Glancing back into the house, the kitchen glows, completely engulfed. My gaze darts to Ada. I can’t leave her. Can’t let her burn. Covering my mouth and nose with my hands, I run to her. She’s light but I am weak from exhaustion. I drag her. It takes longer than it should, and I battle to keep moving. Flames lick out of the kitchen and streak across the wooden floor towards us. I heave and heave until we are spat out into the night. Into the freezing January air.
On the cold ground, I sit and hold my sister. Everything is in vivid colour: Ada’s milk-white skin, the ruby bloom of her blood, the silver glow of the moon in the inky sky, the orange flames which dance in windows, the black smoke billowing out the open front door, the flash of red and blue lights cresting the hill.
I do not move. I sit and I watch.
I watch Wisteria Cottage burn.
After
Chapter Fifty-Three
760 Days After
Elodie Fray
Tippies is my favourite bookshop in Crosshaven. It’s floor-to-ceiling bookshelves which climb so high up there are two rolling ladders that always make me think of that scene in Beauty and the Beast. It has character, style. I love the hanging plants, the huge Persian rug and the gorgeous Georgian fireplace. Love even more the smell of coffee and paper and learning. I do not love the anxiety that puffs and swells at the bottom of me like rotting fruit. I’ve been signing books for nearly an hour, and while most people are overwhelmingly friendly, I do not forget the death threats, the hate mail and the backlash that followed after Wisteria. Not everyone was pleased I survived Jack Westwood. It took a lot of convincing for me to attend tonight. To make my first and last public appearance since Wisteria. It is a ticketed event. The press I’ve continued to avoid are outside, huddled against the shuttered windows. I try not to think about them because when I do, I feel like a rabbit being circled by wolves.
Despite the queue that loops around the shop, we haven’t sold many copies this evening; most people here tonight already have theirs. Well-loved copies with creased spines and dog-eared pages marking their favourite parts. The book has only been out for a month, but it’s already a best-seller. Marketing came up with the brilliant, morbid idea to publish it on August 16th to mark the two-year anniversary of my disappearance. The media went mad for it and sales skyrocketed overnight.
‘It’s amazing to meet you,’ says the woman standing over me with perfect eyeliner. She’s excited maybe, or nervous; her fingers tremble around her battered copy.
‘You too.’ I smile as I take it from her. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Mel.’
‘I like your tattoo,’ I say, spotting the inked rose on her wrist.
‘Thank you.’
I sign the inside cover, trying to make the message as personal as possible.
Dear Mel,
May the wings of your eyeliner always be even.
Love,
Elodie x
I hand it back and watch as her eyes run over it. She grins. ‘Thanks. And’ – she clears her throat – ‘sorry for your loss.’
This hits hard, a well-meant sucker punch. I swallow and nod, unsure which loss she’s referring to – there have been so many – but she’s sincere so I thank her anyway. ‘If you wait a moment, my—’
‘How’re you doing?’ Josh, my publicist, crouches down beside my table. He’s tall and lean with dimples and stubble. ‘Do you need a break?’
‘I’m fine. Thank you though.’
‘Water? And where’s—’
‘Grabbing drinks.’ I shake my head in mock-reproof. ‘Too slow, Josh.’
‘Here we are,’ says Ada, placing two glasses of lemon ice water down on the table.
‘I could’ve got those for you,’ Josh reminds her.
‘You were busy and I’m perfectly capable,’ she replies, but her eyes are on Christopher who stands nearby, a copy of our book in one hand and a glass of something bubbly in the other. He smiles at her. Some people wait their entire lives to be smiled at like that. She takes her seat beside me and welcomes Mel, reaching out for her copy of One Small Mistake. ‘May I?’
As she signs it, Mel asks with so much hope, ‘Don’t mean to pry, but did you and Christopher get together?’
Ada blinks. ‘Well, you see—’
‘Yes,’ I answer. ‘They live together.’
Mel smiles widely.
Ada tries to glare at me, but there’s joy in her eyes, just as there always is when Christopher is mentioned.
‘What?’ I ask innocently. ‘Just being honest.’