Chapter Forty-One

With Eliot and his god-awful family already gone, and Ed planning to leave that day, Zoe could see the light at the end of Christmas hell. Once she had Jonathon to herself, she could tell him she'd had three offers on his house, one from a cash buyer ready to exchange as soon as the solicitors pulled their bloody fingers out. Maybe if she got out the leather thigh boots and handcuffs, she could persuade him to move to Kendal.

Dumping her shopping bags in the hallway, Zoe checked her lipstick, removed a smudge of eyeliner and went in search of him. He was so going to love her new scarlet babydoll. Her pussycat smile vanished when she walked into the drawing room. Ed sat in an armchair with his head in his hands and Jonathon stood in the great bay window, looking out into the garden.

'Hello,' she said, heading over to Jonathon, purposefully ignoring Ed. 'How was golf?'

Jonathon glanced down, frowning at the hand she'd rested on his shoulder. 'Ed, could you give us a minute?'

Zoe's heart rate increased as Ed obediently left the room. 'What's going on?'

'Ed told me.'

Zoe kept her smile despite the bile rising in her throat. 'Told you what?'

Jonathon reached out, stroking her hair, his eyes scanning her face as if memorising every millimetre. 'You were like a dream. I couldn't understand why I deserved you. People said it was for the money, but I never really believed that. It wasn't that, was it?'

'No. You're the most amazing man-'

'He told me what happened on Christmas Day.'

Zoe sucked in a lungful of air as her world shifted underneath her.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered, 'but you have to forgive me. It'll never happen again.'

Jonathon kissed her forehead. 'You have to leave.'

Please, please, no. She held his face. 'But you fucked Maggie and I forgave you.'

'He loves you, Zoe. I can't ruin my son's chance of happiness.'

'He doesn't have a chance of happiness with me. I chose you, not him.'

'And you have no idea what that means to me.' For a moment, Jonathon let her kiss him, her mouth clinging to his. 'But I can't do this to him.'

'Please, no,' Zoe begged, unable to stop the tears trickling down her cheeks. This was her chance to be happy, really happy. 'I love you. I've never really loved anyone before, but I love you and I don't give a damn about the money.' Oddly, she meant it.

'He's my son, Zoe. I choose him, not you.'

He didn't love her. He couldn't. If he did, he wouldn't turn her away like this, wilfully making her unhappy. Did he really think she'd say, okay, and bugger off with Ed? Was that what Jonathon thought of her? Zoe raised her chin and with her last ounces of self-control she took out the keys to the Z4, dangling them in front of him.

'Keep it,' Jonathon said, resuming his vigil on the garden.

She pushed the keys into his hand. 'I've had all the cars I need from this family.'

Tears streamed down her face as she walked upstairs, refusing to run. Yes, the money was good, the toys, the shiny trinkets, but more than that, Jonathon gave her power and respect, now, it'd all gone - ripped from her, destroyed by Ed.

With every item she threw in a case, she prayed Jonathon would come in, telling her he'd changed his mind, but he never. In the end, the shadow that came over the room was Ed's. He offered to carry her bags, his eyes hopeful.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered, 'but I had to.'

She gave a small laugh before pulling back her arm and slapping him, making his head jerk and her palm burn. 'You obnoxious little prick. You've ruined everything. I loved him.'

'But I love you.'

'I don't care.'

'Yes, you do.' He pulled her to him, holding her face, wiping away her tears. 'I wanted you to want me for me, but I know it matters... I own the paper.'

'You've got gold to dig?'

'I've got gold to dig.' Ed kissed her, his hands caressing her neck, reminding her how her body reacted to him. 'Come to London.'

She crumbled under his touch, letting him walk her backwards towards the bed. His father's bed. Her body arched towards him, aching to give in. No. She would not lose control, not again.

'Do you really think all I need is a good shag with money?'

'You need me,' he mumbled as he kissed her neck. 'And I need you.'

She had to end this. This obnoxious little prick had taken everything from her. It was payback time. Payback might cost her everything, but at least it was her doing, not his. Zoe held his face in her hands, staring into his eyes, her lips hovering by his.

'Ed... I held your mum's hand the night she died. Your dad was a little tied up so I went to check on her. I held her hand and she talked to me. She thought I was God.'

Ed's eyes sparkled as he smiled.

'But, when she stopped breathing,' Zoe whispered, 'I did nothing to help.'

Predictably, his eyes lost their sparkle.

