Extended Epilogue
Poppy
Andy Davidson.
Beloved husband, friend, and son.
May your spirit rest in peace.
People often forget he was once married – especially since he fell in love with a woman as striking as Mia Allen.
It was in the first few months of meeting him that I discovered when Andy fell, he fell hard.
Luckily, his wife was as in love with him as he was with her. Though I did enjoy giving them trouble.
A smile tugs at my lips at the memory, a laugh slipping out. I cough to mask the sound.
Fresh flowers have been laid on both his and his wife’s graves, and I just know Mia was responsible.
Though Andy could be a cocky son of a bitch, he still ended up with a gravestone as shiny as any.
Dare I say, the little fucker deserved it after all he suffered through – not that he’ll ever see it from his small corner of the world.
I hope he’s thriving in some European town, splurging Richard’s inheritance, which Gigi so kindly gifted to him.
An anonymous source donated ten million pounds into my bank account. I never had confirmation, but I knew.
I place down the single tulip, retreating back to the worn dirt where other mourners have stood to pay their respects. The tulip sits beside a few roses signed “G + H” along with a heart. A subtle sign – the most we’ve heard in weeks. They’ll both be out there somewhere.
A figure draws nearer, their shadow spreading over the top of the grave. Hudson stands to my left, ducking his head.
A silent, respectful minute passes.
“I could’ve sworn I heard you laugh.” A smile tilts his voice. “Didn’t think you were capable of such things.”
“Tell anyone, and I will make you regret it.”
“So,” he drawls, eager to change the topic, “what’s next then?”
“Next?” I purse my lips, tilting my head deeper to look over the graveyard. “Walk with me.”
Hudson tucks his hands into his front pockets.
My gaze drifts over the other names mounted on the rows of stone.
I slow my steps as we reach the column of L’s, laying down a single flower on the gravestone of Oliver Lark.
A child’s yellow-crayon drawing billows in the wind, stuck down by a piece of tape.
Three stick figures, his family, holding hands.
“Did you see the name on the flowers back there?”
I peer sideways. “I did.”
Hudson drops his voice even quieter. “Have you heard from them?”
I subtly shake my head.
We walk silently, crisp leaves crunching beneath our boots, a light hail getting carried on the wind. We both take a right down the column of S’s.
I stop at the St. James family, laying down my offering for Greg and his mother. Harry’s mum’s grave now reads “Beloved Mother. Always in Our Hearts.” No mention of her ex-husband. I wasn’t going to spend money on such a foul creature, but a cheap can of red spray paint I could spare.
Here lies … a cunt.
Simple. Classy. Factual. “Michael” is barely distinguishable through the thick scarlet.
I snicker.
The groundsman will remove the vandalism within the next few days, but I planted enough nettles and poison ivy to contaminate the soil. Even nature is rejecting him. I’ll replant them enough times that they’ll have no other option but to move him.
Richard’s body lies hidden in a vault somewhere, otherwise I’d show him similar disrespect.
At Maria Thomas’s grave, I crouch down, placing another flower.
“Is it really safe to be doing this?”
“Why are you so paranoid?” I quip.
“Oh, no reason … It’s not like we have very powerful people grilling us every damn day. They know we’re hiding something about what happened to Richard.”
I shrug. “They can’t hurt me.”
All the important people in my life have either died or left me. Nothing they can do will harm me anymore – I’m desensitised to their presence.
“Besides …” I stand, dusting my hands on my coat. “My husband will beat them to the job of hurting me. I killed his father.”
Hudson gapes. “You what?”
“Gigi thought she killed Paolo Ricci that day, but she only left him brain-dead, not dead-dead. I just finished the job.”
I scatter the remaining tulips over random headstones as we exit towards the car park.
“Enlighten me then,” he says. “What did you do?”
“I made a display of him.”
“Poppy …” Hudson drags out my name like I’m some insolent child. “Leo’s going to kill you.”
“Perhaps.” I smile wickedly at the thought. “But not if I kill him first.”
THE END