I tell him, and as I tell him I burst into tears and cry. ‘I just can’t cope with any more of this. She’ll have to move out.’

‘But, she’s old. She’s lonely. She’s vulnerable.’

Her contemptuous smile sears across my mind. My ears fill with her comments. I shake my head. ‘About as vulnerable as a hippopotamus.’

‘Are they vulnerable?’

I laugh. ‘No. They’re the deadliest of all mammalian man-killers.’

‘Are you saying my mother is a killer?’ he asks.

‘Well, she’s certainly killing me.’

Miles frowns. ‘Look, why don’t we get away for a break? Just us and the boys. We could go skiing for a week, leave Mother behind.’

‘A week is nowhere near long enough. I need her to go. I want her to move out,’ I hiss.

‘Back into the annex?’

‘No. To another house.’

Miles puts his head in his hands. ‘But … but … I can’t, Saffron, she’s my mother. I have to look after her for the rest of her life. She’s lost my dad. She needs our support.’

‘What about me?’

‘I love you both. I have to look after both of you.’

I shake my head. ‘You can’t have us both. One of us will have to go.’

Miles looks crestfallen. ‘I just can’t ask my mother to leave.’

He goes downstairs. To spend time with the children? Or to speak to Caprice? I’m too depressed to care.

I curl into a ball and fall asleep. I slip into my constantly recurring dream. The dream that seems real, and so familiar. We walk into the church. It is Caprice’s funeral. I stand staring at the silver cross on the altar, transfixed. It rotates towards me, becoming larger and larger. I wake with a jolt. For a second I feel relief that my nemesis is dead. Then I remember. She’s alive. With a smashed iPhone, and bruises around her neck, caused by me.

She’ll be around for all my life unless I kill her. If I don’t kill her, being near her will kill me.

87

Caprice

‘Hayley, do come for a walk in the garden with me.’

‘Good idea – I could do with a break from my chores. Thank you.’

I link my arm in hers. We walk down the passage, through the trees, and step into my garden.

‘It’s still colourful and it’s almost into January. The worst month for garden colour,’ Hayley exclaims.

‘Well, I do know a thing or two about plants,’ I reply.

I point out Viburnum, and Sarcococca. Sweet-smelling Lonicera climbing up the fence.

‘Look at those fuzzy felt-like firecrackers. What are they?’ Hayley asks.

‘Hamamelis.’

‘And the pretty star-shaped pinks?’

‘Daphne bholua, Jacqueline Postill.’