It hadn’t felt like much more than a low punch to her back when she landed. Sophie guessed she was badly injured, though, when she couldn’t raise herself. It was as if she’d been stapled to the floor. She knew she was in deep trouble when, straining her neck, she saw the telltale crimson stain flowering beneath her. She must have landed on some sharp piece of debris, broken glass possibly – ironically.
Claire would undoubtedly be delighted, knowing she’d won. That she would have her inheritance and carry on living her perfect little life with her perfect man and her perfect daughter. Her claim to have known who Sophie was all along was interesting. She was no doubt congratulating herself on her cleverness at having worked it all out. Not quite clever enough, Claire. You really should make sure you’re one hundred per cent certain of the people you invite into your life. Gulping back the warm, salty taste in her mouth, Sophie watched as she descended the stairs, the look in her eyes one of absolute fear. That’s right, sweetie, she silently urged her. Keep that gaze fixed firmly on me.
‘Where’s Ella?’ Claire begged, dropping to her knees at her side.
Sophie furrowed her brow as if thinking, and then, ‘I can’t quite remember,’ she said, a mocking smile curving her mouth.
‘You sick bitch.’ Claire moved her hands to her shoulders and pressed down hard, causing excruciating pain to rip through her. ‘You would never have been part of this family,’ she hissed, leaning closer, her face a breath away from Sophie’s, her eyes burning with hatred. ‘You’re not wanted. You never were, not by my father, not even by your own mother.’
Sophie didn’t answer, wincing instead as the woman who pretended to be oh-so-caring applied a little more pressure.
‘Your whore mother’s affair with my father killed my mother!’ Claire pressed still harder. ‘You robbed me of my childhood, my memories. I won’t let you take my daughter from me. Did you honestly think I would let you steal what was mine?’
Intolerable though the pain now was, Sophie focused, fixing her gaze on Claire’s. Claire looked shocked when she laughed, spattering her white vest top with rich red speckles of blood. ‘No, sweetie,’ Sophie managed, with effort. ‘I think you’ll find it was your darling mother who was the murderer. It was her who struck the match that caused the fireball that killed my mother.’
Claire pulled back, blinking uncomprehendingly for a second, and then, ‘Liar!’ she spat.
‘Bernard was trying to protect her,’ Sophie continued. ‘He’d followed her.’
She stopped, tried to draw breath past the wet gurgle that rose in her chest. Closing her eyes, she was transported back there, hurting and bewildered as she lay in the undergrowth. She heard it again, as clear as day: the second set of footsteps, sharper heels crunching on the gravel. The scraping sound, like the striking of a match against the side of a box. Once, twice… three times. Desperation constricting her throat, she tried to call out. And then clamped her mouth shut as a male voice yelled, ‘Jesus Christ! What the bloody hell have you done?’
‘It’s your fault, you bastard! You drove me to it!’ the woman screamed. ‘I told you to stop. I told you to end it!’
‘Go!’ the male voice roared. ‘Get back in the car!’
‘But what if someone sees me? I can’t just—’
‘For God’s sake, just get in the car. Go back the way you came. Now!’
Sophie forced her eyes open. She was struggling, but Claire had to know. ‘It was your father’s motorbike that was witnessed driving away from the accident…’ a sharp cough rattled through her, ‘not my father’s.’
Claire stared hard at her, her expression now one of stunned disbelief.
‘Jimmy’s my dad. Mum’s ex.’ Sophie smiled, a small smile of satisfaction. ‘He went to prison because of your mother. Your father died because of her – didn’t he, Claire? I wouldn’t want to be part of that family.’
Shifting her gaze, she looked past Claire. ‘Would you?’