The Last Thing She Did by Kate Mitchell

Author:Kate Mitchell
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781913419769
Publisher: Bloodhound Books - crime, thriller and mystery
Published: 2020-08-25T16:00:00+00:00

Sylvia woke to find herself still face down on her bed, fully dressed. In the glow of the light still on in the hallway she could read the clock. It was 3am. Cautiously rolling off the bed, pushing her feet into her slippers, she crept into the kitchen, stopping at the sight of ham and bread scattered across the floor. As she stretched down to pick it up, she felt pain shoot along her fingers and looking at her raw hands, it came back to her. She poured herself a brandy and took it into the living room where she leaned against the wall, staring at the dented cushions on the sofa. She slid down to the floor and sat, bottle in one hand, glass in the other, crying, dropping asleep, falling awake. When she heard the distant ringtone of Lori’s phone, she looked at the clock: a quarter to nine. She uncurled from the floor and stood, stiffly stretching, walked to the window, looked around the edge of the curtain and realising it was morning, pulled the curtains back fully and stood watching the rain falling straight down beyond the walkway. As she turned, she caught sight of Lori’s laptop on the wall unit, lifted it down, and opened it. The browser appeared, and she had just typed in Ferries to Ireland, when the door knocker sounded.

She saw her next-door neighbour through the spyhole. Mrs Cresswell hadn’t spoken to her since her arrest. She thought about not answering the door, but if she didn’t, the old woman would sit by her window, watching for Sylvia to pass, all day if need be. She opened the door just enough to put her head around it.

‘Mrs Cresswell, how are you?’

Mrs Cresswell waved one of her walking sticks towards the stairwell. ‘That girl, the one who comes to see you–’

Sylvia’s stomach tightened. ‘She’s not here.’

‘Well, I saw her come yesterday and I didn’t see her go again so she’s not far away. But I don’t care where she’s got to, only that she’s parked her chuffing car on the disabled space again.’ She waved the stick in the vague direction of the car park, over the walkway.

‘What makes you think it’s hers? She’s not here, so why would her car be?’

‘She always does it. And I know her car. It’s that little blue one, isn’t it? Anyway, it’s no use standing there arguing, it’s her car and I saw her yesterday and whyever she left it there is irrelevant but there it is and she needs to move it off the disabled space.’

‘But you don’t have a car, so why–’

‘Not that it’s anything to do with you, or with your little friend, whether I have a car or not. I might have, and I might not have. Or I might want a taxi to come and take me somewhere. Or one of those volunteer drivers that takes me to my hospital appointments. They need to be able to park at the bottom of the stairs, so I don’t have to walk.

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