61

Had she lived, would Mary have looked like her big sister, Jean? They’d always shared the same dark hair, and Jean’s voice had reminded her so much of Mary, Karen had almost wept.

Jean had been pleased to see her. It had showed clearly on her face.

I should have gone back sooner.

But how could she have done that, when she couldn’t remember what had really happened that day?

‘You didn’t tell her the truth,’ Jack told her from the passenger seat.

‘Protect the innocent. That’s what Dad told me to do,’ she replied.

‘Plus you took the blame. Babbling on about getting your place in heaven.’

Jack’s voice annoyed her now. She wanted him to be quiet.

‘You’re dead,’ she replied. ‘I don’t have to listen to you any more.’

‘You’re sick,’ he shouted back at her. ‘You know that, don’t you? There’s a poison in you.’

Karen turned the radio on to drown out Jack and wiped the sweat from her brow. The radiating heat from her body seemed to rise in waves, which even the car’s air-conditioning couldn’t help.

Never mind, she didn’t have far to go. One last stop and it would all be over.

The radio was playing old hits and Karen recognized a few from her early years with Jack. The music seemed to have calmed him too, because he’d stopped being cross with her and was humming alongside her, just the way he’d done during his illness.

Funny how music memories were still in there, when dementia seemed to destroy everything else.

Karen tried to remember what music Eleanor used to like as a teenager. There had been one she’d played over and over, Karen recalled. What was it?

‘“I’m Not in Love” by 10cc,’ the music host told her. ‘I’m playing it now.’

‘I’m Not in Love’, that was it. How did he know that was Eleanor’s song?

Karen tuned in, humming along with it, and Jack did the same. For a moment she was happy, then another memory intervened. One Karen didn’t want to recall. Suddenly she was back at her sister’s wedding watching the bride and groom dance around the floor together, Eleanor’s dress so white it dazzled her eyes.

The image abruptly changed to Mary trying on her confirmation dress, birling round in it for Karen to admire, even as a green spark of jealousy bit at her heart.

Karen reached out and switched off the radio.

‘Why’d you do that?’ Jack complained.

‘Go to sleep,’ she told him.

It would be dark when she got there; the sun was already turning the sky red. Karen fiddled with the air-con as the sweat broke out again on her brow.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she whispered to herself. ‘I’ll soon be there.’

62

There was something wrong in all of this. Something he wasn’t getting. He’d kept telling himself that it was Karen who was either hiding something or not remembering clearly. But maybe it was him?

He was supposed to be a detective.