by Susan Lewis
After parking in the multistory garage close to the marina, she crossed the busy main road and headed into the old town’s pedestrian area. Here the streets were cobbled and crooked, with quaint Dickensian-style shopfronts, quirky restaurants, and plenty of cafés with bistro tables and umbrellas spilling out of their bifold doors onto plant-studded courtyards. It was the part of town Daisy had always loved to come to with her friends, and where Jules and Kian had enjoyed many nights out too—and where, tonight, Amelia was “meeting up with the girls” at Fruit of the Vine wine bar.
Jules knew this because she’d begun visiting Amelia’s Facebook page. She’d discovered that Amelia was using it to make public just about everything she was doing. Manicure at K’s Tue 3 pm; hair at Jessica’s Wed 5 pm; Ollie back from London tonight, going to movie, Fifty Shades of Grey, anyone seen it yet? Party at Mel’s, what’s everyone wearing? Anyone fancy some shopping tomorrow?
To read her entries anyone would think she was like any other girl of her age, mostly interested in herself, her boyfriend, and having a good time. There was nothing about being a killer, or a person of no conscience, or someone who’d carry out a deadly revenge if anyone wronged her.
Jules had started to wonder if Amelia was advertising her movements on Facebook especially for her benefit. Though the girl’s warped mind was impossible to read, it seemed like the perverse kind of thing she’d do, either wanting to rub Jules’s face in the fact that Daisy could no longer do these things or to taunt Jules into following her.
So far Jules had done no more than walk into the nail bar a few minutes after Amelia to make an appointment of her own. Since she hadn’t glanced Amelia’s way it wasn’t possible to know if Amelia had spotted her, but Jules liked to think she had. Later she’d rung to cancel the appointment, making the call while waiting for a “friend” outside the cinema that was showing Fifty Shades of Grey.
Although Amelia hadn’t taken long to spot her under the hanging flower baskets at the center of the plaza, she’d quickly turned away and gazed laughingly up into her boyfriend’s eyes while clinging to his arm. Oh, she’s so happy and in love, and with her whole lovely, privileged life unrolling like a carpet of fresh, vibrant daisies in front of her.
She apparently chose not to be aware of the mutterings around her, some of them so loud that even Jules, standing fifty feet away, could hear them: There she is, over there. The one who killed Daisy Bright. I don’t know how she’s got the nerve to show her face around here. Hope she’s not sitting anywhere near us; we’ll have to move if she does.
Of course Jules was recognized too; at least a dozen old friends came up to ask how she was and to say how good it was to see her out and about, as if this were the first time they’d seen her since Daisy’s murder. For some it was. No one mentioned Amelia, clearly not wanting to bring Jules’s attention to the fact that her daughter’s killer was in the vicinity; a couple even tried to persuade her to abandon her plans for the film and go and have a drink with them.
Declining the offer, she simply went home, and after she and Stephie had finished watching the start of a new drama series on TV, she’d made a last check of the day on Amelia’s Facebook page. Finding nothing new, she closed down her laptop and took herself to bed and the gruesomely vivid dreams she’d been having lately about Amelia Quentin.
A lot of blood, sweet revenge, and endless tears.
Now, as Jules pushed through the crowd of youngsters outside Fruit of the Vine, she was looking around for Amelia and saw her almost immediately, sitting on a stool at the bar, surrounded by a gaggle of her ex-con girlfriends. Had she been interested, Jules might have noticed their cheap spray tans, tattoos, piercings, and mega-lashes, but she wasn’t looking at them. She was staring straight at Amelia, who was swaying around on her stool while waving her glass in the air and slurring something that Jules couldn’t hear, although it seemed to be some sort of toast.
Maybe this was the first time Amelia had ever been the real center of attention. Did she realize they were probably more interested in her money than they were in her?
It didn’t take long for one of the friends to notice Jules, and after treating her to a long, slit-eyed look up and down she dug Amelia in the ribs and nodded Jules’s way. Amelia peered over her shoulder, seeming vaguely irritated until, realizing who was watching her, she turned right around on her stool and met Jules’s stare.
Her eyes were mocking, challenging, and narrowed with interest.
Having achieved what she’d come for, Jules broke the stare and left.
—
The forecasted storm started around ten that night, long after Jules had returned home, and was still battering the windows by the time she went to bed at eleven. Unable to sleep, she lay in the darkness listening to the frantic clanging of the wind chimes Stephie had brought back from Thailand as fierce gusts swung them wildly to and fro.
Stephie had texted earlier to say that she was feeling a bit down after her visit with Dean, although she’d tried not to show it while she was there.
Saw Mrs. Foggarty, but Mr. F. was away on some sort of retreat. She looks terrible. Hard talking to her. Apparently he’s in an even worse state. Feel desperately sorry for them. Driving to Heathrow now. No idea what I’m going to do with myself until Joe’s flight gets in but I guess I’ll find something. How’s everything your end? Sxxx
Everything’s fine here, Jules had texted back. Sad that seeing Dean upset you. Thinking of him where he is upsets me too. I can imagine what it’s doing to his parents. We’ll talk when you get home. Jx
Poor Stephie had lost her two closest friends thanks to Amelia, and was still, three years on, struggling to find her way without them. She was directionless and lonely, and though not exactly friendless, she still hadn’t connected with anyone who was coming close to filling the void left by Daisy and Dean.
