‘If I had called the social they would have taken Jess in, the Parks would never have got hold of her.’ Milton’s hands and shoulders shook and Blue held him firmly.
‘You didn’t do anything wrong; you loved her and looked after her,’ Blue said and she could still feel it, all the love for the young girl locked inside him. But Milton shook his head.
‘I did it for myself. I didn’t want to let her go. I didn’t want to lose her after losing Marie and I kept thinking that next week I’d call, then next week, and then one day it was too late. Marcus was dead, Jess was gone and no one knew a thing about her. Her school couldn’t do anything and social services were oblivious. The police thought she was a runaway and kept a file on her, but never looked, not really.
‘I promised my wife I’d look after her and I didn’t. The last thing I can do is make sure she’s found: I need the police to believe me. I’m going to make sure they get that photograph, even if it kills me.’
Blue let go of him then, unable to take any more. She was glad not to have her tarot cards, glad not to have the opportunity to read this old man’s fortune. She had a fair idea what his cards would predict.
Sabina showed no sign of waking. The curtains were drawn back and showed a night’s sky shrouded in cloud, a pale glow where the moon should hang. Milton wanted to go downstairs, into the apartment, take the photograph and hand it to the police, but if Mrs Park saw him Blue feared he wouldn’t stand a chance; she could knock him down and blame his weak legs, weak heart and he would die feeling a failure.
‘I can’t let you go,’ Blue said.
‘I won’t let you stop me,’ Milton said.
Blue crouched in front of him, and her turquoise eyes met his washed-out blues. ‘I’ll go,’ she said, though she didn’t want to. He opened his mouth to say no, but Blue nodded firmly and said it again, ‘I’ll go,’ and felt better about it this time.
A part of her wished Sabina could come with her. Another part of her knew she was always destined to do this alone. A notebook and pen were on the floor by Sabina’s bed, part of the generic welcome package. Blue wrote a note, her script scrawly from her trembling hand, the ink an incongruous dark green. The colour of tranquillity, health, abundance, Blue remembered, but so too the colour of greed, envy, the colour of one never satisfied. The note was short and to the point: Run away, the message said, don’t wait for me, run away and find help.
And don’t come back.
‘Give her this when she wakes up.’
Milton read it and concern washed over his face. ‘But you’ll come right back. You’ll get the photo and come right back?’
‘The Parks will probably be asleep by now,’ said Blue, but the reassurance was all for Milton. ‘I’ll dash in, grab the photo and go. This is just in case.’
‘In case they see you?’ The first trace of doubt crossed Milton’s face.
‘They’ll not see me. I’ll be fine.’
‘Thank you,’ Milton said, and his hands gripped her hands fiercely.
‘I’ll be fine,’ Blue said again, and wondered which of them needed that reassurance more.
The dead girl waited in the hallway outside. Blue knew she was there before she opened the door, before she made the decision to open the door, before she had even decided that she would leave the bedroom. Blue felt the certainty in her gut; the same certainty told her now that Jessica Pike would not leave her be until she had unearthed every truth from every corner.
The same certainty told Blue that it would not be so simple as dashing in and out of the apartment.
Jess blocked Blue’s path, thin-faced and angry with her child-sized fists curled tight at her sides. Blue ignored her. She kept her eyes to the ground and walked around the dead child. Jessica’s anger was inside her already; she didn’t need to face it again, wouldn’t let anything distract her from this path.
Fear burned at the corners of Blue’s eyes; there she was again at the foot of the stairs.
Jessica’s hands were still in fists.
And now, so were Blue’s.
She forged on through the main house, waded through the water that flooded the passageway, into the kitchen. The solid oak door gave no resistance. She hoped that when she reached it, the green varnished door would be as easy.
It wouldn’t be.
Molly Park stood in the kitchen, her back to the room, her face reflected in the window. The candles burned yellow.
‘Is Sabina asleep?’ The reflection of Molly Park spoke, and Blue felt that the reflection was the true woman, that everything she had hidden was revealed by the glass and Blue’s need to be polite, quiet, good melted at the sound of her friend’s name.
‘She’s unconscious, for Christ—’
‘She’ll rest well tonight. It’s so important for guests to be well-rested.’
A second shape lurked but Blue ignored it, refused to pay Jessica Pike any heed. She focused only on Molly Park’s broad back, her round hips, but not her face; her expression unnervingly pious.
‘You will have some too; you need to sleep more than any of us.’ She faced Blue, the mug of cool cocoa in her hand. It was the cup she had made for Blue, the one Blue hadn’t touched. Her hair was held back in the same Alice band she had worn the first day; the red tartan clashed with her fever-pink cheeks. ‘Sit down and drink,’ she said. ‘There’s a good girl.’
‘What did you give Sabina?’ Anger focused her, pinned her attention to Molly Park.
‘The same thing that I’m about to give you. Sit down.’ She placed the mug on the table, unbearably calm, and beckoned Blue to the chair.
Blue raised her hand, intent on swiping at the cup, but the shadow in the background moved swiftly, jack-knifed Blue’s arm behind her back.
‘Sit down,’ said Joshua Park.