In the moonlight, Eleanor’s skin looked white, her gaze burning. Her whole body trembled, alight with rage.
‘You!’ she’d snarled.
One word. Filled with fire and spit and hate.
And that’s when it’d happened. When Eleanor’s lips had peeled back from her teeth, and she’d charged.
88
Eleanor
He shouldn’t have said it, that thing about Sam.
That he was laughable.
Eleanor had once believed that she was the only person Ed treated with easy cruelty – and that, somehow, she deserved it for being odd, for not acting like other people, for showing him up. She’d internalised that belief because it was less painful to imagine herself as strange than admit that her big brother – who was meant to love and protect her – was callous.
Watch your fucking mouth! Ana had warned.
Ed had barely glanced at her as he’d swung his palm hard at her cheek, like she was nothing.
‘You!’ Eleanor heard herself growl, an electric tingle spreading down to her fingertips, a rush of blood pounding in her ears.
Ed raised an eyebrow in contempt. It was the dismissiveness of the gesture. That none of it – none of what he had done to her, to Sam, to Ana – mattered, because he saw himself as better. White noise filled her head and something that had been smouldering inside her for too long finally ignited.
She felt herself moving, storming forward, head down, charging. It was motion fuelled by instinct and anger and a lifetime of cruelties and hurts. Love flying so very close to hate.
She heard the grunt of air being expelled from Ed’s lungs as her shoulder connected with his chest. He staggered towards the low wall but, rather than catching him – breaking his fall like it had done for Ana – the wall took his legs out from beneath him.
Eleanor was aware of his body tipping away from her, from the terrace, from safety. His expression shifted from surprise to fear as he reached out, grabbing for her.
Everything slowed: she could feel the damp press of the red wrap, still draped over her arm, beneath his grip; she could feel her bare feet sliding across the flagstone, desperate for purchase; she could feel her body, destabilising, lurching forwards with his.
Then suddenly there were other hands – small, warm, strong hands – grabbing for her, holding tight, pinning her to the terrace, and to them.
Ed’s fingers slipped as the red wrap loosened, pulling free.
She watched his arms begin to windmill, the wrap swirling above him like a blood-red ribbon display.
Her brother, not flying – but falling.
She saw the whites of his eyes as his gaze swivelled, taking them all in – the circle of women holding tight to his sister – imploring them to help.
But they could do nothing.
If Eleanor could’ve reached out, caught him, she would have.
One of them would have.
Wouldn’t they?
89
Lexi
Lexi’s hands were clamped over her mouth. She could feel the heat of her breath against her palms. Her thoughts were fragmented, like jagged shards of broken glass reflecting distorted images.
Ana was still slumped on the ground, fingertips pressed to her swelling cheek. Nearby, Eleanor was rocking on her heels, arms hugged tight to her body.
Fen rushed onto the terrace. ‘Was that Ed?’
Robyn nodded urgently, her feet making tiny frantic steps as she stared over the edge.
Lexi raked her fingers through the roots of her hair, nails digging into her scalp. Just seconds ago, Ed had been standing right there.
She’d been talking to him.
He was there.
And now …
He wasn’t.
She was aware of her feet moving, carrying her across the terrace, stopping in front of the stone wall. The scent of oregano lifted from a nearby terracotta pot, strange and earthy. She placed her fingertips to the chalky surface of the wall, leaned forward. A dizzying rush of blood to her head made her lurch.
There was a hand on her shoulder, steadying her.
Someone was saying her name.
She looked.
‘I can’t see him.’ Was she speaking? Or someone else?
She blinked. The oceanic roar of blood in her ears.
She angled her head. A vertiginous wave of nausea gripped her, knees buckling, saliva slickening her throat.
‘Breathe,’ someone said, the pressure on her shoulder increasing.
She drew air into her lungs.
Continued to stare down, down.
There. The pale shadow of his white shirt. A darkening on the rocks. Moonlight catching against something silver. A watch?
Ed.
Unmoving.
She knew it. Felt it in her body.