'Is that what you need?' she kissed him, her lips unlikely to make it all better.

How long would she have, the five minute drive to the cottage? Would Ed ring the police himself, or spend an hour plucking up the courage to tell his father? And what would Jonathon do, ring the police or stall while he pondered how this was ALL HIS FAULT?

*

The taxi pulled into the Square and Libby's heart sank at the sight of lights on in the cottage. Zoe was home. Arse. Libby needed just a little more time to get her head together. How could she need more time? She'd had two hours and forty minutes on the train from Euston and twenty minutes in a taxi from Oxenholme to get her head together, but all she'd managed to do was ask herself the same two questions, over and over. Were they the same earrings? And if so, how did Zoe get them?

As the driver processed her groaning debit card, Libby stared up at the light on in Zoe's room and dialled Patrick. Sadly, like the other nine times she'd tried already, it went straight to voicemail. The night before he practically said he loved her. Hot, cold, hot, cold - but what was she always left with? Cold.

Gingerly, Libby stepped into the house, mercifully kicking off her heels. A suitcase sat in the hallway. Zoe appeared in the kitchen doorway, dressed but with a towel wrapped around her head.

'You're back.' Zoe smiled and sounded pleased, but her tell, nervous blinking, had never been more obvious. 'I can't believe you get to dance again. Happy?'

Libby nodded. 'I need a wee. Put the kettle on?'

Okay, one step at a time. Were they the same earrings? Libby ran upstairs and tiptoed into Zoe's room, checking in the jewellery box. Empty. Completely empty. Okay, Zoe had pretty much moved into Jonathon's, but she'd only taken her bare essentials, and the Dick's birthday present earrings hadn't been one of them. But now, they'd gone. Arse.

After flushing the loo, Libby bravely headed downstairs, the photo in her hand, ready for the confrontation from hell.

'The suitcase in the hall,' Libby said, back in the kitchen. 'You coming or going?'

'Going.' Zoe held up a jug, pouring a second glass of the orange-coloured drink. 'Buck's Flat? We should celebrate your return to the ballet world. When are you moving to London? Will you live with Paolo or get your own place?'

'I don't know.' Libby took the glass, taking in Zoe's red eyes and letting concern override her suspicions. 'What's wrong, Zo?'

Zoe's lip wobbled, but she took a massive gulp of her drink. 'Ed spilled the beans and Jonathon kicked me out. I'm getting away for a bit.'

Oh god, no. Libby pushed the photo into her back pocket. This wasn't the time to ask about Maggie. 'Where are you going?'

'Parents for a few days.' Zoe wiped her eyes. 'Then maybe a holiday.'

'I could come too. Sunshine or snow?' Libby sipped her drink, grateful for the booze to calm her nerves. She had to ask about the earrings, but poor Zoe looked ready to crack.

'I'll let you know when I've decided. We could meet at the airport.' Zoe sat in front of a mirror, facing the window as she applied her foundation. 'So how was London?'

'Not as good as here.'

'And Patrick?'

'He texted me last night, being nice. Hot. Back to cold today.'

'So, tell me all about it.'

Libby knocked back her drink, explaining about being back at the ballet, being out with Paolo, all the while watching Zoe apply her usual, immaculate make-up - subtle brown eye shadow, a thin line of liquid liner on her top lashes, a hint of peach blusher. The mascara was going on. The job would be finished and Zoe would leave. Libby's heart raced.

'Zo, I need to talk to you about something.'

'Is it important, or can you ring me later? I have a taxi coming in about ten minutes and I still need to do my hair.'

'Yes, it's important,' Libby said, helping herself to a second glass of the buck's flat. Her mouth was like sandpaper from nerves. 'The earrings...'

Libby stared at her hand, fascinated by the colour of her lilac nails. So much prettier than usual.

Zoe paused, her mascara wand hovering. 'What earrings?'

'The diamond ones you wouldn't let me wear on Christmas Eve. Where did you get them?'

'Oh, those.' Zoe went back to her mascara. 'Richard. You know that.'

'It's just, I've seen a photo...' Libby's hand left tracing patterns in the air. This wasn't right. This was wrong. Her breath came in quick, short bursts.

Zoe put her make-up away. 'Are you feeling okay? You look woozy. Have you eaten today?'

'No...' Libby fanned herself. '...was meant to have brunch with your dad, but... had to leave when...'

'My dad?'

