Chapter 14
FREDDIE
Unable to stay in the hotel room alone for long, I sneak out undetected. Drizzle hits my face as I stroll through the streets. I keep my head down, but I’m confident I’m not being followed.
London is starting to come alive for the evening. Drunken revellers stumble past. Women in scant clothing rely on their beer jackets to keep them warm and black cabs zip by. I pass a row of takeaway shops that are still quiet but will be busy with punters in a few hours.
I didn’t want to risk taking public transport, so it’s been a long walk, but I’ve finally reached my destination. The cemetery is closed, but there’s a gap in the fence that’s easy to slip through. I’m not the only one who uses it. Teenagers gather to drink lukewarm bottles of cider, and the homeless sometimes sleep amongst the dead. But this is one of the few places that helps me think.
I navigate my way through the sea of tombstones and overgrown grass. I always make a stop on my way, passing Tilly’s grave. No florists are open at night, so I stole a few flowers from bouquets laid on overflowing graves and put them down gently. I never come empty-handed. Callen doesn’t visit. He doesn’t see the point. That, or it’s just too painful.
After murmuring farewell, I continue up a muddy, familiar path to a quiet spot underneath the trees where two identical grey headstones sit. Ivy and Daisy Penrose. I sit on a bench opposite them. Two empty graves and two lives changed forever.
Over the years, I’ve spent countless hours here, sitting and contemplating life, but it doesn’t feel the same anymore. Everything has changed: Ivy hates me, Daisy is alive, and the Dukes aren’t mine anymore. Handing leadership to Seb was the right decision. He doesn’t believe in himself, but he has sound judgment. More importantly, he’s a good man. Unlike me.
The skyline twinkles on the horizon. You can’t see the stars because of light pollution, but I imagine they’re sparkling above. I remember everyone I’ve lost because of my stupid, reckless decisions. My mum, my dad, my sister, and now the woman I love.
My phone vibrating in my suit pocket brings me out of my reverie. I check the screen. No caller ID, likely a spam caller. I ignore it. Seconds later, it rings again.
I put the phone to my ear and bark in irritation, “What?”
“Freddie?”
The woman’s voice on the other end sends a shiver down my spine.
“Daisy?” I ask. “Is that you?”
“Yes.” Her voice is muffled. “You told me to call if I need help.”
“What do you need?”
“We can’t talk on the phone,” she says. “It’s not safe. I’ll text you.”
The line goes dead.