‘Your father planted those flowers.’

Heath glared at her non-existent face. ‘I’m very well aware of that, thank you, Mother. He wanted his ashes sprinkled amongst them. Or at least, so father’s solicitor told me when he read the will. I threw them in the rubbish. It seemed more appropriate.’

‘You’re such a silly boy.’

‘I’m going out now, and I don’t want you coming with me. I need you to keep an eye on the brat. Will you do that much for me?’

‘Will you sing to me when you get back? One of the arias I’m so very fond of, from Madam Butterfly, possibly, or Carmen. Something rousing, something that stirs the blood.’

‘Very well, as long as you do what I ask.’

Heath checked his appearance in the ground floor shower room before exiting the house. Within a few minutes he was knocking on Megan’s front door, holding the flowers in clear view.

Megan looked surprised when she opened the door. She was haggard, exhausted, with dark shadows around her eyes. ‘Oh, hello, Mr Heath. I thought I saw you coming up the path. I’ve only recently got home.’

He imagined himself gouging out her eyes with his thumbs and felt slightly aroused. ‘It’s Martin. I’ve told you before. There’s no need for formality.’

‘Okay, Martin, what can I do for you?’

You could cut your throat and die, that would be amusing. ‘I saw what happened to poor Lottie on the news. I feel so very sorry. I wanted to call and offer my condolences. How are you coping?’

Megan resisted the urge to cry. ‘I’m err… I’m as good as can be expected in the circumstances, thank you.’

The bitch looks thin, broken, close to tears. What a beautiful sight to behold. ‘I’ve brought you some flowers.’

Megan reached out to accept the bouquet, thinking it a most inappropriate gift. It reminded her of funerals. ‘That’s very kind of you, thank you.’

‘I’ve been thinking a lot about Lottie. I was hoping to come in and talk.’

Megan was surprised he’d called. But a part of her was glad he had. She silently acknowledged that she was fond of Heath. And now here he was accepting of her grief. It may feel good to share. ‘Yes, of course, please come in. We can talk in the lounge. Give me a second. I’ll put the flowers in some water.’

‘Have you been doing some painting?’

‘Sorry?’

Like the bitch didn’t know exactly what he was talking about. ‘The area of wall above the fire seems somewhat fresher than the rest of the room.’

Megan thought it an odd observation, but she didn’t read anything into it. He was trying to be friendly, making conversation, nothing more. ‘I’ll sort out the flowers.’

Heath looked to the floor, honing in on a single strand of Lottie’s yellow hair, and smiling as Megan re-entered the lounge. ‘Is there any news? Are the police any nearer to finding her? I’m worried sick. I’ve been thinking of little else. Lottie is such a lovely little girl, one of the nicest in the class.’