by Zee Monodee
On giggles and a heated flush of contentment, they stepped out of the store, each with two additional pairs of shoes in the day’s shopping inventory. Margo didn’t need the new boots, but then again, who was keeping tabs? She’d never had so much fun in a shop before.
“Mum, I’m starving,” Emma said. “Can we get KFC? Please, please, please?”
KFC. Right. Head west again, over all the distance they’d already covered. Her feet wouldn’t be up to it, and neither would her arms, weighed down with bags. Yet, how could she deny Emma the treat? She’d bring down the moon and hand it over right then, if the girl asked for it.
“Let’s go,” she said with another sigh.
Emma squealed as she jumped up and down.
Twelve she may be—but she was still a little girl. Margo’s little girl.
They made it past Duke Street, heading over to cross Orchard Street. While they strolled in front of the wide expanse of Selfridges on the block, someone called out.
“Margo, wait!”
That voice. No, it couldn’t be ... Dread balled up inside her, and she froze.
“I knew it was my two favourite ladies,” Robbie hollered. “Good gads, have you raided all the shops or what?”
I used my money, not yours, she wanted to hurl in reply to the reproach in his words. Robbie and his parents might be rich, but they had tight-purse, avaricious ways. She didn’t want him to think she had touched one penny of his blood money.
“Robbie,” she acknowledged with a clipped tone.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Emma drawing closer to her, and she frowned. The girl couldn’t be afraid of him, could she?
“Margo, dah-ling. What a pleasant surprise.”
The syrupy voice made her nauseous. In the past, too, every time Judi Barnes addressed her, she had wanted to vomit. When her parents had been alive, they’d spent every holiday and weekend in the Barnes’ company.
“Aunt Judi.”
She forced the name through clenched teeth. Must be why Emma had recoiled. Judi Barnes struck anyone as scary, in the smiling but cold, kitchen-knife-wielding-psychopath way.
“You must be Emma, my granddaughter.” Judi didn’t wait for an answer. “She looks so much like you, Robbie.”
Bollocks. Apart from the grey eyes, Emma was Cora’s spitting image.
“Really shameful of you, Margo, dear. You haven’t been in touch for so long.”
By choice, and necessity.
She forced a smile. “You know how it is. Life gets busy.”
“Well, I hope you won’t be too busy to bring my granddaughter over to the house soon. Garth will appreciate meeting her.”
Yeah, right. Twelve years had gone by—where had they been they all that time, doting grandparents that they supposedly were? Even if Robbie had kept them in the dark, it wasn’t within their rights to demand visitation and family privileges now.
Still, she reined in her temper. It never paid to argue with the likes of Judi Barnes. She should just give the woman what she wanted and be done with it. “I shall try to arrange something.”
“Splendid.” Judi clasped her hands together.
In all that time, Robbie hadn’t put in a word. True enough, Judi allowed no one, except her husband, to run her over, but still, was he a teenager whom one kept under wraps, or a self-sufficient, forty-three-year-old man?
“So we shall see you soon then, my dears,” the older woman said with a smile that didn’t touch her steely eyes. “Robbie.”
She called him to heel, and damn if the man didn’t fall in line like an obedient puppy.
Mother and son traipsed back into Selfridges, leaving Margo and Emma alone on the pavement.
Margo breathed out a sigh.
“She’s scary,” Emma said.
“Yes, I know.” A shiver travelled down her spine.
“Do I really have to go to their place?”
“Not if you don’t want to, luv.”
“Great. She reminds me of the White Witch.”
“Me, too.” She’d bestowed the same title on the woman after reading the first book in The Chronicles of Narnia.
But they had more joyful things to consider. She shrugged off the disturbing, malevolent shroud any encounter with Judi Barnes always brought on. “I want fried chicken and chips. How about you?”
If Margo had her way, Emma would never set foot in the Barnes’ household.
***
A few days later, a phone call put her resolve to the test.
“Robbie, we agreed you can come see her. Here, at my house. Not for you to take her away on trips,” she said once again into the phone.
“Come on, Margo. It’s for my father. Just one afternoon.”
“I’m not convinced it’s the right thing for her.”
“He’s sick and old, and he wishes to know his only grandchild. You can’t deny him that, especially not on the day he turns seventy.”
“Listen, I can’t promise you anything. I’ll think about it.” She cut the call and dumped the mobile on her desk.
Damn it, she hadn’t wanted any of that to happen. She should’ve said no, sent Robbie scurrying to where he’d come from, when he’d showed his face at her door.
Then Emma wouldn’t know her father had attempted to get in touch with her. What if the girl found out later, and held Margo responsible for all the years she’d been denied his presence?
No, she had no intention of being the ‘sick witch’ in the story when Emma grew up.
This meant she had to put up with such happenings, even knowing Judi Barnes’ flair for theatrics.
What should she do? Bear the brunt of the old woman’s glacial reproach if she never took Emma over?
Preferable to sending her daughter out into the lion’s den. A big difference stood between letting Emma get to know her father and becoming part of his family.
To who could she turn for advice? Jamie?
