Chapter 63 Anna
Chapter 63
Anna
I rifle through the odds-and-ends drawer, searching for where I might have left my red woollen gloves. The BBC weather app warns it’ll drop to zero degrees tonight, so I want to wrap up warm for the village Bonfire Night.
I need to leave the house in about an hour. I check my phone to see if I’ve missed Margot’s response to my texts but I’ve yet to hear from her. The last message she sent was just after 9 p.m. yesterday. We had a loose arrangement for me to call at hers. She offered to come here, but I don’t want her anywhere near Drew at the moment. I don’t want to be around him either. Not that he’s been here very often since our confrontation almost two weeks ago. Sometimes days pass when he doesn’t return. I have no idea where he goes or who he’s with and I’m past caring. I’m less on edge when he’s missing.
I know that I need to confront Margot about her involvement in Liv’s accident, but I’m putting it off. Because if I do, I know that Ioana will have to kill her. It’s been years since her death and I’m out of practice. The aftermath drains me of everything and I don’t know if I have the strength to fight back one more time.
I suddenly remember when I last saw my gloves. I wore them as I swept leaves from the driveway at the weekend. They were wet and dirty so I put them in the washing machine. I rummage around inside it and find them along with some of Drew’s damp clothes. So he has been here. He must have returned and put a load on when I was out.
As I remove them, a silver-coloured key falls from the pocket of his overalls and clinks as it hits the utility room’s floor tiles. I take a closer look at it and draw a sharp intake of breath when I spot a concave mark from where I once purposely jabbed the soldering iron against it. It was to distinguish it from all the other keys in the drawer. It’s one that nobody else is supposed to know I have.
I let out a gasp when a shadow moves over me.
I whirl around to meet Drew’s glare. He looks at the key in my hand and I take a step back.
‘What’s this?’ I ask, trying to mask my unease.
‘Looks like a key.’
‘A key to what?’
‘Buckingham Palace?’ he deadpans. ‘Hogwarts? You tell me.’
We glare at each other and I make a snap decision not to play games.
‘Why do you have Margot’s front door key?’
‘Shouldn’t the question be why do you have Margot’s front door key?’ he replies.
‘You know why.’
‘Ah that’s right. To break in when she’s not there and move stuff around her house so she thinks she’s losing the plot.’
‘Why was it in your pocket?’
Drew folds his arms. ‘You took too long,’ he says. ‘You’ve gone soft, Joanna. You forgot why you’re here. Instead of making her life hell, you’ve made her your friend.’
‘That’s untrue,’ I say. ‘You know the things I’ve done.’
He slowly shakes his head. ‘Well, I’m afraid it’s no longer enough.’
‘Then what would you have me do?’
‘There’s no need for you to do anything because I’ve taken care of it.’
I’m filled with fear by the coldness of his smile.
‘What have you done?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘Have you hurt her?’
‘Why do you care? Because your conscience didn’t seem to bother you when you killed Ioana. Or Zain, for that matter. How about Jenny? Or Warren?’
It was the aftermath of Ioana’s death when I confessed to Drew what I’d done to her and the others. I’d been struggling to think straight for weeks. Day after day, night after night, she’d be shouting in my ear, never allowing me a moment’s peace. She wanted her pound of flesh for killing her. And that involved me cutting mine. The more often I cut and the deeper the blade went, the quieter she became. And one morning, she pushed me too far.
I was desperate when I called my brother for help, and he found me in the bedroom of my London flat, barely conscious after nicking an artery. I sobbed uncontrollably as I waited to be patched up in the Accident & Emergency department he’d driven me to. And later, concealed behind the blue curtain of a bay, I broke down and admitted what I’d done to the others who killed our parents, plus the extent of my obsession with Margot. I remember his face draining of colour as, gradually, he became aware of what his baby sister was capable of.
But to my surprise, he began to accept it. And for the first time in our lives, he took me seriously.
‘Have you hurt Margot?’ I ask again now.
‘No.’ He smiles smugly. ‘At least not for another forty-five minutes.’
Then he turns to leave. I lurch towards him, grabbing his shoulder, spinning him around. But his forceful shove is so hard that it sends me staggering from the kitchen back into the utility room. I lose my footing on his damp overalls and I slip, hitting my forehead on the corner of the washing machine. I land awkwardly on my back. I try and clamber to my feet but my spinning head hampers me and it’s too late to stop him from locking the door.
I bang on it with my fists, begging to be let out. But when the lights switch off, leaving me in darkness, and I hear the back door slamming shut, I know I’m on my own.