Chapter 45

May 2020

Alice

Alice senses Leon shudder as she shows him her latest creation – a macabre ventriloquist puppet tea party moulded from twisted copper.

‘It’s brilliant,’ he says. ‘But I’m not going to lie, after everything that’s happened—’

‘I started it before we went to Flynn Hotel.’ She puts it down on the table, and Henry pads over, sniffs it, and looks up at Alice with deep brown eyes.

‘And that’s not freaky at all, is it, boy?’ Leon laughs, ruffles the dog’s head as though they are in cahoots, and Henry wags his tail.

Leon turns and splashes white wine in one glass, orange juice in another. They are in the kitchen at Butterfly Cottage – safe, happy.

‘I found it quite therapeutic finally finishing it.’ Alice turns from the sculpture, picks up the orange juice.

‘Well your customers will love it.’

She’s glad Leon is here – that he’s moved in – that, if fate allows, they will always be together. They’ve been so close since everything happened. The thought of losing him shifted her perspective – she’s not sure what she would have done if she had.

She strokes the curve of her stomach. They are on the same page now. The thought of bringing up a child no longer holds the fear it once had.

Flynn House is hers now, but she will never return. It’s up for sale, but with everything that has happened there over the years, she’s not expecting many offers.

‘I went to the cemetery this morning,’ she says, heading over to the cooker to reduce the heat under the bubbling saucepans. She can hear the sadness in her voice. She always feels low when she’s visited where her father is now with the love of his life – Alice’s mother, Pippa Larkin. The police had found her remains on Seafield Island, and once they’d released her, revealing she died of natural causes, it seemed fitting to bury her with her father. It’s what he would have wanted.

‘You should have said you were going. I would have come with you.’

She nods. ‘I know. But sometimes I like to talk to them alone, you know? Try to get to know my mother.’

He nods, seems to understand.

‘I had an email from Christine, earlier.’

‘How’s she liking France?’

‘She misses Suffolk, but glad to be close to her son.’ A beat before she adds, not for the first time, ‘I still feel desperately sorry for Faith.’

He shakes his head, takes a mouthful of wine. ‘Alice, if she’d done what she intended, you would have bled to death. Can’t you see that?’

‘I know, but in her mind she never saw it that way.’ She lets out a sigh. ‘She just wanted us to be together.’

‘She killed so many people, Alice.’