Page 116 of Worse Than Murder
‘Did you say anything when you noticed your dad taking a different route?’
‘No. I was…’ she stops.
‘What?’
‘I was tired. I wanted to go to sleep. It was night after all.’
‘No, Alison, it wasn’t. It was mid-afternoon. It was dark because of the storm.’
‘That’s right.’
‘So, you weren’t tired?’
‘I was. I can remember. I couldn’t keep my eyes open.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes. I remember when I was being lifted out of the car. I was so tired.’
‘That would have been your mum.’
‘No. It was a man.’
‘A man?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m positive.’
‘Your mum said she lifted you out of the car.’
‘No. It was Uncle Iain. I opened my eyes. The rain was in my face. He was wet and cold, and he had on this big blue coat that smelled of horses.’
‘Horses?’ I ask, distracted for a second. I wish my mind would focus on one thing at a time. ‘Do you remember your dad getting out of the car at all?’
‘No,’ Alison replies, firmly.
‘You don’t remember driving down onto the shingle and up to the edge of the lake?’
‘No.’
‘But you remember leaving your gran’s house, and driving along the road when it was dark, and then your Uncle Iain lifting you out in the rain?’
‘Yes. He handed me to my mum.’
‘What happened then?’
‘I remember getting into bed. Mum gave me a hot Vimto. I used to love that as a child.’
I smile. My mum used to make me a hot Vimto when I was off school poorly. I can’t stand the stuff now, hot or cold, but the smell always prompts a happy memory.
‘Can I open my eyes now?’
‘Yes.’ There’s something strange happening here. There is no reason why Alison should have such a gap in her memory, or why she seems to have been so tired after leaving her gran’s house in the middle of the day. The first thing that comes to mind is that she’d been drugged. Had Jack given his daughter something to make her sleep so he could leave her in the car without her crying and calling him to come back?
‘I haven’t helped, have I?’ Alison asks.
