Chapter 52 2025 – Present Day Anna
Chapter 52
2025 – Present Day
Anna
The soldering iron rests on a rack as I attach clasps to both ends of a bracelet. It’s intricate work, so I’ve decamped to the kitchen where the lighting is better. As much as I used to enjoy working from home, these days it’s become harder. Especially being in this room. Knowing that detective died in the chair opposite me, his blood spilling over the tabletop I’m using now, and across the floor under my feet. I still find myself checking my fingernails for blood from Drew and my clean-up operation. All we used was a garden waste bag cinched tightly around the detective’s neck to prevent more blood from leaking, before Drew hoisted him over his shoulder and drove him away in the car. I don’t know where to and I didn’t ask.
More than ever it’s made me want to be like Liv and able to afford a place of my own to work. Nothing grand like her studio, just a little workshop somewhere and perhaps an apprentice to help me when demand is high. Three months ago, Deja, one of Liv’s friends, styled a photoshoot for Elle magazine and a handful of her models wore my bracelets and necklaces. The issue finally hit the shelves this week, including credits of who provided the jewellery, along with my website address. That, plus appearances on her influencer friends’ Instagram pages, means my inbox has been flooded with orders.
I rest my tired eyes from this intricate work and they settle upon the soldering iron. I briefly imagine the pain of pressing the tip against my skin, the smell of burning flesh, the wetness of tears running down my cheeks and the sting of antiseptic wipes as I clean my wound afterwards. I blink hard and the fantasy dissolves. I remember that I don’t need to hurt myself because Ioana isn’t here. Wherever she is, she’s been suspiciously quiet of late.
Margot came over again this morning without texting or calling first. She’s got into the habit of checking up on me. Perhaps she thinks I won’t cut again if she doesn’t announce when she’s coming. She doesn’t know that it’s not up to me if and when it happens, that other forces control me. However, it feels strange to have someone care about my well-being, especially her of all people, as she’s the one to blame for so much of this.
Neither of us have mentioned how she caught me, quite literally, red-handed. Although I’ve spotted her glancing at my thigh a few times. Even today, I sensed I was being watched as I made her a coffee. My healing skin is tight and thin, and when I’m alone, I’ve started keeping my leg as straight as I can when I walk, pulling it behind me like a reluctant dog on a lead. When I’m with others, I bend it like I’m supposed to, but it hurts.
‘That thing stinks,’ says Drew, pointing at the soldering iron as he enters the room.
He removes his green uniform jacket and tosses it towards the back of a chair. He doesn’t bother to pick it up when it falls to the floor.
‘I could say the same about you,’ I say, catching a sourness from his shirt. ‘You need to shower before we go to the party.’
‘What party?’
‘Liv’s birthday. She’s invited a few of us over for drinks.’
‘And why should I care?’
He’s in a combative mood, but for once, he won’t be putting a dampener on my day.
‘Two words,’ I reply. ‘Free bar.’
He makes his way to the fridge and removes a bottle of Estrella from an open box. I doubt it’s his first drink of the day. But I’ve given up trying to manage his alcohol consumption, especially since that detective’s death. I need to take care of myself, not him. I spoke too soon when I thought things were a little better between us back in the summer. Something he won’t talk about is casting a shadow over him. I assume it’s what he did to that man, which came as just as much of a surprise to me as it did to the detective. But each time I’ve asked what’s troubling him, he stonewalls me.
He clocks the two coffee cups on the draining board.
‘Company?’ he asks.
I nod without looking at him.
‘Who?’ But he already knows the answer.
‘Margot,’ I say.
He takes a long swig of his beer, then starts tapping his silver wedding ring against the glass bottle. The lion tattoo on the back of his hand is supposed to represent strength, courage and wisdom. I don’t see any of those things in him. Once, perhaps. But not anymore.
‘Why was she here?’ he continues.
‘She stopped by for a catch-up.’
‘You mean a check-up.’
That catches me off guard. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘My phone is linked to the doorbell camera, remember? And she’s over here daily. Sometimes twice. We’ve got all-new white towels and those blades have vanished – the ones you don’t think I know are hidden in the tampon box in the bathroom cabinet. You went too deep again, didn’t you? You bled out and called her for help.’
My voice cracks ever so slightly as I deny it. ‘I didn’t call anyone for anything.’
Drew offers a humourless laugh and continues tapping the bottle. The clink is growing louder.
‘But she was here,’ he continues. ‘And she’s been back every day since, to make sure you haven’t killed yourself.’
‘She helped me,’ I concede.
‘Oh did she? That’s so kind of her. So neighbourly.’
To my surprise, I find myself jumping to the defence of a woman I have hated since I was six years old.
‘Yes, she was kind to me.’
‘Kind?’ he repeats. ‘She was being kind to you? Jesus, Joanna!’
He only uses my full name when he’s angry.
‘Have you forgotten why you’re like this in the first place?’ he argues as he slams the bottle of beer down, its contents frothing over the rim. ‘You’ve lost all perspective.’
‘No, I haven’t forgotten,’ I say, but I can’t deny that I’m conflicted. However, I can’t admit that to him because he won’t understand. He wouldn’t even try.
‘Don’t lie to me,’ he snaps.
‘I’m not!’
‘I can see it in your eyes,’ he yells. ‘You don’t know who you are anymore.’
Drew’s normally pallid complexion is now puce, and spit flies like bullets from his mouth when he speaks. He moves towards me, and before I can defend myself, he grabs my arm so hard that I yelp. He pulls me off the chair and yanks down my jogging bottoms to reveal the bandages I’m still applying twice daily to my injuries. He tears them off to uncover the patchwork of scabs and scars beneath.
‘Look at yourself!’ he roars, and I’m too frightened and crying too hard from the pain of his grip to say anything but ‘Please let go.’
He grabs the back of my head and pushes it down towards my thigh. I whimper.
‘Look at yourself!’ he repeats. ‘You’re a mess. You’re a fucking mess. And it’s all because of her. You’re no use to me, no use to anyone.’
He’s never behaved like this before. He is furious: his breath is as hot as his skin. I’ve only just pulled up my joggers when he forcibly moves me to the kitchen window and pushes my face so hard against the Venetian blinds that I feel like the metal slats are going to slice through my cheek.
‘And her ,’ he snarls. ‘Every day I have to look at that house opposite, knowing who is really living under that roof. And you have the gall to say “she was nice to me” when it was her who made you like this.’
‘Let go of me,’ I whimper, and finally, he does.
‘If it wasn’t for her and if you did what you were supposed to do, we wouldn’t still be here and that copper would be alive.’
‘I had it under control,’ I protest.
‘Don’t kid yourself. He didn’t know everything, but he would’ve got there in the end if it wasn’t for my intervention. I did it to protect you, and how do you show your gratitude? By making friends with her .’
There’s so much I still don’t know about what happened after he loaded the body on to the back of his delivery truck. Where he dumped the detective, what he did with the man’s car and his phone. I can only assume the policeman hadn’t told his boss he was coming to our house that day, because his colleagues haven’t come to question us. And I’ve refrained from googling him to see if the media has reported on his disappearance. I carry enough information about my own passengers without adding to the load.
Drew grabs a second bottle of beer from the fridge and opens the back door. My whole body is shaking as I hold on to the countertop for dear life, scared that if I let go, my leg will give way and I’ll collapse. He looks me up and down with disgust.
‘Where are you going?’ I gasp.
‘Liv’s party,’ he adds. ‘Before I do something here that we’ll both regret.’
And I don’t doubt him.