She closed her eyes and rested her head back in her executive chair.
For all they’d signed the peace agreement, things hadn’t exactly settled right between them. Strained tension crackled in the air when they got together. Their words sounded polite, stilted. None of the easy camaraderie of before jumped up between them.
What a mess she had made. True, Jamie still talked to her, but did that offer any consolation? In opening the door to Robbie, she’d pushed Jamie away, and welcomed Judi Barnes in. Talk of a fiasco.
She heaved a sigh. She had no way out—the sooner she introduced Emma to Garth Barnes, the better. Because, only then would she be able to ward off any further contact between their two families.
***
A few days later, Margo and Emma found themselves in the chilly, cavernous, marbled lobby of the Barnes’ household in Hampstead.
Exactly as she remembered it.
She travelled her gaze over the ornate paintings on the wall, the grainy appearance of the canvases proclaiming ‘not a reproduction but the real deal.’ Everything echoed money—the crystal chandelier that resembled dripping diamonds, the intricate plaster cornices, the gleaming Italian marble floor, and the Louis XIV table with the Baccarat crystal bowl and its floating roses, cut every day from the Barnes’ garden.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Emma said in a hushed tone.
“Me, too.” She clenched the girl’s hand in reassurance.
Neither one of them wanted to be here. However, she had explained to Emma how one visit would prove necessary, so they could bail out in the future. Her daughter had understood, and the feeling that they’d set out as partners in crime buoyed Margo, infused her with a sense of determination.
Robbie and Judi greeted and escorted them to the conservatory for lunch.
Margo’s step faltered when she caught sight of the frail old man in a wheelchair at the table.
She gasped. That surely couldn’t be Garth Barnes. She remembered him as a strapping man, broader in stature than his son, despite the age differe
nce. The gnarled silhouette in the chair wouldn’t top Emma by a foot, and appeared thinner than the girl.
He peered in their direction, formerly deep blue eyes washed out to a pale flicker in an emaciated face.
“Margo,” he said with a smile.
His voice sounded just the same. Some things didn’t change, thank goodness.
His gaze travelled to Emma.
“You, little lady, must be Robbie’s daughter.” He looked her up and down. “For once in his life, I reckon he’s done a good thing. I had started to despair.”
A smile twitched at Margo’s mouth. Garth might be physically diminished, but his mind had lost none of its scathing bluntness.
They all settled at the table, Emma at the old man’s right side. As always when in her husband’s presence, Judi Barnes lost her formidable streak. Lunch turned out a pleasant affair, punctuated by the old man’s wit and ironic bent. Margo chuckled throughout the meal, recalling how she’d survived similar events with the combined Barnes and Nolans. Garth’s candour had helped a great deal.
Garth increasingly angled his head towards Emma throughout the meal. The girl also lost her reserve, and conversed in an animated manner with her newfound grandfather.
Then Margo’s cell phone rang. Nothing positive awaited her at the other end of the line. Good thing they’d finished lunch. She could drop Emma home and head to the lab. She excused herself and got up to answer the call.
“Robbie,” she said, after she’d cut the call and returned to the table. “I’m sorry, we need to leave. I’ve been called at work.”
“Seriously, dear,” Judi said. “Do they expect you to drop everything, just like that?”
She forced a tight smile. “Unfortunately, yes.”
The older woman gasped. “Then how do you look after our granddaughter?”
“She has a nanny.” Don’t blow your top off.
“I do hope the woman is reliable.”
“She is.” She turned to Emma. “Better go grab your coat, luv.”
“Can’t she stay a little longer, Margo?” Garth asked.
She heard the hope in the old man’s voice, something that didn’t seem to feature big in his life lately. How sick was he, really? It pained her to imagine her godfather might be in a terminal stage—but she couldn’t kid herself his prognosis allowed for full recovery, given his appearance.
Emma gave her a slight nod, a silent request asking to stay. The girl might hate the grandmother with a vengeance; she, however, held the grandfather in growing fondness.
“Okay,” she said. “I need to get going. Robbie, a word with you.”
He accompanied her to the front door, the porch swathed in darkness when she stepped out. Heavy grey clouds covered the sky—then, too, nothing strange in London.
Turning to Robbie, she stared him straight in the face. “Have her home by three o’clock. Not a minute later.”
With that, she dashed to her Q5 and set out for the lab. Lord knew she wouldn’t live for the next two hours. Robbie better not let anything happen to the girl, or he’d have to answer to her.
***
“Margo, are you coming or not?”
The command, spoken over the intercom, startled her. She swiped her finger across the cell phone’s screen and cursed the device as she sent it flying across the table.
Damn signal that disappeared near the autopsy room. Already three o’clock; Emma should be home. Margo couldn’t reach anyone, and that drove her crazy.
“Dr. Nolan,” William said again in a clipped tone.
Across the glass, his face bore tell-tale marks of impatience. She signalled she would join them soon and exited the room where police officers could watch the autopsies without being bothered by the smell.
“Everything okay?” he asked when she rushed in.
“Fine.”
