Chapter 1
I scrub frantically at a smear of blood on my hand. The scene I’ve just fled from flashes before me, over and over, my parents’ garden stark in the moonlight. I
rub my eyes as if I can wipe away the stain of it, but it’s no good. I can still see the silver glint of the scythe, the scarlet petals scattered everywhere and … I shudder. I can’t bear to think of it.
I shouldn’t have run. I should have stayed and tried to clear up the mess, but I panicked, drove back to my flat and here I am, motionless with shock on the sofa, body immobilised, brain scrambling furiously to catch up with the events of the last hour.
I don’t want my parents to see it. I want to protect them at all costs, but it’s beyond that now. There is no tidying this away, no neat resolution.
Should I call the police? What would I say? How could I begin to explain what has happened over the past few months between my parents and their tenant? How can I possibly unpick the chain of events that has led to the awful scene I’ve left behind me in their garden?
My mobile rings and I jump. It’s flashing ‘M & D’. It takes me a second for the significance of this to hit me but when it does, it’s like a punch to the head. It’s their landline. Mum and Dad are home. They’re supposed to be in Norfolk visiting their friend Marie, but they’re not, they’re not. They’re home. Oh God, have they been into the garden? Please, please, no.
I pick up. At first, whichever of them it is says nothing. For a second, I think we’ve been cut off and I’m about to call them back when there’s a faint cry on the other end of the line.
‘Dad?’
‘Oh, darling …’ He tries to go on but the words spill into tears followed by a shuddery, hysterical intake of breath. To hear my beloved father reduced to this is almost more than I can bear.
‘I know,’ I say. ‘I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t want you to see it. I wanted to clear up before you got back, but I panicked. You should have told me you were coming home.’
‘Can you come round?’ he says tremulously. ‘Can you come round now?’
‘Of course.’ My body finally gets the message that action is required and I jump up, gathering purse, coat, keys, shoving my feet into laced-up trainers. ‘Are you OK? Is Mum? Shall I … do you want me to … call the police?’
‘No!’ He almost shouts it. ‘Just come quickly. The garden … the … body. We need you, Penny.’
