There’s a noise from the landing. The quiet ping of the lift as it announces its arrival. I look at Mum, but her eyes are fixed on the door.
“Who is it?” I whisper, but she doesn’t answer.
Could it be the police?
Mark would have called them as soon as we left Eastbourne; they know we’re here. And now that they’ve found Dad’s body, they must know what she did—they must realize whom I’m with . . . I pin my hopes on Mark and Murray, on them adding two and two and making four.
“Open the door. I know you’re in here.”
The rush of relief makes me so heady I almost laugh. Not the police, but the next best thing.
Mum doesn’t move, but I do. I’ve been stupid. The driver of the black Mitsubishi Shogun wasn’t chasing us, but was trying to make Mum stop. I run to the door and yank it open, because suddenly we’re two against one and I feel invincible.
“Thank God you’re here.”
I’m braced for attack from behind, not in front. It catches me square in the chest and forces me backward, and I just manage to hold Ella aloft as I trip and land on the floor. I let out a moan. My head is trying to catch up with what my eyes are telling me is happening.
This is no rescue.
Laura shuts the front door and bolts it. She’s wearing skinny black jeans with high heels and a shimmery top, dressed for a party she won’t be attending. Our New Year’s Eve party. Her hair falls in loose curls around her shoulders and her eyes smolder with glittery grays and greens. She ignores me, directing her anger at Mum, who is backing slowly away toward the balcony.
“You double-crossing bitch.”