Chapter 63
WILLOW
I wake in the middle of the night with a raging thirst. I can’t think why. I reach for the glass on the bedside table but it’s empty. Cursing under my breath, I throw the duvet off and swing my legs out of bed.
I could use the tap in the en suite, I suppose, but I can never remember if the water’s safe to drink. Besides, Dad always keeps bottles of ice-cold San Pellegrino in the fridge – even though he prefers Perrier – because he knows it’s my favourite.
Dad.
The memory of what’s happened hits me like a knee in the solar plexus. Is this what it’s going to be like every time I wake up – a few seconds of blissful ignorance before I remember he’s dead?
The familiar lump forms in my throat and my eyes fill with tears.
No wonder I’m thirsty. I’ve cried myself dry.
I’ll get one of the San Pellegrinos Dad bought for me and I’ll drink it and then I’ll try to sleep.
And when I wake, there’ll be a moment when I think he’s still alive and everything’s all right, and already I’m craving those precious seconds like a cokehead craves their next line.
I pull on my dressing gown and pad barefoot into the kitchen, almost dropping my glass when I see someone slumped at the table.
‘Jeez, Amber, you almost gave me a heart attack!’
‘Sorry.’ She sounds distracted.
‘You couldn’t sleep either?’ I ask.
‘What? Oh. No.’
When she doesn’t elaborate, I wave my glass at her. ‘Want a fizzy water?’
‘Um.’ She bites her lip. ‘Please.’
The bottle of San Pellegrino opens with a hiss that sounds deafening in the silent kitchen and Amber gives a little shudder. I slide a glass across the table towards her.
‘Hey, are you all right?’
She finally looks up, a flash of recognition in her eyes as if she’s only just realised it’s me. She’s so out of it I wonder if she’s taken something, though it seems unlikely. She doesn’t even drink. It’s probably just the shock. There’s been more than enough of that to go round lately.
She gives a little shake of her head and grimaces. ‘Did you know the police found my necklace by your dad’s body?’
I gape at her. Inspector Demetriou claims he’s been keeping the Wicked Stepmother and me up to date with the investigation, but he hasn’t told me that.
‘I didn’t kill him,’ Amber says quickly. ‘I know people – the police – might think I had a motive after what happened in the taverna, but I want you to know that I would never, ever do that.’
I tilt my head, trying to read her, to see if she’s telling the truth. She holds my gaze, her green eyes unblinking and her expression guileless.
After a beat, I nod. ‘I believe you.’
She lets out a long breath. ‘Thank you.’
‘But someone did. Someone killed him.’
Her expression flickers between relief and another emotion, one that looks remarkably like guilt. But if I do believe her, why would she feel guilty… unless she knows who did kill Dad and is trying to protect them?
‘What is it, Amber? What aren’t you telling me?’
She opens her mouth, then closes it again. I lean forwards on my elbows, skin prickling with anticipation. But her gaze drops, her shoulders rounding as she wraps her hands around her glass as if it’s a mug of hot chocolate, not a tumbler of chilled sparkling water.
‘Nothing.’
‘What are you so scared of?’
The question’s a lucky guess, but it hits the mark. She looks up again, a haunted expression darkening her face.
‘I’m… I’m not,’ she says tremulously. ‘I just… I just need to figure something out.’ Her voice grows stronger, surer. ‘And when I do, I’ll be telling the whole damn world, believe me.’ She pushes her chair back and stands. ‘I should try to get some sleep. Thanks for the drink.’
‘No problem.’ I plunge my fists into the pockets of my dressing gown and feel the sharp edge of an envelope in one. The ticking time bomb I haven’t had the energy to detonate. I’d forgotten it was there.
For a moment, I just sit there, staring at Amber as she hovers in the doorway. The idea comes out of nowhere – this crazy sense that I should give it to her. Maybe it’s because she looks as lost as me. Maybe it’s because I can see how small she feels around us, like she doesn’t belong.
Before I can change my mind, I jump up and press the envelope into her hands.
She looks bewildered. ‘What is it?’
‘You’ll see. But promise me one thing, OK?’ I wait until she nods. ‘Don’t open it now. Wait till you’re home.’
She nods again and I feel a sense of release as she tramps out of the room. This small act of kindness might not make up for what I did to Victoria, but at least it’s a start.
Amber should know she’s not the only outsider here. Some of us just hide it better.