Morag’s heavy feet are planted on a large throw rug that covers the bloodstains and other matter that had scattered from Tony’s smashed head. All of it is now concealed. The poker has gone.

Morag smiles at Jess and the night carer’s eyes are lit with pleasure. It’s the first time she’s appeared genuinely happy, or even so much as warmed to Jess. ‘Blossom gonna sleep beautifully now. Better than she’s known in a very long time.’

Izzy capers into the living room from the garden and kneels before Flo’s chair. She smiles at the elderly woman. Though exhausted, Flo still manages to rest a gnarled hand upon the little girl’s head and she gazes into the child’s eyes lovingly.

Izzy glances at her mother on the far side of the room. ‘Where’s Dad?’

‘He had to go,’ Flo whispers.

Jess swallows and attempts a pained smile with what can be seen of her mouth behind the towel. ‘Yes, love. He had to go.’

‘Mummy, your mouth is hurt.’

Haggard and bewildered, Jess totters and sways gently, barely keeping it together. ‘It’s all right, luv. Just banged it helpin’ Flo.’

Flo’s worn face and moist eyes turn to look into the light falling from the garden. And she smiles. Reflected upon the pupil of her rheumy eye, Charlotte Gardner, aged around seven, plays out there. Dressed in the very outfit Izzy wore when sleepwalking, Charlotte cartwheels, hair flying, her juvenile limbs flashing an arc. When her routine ends and she stands tall, she flings her arms into the air. A young gymnast performing for an audience.

Directing her lovely smile at the house, she’s so pleased with herself and now seeks approval from the watcher at the window. Behind her, a solemn unsmiling boy stands self-consciously and watches the girl. Who cartwheels twice more. Turning through the air, her image begins to flicker then grow indistinct. Fading to monochrome until the joyous, innocent, tumbling girl and the watching boy disintegrate. Are gone.

Morag moves to Flo and takes Flo’s free hand. They look deeply into each other’s eyes. Flo nods and Morag turns to Jess, her eyes shining. ‘Jess. Take Flo to her room.’

35

The five elderly neighbours stand with Sheila and Morag beneath the stained glass fanlight. Their heads are bowed as if before a queen. Queen Flo, a shrunken, near lifeless figure that Jess carries in her arms like a child to the foot of the stairs. A sombre Izzy follows without fully grasping what is going on.

Up the stairs they go. The young mother and carer carrying the old mother to her bed. A little girl, the next generation, following and blissfully innocent of all that has happened this day.

Behind them in the hall, the scythe in the neighbour’s gloved hand catches the light and flashes like a precious metal.