Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Glasgow

May 2024

CLEM

She wakes at dawn, checking her text messages from Josie.

Morning! Hope you’re OK. Freya is happy, went straight to sleep at 8pm last night. She’s still in the travel cot, out for the count xx

A photo shows Freya from the night before, sitting on Josie’s living room floor. She’s wearing a pair of Sam’s dinosaur pajamas and is grinning happily. Clem texts back.

So glad to hear this. No change here. Thank you for taking care of her xx

Clem kisses her fingertips and presses them against the photo. Gorgeous girl. Freya looks exactly like Erin did when she was younger, a mass of soft blonde curls on her little head and wide blue eyes. She makes a mental note to share the photo with Erin, but then remembers Erin hasn’t yet asked for Freya.

It’s unthinkable, all of it. None of it makes sense.

She has breakfast in silence with Quinn, both of them standing in the small kitchen of the family room with toast that neither of them touches still in the toaster. The coffee is tasteless, all her senses dulled by the unfolding of another day in the hospital with their daughter.

Stephanie arrives at nine, just as they’re gowning up to visit Erin. No sign of DC Sanger.

“Good morning,” she says. “Might I join you?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Quinn says.

“She’s still out of sorts,” Clem says, choosing her words carefully. “There was an incident last night…She managed to open one of her wounds.”

Stephanie’s face falls. “Oh God. What happened?”

“We tried to ask her some questions about the trip,” Clem says. “It didn’t go well.”

“Hello,” Bee says, coming out of the room and greeting them both. “She’s awake just now.”

“How is she?” Clem asks, noticing Bee’s bright smile. Surely if Erin was acting strangely again, she’d be less pleased with her progress, more wary.

“She’s a little groggy,” Bee says, “but that’s just the pain relief. I think she’d be glad to see you.”

“Do you think she’s well enough to answer some questions?” Stephanie asks, glancing at Bee.

“Absolutely not,” Quinn says.

“I know it’s difficult right now,” Stephanie says, “but Senna is still missing…”

“I really think it’s still too soon,” Clem says, cutting Stephanie off. But she feels torn. Of course, she wants to find Senna, and perhaps Erin can help with some information that might lead them to her. But asking her poses a risk—Clem’s worried that she’ll only get distressed again.

“In my opinion, it’s fine to give it a go,” Bee says. “If she reacts poorly, then we’ll leave it. Okay?”

Clem nods and glances at Quinn. Last night has shaken them both, and they don’t know what to expect when they go inside.

Bee calls out Constable Byers and allows the other three to step inside. The room is quiet, the carbolic smell of creams and gels hanging thickly in the air.

Clem glances at Erin, noticing that she seems brighter, more alert, her eye turning to Clem as she steps inside. The swelling to her face has gone down a little, her features more recognizable, and the wound on her arm has been dressed. She lifts an arm as though to wave to them.

“Hello, darling,” Clem says, sitting next to her. “How are you feeling?”

Erin turns to her but doesn’t answer.

“Morning, Erin,” Quinn says with a smile.

“Nyx,” she replies.

The word hangs in the air between them, and Clem tries hard not to feel deflated. Stephanie looks at Clem for explanation.

“Nyx?” she asks.

“We think this is the effects of trauma,” Clem says slowly, and Quinn nods.

“The doctor is aware of it,” he says.

“What is it?” Stephanie asks.

“I am Nyx,” Erin answers, louder this time, her tone brittle. She sounds hostile, not like Erin at all. Clem watches Stephanie for her reaction but she seems unfazed. Perhaps, like Bee, she has encountered such things often.

“We’re here for you, love,” Clem says gently. Erin looks straight ahead, contemplating Stephanie.

“Who are you?” Erin asks her after a moment.

“I’m Stephanie, and I’m a detective,” Stephanie says. “I’m working with you and your family to make sure we bring Senna home safely.”

“Senna?” Erin says. “What’s that?”

“Your friend Senna,” Stephanie says, and quickly she pulls out her mobile phone and shows Erin a picture of her friend. “Remember?”

“Are you able to tell us what happened in Orkney?” Clem asks. “How did the fire start?”

Erin turns drowsily to Clem, fixing her eye on her. “A bad man did it,” she says, her words a little slurred.

“What bad man?” Quinn says, straightening. He looks at Clem, alarmed.

“She was tied to the log,” Erin says wistfully. “Her wrists were bound.”

Clem’s throat tightens, and she sees Stephanie flinch.

“Okay,” Stephanie says, tapping her phone to record Erin. “I’m going to caution you, Erin, that I’m filming you now.”

“Filming me?” Erin says.

“Can you stop filming?” Quinn asks Stephanie. His voice is filled with alarm.

“Is it okay for me to film you?” Stephanie says, ignoring Quinn, and Erin nods.

“Her wrists were bound,” Erin says again, “and then the fire grew. She died.”

“Stop filming her!” Clem shouts, and Stephanie relents, lowering her phone. The tension in the room swells to a bursting point.

“Who bound Senna’s wrists?” Stephanie presses Erin.

“Not Senna,” Erin says, and Stephanie is puzzled.

“Not Senna?” she says. “Who, then? Arlo?”

“Who is Arlo?”

Clem rises to her feet, insistent that the questioning finish. “I’m really sorry,” she tells Stephanie. “But it’s clear that she’s not well enough to answer questions…”

“Arlo is your boyfriend,” Stephanie says. “Can you tell us what happened to him? He died, you see, in the fire.”

Clem looks with horror at Stephanie. “Stop. This is too much for her,” she says, but Stephanie ignores her.

“We know this must be really tough for you,” she tells Erin. “But it’s so, so important that we bring your friend Senna home. And Arlo’s parents…well, they’re devastated. Wouldn’t you like to help them understand what happened?”

“I don’t care about that,” she says.

“About Arlo?” Stephanie asks. “You don’t care about Arlo?”

“She didn’t say that!” Clem says.

“I did,” Erin says. “You said Arlo died. And I don’t care.”