phone, lost in disbelief.
How’s Anabelle?
She reached over and grabbed her mobile. She switched it off. She drank the rest of the glass and slumped back.
How’s my niece?
She dreamed about Malcolm’s Maze of Mirrors and a fractured skull.
And, all the while, in the background, in a deep, grating voice:
How’s my niece?
How’s Anabelle?