Chapter Twenty-One
Freddie has been a ghost on campus since his dad’s arrest, but getting him to meet with us was easy. Connor sent him a text: I know what you’re going through, man. Let’s talk about it.
It worked. They agree to meet by the cliffside tree, which I suggested not for the drama but the potential stress Freddie might feel returning to the scene of the crime.
But was there a crime at all? A seed of doubt took root in my gut when Dad told me what happened to George and Mom.
None of that was premeditated, which definitely doesn’t absolve George from being a murderous little shit, but it frames my mother’s actions as self-defense.
And a crime committed in the name of self-defense isn’t a crime, is it?
Though Julian was right and I’ve binged my fair share of Law & Order marathons, I don’t have the faintest clue of the answer.
Where’s the spirit of Olivia Benson when you need her the most?
Connor and I trek out to the cliff in silence.
We wait for Freddie under the tree, our thick coats doing little to protect us from the fierce wind whipping inland from the sea.
It batters us even though we’re sheltered beneath the branches, and I’m shivering.
From the cold air, yes, but nerves, too.
Gale-force anxiety matches the frantic weather.
My body knows a storm is coming.
The tree we stand beneath has been a steady presence in my life for as long as I can remember. A place of utter destruction not just once but twice. I’d love to banish this tree from my existence entirely, but unfortunately, that’s not going to happen anytime soon.
“What if he doesn’t show?” I check my phone for what feels like the hundredth time. Freddie is a solid ten minutes late.
“He’ll show.” The confidence in Connor’s voice is reassuring, and he checks on me with a frown. “You’re literally shaking.”
“It’s cold.” I shrug. “And I’m nervous.”
His face softens. “I’ve got you, Billie. You’re not in this alone anymore, okay?”
His words offer some reassurance. I’m tempted to throw myself at him—for emotional support, sure, but also for basic shared body heat—when I spot a figure headed toward us. His steps are unsure and a little wobbly. When he draws closer, my nerves kick into overdrive.
It’s Freddie.
He comes to a stop when he spots me, sneering before he pulls a flask from his inside coat pocket and uncaps it.
He takes a long pull from the flask, which, if I’m not mistaken, is embossed with a family crest. I guess Pembroke pride persists even in the face of a criminal investigation.
Freddie smacks his lips. It’s still early in the day and he’s already drinking? Great.
“What is she doing here?” He waves his flask in my direction.
Connor steps closer to me. “We’re together now, Fred. When I told her we were meeting, she wanted to come.”
“Of course she did.” Freddie sways on his feet.
He’s more drunk than I realized at first—further gone than I’ve ever seen him, even at the party.
His clothes are a mess under his coat, his white uniform shirt buttoned incorrectly, with big stains on the front.
His eyes are bloodshot, and his words slur together when he speaks. “Thought you’d have run off by now.”
Alarm bells start ringing in my head, reminding me of last night. The sound cuts through the wind screaming across the cliff edge. “Why would you think that?”
“Didn’t someone go through your stuff? First day you were here, right.
Terrible, having your privacy violated. Mother says those NCA fucks tore through Dad’s office.
Took the computers and statements and who-knows-what.
Sucks that happened. Would be ’nuff of a reason for me to—what do you Americans say?
Get out of Dodge?” He cackles like he just told the world’s funniest joke.
But what he just said isn’t funny. Connor sends me a curious look, and I nod once to confirm that yes, that’s exactly what happened.
“Freddie, I never told anyone about that.” I send him a pointed look, but he’s unfazed.
He takes another sip from his flask, his lips wet from the liquor.
“Right. Well. Priya … No, not Priya. Me. I should have taken the fucking thing and been done with it. But I figured they’d pull Isla’s plug and you’d leave eventually, so what was the harm in letting you keep your sister’s little book with all of her notes inside?
Not like you could decipher that bunch of nonsense anyway. ”
Having confirmation that Freddie is the one who went through my stuff that first day feels good, like an open window in a drafty house has finally been closed, but it’s also shocking. And scary. “You knew? All this time? Why didn’t you say something?”
Freddie scoffs. “Please. What would that conversation have looked like, hmm? Belinda, so good to meet you. We’re cousins, actually.
