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Back The Scarlet Dress Save as PDF
Chapters (84)
  1. Dedication
  2. Prologue
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. Friday
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. Saturday
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. Sunday
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. One Week Later
  77. 71
  78. Afterwards
  79. 72
  80. Acknowledgments
  81. Reading Group Questions
  82. More from Louise Douglas
  83. About the Author
  84. About Boldwood Books

‘Don’t talk to the police until you’ve spoken to him. Make sure he’s clear about what he’s going to say if they question him again. You can’t change the story now, either of you. You have to tell the police what you said before or else they’ll compare notes and see that it’s changed and they’ll be convinced that you’re covering something up…’ She was talking faster and faster and then suddenly she stopped and Will heard, instead, laboured breathing.

All he could see on the screen was a section of the awning of the bar where Angharad and Marie were sitting, and a chunk of flesh, perhaps an arm.

‘Mum? Mum?’

He heard murmurs and then Marie picked up the phone. She held it very close to her face so Will had a distorted view of his aunt’s snub nose.

‘Your mum’s having a bit of a turn, Will, love,’ she said. ‘We’re going to go inside and get a drink of water. She’ll call you back when she’s feeling better. She says don’t do anything until you’ve talked to John.’

‘OK,’ said Will, ‘tell her I…’ but the line had already gone dead.

32

Something had been left on the doorstep outside Marnie’s cottage. When she came close, she saw that it was a plant pot containing a slender stalk, about three feet high, with three offshoots, each with several good, fat buds. The plant pot was inside a plastic bag secured at the rim with an elastic band. She hefted it up, took it into the house and put it on the kitchen table. A card was tucked inside the plastic. Inside was written in a neat script:

An apple tree to replace the one we destroyed.

Your friend, Gabriel Romanescu

* * *

At six o’clock, Lucy and Marnie did what they did every Friday evening. They put on their coats, and walked down to the seafront to pick up three chip suppers from the fish van that parked there for an hour between six and seven, and then they walked round to John Morahan’s bungalow, the food steaming inside its paper wrappings.

This time there was no music blaring. Lucy and Marnie found John sober, and in a quiet mood, the drop-leaf table in the corner of the living room extended and laid ready with three settings, the mess that had been on top of it tidied and replaced with sauce bottles, vinegar and the salt and pepper pots. John had given the bungalow a thorough clean since the previous evening. The cans were gone, and the smell of old cigarette smoke was overlaid with the odours of furniture polish and air freshener. A chill in the room pointed to the fact that the windows had been opened to give the place a good airing.