She doesn’t take it. ‘You work at Somerset Rape Crisis Centre. Why is that?’
Shock rises through me like saliva before vomit. In a bid to keep my new life private, only a handful of carefully selected people know where I work. Where I live. Beside me, Ada tenses.
‘Are you hoping for redemption after putting your family, friends and the rest of the nation through hell? How do you feel about David Taylor being charged as an accomplice? Do you regret killing Jack?’
I am the unwilling assistant tied to a spinning target. She is a seasoned knife thrower, flinging her questions at me like flying daggers. Only, they are intended to impale. And they do. Each one slices and tears and lodges bone-deep. The guilt that sits across my chest in a steel band tightens and I can’t draw breath.
‘She didn’t put us through hell. Jack did,’ Ada snaps. ‘He had her kidnapped from her own bed. The choice he gave her in the woods wasn’t ever a choice. He would’ve taken her to Wisteria either way because he was in too deep, and he wanted her. He was obsessive and controlling and killing him was the only way she could save us both.’
Immediately I am overcome with the memories of that night. The people around me turn to ash and I am being dragged back to Wisteria.
‘Of course she doesn’t regret it,’ retorts Ada.
Tippies. I am in Tippies Bookshop. I am not trapped inside the cottage. Breathing deeply, I wipe my damp palms against my dress. Sweat, I remind myself, not blood.
Stephanie hasn’t taken her eyes off me. She is looking for something, trying to turn over a boulder at the bottom of me to examine all the things I battle to keep hidden. And she finds them. The guilt that turns my face into my pillow at 3 a.m. to muffle the endless sobs. Moments of missing Jack that are so fierce, they become a physical ache. Moments of hating him for what he did, what he tried to do, that are so vivid, they burn. And the regret that I took his life, that I couldn’t find a better way, thuds through me like a second heartbeat.
‘Do you deserve this book deal, Elodie?’ asks Stephanie.
I swallow. There is only so long you can ignore your critics, the ones who post about you online and fire off death threats and hate to your inbox. There is only so long you can ignore the voice inside your head that tells you they are right. Now, I am faced with both, and I am silent because I’m sure I deserve her barbed questions.
‘Yes,’ hisses Ada. ‘She does. Don’t you think she’s been through enough? She was manipulated, sexually assaulted, beaten, held in a basement against her will for months. Why should she give up her dreams because of what he did? She isn’t responsible for her abuser’s actions, and she won’t continue to suffer for them. My sister saved my life. She’s helping people at the charity, with this book and, as you’re clearly aware, she hasn’t made a penny from it. If she were a man, you’d have no problem with her publishing this book. If—’
I lay a hand on Ada’s arm to stop her. ‘I think you have everything you need for whatever you’re writing,’ I tell Stephanie, nodding towards the phone in her hand which is recording this exchange.
Ada, realising she has given several powerful soundbites, swears under her breath.
‘You’ve had your pound of flesh,’ says Mum, appearing behind Stephanie. ‘I think you’d better leave.’
‘Now,’ intones Dad.
‘Nobody wants you here,’ says Mel, the girl with the perfect eyeliner.
Then the rest of our readers, our friends, our family, chime in with a surge of support. Stephanie is surrounded and uncomfortable. Josh emerges from the back room, red in the face and trying to work out what is happening. As soon as he gets the gist, he is escorting Stephanie through the bookshop and out the back door. And I feel a rush of love for everyone who came tonight.
Ada’s eyes are on me, making sure I’m okay, and I give a minute nod of my head.
When the last copy of One Small Mistake is signed and our ticket holders have gone, we have a moment with our family and friends.
‘You girls,’ says Mum, a swell of emotion cresting her voice. She is wearing her best shoes, the satin ones with the little bow detail. ‘I’m so proud of my girls.’
Dad clears his throat. ‘We both are.’ It could be a trick of the light, but I think his eyes are shiny.
My parents were ineffably relieved both their daughters were alive, but I had a lot of explaining to do. Even though Ada and the police had been willing to keep my fake book deal a secret from my parents and the public, I couldn’t. I told Mum and Dad everything. Understandably, it took them a long while to forgive me, to understand why I lied about the book, why I felt compelled to agree to Jack’s plan after he had me abducted. But my parents’ anger soon gave way to concern as I told the rest of my story to the police and discussions about sentencing were had. The reality that their youngest could be facing prison for initially agreeing to her own abduction settled like a chemical smog.