Ta!” He chuckles, shaking his head. Seemingly lost in thought.
“No, that would have been boring. Booooring. I left the book on your bed to see what you would do. Whether you’d run back to Daddy Vale or stick around.
You chose to stay, which, I cannot lie, impressed me.
Not sure why you didn’t tell everyone you’re Isla’s sister from the start, though.
You probably would’ve been more accepted, you know? Pitied at least.”
Freddie keeps sipping from the flask. How much liquid can that thing even hold? He can barely stay upright, but somehow he keeps inching closer to us.
I don’t like it. And from the way Connor steps forward like he’s trying to protect me, I’m thinking he doesn’t like it much, either.
“That’s pretty messed up, Fred.” Connor’s voice has taken on a menacing depth. “Could make someone feel pretty unsafe, going through their stuff like that.”
Feeling bold, I join in. “Yeah, Fred. Is making girls feel unsafe something you do a lot?”
Freddie’s mean laugh sends a streak of fear down my spine. “I’m not the one who went around threatening people, Belinda. No, that was your fucking sister.”
I flinch at the fury in his tone.
“What are you talking about?” Connor sounds baffled.
“That little bitch showed me your picture.” Freddie points at me. “She called you Billie, not Belinda. Billie. What a stupid name. I guess it runs in the family. Stupidity.”
Now I’m as angry as Freddie seems. Maybe even more so. “You better watch what you say about—”
Freddie interrupts me. “Oh, save it, Billie. I’m just being … whatever I’m being.”
“A drunk asshole?” Connor interjects.
“Yeah, yeah. That. But you know … I come by it honestly. My dad is … well.” Freddie makes a tsking noise. “He’s going to screw us all over in the end, isn’t he?”
That much is obvious, considering he’s been arrested. But I don’t care about William Pembroke’s crime at the moment. I need Freddie to focus.
“Why did Isla show you my picture?” My words are soft. My voice trembles. We’re getting so close to the truth. I can feel it stalking through the scrubby grass around the tree, a snake slithering closer to its next meal.
“Because she had eyes, Belinda. She met Mother at one of our house parties last year and mentioned to me that she looked familiar, but I blew it off. Isla was a silly twit. But she was also too fucking smart for her own good.”
I swallow hard. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. She came to me and started pointing out … things. Don’t you see the resemblance?
” Freddie’s voice pitches high, and I can only assume he’s imitating Isla.
“Look at her! She kept saying that. Over and over. Look at her.” He waves a hand at me.
“Look at you. A Canterbury through and through.”
I can’t move. I’m too frozen with shock. He knows. But does he know everything? Last night, when I asked Dad if he’d ever told Isla the whole story of what happened the night of the reunion, he vehemently denied it. I thought I’d be taking this secret to my grave were his exact words.
Freddie staggers backward, glancing behind himself like he’s looking for the something or someone who pulled him.
But there’s nothing there—just the wind and the cliff.
He faces us once more. “She was a dog with a bone, my God. She kept trying to show me timelines and yearbook photos and Uncle George’s obituary.
And I kept telling her I’d never even met the man!
He died before I was born. What do I know about any of this?
It’s not my problem. Wasn’t my parents’ problem, either. ”
That’s where he’s wrong. It’s definitely his parents’ problem, and ours, too. This revelation has the potential to change the course of all our lives.
Freddie keeps ranting. “Why should I care about my poor uncle George and this supposed illegitimate baby? As if he would’ve acknowledged it anyway.
He was supposed to marry someone else. Mother married Father the year after she finished university, and she got pregnant soon after poor George’s death.
Legacy secured! All good.” He lifts his flask like he’s making a toast.
I remember what Dad said about how so many of their classmates were starting families around the time of the reunion.
How it convinced Mom that George would be thrilled about her pregnancy.
She was living in a land of delusion even then, considering George was engaged to another woman.
I want to believe she didn’t know—that she wouldn’t have knowingly slept with someone else’s fiancé.
Not that the onus was on her to keep George’s dick in his pants. That was his job.
“Did Isla tell you … that George was my biological father?”