Libby slumped against the wall, sliding down it. Why could she see red snakes hiding under the towel wrapped around Zoe's head? Libby blinked, trying to focus, but Zoe's head split into a kaleidoscope of shapes and colours. 'Don't feel very good.'

Zoe crouched beside her. 'You were having brunch with my dad, why?'

'He wanted to know how you were.' Libby closed her eyes, shutting out the bright lights.

'Libby...'

'Lib? Libby?'

A dull ached throbbed against her brain, but Libby opened her eyes, flinching at the bright light in the room.

'Libby, drink this. It's water.' A strange girl with scarlet hair pushed a glass nearer to Libby's lips. A thick fringe and glasses obscured the girl's eyes, but what Libby could see, seemed familiar.

'Zoe?'

'You're okay. Scared me a bit, but you're okay.'

'What did you give me?'

'Sheila's special edition elderflower wine.'

'You poisoned me?'

'Sedated you. There's a difference.' The new Zoe helped her sip more water. 'Now, I haven't got long. I reckon Ed will have told his dad by now, and Jonathon might be tempted to ring the police.'

'Ed knows you stole the earrings?'

'How do you know about the earrings, Libby?'

'The photo.' Libby summoned enough energy to take the photo from her pocket. 'Maggie's wearing them. You stole them from her, didn't you? I mean if she'd given them to you, you wouldn't have said the Dick gave them to you. Why didn't you tell me about her?'

'About who?'

'Maggie. Why didn't you tell me she's your mother?'

Zoe took the photo. 'Who's she with?'

'You don't know?' Libby tried to laugh. 'Why's Ed going to ring the police? What else have you done?'

'Who is he?'

'Tell me what you've done, Zo.'

Zoe sighed, scowling with frustration. 'We don't have time. You might pass out again soon and I have to leave.'

'Did you steal the earrings?'

'Oh for fuck's sake. Yes. My parents finally gave me my birth certificate and there it was, in black and white. Mother, Margaret Keeley. Father, unknown. The fucking whore didn't even know his name. I came up here, to see her, to know why she abandoned me. Fuck, she cried, saying she'd wanted to tell me for years. She showed me the earrings, telling me that one day they'd be mine. That my father gave them to her the day I was born.

'How dare she keep the fucking earrings when she wouldn't keep me? She wouldn't tell me who he is. She just kept going on and on about how much she loved me. What a joke? She didn't love me. If she had, she wouldn't have starved me for days on end.' Zoe wiped at her tears, now leaving black streaks down her cheeks. 'Who's this man?'

'Your father. When did you steal the earrings?'

'The night she died.'

'What did you do, Zo?'

'It wasn't intentional. I went to get the earrings while she was out at that pagan festival. She came back early, and the opportunity was too good to miss. She tripped over that stupid cat. She would've fallen down the stairs without me laying a finger on her, but I couldn't resist helping out. How are you feeling?'

'Like my best friend's poisoned me.'

A little clarity came over Libby, the belladonna cloud clearing, and she studied the girl crouching in front of her. The new Zoe wore black crap around her eyes, Libby's ACDC t-shirt and favourite purple striped tights. In fact, only the ancient converse boots were Zoe's own. 'You're in disguise.'

'Pretty good, hey?'

'Why's Ed going to ring the police?'

'Because I told him I killed his mother.'

Libby tried to stand, but her legs wouldn't work. 'You murdered Gloria?'

'Well, I say killed, more provided the ketamine. No one forced the old bag to take it.' Zoe shrugged. 'I only wanted to make sure I could fuck Jonathon in peace. She had a habit of accidentally walking in and watching when she was high. Weirdo. But her dying turned out quite handy until that prick Ed ruined everything.'

'And did you break into the vet's?'

'It's funny, but you were practically my accomplice. You taught me about alarm override codes and kept Patrick entertained. Like Maggie, the opportunity was too good to miss. Dorothy too.'

'Dorothy?' Libby asked, tears streaming down her face as the belladonna took hold again. 'Who's Dorothy?'

'Lynda from the post office's mum.'

The girl with red hair no longer resembled Zoe. Where had Zoe gone? Libby shrank away from the stranger. Why was this girl with red hair and glasses trying to kill her? Zoe. Where was Zoe? No, it was Zoe. She'd dyed her hair. It didn't look like Zoe. Fighting to stop her mind fragmenting again, Libby pinched the skin on the back of her wrist.

