Forty-six  

31 October 6:10 a.m.
low tide

I can’t believe that Trixie shot Rose, but I saw her holding the gun in her hands before running up the stairs. I don’t understand anything that is happening, but I am afraid, and even more confused than before. I try to remember what I was like when I was fifteen years old, but I can’t imagine what on earth must be going through my niece’s mind right now. My mind is blank. A child I thought I knew so well that she could have been my own is really a stranger to me. A dangerous one.

The house is eerily silent as I head upstairs, one step at a time. Even they don’t creak. I find Trixie in her bedroom, but she isn’t crying or curled up in the corner as I thought she might be. Instead my niece is searching for something in her little pink suitcase.

‘Hello, Aunty Daisy,’ she says, looking up as I enter the room.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

‘Getting dressed,’ she replies, as though it was a ridiculous question. ‘Can’t stay in my PJs all day long when we have so much to do.’

She’s still crying. I wonder whether she is suffering from some form of post-traumatic stress. Maybe she shot Rose by accident, we were all so scared. Then I remember the sleeping pills, and wonder whether this might be a terrible reaction to the drugs Lily gave her.

‘Your mum . . . she put some pills in your drink earlier. Trying to help you sleep . . .’

‘I know, it’s not the first time my own mother tried to drug me. I didn’t drink the tea. I tipped it into a potted plant in the lounge when none of you were looking,’ Trixie replies, unfolding some clothes and laying an outfit on the bed. Right next to the gun she shot Rose with.

‘Do you remember what you just did?’ I ask very slowly.

‘You are funny, Aunty Daisy. I’m not the one who has trouble remembering things,’ she says. Her tears have stopped.

One Mississippi . . . 

‘What does that mean?’ I ask.

‘You always do this . . . forget what really happened,’ she replies, with a strange look of pity on her face. I don’t understand anything she is saying.

Two Mississippi . . . 

‘Are you telling me that you didn’t kill Rose and the rest of the family?’ I ask, desperate for there to be some other explanation.

‘Of course I didn’t . . .’ Trixie starts to say, and I feel a brief moment of relief. Maybe this is just a bad dream and I’ll wake up soon. But it isn’t. ‘I couldn’t possibly have killed them all by myself. I had help.’

I feel dizzy and strange.

‘What are you talking about?’ I ask, losing my temper. ‘What have you done? Why would you murder the whole family? And why didn’t you kill me too?’

Three Mississippi . . . 

‘Stop being silly, Aunty Daisy. I couldn’t kill you because you’re already dead.’