Nula sank back onto the pillows. Her eyes drifted to Terry, in the doorway. And there was Harlan, right there beside him, looking blankly back at her. Nula felt a chill sweep over her skin, felt fear claw deep into her.

But Harlan always put his things away. Even the skateboard. He never left them out.

Not unless he meant to, anyway.

She thought of him crouching outside the study when she’d been on the phone to the woman at the adoption agency. Had he been listening? Did he realize how much he creeped her out? Had he heard those comments she’d made about him not being ‘there’, not being ‘right’? And hearing Jake’s cry . . . oh shit. The fear gnawed deeper now. Was she going completely bloody insane? Was that it? She’d been depressed for a long time, popping endless pills, having counselling, keeping journals, but nothing seemed to work. Was she losing her mind as well?

‘You rest there, I’ll get the nurse,’ said Charlie, and hurried from the room, leaving Terry standing in the doorway looking awkward.

Harlan moved forward until he stood beside her bed. Nula felt herself cringe. She knew the truth now. And . . . Christ, she was never going to be able to prove it. She knew in her bones that somehow Harlan had killed Jake. Killed off the favoured son, the competition. Killed her baby.

‘I’ll . . .’ said Terry, moving back as if he too would leave the room.

‘No!’ said Nula, louder than she’d meant to. ‘Stay, Terry. Stay here.’

A red-haired nurse came in with Charlie close behind her. She said: ‘Well! Mrs Stone, you gave us all a bit of a fright, didn’t you. How are you feeling?’

Harlan was hustled away from the bed. Charlie and Terry left the room, taking him with them. Nula relaxed while the nurse fussed around her. When she was better, when she felt strong enough, she was going to talk to Charlie about Harlan. And she was going to tell him all about what had happened when she’d phoned the agency. She was going to get to the bottom of whatever weirdness was currently happening in their home. She knew she was in mourning and had been a bit demented with it, maybe she still was.

Jake, crying . . .

However, she was sure of only one thing: Harlan, her adopted son, who she’d nurtured and tried to be a decent mother to, had tried to kill her. And when he’d come close to her just seconds ago? She’d been on the verge of screaming the whole fucking place down.

60

Belle was out by the garages up by the big house, dressed ready for a trip to the stables and waiting for Milly and Beezer, who was driving them, to show up. What she wasn’t expecting – or hoping for – was that Harlan should pitch up instead.