'Lynda's mum. You poisoned her with the elderflower wine.'

'No. Just a little vodka in it. Doesn't go well with her heart meds. Didn't think she'd die. I just wanted her to move out of the house so I could sell it. Have you any idea how much money this cottage has sucked up?' Zoe crouched in front of her, peering into Libby's eyes. 'But, that's all sorted. I've sold this place. Oh, you'll need to find somewhere to live. I have to go. Libby, who's my father?'

'Don't leave me. I need you, Emu.'

'They'll arrest me. I have to go. Who's my father?'

'Seamus Doyle. He's a poet.'

'Thank you.' Zoe took a shaky breath. 'I've been abandoned by birth mother, abandoned by my birth father and my adoptive parents were more than happy to send me off every summer to be tortured by the old witch I now know is my mother.' She kissed Libby's cheek. 'You're the only person who's ever been there for me. I'm sorry, but I have to do this. I just need an hour or so to get away. Just a little to knock you out for a while longer.'

Zoe opened a small bottle, sucking up a little liquid with the pipette. The label was just visible. Libby squinted, her eyes swimming in and out of focus. Belladonna. She tried to scream and fend Zoe off, but found her arms pinned to her sides. No, this wasn't Zoe. It couldn't be. Her Zoe would never do this. Libby sobbed as two drops fell onto her lips. The non-Zoe held the glass of water to Libby's lips, making her sip.

'Your pupils are huge, but don't worry, you won't die. I won't let that happen. I'll ring Patrick in a bit.'

And the red-haired stranger Libby previously knew as her best-friend walked out of the back door, suitcase in hand. Libby closed her eyes, the light paining them.

Please, Patrick. Don't leave me to die.

*

'Why are we doing this?' Patrick slumped into a chair, grateful for the coffee break.

'Because it's a good deed and if you can't do a good deed at Christmas, when can you?' Grace handed him a mug of coffee, checking her phone.

'After Christmas?' Patrick yawned.

Freebie cat neutering. A genius idea. Well it was, in principle, but when he'd agreed to do it, he hadn't thought Grace meant to do it the day before New Year's Eve. He was supposed to be on holiday and the whole experience was made ten times worse by his father offering to help.

'Ohmigod, message for you. Check it out.' Grace handed Patrick her phone. 'It's from Paolo.'

The photo showed a painting of Libby, another Paolo classic. She sat, again hugging her knees, but this time she smiled, her eyes sparkling with blatant happiness. Christ, look at how happy dancing made her. She really did need to be back in London. He pressed the phone to his forehead. London, I'm going to have to move to London. He tossed the phone back to Grace, thoroughly depressed, but she laughed.

'You didn't read the message, did you?' she asked.

He shook his head.

'It says, The Fixed Ballerina is on her way back.'

What? Patrick jumped up, digging his own phone out of his jacket and switching it on. Shit. Ten missed calls off Libby and two off Zoe. He dialled Libby, but it rang out until the answer machine kicked in.

'When did he send that?'

'Two and a half hours ago.'

Should he just go to Oxenholme and meet her off the train? She could be already on her way. She could be home. No lights on.

Where are you, Libs?

Breaking his own rule about keeping phones switched off while they were in surgery, Patrick habitually glanced to his phone, willing it to ring. In the midst of prepping a ginger tom called Lord Marmalade, finally, it did.

'Zoe, where is she? What's going on?'

'I can't talk, but Libby needs an ambulance. She's at the cottage.' She ended the call.

Patrick stared at the phone. What the hell? 'Grace, get my dad to take over. I'll be back in a minute.'

He ran from the surgery, jumping down the steps and sprinting across to Libby's house. He knocked, but didn't wait for an answer before opening the door.

'Libs,' he called, checking the living and dining rooms. 'Libby?'

He found her in the kitchen, curled up on the wooden floor with Hyssop standing guard over her. Patrick knelt beside her and gently shook her, but her only reaction was to curl up tighter. Behind her closed lids, her eyes flitted around as though she were dreaming.

'Libby? It's Patrick. Can you hear me?'

He glanced around, looking for a cause, some explanation. On the worktop sat bottle of Sheila's elderflower wine and a letter addressed to Libby. Swearing he pocketed the letter and scooped Libby up, begging her to hang on, as he ran back to the surgery.

'Dad, Grace!' he yelled, ignoring the alarmed expressions on the owners' faces in the waiting room. Gently, he laid her on an examination table. 'Come on, Libs. Wake up.'

