Jane Renshaw - Watch Over Me

Things had got a lot worse after the Children’s Reporter’s visit. Although, as Neil said, the visit itself couldn’t have gone better – Karen Baxter had been a nice woman, lovely with Beckie, and had reassured them as she left after her private ‘chat’ with Beckie that she had no concerns and no further action would be taken – Beckie was far from stupid and had realised what it all meant. That Karen had been there to check that Beckie was being well treated by her parents; that Karen had the power to take Beckie away from them, like she’d been taken away from the Johnsons.

Ever since, she’d become incredibly clingy, only happy away from Neil and Flora when she was with Caroline – who’d been wonderful, taking Beckie after school sometimes to give Flora a rest.

A much-needed rest.

She didn’t even have the energy to keep tabs on the investigation into Saskia’s death. Neil was doing that off and on, although, of course, he wasn’t convinced that the Johnsons were responsible.

Saskia was all over the media now – she’d even been on the national news. Murder of disgraced social worker. Because, of course, the details of her disgrace had been leaked. And the police were now saying it was murder and were appealing for witnesses.

Someone was going to mention a strange woman in a grey hoodie, walking along with her head down. Maybe they’d be found, the hoodie and the raincoat, at the side of the road where Flora had flung them from the car window.

And her DNA would be on them, along with Saskia’s.

What more damning evidence could there possibly be?

She could hear Neil and Beckie now downstairs in the hall, Beckie whining about something or other, Neil’s voice patient, gentle. Neil was such a great father. He’d taken two weeks off work and did all the morning stuff, including making the extra lunch for Edith – she’d have to call Mrs Jenner again about Edith – and he drove Beckie to school every day; and because Beckie was nervous about being at school (‘What if the Johnsons come and get me?’), he then waited in the car outside until lunchtime – parked where Beckie could look out of her classroom window and see him – and then he drove her home for lunch, then back to school, where he waited until the school day was over.

He was prepared to humour Beckie’s fears, but not Flora’s.

Neil and Caroline thought she was completely overreacting to Saskia’s murder, that any number of people could have had a motive, given what Saskia had done – or that it could have been a motiveless stabbing by someone hanging about the close out of their skull on drugs. All of which was true, of course, looking at it objectively.

But Flora knew the Johnsons had done it.

She just knew.

The Johnsons were capable of anything.

So what was she doing lying here? What kind of a mother was she, not even able to get out of bed and protect her own child, when they were facing God knew what threat from a bunch of murdering psychopaths?

Clever murdering psychopaths.

Neil had engaged the services of a solicitor specialising in criminal law. Charles Aitcheson had advised them to record everything, to make sure their phones were charged at all times so they could film any further breaches of the court order by the Johnsons, any further threatening behaviour or trespass… Unfortunately there was insufficient evidence, in his opinion, to secure a harassment conviction as things stood, and Neil himself had ‘compromised’ their case with the ‘assault’ on pregnant Carly which, he had warned, was likely to end in a conviction when it came to court in three months’ time, given that the incident had been caught on camera.

At least Flora hadn’t been.

It had come out that the CCTV cameras on the street outside the close had not been operational at the time of Saskia’s murder, and that no one had seen anyone acting suspiciously at the relevant time. The police were appealing for information about a woman who had buzzed one of the neighbours to get into the building to see Saskia, and were appealing for this woman to come forward.

But no one had yet come forward to say they’d seen her.

She drifted into a confused, repetitive dream in which she was endlessly climbing the stairs to Saskia’s flat, knowing what she would find there but somehow unable to stop and turn and go back down the stairs. Endlessly buzzing to get into the stair.

No, she was awake, and someone was ringing the doorbell. Ringing and ringing.

Caroline.

Caroline had promised to come round.

She managed to roll to the edge of the bed and stand up, her head swimming. She managed to get out of the room, and down the stairs, and to the front door.

‘Oh God, Flora,’ said Caroline.

Flora couldn’t look at her. Head bent like a naughty child, she studied the pattern of tiles in the vestibule, studied her own bare feet, and the toenails that had grown too long.

‘Come on, love.’ And Caroline’s arm was round her, and Flora was suddenly crying, suddenly howling in her friend’s arms, and Caroline was closing the door behind her and saying, ‘Let’s get you sorted, eh?’

‘I’m not sortable!’ Flora wailed.

Caroline was brisk. ‘We’ll see about that.’

The Botanic Gardens had always been a favourite place of Flora’s. It had been the house’s main attraction, having the Botanics right opposite. She used to love to just stroll along the paths, touching the leaves of the plants, reading the Latin names on the labels, sitting on the grass with a book while Beckie lost herself in one imaginary world after another, bringing Flora leaves or blades of grass to hold that featured crucially in the dramas going on inside her head.

Today there was no Beckie, of course; nothing to capture her attention. Everything seemed flat, dull, one tree very much like the next, the late spring borders with their blocks of colour so painting-by-numbers ordinary that she couldn’t understand why Caroline was bothering to stop and admire them.

‘Coffee?’ said Caroline brightly.

‘What is wrong with me?’ Flora blurted. ‘What am I even doing here? The Johnsons are out there, they’re planning God knows what – They’ve got it in for us just as much as they had it in for Saskia –’

‘Flora.’ Caroline took her arm. ‘Come on . Even if the Johnsons did kill Saskia, which is pretty unlikely – I mean, how would they even know where she was? – they had good reason to hate her after what she did. I’m not saying it would justify murdering her… But the point is, they can’t have anything against you and Neil personally, not like they did against Saskia. It’s not your fault, what happened with Beckie.’

Flora breathed. She knew Caroline was wrong. She knew the Johnsons hated her. But she couldn’t explain it. ‘Okay, maybe not, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try to get Beckie back. Beckie needs me, and I’m a useless wreck.’

‘Coffee,’ Caroline said firmly, pushing Flora in the direction of the tearoom.

They chose a table outside in the sun, and while Caroline went in to buy the coffees and cakes, Flora sat and looked across the expanse of lawn to the Edinburgh skyline. Even that looked wrong, like a hackneyed illustration in a tourist brochure, not a real city, not somewhere real people lived real lives.

Oh get a grip .

She closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, the sun hitting her retinas made it difficult to see, washing out the colours of the lawn, and the shivering bright leaves, and the tall shape of the man standing under a tree looking at her.

He levelled his hand at her, holding it with his other hand as he mocked firing off shots, his hands kicking up with the recoil.

And something in her snapped.