She puts a plate down in front of me piled high with beef and vegetables. I pick up my fork and spear one of the roast potatoes. It’s cold when I bite into it but I don’t say anything. I don’t want to offend her when she’s gone to all this effort. “
He turned up where I live and stole something from me,” I say, suddenly aware of how strange it sounds when I say it out loud.
“What did he steal?”
“Well, it’s complicated.”
“Life usually is.” She sits down with her own plate and starts to eat. “You get used to it after a while. Especially with Enzo as a brother.”
“He hasn’t explained much to me but he dug something up that I’m fairly sure my parents dug up then reburied. Oh, and he wanted to take a necklace from me but he wouldn’t tell me what for. Thinking about it, I don’t know much about what’s going on.”
“Join the club, we’ve got mugs and tee-shirts for new members. He say anything about why he wanted this necklace?”
“Only that he was supposed to take it from me. I don’t know why.”
“It valuable, this necklace?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“Want me to take a look? I used to work at a pawnbroker’s, reckon I can probably give you a valuation.”
“Really?”
“Sure. You got it on you?”
“Yeah. Here, have a look.” I dig it out of my pocket and pass it across to her outstretched hand. “What do you think?”
She examines it closely, a smile forming on her lips. “You are dumb, aren’t you? You’ve no idea what this is, have you?”
I lose my appetite in a moment. “Should I have?”
Her smile turns into a laugh and as she laughs her whole face changes shape. The friendly warmth vanishes from it, replaced by that thin-lipped coldness I saw when I first got here. Only this time it’s cold enough to make me think of falling through broken ice into the freezing waters beneath.
“I could tell you,” she says, leaning under the table, bringing out a gun which she points straight at me. “But I think it would be more fun to leave you bleeding to death without you ever finding out what your parents did to you.”
25
CHLOE
* * *
“What are you doing, Imelda?” I ask, the fork frozen halfway to my mouth. I’m not staring at her. I’m staring at the barrel of the gun, expecting it to fire at any moment.
I get a flashback yet again of a gun pointing at me all those years ago. A teenager pointing it. Is it Enzo? A younger Enzo? Did he point a gun at me when I was two? Is that possible?
“My name’s not Imelda,” she continues. “It’s Sandra. Does that come as a shock, you fucking moron? Do you think I cooked all this? Imelda was hard at work in the kitchen when we came to get her. Lucky for me, I hate cooking. Saved me going through the pretense of making you something while I pumped you for the intel I need. Maintaining this happy sister act is exhausting.”
“What have done with Imelda and Sarah?”
“Imelda’s currently in the Don’s protection, unlike you. As for Sarah, she’s gone for a sleepover. Shame because I would have loved to see her screaming when they took her away. Still, just think. Won’t it be fun when she gets back and finds your bullet-riddled body and her momma missing? Imagine the shock on her face. I kind of wish I could stay to see it.”
I don’t say anything in response. The barrel of the gun has got my entire attention on it. I can’t look away. I want to but I can’t.
She’s still talking. “Your parents dumped you because they didn’t want you anymore.” She’s got a cruel smile on her face. “How’s it feel to find that out just before you die?”
“What are you talking about?”
The phone rings over on the wall. Her eyes dart to it for a second, the gun barrel drooping slightly.