I still can’t look at Amelia. My mind is too busy filling in the blanks her words won’t.
‘Did you used to steal cars?’ I ask her, in a voice that doesn’t sound like my own.
Amelia doesn’t reply, but her breathing is getting louder behind me. I hear her little sharp intakes of breath, as she stands and starts coming closer. I wish she wouldn’t, but I turn to face her.
‘Did you get arrested for death by dangerous driving when we were both thirteen?’
‘I think you need to calm down,’ she wheezes, twisting my mother’s ring round and round her finger. A nervous tic. A tell. I stare at the sapphire, twinkling in the dim light as if to taunt me. A small but beautiful blue rock. That ring should never have been on Amelia’s hand.
‘Did you go for a joyride in the rain one night?’ I ask.
‘We both need to stay calm and… talk.’
She starts to sob and gasp at the same time, but I still can’t look her in the eye. I just keep staring at the ring on her finger.
‘Did the car mount the pavement?’
‘Adam… please—’
‘Did it crash into a woman wearing a red kimono while walking her dog? Did you leave her for dead and drive away?’
‘Adam, I—’
‘Did you think you’d get away with it forever?’
I look up and stare at Amelia’s face. For the first time, it looks familiar to me. She takes the inhaler from her pocket, and starts to panic when she realises that it is empty.
‘Help me,’ she whispers.
‘Were you the person in the car the night my mother was killed?’ I ask, fighting back the tears in my eyes.
‘I love… you.’
‘Was it you?’ Amelia nods and starts crying too. ‘How could you keep something like this from me? Why didn’t you tell me who you were? This is… sick. You’re sick. There’s no other word for it. Everything about you, us, it’s a… lie.’
She can’t breathe. I stare at her, no longer knowing what to do, or say, or how to react. This feels like one of my nightmares: it can’t be real. Despite everything, my instinct is to help her. But then she speaks again, and I only want to do one thing: Shut. Her. Up.
‘I’m… not the only one who… lied.’ I don’t know what my face does when Amelia says this, but she takes a step back. ‘I’m sorry. I only ever… wanted to make you… happy,’ she whispers, gasping for air.
‘Well, you didn’t. I was never really happy with you.’
Then I see Amelia’s face clearly for the first time. And as soon as I do, it changes, darkens into something ugly and unfamiliar. Her eyes are suddenly wide and wild as they dart around the kitchen. It all happens so fast. Too fast. Her hand drops the inhaler, and reaches for the knife block instead. She’s coming at me with a shiny blade. But then another face appears behind my wife, and I see another flash of metal, and this time it’s a pair of extremely sharp-looking scissors.
Scissors
Word of the year:
schadenfreude noun pleasure, joy, or self-satisfaction derived by someone from another person’s misfortune.
16th September 2020
Dear Adam,
It isn’t our wedding anniversary, but it has been six months since I came home, and I couldn’t resist writing you a letter. We’ve managed to put the past behind us, and we’re a family again: you, me, Bob, and Oscar the house rabbit. Sometimes when you set something free it comes back. Nobody knows what happened in Scotland and nobody ever needs to.
It was hard at first, for both of us, returning to London to find so many traces of her in our home. But it was nothing that some bin bags, the local rubbish tip, and a lick of paint couldn’t solve. We’ve been returned to our factory settings, and everything is back to how it used to be. Almost. Working at Battersea Dogs Home seemed out of the question – too many reminders of all the things I would rather forget – but that’s OK, I have a new job now: I’m a full-time writer.
Not that anyone knows, except you.
It’s been a busy six months. Rock Paper Scissors is going to be published next year. It might not be my name on the cover, but it’s my book, and it’s hard not to feel anxious about people reading it. So much of our real lives have gone into this novel. The screen rights have already been sold – to a company you have always dreamed of working with – and there is a watertight clause in the contract stating that you will be the only screenwriter on this project. Henry signed the deal himself, or at least I did. Sometimes I think it’s the fear of falling down that makes people trip up. We’re not born afraid. When we’re young, we don’t hesitate to run, or climb, or jump, and we don’t worry about getting hurt or fret about failure. Rejection and real life teach us to fear, but if you want something badly enough, you have to take the leap.