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  Finally, I get to the cabin just as lightning illuminates it. The car is still there, one back window smashed. I crawl up the stairs on my hands and feet. I fall across the door as my shoulders get inside.

  “Molly,” I cry weakly.

  Immediately she responds. Her voice is quiet and scared. “Mummy?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Come and help, sweetheart.”

  I hear her scrambling to her feet. I push myself up, and crawl inside, shutting the door. At long last, there is some relief from the wind and rain.

  “Mummy, you’re wet,” Molly says.

  “I know, honey. Get me the jacket.” She obeys, and I wrap the jacket around me. Then Molly hugs me, and her warmth breathes life into my wrecked bones.

  “I rang the policeman,” she says in my ear after a while. She’s not moved.

  My eyes open. “And?”

  “I told the man what you asked me to. He said he’s going to send help.”

  “Good,” I sigh.

  Unless another miracle happens, Clive is dead. I saw him die this time, and there’s no way he’s coming back. Suzy’s dead body lies in front of me. This room smells of death. But I don’t care. My daughter is alive and in my arms. She’s always been mine, just after the day she was born. And she always will be.

  As if in recognition of what I am thinking, she holds me tighter. We stay like that, so tightly wrapped in each other that we are one body, till I hear the sirens in the distance.

  *****

  Paramedics stream in and out of the log cabin. The wood slats shake, and the light above me is blinding. Molly has been separated from me gently, and is covered in the same shiny foil cloak that is now wrapped around me. It looks silly, but I have to say it’s making me feel warmer.

  A nurse looms over me, and asks to see my arm. She has seen the blood crusting on my left hand. I cry out in pain as her fingers prod and feel the wound.

  “Flesh wound only,” she murmurs. “You’re lucky. No harm to the joint.”

  “Lucky me,” I say through gritted teeth.

  There’s a uniformed policeman with a cap on who settles himself on his haunches before me. His name badge says something but I’m too tired to read it.

  He takes off his cap and says, “Are you Emma Dixon?”

  I nod in silence. He holds up a phone in front of me. I can see the face of an Afro-Caribbean man in a suit, and after a while I realise it’s Rockford. A blonde woman with short hair and an almost triangular face appears next to him. It’s Ingram. They both look at me thoughtfully. It’s a video link with the London Met, I guess.

  “How you holding up, Emma?” Rockford asks.

  “Do you believe me now, Detectives?”

  Rockford grins, even Ingram’s stony lips quirk a fraction. He says, “That’s been your question for us all along, hasn’t it?”

  “Well, do you?”

  He pauses for a while in that way of his. Like he still has to think. “Yes I do. And just so you know, we traced transfers from your bank account ten years ago. The money you deposited in Clive Connery’s account actually belongs to a man called Charles Red Knapp. He’s a serial swindler, with multiple arrests for armed robbery and violence. Now he has a murder charge to add to the list.”

  I sag backwards, feeling the hard wood act as support. It’s a relief to know the truth about Clive, finally. Not that my brain can process much. But there’s one thing I need to know without delay.

  “My father,” I say weakly. “What happened to him?”

  The policeman in front of me replies. “He’s OK. Took a heavy blunt trauma to the back of his head. He needs scalp stitches, and is admitted at the hospital. But he’s stable.”

  Molly asks, “Is Grandpa alright?”

  It strikes me that I haven’t asked Molly what happened after I left. It can wait, I think.

  “He’s fine, darling,” I say, as the nurse pulls out a syringe.

  “This will hurt just a little,” she says kindly.

  CHAPTER 63

  Sunlight is streaming in through the tall, open windows, and it’s a warm day for February. Well, it is almost the end of February I think. Easter is only four weeks away. The rain clouds have grumbled for days, and finally gone. The sky is a brushed, scrubbed blue, and the few white clouds on it are plumed sailboats.

  Dad is propped up on the bed. His head is still bandaged, and he had to have a clot evacuated from his skull, but he managed alright in the end. Molly is sitting up on the bed, trying to read the newspaper to him. He’s listening with a half-smile on his lips, and when he looks at me, I reciprocate.

  For once, the sunlight seems to melt away the tension and anxiety of the last few days. Even Daisy is better. She was fed some meat that had a crushed diazepam pill in it, according to the vet. That knocked her out for several hours.

  Suzy’s body has been taken down to East London, where her family lives. Clive Connery, or Charles Red Knapp, whoever he was, was found at the bottom of the caves. He was stuck on the rocks, and dead for more than twelve hours when his heavily broken remains were discovered.

  After all this, having to go back to London for Molly’s school seems almost boring. But I want boring. I want dull and everyday life. For her sake, if not mine. I worry about the effect all of this will have on her. Someday soon, I’ll have to ask her if she understands everything that happened. I have a feeling she’ll take it well.

  Eva rang several more times, and I spoke to her. I’ve forgiven her, but I’m not sure if we can be close friends again. Joanne has been calling as well, and in some ways, I’m looking forward to getting to know her better.

  There’s a knock on the door, and a nurse pokes her head in. “There’s a man from London to see you. Name’s Jeremy Mansell.”

  Jeremy and I have spoken, and he is aware of everything. But I didn’t expect him to come up. Surprised, I walk out into the visitors’ area. Jeremy is sitting in one of the green plastic chairs, and he’s holding a bouquet of flowers. He stands up slowly when he sees me.

  I walk closer to him. We look for meaning in each other’s eyes, and what I see is sympathy and concern. I smile to reassure him.

  Jeremy says, “Are you…?”

  “Yes,” I say firmly. “Both Molly and I are fine. So is Dad.”

  He hands me the flowers. They smell of summer and promises. He also has a box of chocolates.

  “For Molly,” he says with a grin. Then his face becomes serious. He coughs into his hand, then says, “While you were here and I was, you know, on my own.” He stops, as if he lost his strand of thought. He looks at me. “I thought to myself. A lot, I mean. And I realised, even if we can’t have children, what we have is worth keeping.”

  We stare at each other, our eyes probing.

  “Shall we sit down?” he says. I’m glad to.

  “Thing is.” He looks at me, lost for words. He frowns, then makes his mind up. “I love you, and, well, I missed you too much. And Molly.”

  Oh dear. I am welling up, and I pinch my fingers, cross my toes, but can’t stop my nose from getting red. Jeremy puts his warm hand on mine.

  “I know how I acted. I’m sorry. Do forgive me.”

  I nod, not able to speak. I take out some tissue and sniff into it.

  “Jeremy!” It’s Molly, and she sprints out of the room, heading for us. Jeremy stands up, grabs her up in his arms and spins her around. I laugh, and suddenly we are together again, our bonds of love not tarnished by tainted blood, but forged in fire and adversity.

  Molly stays on Jeremy’s arm, and he hugs me with the other. Together, we walk towards the room where Dad is resting.

  THE END

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

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