She lay down again and took a deep breath of ground-level air, then stood and opened the cupboard door. Warmth enveloped her. The boiler was burning hot; it must have been pumping away for hours. She reached out, burned her hand on the metal, withdrew it. She tried again, then ran out of breath and had to drop down to breathe for a moment or two. This time, when she stood up, she felt the brush of a towel against her cheek. She grabbed the towel and used it to protect her hand while she groped for the bottom of the boiler. From there, she found the gas intake pipe. The handle to cut off the supply had been disabled. Never mind. She followed the pipe into the boiler, felt her way to the emergency cut-off, pressed it. Waited.

Nothing happened.

She tried again.

Still nothing.

She tried pulling at the pipe to break it free, but it had been soldered into place. She couldn’t move it. Still the old boiler chuntered away, hiccoughing, pumping its carbon monoxide cocktail into the rooms.

69

Marnie was tired. She could barely keep her eyes open.

She’d done her best but she couldn’t turn off the gas. She needed to sleep.

She would rest for a little while, just a few minutes, then she’d try again. She crawled back into the bedroom, to be closer to Zoe and Camille. She didn’t want to sleep in the bathroom on her own.

Marnie lay down on the carpet next to Camille deVillars. She took hold of the old woman’s hand. Her eyelids were heavy. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so tired. Lights moved across the bedroom ceiling, as they had done before. A car had turned into the drive. The lights were parallel so it wasn’t her car. Guy maybe. Perhaps he’d come back.

Marnie closed her eyes.

The room was tilting and spinning, like a fairground ride, like the floor in the fun-house. She felt as if she might slip off. She remembered an evening a long time ago, climbing out of her bed in the caretaker’s cottage, looking out of the window, seeing someone throw something into the sea. She remembered that the man on the shore turned towards her and the moon came out from behind the clouds and she saw his face.

It was Edward deVillars.

She remembered now, but it was too late. She was so tired. She was slipping; she was falling. She let herself go.

Nothing hurt any more.

It was her turn to sleep.

She drifted away.

She was on the estuary shore, looking towards the bridge. In the distance, a hazy figure waved: it was Alice. She was with Denise, standing side by side, so close together that they were touching.

I’m coming, Marnie called. Wait for me!

She tried to push herself up, but it was an effort; she was so heavy, so tired.