Is she alive or dead? I shouldn’t care. I hardly knew the girl. Still, I need to know, don’t I? I have to know. But I can’t ask anyone. Can’t look like I’m interested, like it’s anything to do with me. Best to just stay here, say nothing, do nothing, let it all blow over.

This will bring her home now, I’m sure. The actress. Wherever it is she’s been, she’ll come crawling out of the woodwork soon enough. There will be police everywhere, poking their noses in, asking questions. And she’ll be the centre of attention again. Acting out her part, as always.

Maybe I can do something to make it look like it was her. Using her key, coming in in the dark, thinking there was an intruder, bashing the girl over the head … It would get her arrested, locked up. Wouldn’t that be the perfect end to it all? But, even as I think it, I know it won’t happen that way. She wasn’t here. She’ll have some alibi. And she knew the girl was in there, had invited her. She had no reason to do it. Whereas I …

It’s quieter now the hullabaloo has died down. Having a real-life crime happen on your doorstep has a way of hushing people, stunning them into a shocked silence. Nobody goes out. Nobody comes in. Only the police, their radios whistling, their big boots tramping up the stairs. All I can hear in here is the clock ticking on the dresser. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

I should get rid of it. The weapon. Wipe her blood off it. Throw it in the river. But to do that I’d have to go out, and I can’t do that. They’ll work it out soon anyway, with or without it. I know they will. Who I am. Why I wanted her gone. It can only be a matter of time.

Chapter 35

PRUE

Faith sat in the one good armchair next to Prue’s bed, chewing her fingernails and staring, sightlessly, out of the fourth-floor window.

‘Hours! Hours they say she might have been lying there. I dread to think what might have happened if that neighbour hadn’t found her when she did. I mean, how long can a person survive like that, on their own, with no medical help? Oh, God, we could have lost her, Stu. We still could …’

‘It will be all right, love.’ Stuart perched on the edge of a red plastic stacking chair he’d dragged into the room from the corridor outside and reached for his wife’s hand. ‘The scan showed there’s no obvious brain injury. No need to worry yourself into a lather. She will be okay, I promise you.’

‘How can you do that? How can you possibly promise? Because you don’t know for sure, do you? Our daughter isn’t someone’s favourite pet or some prize farm animal you’re treating. It’s different when it’s a human being …’

‘Would you like me to go and find you a drink or something to eat? Or you take a break and I’ll sit here for a while.’