I am still smarting with the knowledge he deceived me, so I use my words like bullets. ‘It was a mistake.’
And he looks at me like I’ve just given him a week to live. ‘You don’t mean that.’ Barefoot and wearing only a pair of boxers, he shivers with cold. He looks vulnerable and lost.
‘Go inside, Jack.’
‘Look,’ he says. He licks his lips. ‘I’ll drive. Just wait, okay?’
‘I can drive myself.’
‘You want me to sit here and wait for the police to bang my door down when you explain I’ve hidden you here for weeks? The least you can do is let me drive us both home. Yeah, I lied to you – I thought I was protecting you – but if this is going to blow up, I don’t want to be a fucking passenger.’
The look on his face tells me I am not going to win. All I want is to see my mum, so, against my better judgement, I relent and hand him the keys. I keep my head down as he strides into the house. I’m wearing nothing but trainers and one of Jack’s shirts but there is so much adrenaline surging through my body, I don’t feel the cold.
Despite everything, I don’t want Jack to get in trouble; maybe he can drop me off at the shed like we planned, and I can hitchhike back to Crosshaven. It will take so much longer but it will keep Jack as far from police questioning as possible.
Jack returns, dressed in jeans and a jumper. He doesn’t look at me as he passes, but he hands me a coat. I don’t put it on, I just hurry to the passenger side and get in. The vulnerable, lost Jack is gone, replaced by something harder and angrier. He rips the car into first and slams his foot on the accelerator. We take off. Fast. His jaw is tense, his face carved into a glower.
In the silence, I hear the raging tempest of his fury.
We careen down the hill, the trees on either side a blur of green and brown.
‘Slow down,’ I warn.
He doesn’t.
We bounce along the pitted road, faster and faster. ‘Jack!’
The car swings left. Then right. He isn’t in control. I am pinned against my seat, gripping the door handle so hard my hand burns. He slams on the brakes and I am thrown forward before my seatbelt snaps me back. ‘What the fuck?’
His gaze is fixed ahead. His knuckles bone-white around the steering wheel. ‘I can’t take you back. Not until we’ve sorted this.’
‘We can talk about it later. I need to see her.’
‘Meredith is fine.’
‘People don’t just pop into hospital for a rest.’
‘I meant it when I said I’m all in with you. We aren’t over – we can’t be.’
‘Jack, please just take me back. Or drop me off somewhere so I can—’
‘I want to fix this.’
‘MAYBE IT CAN’T BE FIXED.’
His mouth tightens, rage coming off him in blistering waves. ‘You’re wrong. You’re fucking wrong.’ He punches the steering wheel. I flinch. ‘It’s taken you years to admit how you feel about me. It took us coming up here, away from everyone, for you to admit it and we had it. We finally had it and it’s so good, Fray. It’s right, and you’re ruining everything.’
He reaches for me, but I snatch my hand away.
‘Why’re you being like this?’ he demands.
‘Are you kidding me? You didn’t tell me about my mum lying in a hospital bed. You didn’t tell me you’d filmed an appeal. Jesus, Jack, it was broadcast days ago. When did you film it? I mean—’ I stop, realisation dawning. ‘Oh my god. It was you. You did do something to the TVs … you had to in case I saw the appeal. You—’
‘Stop.’
‘Locked me in Wisteria and left me with a key you knew didn’t work. You’ve been manipulating me this entire time.’ As I say the words aloud, another crushing realisation hits me. ‘Did you really hear my mum say she was grateful it wasn’t Ada who went missing or was that another lie to keep me here?’ I am furious and certain. I stare at him, daring him to lie to me again. I’m remembering what he said this morning, that if we had some time alone away from Crosshaven, everything would fall into place.
‘You think I’d do that?’
‘Yes.’ Then I’m out of the car and stomping down the hill. It’s raining hard now but I don’t care.
The car door slams shut. Jack’s heavy footsteps sound on the packed earth. ‘Elodie.’ He grabs my wrist.
‘Stay the fuck away.’
But he doesn’t let go. He yanks me to him and looms over me; a sour mix of anguish and anger. ‘Talk to me.’