Right. As if. She stayed worried out of her mind that her daughter hadn’t reached home yet, and to top it all, the sight of the lifeless body on the gurney made her sick.
She had never thrown up in all her time in an autopsy room. Today, she didn’t think she could keep it in. Their victim, a young girl—the killer’s latest prey—bore a striking resemblance to Emma.
She had no idea how the following hours passed. Somehow, she managed to click onto automatic pilot and get through the process. William had taken over the case, ever since the police had confirmed the maniac to be a serial killer. William’s status, as head of the lab, meant he stepped up to conduct high-profile autopsies. She assisted him and confirmed his findings in such situations.
On the way out of the room, she couldn’t keep her stomach on hold any longer, and threw up in a bucket near the door. She didn’t pause to check if anyone noticed, but dashed out of the long, sterile corridors towards her office. To hell with shame—she’d done her job, so she could get out of here.
She tried her phone again, and groaned at the ‘no signal’ sign that blinked on the screen. Once in her office, she reached for the desk phone and tried Emma’s cell. The mobile rang and rang, the girl not picking up.
Damn it, Em. Where are you?
She had to get home. Tugging on her coat, she then grabbed her bag and left. On the doorstep of the lab, she paused. It rained cats and dogs outside, with visibility near zero.
Who cared? She had more important matters at stake. She needed to see Emma, know she was well.
Know she was alive.
Her body shook as she ran to the car. In seconds, the rain had soaked her. The tremors intensified once in the Q5, and she blamed them on the cold gales. She couldn’t contemplate— No, don’t even think about it.
Even with the wipers on full force, she still saw nothing through the windshield.
Lord knew how she got home in one piece. She scrambled to get out of the vehicle and couldn’t move the stodgy key that refused to shut the car down and come out of the ignition when she pulled.
She left it in the vehicle and raced to her front porch, to find the door locked. She struggled with the keys, her fingers refusing to obey her brain, trying to get the right one to fit.
She tore through the empty house with trepidation beating higher in every pulse. She couldn’t find Emma anywhere. Past six o’clock. Still no damn signal on the phone.
Even Polina’s studio lay empty, the nanny not home. Could she have taken Emma out? Why hadn’t she said anything? They didn’t have a landline, so with Margo’s cell out of order, she remained stranded, without access to information.
Jamie would have a phone. And what if Emma had sought refuge next door?
The storm raged outside. Margo didn’t think twice about braving it to reach the house’s other porch, where she beat upon the door with fisted hands.
When Jamie opened, she ducked in. “Tell me Emma is here.”
“Margo, is everything all right?”
“Is she here?” Her voice rose. “I can’t find her anywhere, can’t reach her—”
“Calm down. She’s fine.”
“She’s with you?”
“No. She’s with Robbie—”
“Then how can she be okay? He had to bring her home at three.”
He grabbed hold of her shoulders. “Blimey, you’re soaked through.”
He stepped closer to her and lowered his face, until he could peer into her eyes.
“I spoke to her a little while ago. When she couldn’t reach you or Polina, she called me. Because of the storm, they can’t make it back.” He shook his head. “For God’s sake, Margo. You drove in that rain?”
The chills took hold again, and she didn’t fight them. “I had to know she’s alive, Jamie. I just had to.”
“You’re not making sense here. Of course Emma’s alive.”
She couldn’t bear the patience in his voice. He didn’t know, couldn’t know, what ordeal she’d been through, to see that girl’s body sprawled on the metal table. Every time she had looked at her face, Emma’s had superimposed itself on the cadaver’s. When she�
��d stared into the lifeless brown eyes, her professional self had confirmed the presence of petechiae in the conjunctivae, while the mother in her had sent silent thanks she didn’t stare at steel-grey irises.
A sob choked in her throat, and she didn’t conceal the sound. Who cared if she broke down? She needed to talk to her little girl, reassure herself Emma was still alive.
“Margo.” Jamie released her shoulders. He reached into his jeans pocket and retrieved his phone. After dialling a number, he waited for the caller to pick up.
“Em, your mum’s here. She’s worried sick. Talk to her.”
She grabbed the phone when he pressed it to her ear.
“Emma?” Her voice came out in a croak. “You okay, baby?”
“I’m fine, Mum.”
Lord, how she welcomed the sound of that voice. Static sizzled over the line, and she thought they’d been disconnected. “Em?”
“Losing connection, Mum. I’m coming home as soon as the storm lets—”
The line went dead. “Emma, wait.”
“What happened?” Jamie asked.
He withdrew the phone.
No! She needed to talk to her daughter. Margo lashed out and grabbed his hand, trying to wrestle the device from his grip.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.
“I have to keep her on the line—”
“That’s nonsense. You heard her. She’s fine.”
“You don’t understand. It could’ve been her.”
“What?”
“The girl this maniac just killed. She ... she ...”
Sobs racked through her words and prevented her from talking further. Suddenly, she found herself crying, hot tears on her cheeks.
“Margo.” He pulled her into his arms.
She went to him like a limp rag doll, grateful for his arms around her.