Turning onto her side, Jules continued to stare into the darkness, thinking about Dean and how wrong it was that he was still in prison while Amelia had been allowed to go free. Was there anything she could do about that? Maybe his parents already had it in hand. If they did, she hoped it was with lawyers, because she didn’t imagine that God held much sway with the parole board.
It wasn’t long before her head was spinning with so many fears and worries that she wasn’t sure at first if the banging she heard downstairs was real or something she’d imagined.
Was someone knocking at the door?
Her heart tightened with alarm as the banging started again.
It was definitely someone at the door, but who on earth could it be at this time of night?
Throwing back the sheet, she moved silently through the darkness into Stephie’s room and peered down to the garden and pull-in drive. There was no moon, but a nearby street lamp was casting a grayish glow over her car and what little she could see of the porch. There was no sign of anyone, but the wind chimes had stopped, she realized, so either they’d fallen or someone had taken them down.
Concerned that they’d been annoying a neighbor who’d come to complain, she ran downstairs, ready to apologize. As she reached the front door she jumped violently as someone banged on the back door.
Quickly moving through to the kitchen, she shouted, “Who is it?”
The only reply was a rowdy blast of wind that sent a dustbin crashing to the ground.
“Who is it?” she called out again.
Still no answer.
“Danny?” she shouted, knowing it wouldn’t be him, but needing it to be.
No more knocking. No footsteps either.
She stayed where she was, between the hall and kitchen, hands clenched tightly together as she listened, waited, and prayed that whoever it was had gone away.
Surely to God it couldn’t be Amelia?
Maybe her ex-con friends were helping her to play a sick joke.
Minutes ticked by.
Knowing she couldn’t return to bed until she’d checked there was no one outside, she moved car
efully toward the dining room window, inched back a curtain…and almost screamed as a face loomed toward her.
Belatedly realizing it was her reflection, she pressed a hand to her chest and wondered if she should phone Danny.
She continued to wait in the darkness, trying to hear the sound of movements or voices above the storm.
Nothing happened, until suddenly the letter box creaked open.
She spun round.
“Jules?” a voice whispered down the hall.
Horrified, Jules took a step back. “Who is it?” she shouted, praying Stephie had come home unexpectedly and had lost her keys.
“It’s me, Amelia. Can I come in?”
Shocked into silence, Jules stayed where she was. Amelia Quentin is here, in the dead of night, asking to be let in? Is she completely out of her mind?
Didn’t she already know the answer to that?
“Jules. I’m soaked right through and I need to talk to you.”
“Go away,” Jules shouted. “I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve…”
“I promise I won’t stay long.”
“Go right now or I’m calling the police.”
“You don’t understand. I know you think I mean you harm, but I swear I don’t. I just want to talk.”
“I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”
“I know you hate me, and I don’t blame you, but if we could just talk…Five minutes. I promise I won’t stay any longer.”
“You have to be crazy if you think—”
“But you want to talk to me, I know you do.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“So why are you following me?”
Jules felt the air leave her lungs. The only answer she had for that was so complex and visceral that even she barely understood it.
“I think it’s because you see me as a connection to Daisy,” Amelia told her, still speaking through the letter box. “And I am, because no matter what, she will always bind us together.”
“Get out of here,” Jules seethed, “or I swear you’ll regret you ever—”
“I already regret everything, so you can’t make me regret any more.”
“You’re lying.”
“Jules, I’m soaked and freezing. Please let me in.”
Jules remained where she was.
More minutes ticked by. The letter box stayed open.
“How did you get here?” Jules shouted. “How do you even know where I live?”
“My car’s at the end of the street. I thought you were still living at the Mermaid; it’s why I went there the other day. I expected you to follow me in.”
“Answer the question. How did you find out where I live?”
“One of my friends is from the Temple Fields estate. She asked around over there and in the end someone told her.”
“Who told her?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t ask.”
Having no choice but to let that go, Jules said, “Do you realize the trouble you could be in for coming here, not only with the authorities but with Kian’s family?”
“No one will know unless you tell them.”
Shocked, Jules said, “I have no intention of keeping your secrets. You need to leave this minute and don’t even think about coming back.”
Amelia said nothing.
Jules waited.
The letter box closed.
Time passed. It was impossible to know what was going on outside without opening the door.
“Amelia?” Jules called out.
Nothing.
“Amelia, are you there?”
When there was still no response, Jules tiptoed into the sitting room to peer out of the window. No sign of anyone in the street, but the girl could have reached her car by now, or maybe she was still sheltering on the porch.
After waiting another few minutes Jules returned to the hall, checked that the chain was firmly in place, and cracked open the door.
