had friends in very high places. I didn’t trust anyone any more, except Joe. And that’s what I told him. I think he saw my point.
I thought again that he was going to sob but in the end he stood up. ‘Wait here one moment,’ he said, then went into his bedroom.
When he returned he had a small holdall.
I made Joe wait for me in the car outside my flat. It was safer for him that way.
I had one last thing to do and for that I needed solitude.
In the living room I pulled the blanket from the mirror. Then I called her up.
‘Rebecca, are you there?’ My voice was a whisper leached of strength. In the shattered reflection I could see myself swaying from side to side. And I could now feel the throb of my shoulder. But I had to do this.
Silence.
‘Are you there?’ Please come.
A small noise from the other side of fractured glass. A snuffling in the everworld.
‘Yes, I’m here.’ Her voice, frail, shaky.
I was chill and faint, pushing myself on with pure will. I had to tell her what I’d realised. She needed to know.
So I summoned the last scraps and told her, ‘I am Mercy.’
A sudden exhalation beyond the mirror. Then the words, ‘Mercy, my child.’
I heard a pattering and scratching on the other side of the glass. First the uncombed black hair came into view, then her face, pale and wild, eyes wide, vivid. And I gasped too, shocked to the quick, seeming to look into the very face of my mother at fifteen.
‘Mother? Rebecca?’
The girl’s dirty brow creased. ‘You. As pale as an angel.’
‘I am alive. I am Mercy. He’s dead now.’ I said it again. ‘I’m here.’
‘I’m so sorry. You understand?’ Her eyes begged for the response that I came here to give.
‘Yes,’ I told her. ‘I forgive you. Of course I do.’
‘I was a child.’
‘I know.’
I watched a weak smile creep over her features, then the blackness seemed to strengthen and move across her, beginning to dissolve her form into nothingness. ‘You can go now,’ I said. ‘I’m going too. I love you. You are forgiven. Mercy.’
‘It’s ended?’ she asked with only her eyes.
‘It’s ended,’ I repeated to the reflection.
Chapter Forty-Eight
And so I walked like a ghost through the memories of my afterlife. For that was all it was: Mercedes Asquith was a phantom self, following in the footsteps of the bastard child, Mercy.
Mercy – a life that was what? A plea? A statement? A gift? Perhaps a destiny.
I don’t know.
I guess I never will now.
But then I’ve been guessing a lot. I guessed that Mum had tried to tell me, back then before she died. I think she knew she wasn’t going to hold on much longer, though it was the last thing she wanted to disclose. She must have known what the consequences would have been. I was a sticky little bugger. Tenacious and, to a certain extent, ruthless too. I obviously inherited that from my father. She must have expected I’d find out, bring it into the light. And I’m guessing she kept the certificate with the coordinates on to guide me to the document, as some poorly thought-out insurance policy. Hoping it might at least offer some power of negotiation if I ever discovered what happened to her, and who my father was.
We were both naïve on that count. Locked into our world of Essex witches, far removed from the power struggles of those whose path we had stumbled across. In some ways we were pawns, just like our ancestors before us. The female kind, that is. Except this time, I didn’t do what I was told. Though it cost me my life. Well, my identity anyway. This new one is several incarnations away from the one I took off Felix. And he’s right – I’m untraceable. You’ve got to give me credit for that – I never was a stupid girl. Naïve perhaps, but not thick. And that’s how I’ve managed to get word to Dan, who is doing okay now. He was going to tell me about what he knew when he saw me face to face. But obviously events conspired against us. He understands why I had to go. And he’s told Dad too. My real dad, Ted Asquith, who loved me and reared me and earned my respect. That’s what the word ‘father’ means to me. The blood running through my veins is that of an unwanted sperm donor who gave me