She shot a look at McAndrew to see if she looked as guilt-ridden as she did, but suddenly she caught sight of movement by the front door. Vaulting the barrier, she sprinted over to see a fire crew emerging with Ruby in their arms, and moments later, Helen too. Ignoring their repeated warnings to stay back, Sanderson kept pace, desperately searching for signs of life. Ruby had sustained some nasty burns and was clearly unconscious. But what about Helen?
Her boss was covered in soot and dirt. A thick coating of blood clung to the left-hand side of her face, oozing from a deep wound to her ear. Her eyes rolled back in her head – she was unconscious and didn’t appear to be breathing.
‘What’s going on? What’s happening?’
The paramedics ignored her questions as they took charge. Sanderson watched on helplessly as they administered oxygen, chest-pumped and searched for a pulse. Why the hell weren’t they doing more? Why were they being so measured? Then a brief look from one paramedic to the other – sober and serious. What the hell did that mean?
Oxygen masks were now attached to both women and they were levered up on to the ambulance stretchers and hurried into the respective vehicles. Both ambulances took off at speed and as Sanderson watched them disappear into the distance, she felt tears prick her eyes. This was it then. Helen’s life now hung in the balance. Why hadn’t she done more?
141
The light was utterly blinding. She held her hand up to shield her eyes from the savage glare, but still multi-coloured shapes seemed to dance about in front of her. Swiftly she turned away from the water, which burned with the reflection of an unseasonably strong sun, turning her gaze instead to the beach beyond.
Autumn had crept up on them and Steephill Cove was nigh on deserted. Ruby cut a lonely figure standing by the swell of the sea. In her old life she would have baulked at the strange isolation of the scene – where were the holidaymakers? The fun? The laughter? – but now it suited her perfectly.
They had driven here almost as soon as Ruby had been discharged from hospital, so strong was her desire to escape the press frenzy in Southampton, to retreat somewhere she felt safe. Her burns were healing well, but she still felt self-conscious about her blistered arms and her short patchy hair. Here she could dress as she pleased, go where she pleased, without the risk of encountering well-wishers who would smile and stare. Everywhere else she was still a newspaper headline – here she could just be Ruby.
Staring at the beautiful beach, framed perfectly by the rugged cliffs, Ruby couldn’t help remembering those lonely nights of her incarceration when she’d imagined herself here, daydreams from which she’d been brutally ripped time and again. The fact that her abductor had died twice – first at Helen Grace’s hand and then in the fierce conflagration that followed – didn’t make Ruby feel any better, or any safer. The memories of her isolation and despair were still too strong to stop herself shaking when she thought of him and her terrible ordeal. He still came to her at night – in vivid, appalling nightmares – and Ruby had hardly slept a wink as a result. Weeks after her liberation, she still felt weak, damaged and unsettled.
But her abductor had not won and in time she hoped to expunge him from her life completely. It would be a long road – removing the tattoo in hospital had been the easy bit – and the worst was yet to come. But she had won – she must keep telling herself that – and the most eloquent testament to that fact was the view that now stretched out in front of her: this place, this cove, no longer an illusory retreat for her fractured mind, but something real and reassuring. Ruby crouched down, running the wet sand through her fingers over and over again, fighting back tears of relief.
A cry made her look up and there they were – Mum, Dad, Cassie, Conor – meandering their way towards her. They let her have her moments of solitude but were mindful to ensure she felt loved and supported every moment of every day. Wiping the tears from her eyes, Ruby straightened up and started walking towards them. This was her future now, her happiness.
Finally, she had come home.
142
Helen had never seen anyone look so happy. As they strolled across the Common together, the pristine red pram cutting a swathe through the fallen leaves, Charlie chatted animatedly about little Jessica’s arrival. She laughed at the indignity of a hospital birth, her naked terror during the days immediately afterwards and the many lies she had been told about what parenthood was going to be like. The whole process had clearly been bewildering, scary, painful, but through it all slightly amazing too. Given Charlie’s history, there was much more riding on this pregnancy than there would normally have been and Helen was more pleased than she could say that things had worked out so well for her.
Helen had been totally unaware of Charlie’s labour, as it had played out during Ruby’s rescue. In fact, Helen had first become aware of Charlie’s good fortune while lying in the same hospital as her, awaiting surgery on her ear. The wound it transpired was not too deep and – though it still looked gruesome – would heal in time. Charlie had asked Helen about it, but Helen had moved the conversation on fairly swiftly. After the events of the last few weeks she wanted to focus on happier thoughts.
So much had changed in such a short period of time. Ceri Harwood had resigned with immediate effect and had not been seen since. The search was under way for her replacement – Helen having already been offered the post and turned it down. Harwood’s disappearance only served to underline the continuing mystery as to Robert’s whereabouts – now when she thought about Harwood’s unpleasant machinations she didn’t feel any anger, just a deep sadness that Harwood had exploited a vacuum in Helen’s life for her own selfish ends.
Helen pushed the thought away. She knew she had a tendency to obsess about things that were painful and difficult but she would not give in to the darkness. Today was a day for celebrating the good things in life. Like the fierce joy Alison Sprackling had exhibited on being reunited with her precious daughter. Or the quiet, but equally fierce love that Charlie felt for her baby girl.
Helen had no family to speak of now and at times like this she was wont to distance herself from life, to retreat and hide. But for once she didn’t want to. It was a beautiful day and she felt at peace with the world. More than that, she felt connected to it, Charlie having sprung two momentous surprises on her, during the course of their morning together. First by asking her to be godmother to Jessica, a request that had rendered Helen temporarily speechless. She had happily accepted the role of course, once she had recovered from the shock – and a good thing too – for in a subsequent nod to their ever-deepening friendship, Charlie topped off the day’s surprises by revealing Jessica’s middle name.
Helen.
M. J. Arlidge
M. J. Arlidge has worked in television for the last fifteen years specializing in high-end drama production. In the last five years Arlidge has produced a number of prime-time crime serials for ITV including Torn, The Little House and, most recently, Undeniable, broadcast in spring 2015. Currently writing for the hit BBC series Silent Witness, Arlidge is also piloting original crime series for both UK and US networks. In 2015 his audio exclusive Six Degrees of Assassination was a number one bestseller. His debut thriller, Eeny Meeny, which introduces Detective Inspector Helen Grace, has sold to publishers around the world and was the UK’s bestselling crime debut of 2014. It was followed by the bestselling Pop Goes the Weasel. The Doll’s House is the third DI Helen Grace thriller.