“I’m still here,” Amelia told her.
Jules stared at her wildly, hardly knowing what she was feeling beyond shock and an overwhelming urge to commit a brutally violent act. How dare this girl come here? How does she have the nerve to stand there facing her victim’s mother as though she might actually be welcome?
Amelia shrugged, almost coyly. Her sodden hair was plastered to her skull, her face was streaked with mascara, and her dress was like tissue stuck to her skin. Were it anyone else, Jules would have hurried her inside to get dry; given who it was, all she could think about was the gun she should have allowed Danny to give her.
Amelia raised her hands to show they were empty. “No phone, no anything,” she said calmly. “Definitely no knife,” she added with a smile.
“For God’s sake—”
“Sorry, sorry, bad joke. I didn’t mean it.”
She really wasn’t like other people.
“What exactly do you want?” Jules demanded harshly.
“Just to talk,” Amelia replied. “I swear, nothing more than that.”
“Why on earth do you think I’d want to talk to you?”
“I guess because I was the last one to see her alive.”
Stunned, Jules cried, “Which is precisely why I don’t want you anywhere near me.” As she tried to slam the door, Amelia quickly jammed a foot in the way.
“Then why are you following me?” she challenged. “You do want to talk to me.”
“Get away from here,” Jules cut in savagely.
“I swear I’m not going to hurt you. If I did, I’d be straight back to prison, and I can promise you I have no intention of ever going back there.”
“You should never have been allowed out. You murdered my daughter. Anyone else would be serving a life sentence.”
“We don’t have to do this on the doorstep. If you’d just let me in…”
“In the middle of the night? Do you think I’m crazy? You’ve seen me outside your house enough times. You could have spoken to me then.”
“I wanted to, but Ollie kept saying you probably had a gun.”
Startled by that, Jules said, “Maybe he was right.”
Amelia let go of the door and it slammed hard. “I get that you’d probably like to kill me,” she shouted.
“There’s no probably involved,” Jules shouted back, “which is why you should go, right now.”
Amelia was still speaking. “It’s just that someone like you…It’s not who you are.”
“Don’t make assumptions, Amelia. We’re none of us who we used to be, thanks to you.”
“Can you accept that I might have changed too?”
“No, I can’t. I’ll never be able to do that.”
After a moment Amelia said, “If we’re going to carry on talking here, I think I’ll sit down.”
Flabbergasted, Jules waited before cracking open the door. To her amazement Amelia had dropped to the ground and crossed her legs.
“I haven’t agreed to talk,” Jules hissed. “There’s nothing you can say that will change anything.”
“I know that, and it’s not what I’m trying to do. I just want to explain to you how it was for me.”
“Do you seriously think I care how it was for you?”
Amelia’s head went down.
“All I care about is that you get yourself as far away from here as you possibly can and don’t ever come back. And I don’t only mean my house. I mean Kesterly.”
Amelia’s head stayed down, and moments later Jules realized she was crying. “No one ever wants to listen,” she sobbed. “It’s like I don’t matter to anyone.”
“Stop it!” Jules seethed furiously. “Self-pity isn’t going to work on me.”
Amelia’s head snapped up, her teary eyes flashing with temper. “Why is Daisy the only one who ever counts?” she cried. “I’ve got feelings too, but no one ever wants to think about that.”
“After what you did—”
“Let me tell you about it. Please. No one knows what
it was really like, because no one else was there.”
“What about Dean? Are you forgetting him? You tricked him into being there, just like you tricked Daisy, and now she’s dead and he’s in prison for something you did. That’s what happened to two innocent people who fell for your lies.”
“But I’m not lying now, I swear it. I just want to talk to you.”
But I’m not lying now? An admission that she had been before?
Jules slammed the door in her face.
“Jules, please,” Amelia begged. “It’s starting to rain again.”
Closing her eyes in frustration, Jules let her head fall back against the wall. She couldn’t let the girl in; it was crazy even to consider it. And yet they couldn’t stay here all night, talking through a closed door. She should just ignore her now, go back to bed and pretend she’d gone.
“I know you’re still there,” Amelia said softly.
Wondering if she was losing her mind, or even dreaming this madness, Jules stormed through to the kitchen, hid the knife block in a cupboard, and secreted the sharpest one in the table drawer. She thought of calling Andee. Even at this late hour Andee would want to know that Amelia had turned up. She’d tell her that under no circumstances should she let the girl in. She’d probably even send the police.
Was that what Jules wanted?
Danny would still be up, probably even out somewhere, but if she asked him to come…
Crazy as it was, she didn’t want Danny terrorizing Amelia—that was her right and privilege.
Minutes later, still hardly able to believe she was doing it, she let Amelia walk ahead of her into the kitchen, where she gave her towels and told her to sit down.
“Not there,” she barked, as Amelia went to sit in front of the table drawer. “Here.” She was pointing to the other side of the table, and kept an eye on Amelia as she did as she was told.
“You don’t have to be scared,” Amelia said, dabbing her face with a towel.