indeed.
And Melanie wanted Carly alive; she lived for the moment when Carly would come back. The discovery of Molly’s bones was further evidence that Carly never would. The extinguishing of hope was a cruel thing. And Olivia knew that too.
The TV news flipped back to the studio. Orin Bukowski was in a chair, in a sports jacket and a pink shirt. His American accent was loud and uncompromising. ‘I don’t know what regime they run at Roehampton, but that this child killer was allowed to murder another patient is a sick joke. The government should have enacted the true justice that the people of this country overwhelmingly desire and got rid of this hideous creature years ago. Why is the governor still in post this morning? Why does he still have a job? Why was this evil woman allowed out in a recreation room with other people? She is bargaining her way out of the punishment that is her due. Time and time again we see killers laughing at the justice system, laughing at the families of those they’ve murdered.’
‘But Mr Bukowski, surely this proves that the capital punishment you and your organisation seeks is the wrong solution. If Duvall had been killed by the state she could never have revealed where these girls are—’
‘I have said that she should be force-fed truth drugs. We should be treating criminals such as her, who are an aberration, who cause great damage to society and individuals, the same way we treat terrorists. They are a threat to our way of life—’
Darren switched off the TV.
‘That man is all we need,’ his dad muttered. ‘No one else gets to have their say with him around.’ He froze. The toilet was flushing upstairs. His mum was awake. ‘I’ll get her tea,’ Dad said.
Darren trailed his dad into the kitchen and waited while the kettle boiled. ‘Do you remember, Darren, when you were little, you had a toy called Billy and his Seven Barrels? They were brightly coloured plastic barrels, one inside the other, like a Russian doll. You open up each barrel and inside is a smaller barrel, until right at the centre there’s a tiny little one, and you open that and it’s empty.’ He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the floor. ‘I used to sit you on my knee and we’d open the barrels up one by one, and then you used to ask me, what’s inside the last one?’
Darren finished the anecdote. ‘And you’d say, nothing. The endless void, the big nothing.’
Dad nodded. ‘I didn’t believe in anything. The afterlife, or heaven, God, the devil, karma, ESP, Wicca …’ He tailed off and looked at the ceiling, where they could hear the creak of Melanie’s tread. ‘But she did. She believed in everything. She’s clung to those things for ten years to get her through.’
‘What do you think now?’
Darren’s Dad looked at him and it was as if a bomb had exploded behind his features somewhere and rearranged them in a way he had never seen before. ‘Now it’s just too late. We are so very tired and it’s too late.’ He poured a splash of milk into the cup and took a deep breath. ‘Are you going to tell her, or am I?’
‘We’ll go together,’ Darren said. And they walked up the stairs.
Melanie took the cup of tea that Andy gave her and stared at them hovering round her bed. ‘Why are you both staring at me like that?’
She wasn’t as clairvoyant as she claimed she was, otherwise she would have known, Darren thought.
‘They’ve found Molly Peters’s body on the South Downs,’ Dad said. ‘Olivia told them where it was last night.’ Melanie put the tea down on the bedside table. ‘They are widening the search to see if any other bodies—’
‘Carly’s not there. I can feel it.’
‘Melanie—’
‘She’s not there!’ She swung her arm out with a cry and sent the tea hurtling across the room, spraying Andy with hot liquid. ‘Just get out! Just get out!’
‘Jesus, Melanie, look at yourself!’ Dad was pulling down his trousers, hopping round the
And Melanie wanted Carly alive; she lived for the moment when Carly would come back. The discovery of Molly’s bones was further evidence that Carly never would. The extinguishing of hope was a cruel thing. And Olivia knew that too.
The TV news flipped back to the studio. Orin Bukowski was in a chair, in a sports jacket and a pink shirt. His American accent was loud and uncompromising. ‘I don’t know what regime they run at Roehampton, but that this child killer was allowed to murder another patient is a sick joke. The government should have enacted the true justice that the people of this country overwhelmingly desire and got rid of this hideous creature years ago. Why is the governor still in post this morning? Why does he still have a job? Why was this evil woman allowed out in a recreation room with other people? She is bargaining her way out of the punishment that is her due. Time and time again we see killers laughing at the justice system, laughing at the families of those they’ve murdered.’
‘But Mr Bukowski, surely this proves that the capital punishment you and your organisation seeks is the wrong solution. If Duvall had been killed by the state she could never have revealed where these girls are—’
‘I have said that she should be force-fed truth drugs. We should be treating criminals such as her, who are an aberration, who cause great damage to society and individuals, the same way we treat terrorists. They are a threat to our way of life—’
Darren switched off the TV.
‘That man is all we need,’ his dad muttered. ‘No one else gets to have their say with him around.’ He froze. The toilet was flushing upstairs. His mum was awake. ‘I’ll get her tea,’ Dad said.
Darren trailed his dad into the kitchen and waited while the kettle boiled. ‘Do you remember, Darren, when you were little, you had a toy called Billy and his Seven Barrels? They were brightly coloured plastic barrels, one inside the other, like a Russian doll. You open up each barrel and inside is a smaller barrel, until right at the centre there’s a tiny little one, and you open that and it’s empty.’ He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the floor. ‘I used to sit you on my knee and we’d open the barrels up one by one, and then you used to ask me, what’s inside the last one?’
Darren finished the anecdote. ‘And you’d say, nothing. The endless void, the big nothing.’
Dad nodded. ‘I didn’t believe in anything. The afterlife, or heaven, God, the devil, karma, ESP, Wicca …’ He tailed off and looked at the ceiling, where they could hear the creak of Melanie’s tread. ‘But she did. She believed in everything. She’s clung to those things for ten years to get her through.’
‘What do you think now?’
Darren’s Dad looked at him and it was as if a bomb had exploded behind his features somewhere and rearranged them in a way he had never seen before. ‘Now it’s just too late. We are so very tired and it’s too late.’ He poured a splash of milk into the cup and took a deep breath. ‘Are you going to tell her, or am I?’
‘We’ll go together,’ Darren said. And they walked up the stairs.
Melanie took the cup of tea that Andy gave her and stared at them hovering round her bed. ‘Why are you both staring at me like that?’
She wasn’t as clairvoyant as she claimed she was, otherwise she would have known, Darren thought.
‘They’ve found Molly Peters’s body on the South Downs,’ Dad said. ‘Olivia told them where it was last night.’ Melanie put the tea down on the bedside table. ‘They are widening the search to see if any other bodies—’
‘Carly’s not there. I can feel it.’
‘Melanie—’
‘She’s not there!’ She swung her arm out with a cry and sent the tea hurtling across the room, spraying Andy with hot liquid. ‘Just get out! Just get out!’
‘Jesus, Melanie, look at yourself!’ Dad was pulling down his trousers, hopping round the
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