Chapter 7
SCARLETT
Layla’s mother has a broad Scottish accent. ‘Daisy, the wee little dynamo. She loved that girl.’ I struggle to follow the rest, but I get the information I need. After ending the call, I phone the Aberview Centre.
Two days later, I’m in the back of an Uber. Twenty minutes later, it navigates a sprawling drive to a country manor. It’s more like a grand hotel than a rehab clinic. The nausea that has gripped my stomach since Daisy died now burns my throat as I get out of the car.
A busy receptionist, short and lean, asks me to sign in and accompanies me to a plush room with large arched windows overlooking the manicured lawns.
I almost miss Layla sitting in one of four chairs facing a coffee table in the middle of the room.
She jumps up when I come in. I gasp. I’ve only met her a couple of times, but she’s a mere shadow of her former self.
She’s as thin as a pole, her eyes sunken.
Veins protrude from her emaciated arms. I try not to let the shock show on my face.
She’s wearing a white, floaty dress. She drifts over to me and unexpectedly embraces me. I return her hug. ‘I can’t believe it. Poor Daisy,’ she cries in a low, hollow voice.
‘Thank you’ is all I can manage. I can’t cry. I’m here on a mission. And nothing must get in my way. Along with George, Layla is the closest chance I have to getting some answers.
The effort to embrace me seems to take an immediate toll.
Layla returns to her chair and collapses into it.
She takes a sip of water from the glass on the table.
‘I so wanted to come to the funeral. I really did.’ She speaks slowly in a low tone.
‘I spoke to my mentor at length about it. We agreed it was probably best for me to stay here. I did seek out the chaplain, though. He did a little service for me… for Daisy.’
‘Can I get you a drink?’ the receptionist asks.
I manage a smile for her kindness and ask for a black coffee. She hurries out of the room, leaving a muted silence, until I speak. ‘So how are you doing?’
Layla shrugs.
‘I spoke to your mum,’ I say. ‘She sends her love.’
‘Ah, Mum.’ Layla sighs as if she’s utterly fed up. ‘I must be such a disappointment to her and Dad.’
‘She sounded nice, caring.’
She stares at me blankly.
The pleasantries are stifling. ‘Thanks for letting me come to see you. It can’t be easy.’
‘They don’t usually allow visitors while we’re going through the programme. But my mentor agreed, given the circumstances.’
‘So how much longer do you think you’ll be here?’
She shrugs. She does this a lot. Her way of saying I don’t know how to answer that without words.
‘Do they not give you any idea?’
She splays her fingers and joins her hands in front of her chest. ‘Who knows? I have good days. Dark days. Some very dark days. All part of the process, so I’m told.’
The receptionist returns with my coffee. I take a sip. It’s scalding. I place it down on the table to give it time to cool. We talk more about the clinic, the facilities, the people, before I swing the conversation around to my sister. ‘Layla, I presume you knew that Daisy was taking drugs?’
She hesitates. ‘Yes. Well, no. It depends on what you mean by taking drugs.’
Could I be any clearer? ‘My sister died of a drug overdose. You of all people must’ve seen the signs.’
‘No!’ She shakes her head. ‘You don’t understand. Daisy wasn’t like that. She had the odd bit of weed now and again at parties, if that’s what you call taking drugs. But that’s as far as it went. Occasional use, I would say.’
A bit of weed now and again? This sounds far from the sister I knew. DS Porter’s words echo in my mind: ‘Families are often the last to know.’
‘I don’t follow,’ I say.
Layla continues. ‘Daisy was instrumental in getting me into this place. She told me I was going to die if I didn’t get help.
She got in touch with my mother. I hated her for it at the time.
It’s only been in these past few weeks that I’ve started to see that she only had my back.
’ Her voice cracks. ‘It was the best thing anyone could’ve ever done for me. ’
‘That only confirms what I told the police.’
‘What did they say?’
I swallow hard. ‘Families and friends are often the last to hear of their loved one’s drug problems. Families can remain in denial for months.’
‘I guess that’s true. My parents were the last to hear about mine.’
‘Daisy told me you’d gone travelling.’
Her leg constantly bobs up and down. ‘Because that’s what I told her to say to anyone who asked. I didn’t want anyone knowing I was in here.’
I’m a little hurt. ‘George knew.’
‘Daisy must’ve told him.’
I sigh heavily and shake my head. ‘I still can’t believe what’s happened. It doesn’t make sense. I would’ve sworn on my life Daisy would’ve never touched drugs. She was fit and healthy. She was an athlete, for God’s sake.’
‘Honestly, it was only the odd occasion. She said it chilled her out. But she never touched anything any stronger, if that’s what you mean.
That’s what I can’t get my head around, either – why she’d help me turn myself around, only to go down that same path of destruction herself.
’ She shakes her head. ‘No, it doesn’t make sense. ’
‘Did you tell the police this?’
She nods. ‘But I was in my darkest place at the time. In any case, do you really think the police would listen to what I had to say on the subject?’