His father was the first to arrive. 'Libby? Patrick, what's... Did you-'

'For Christ's sake, Dad, you've fussed over me all fucking day. When did I get chance to do this?' He paused as Grace came in. 'Gracey, call an ambulance. Belladonna poisoning, I think. Get rid of everyone then go to the cottage. There's a bottle of Sheila's elderflower wine in the kitchen. Bring it here. You'd better wear gloves.'

Grace stood staring at Libby's lifeless body.

'Now, Grace.' He picked up his phone again and dialled Zoe. 'Dad, do something.'

'I'm not a doctor.'

'No, you're a vet, so pretend she's a cat. Just check her pulse or something.' The ringing on the phone stopped. 'Zoe?'

'Is she okay?'

'Zoe, what happened?'

'Is she awake?'

'No. The wine, is that the bottle with the belladonna in? How much has she had?'

'About two glasses. One did her no harm in August. I didn't think it would take so long to wear off.'

'Where are you?' He stroked Libby's hair back, kissing her forehead. Zoe didn't answer, a garbled tannoy filled the silence. 'When did you leave her?'

'About an hour ago. I thought she'd be awake by now.' Zoe sobbed. 'You will look after her, won't you? And make sure she gets the letter. I have to go, but tell her I love her and I'm sorry. Promise you'll look after her?'

'I promise.'

Again, Zoe ended the call and he tossed the phone aside.

'Libby? It's Patrick. Can you hear me, Libs?' He held her hand, stroking her hair, and her fingers closed around his. Her eyes flickered, but didn't open. Gently, he kissed her forehead. 'Hang in there, princess.'

Grace came back. 'They're on the way, but realistically, they'll be at least fifteen minutes. Did she overdose because of you?'

'No. I think Zoe poisoned her, but I have no idea why.' Patrick laced his fingers with Libby's. 'Deadly Nightshade. Dad, what do you think?'

'If she were a horse...' Malcolm shook his head.

'She's not a horse.' Patrick stared at Libby's pale, beautiful face. 'Grace, the Wicca side, what don't I know?'

'People use nightshade as a flying potion. It makes you hallucinate. She'll be tripping her tits off. Maggie taught me to use it medicinally, for headaches and stuff.' Grace took a deep breath. 'She did say, if it went wrong and if it was a real emergency that I should give her physostigmine. Slow IV drip. No more than one mil every five minutes. Max two mil.'

Patrick swore. 'What if it's too much and kills her?'

'What if it kills her not to have it?' Grace asked, chewing her thumbnail.

'Why?'

'Last time, she had a small glass of that wine and was lucid and talking after thirty minutes. This is way worse.' Grace began prepping an IV line. 'I think she's had more, a lot more. If we give her the physostigmine, we might stop any long-term damage and buy her some time 'til she gets to casualty and has her stomach pumped.'

'Dad?' Tell me not to. Tell me it's a stupid idea.

'We'll take it slow and steady.'

Shit. Patrick went to get the physostigmine from the drugs locker, praying he wouldn't have to do this, but when he came back into the room, Grace, the only RVN he knew who could put a cannula in a hamster, clearly hadn't hesitated or buggered up putting one in Libby's left hand. Fuck, the line and fluids were set up. He couldn't do this. He pulled a chair up, sitting beside Libby, holding her right hand and stroking her hair.

'Libby?' He rested his forehead against hers. 'You need to wake up, right now. Please, princess. Let me know I don't need to do this. Libs?'

Nothing. Her fingers no longer reacted to his and her eyes had stopped darting around.

'Her heart rate's slowed,' his dad said, holding Libby's left wrist. 'Coma?'

Next stage, death. 'Libby, come on.'

'Let me do it,' Grace said, quietly. 'You could get struck off.'

'Or thrown in jail.' Patrick shook his head. 'You're not doing it.'

'Neither are you.' Malcolm took the vial. 'They won't throw me in jail and I'm already retired.'

'No, Dad. Please, let me do it.' Patrick held out his hand. 'You wanted me to take responsibility, right? Well, she's my responsibility.'

'She is. But my point was that you need to think about the consequences of your actions before you do them. If you do this and she dies... I'll be damned if I let you live with this on your conscience.'

As his father added the drug to the drip, Patrick held Libby's hand, praying his Broken Ballerina would wake up.

Fight, Libs. Please.