While she is washing her hands I tidy the chairs and place the wire Julia had used to bind my arms in a drawer. Once all that is finished I go and stand beside Barbara’s body. I look at the perfectly styled blonde hair now stained with blood, the bejewelled hands balled into fists, and I remember the panic that had filled my entire body as I waded into the river that night. I’d looked back at her as she stood on the riverbank, her red coat a beacon in the twilight, and begged her to help me. Elspeth’s screams ring in my head as I think of how Barbara calmly walked away. She destroyed one daughter; she’s not going to destroy another.

‘Julia, can I use your phone please?’ I say, my eyes fixed on the body.

‘Why?’ she says, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

‘I’m going to call the police.’

‘No,’ she cries, dropping the towel. ‘No, you can’t …’

‘You’re not going to prison,’ I say. ‘I told you that. Now give me your phone.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘You have to trust me,’ I say. ‘Can you do that?’

She starts to cry again.

‘Julia, you need be strong now, okay?’ I say. ‘You need a clear head and you need to believe me when I say you’re not going to prison. Now give me the phone.’

Shakily, she puts her hand inside her pocket and pulls out the phone.

‘I’m scared,’ she says, holding it to her chest. ‘I’m so scared.’

‘You don’t have to be scared,’ I say, taking the phone from her hands. ‘I’m going to sort this.’

I turn towards Barbara’s body. The knife is lying on the ground by her feet. I bend over and pick it up, running my hands up and down the blade and the handle. Then I lift the phone and press ‘emergency call’.

‘Police, please.’

I wait to be connected. Behind me I can hear Julia sobbing.

‘Hello,’ I say as a female voice comes on the line. ‘My name is Maggie Allan. I’m calling from Ketton House Farm. The owner, Barbara Cosgrove, has been stabbed.’

The woman asks me if she is breathing. I look down at the lifeless body at my feet and shake my head.

‘No, she’s not breathing,’ I say, my heart somersaulting in my chest. ‘She’s dead. I killed her.’

58

‘No,’ cries Julia as I end the call. ‘You can’t do this.’

I turn. She is standing by the kitchen counter, her hands clasped to her mouth.

‘It’s the only way,’ I tell her.

‘I can’t breathe. I need air,’ she says, running to the back door. She unbolts it and runs out into the night.

‘Julia, wait!’ I cry, stumbling behind.