Chapter Twenty-One #2
Freddie’s face scrunches into a disgusted grimace.
“She did.” He takes another swig from the flask.
He has to tip it up nearly skyward to get at whatever’s left.
And while it’s not great that he’s finished the entire contents of that little silver flask, at least it’s gone now.
“I told her she was full of absolute shite. I mean, come on. I’m to believe Uncle George had the world at his fingertips but he decided to get in the mud with a fucking nobody?
Because that’s what your mum was. Is. Was. Is. Whatever.”
He chuckles, and the sound makes me clutch my hands into fists. I want to smack him at the casually cruel way he’s talking about my mother. I’m about to defend her, but Freddie keeps speaking.
“Nothing but a scholarship student. An artist, of all the fucking clichés in the world. Not a legacy, not even a politician’s kid. Just a nobody. She was probably lying anyway, trying to get at that Canterbury money. Typical gold-digging bullshit.”
My blood boils, my mind reeling. God, I can’t stand listening to him anymore, but I have to. We have to, in order to find out the truth.
Connor finally speaks. “Hate to break it to you, Freddie, but Isla had the right of it all along.”
“Bullshit.” The word explodes from Freddie’s lips along with a healthy spray of spittle.
So gross. “Say what you want, Belinda.” He trips over his own feet, stumbling.
“It doesn’t matter anymore. Whatever Isla thought you supposedly deserved, well.
It’s gone now. Assets frozen. We’ll probably lose at least two of the houses to cover it. ”
“What I … deserved? Freddie, what are you talking about?”
Freddie wags his finger at me, crooning, “Nuh-uh-uh.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think so, Belinda. Isla can’t spread any more lies, and I’m not going to do it for her.”
I take a step forward, but Connor rests his hand on my arm, stopping me from getting closer to Freddie. “Please, Freddie. I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Just—”
Connor interrupts me. “I do.”
I glance over at him with a frown. Freddie scowls at him as well, but Connor is completely unaffected. His face is set in hard lines, his mouth firm.
“Isla figured out you were George’s daughter, Billie. That means when he died, his trust should have gone to you. But it didn’t. Right, Freddie? It went to Daphne. And Daphne—”
“Gave it to William to start Lumateg,” I finish for him.
“Which means you’re a very rich woman. Or …
you should be, at least.” Connor glances between me and Freddie.
“Every Wickham family I’ve ever known invests with Lumateg.
It’s a huge fund. If money that was rightfully yours was used to seed it, I don’t even know how to begin figuring out how much you’re owed.
But you can be sure it’s an absolute fortune. ”
The vertigo that plagued me in Isla’s hospital room comes back in full force.
It doesn’t help that the wind seems to push at me from every side, blowing me left then right, back then forward.
Like it can’t decide which way to send its power.
I hold a hand out to steady myself, to try to quell the sensation that I could fall off my feet at any moment.
Then suddenly, an anchor.
Connor’s warm hand wraps around mine, squeezing.
The gentle, steady pressure feels like a clear dome dropped over this moment, shutting out the howling wind.
We lock eyes, and he exaggerates his next inhale, letting me see the long rise and slow fall of his chest. I mimic him without hesitation once, then again.
I let my awareness live in the space between his skin and mine. That’s real. That’s here.
That’s safe.
I’m brought back to the moment when Freddie starts laughing, but I manage to maintain a sense of calm amid his rising hysteria.
Irritation flits across Connor’s face. We need to wrap up this conversation and somehow get Freddie back to Headmaster Harrington’s office as soon as possible.
Maybe he’ll confess the rest there. Or maybe once he sobers up, the opportunity to learn all that Freddie knows will have passed.
I squeeze Connor’s hand, and I hope he understands the message. We have to stay.
“Too late!” Freddie shrieks, making me wince.
“We’re all poor now, cousin. Not that anyone will believe you’re George’s child without proof.
That’s why Isla called me out here, you know.
To have me spit in a tube for some kind of mail-in DNA test. She wanted to prove that you’re a Canterbury and thought I’d go right along with it. As if I would.”
Connor and I share a look. We’re getting closer to the truth, and I don’t want to stop the momentum.
“She went on and on about your pathetic life. Drunk mum—no surprise there. No college prospects. Working in a bar for minimum wage. I told her, not my circus, babe. Should have listened. Should have fucking listened! But instead she shoved that little tube right in my face! The audashitty.” He slurs the word and shakes his head like he can dislodge his inebriation.
“So I shoved her right back. She tripped over her own feet, and down she went!” At my look of horror, he barks out a laugh.
“No, not down down. Just … she shtumbled onto her ass. It was quite funny.”
He moves to drink from the flask again, remembers halfway through the gesture that it’s empty, and tosses it to the ground carelessly.
Like it’s a plastic water bottle instead of an engraved piece of metal meant to last a lifetime.
He ambles toward the cliff, and without exchanging so much as a glance, Connor and I follow him.
We separate, fanning out on either side of Freddie, trying to put ourselves between him and the edge.
But he keeps walking in circles, stumbling over his feet and completely unstable while mumbling incoherently to himself.
“I didn’t even realize the little brat was here.
Yours—” Freddie points at Connor. “Though I should’ve.
Emily was always Isla’s shadow, so I should have guessed she was lurking nearby, waiting to strike.
The moment I pushed Isla, she came hurtling toward me.
Emily. Screaming like a banshee. Don’t you put your hands on her!
So fucking dramatic. I stepped out of the way at the last second, but she couldn’t stop herself in time and just … ”
Freddie turns toward the cliff, gesturing at it like a conductor showing off the orchestra after a concert. Then he glances over his shoulder at us, a knowing smirk on his face.
Without warning, Connor leaps on Freddie from behind, taking him down to the ground.
He rolls Freddie onto his back and punches him square in the face once.
Then again. Freddie doesn’t even fight back.
He just takes it, his eyes empty of emotion or reaction.
I run toward them, tugging at Connor’s shoulders until he finally gets off of him.
When I look at Connor’s face, I see the anguish and the pain. He’s crying, his heartbreak as obvious and acute as a broken bone. It breaks my heart. Tears spring to my own eyes, and I shake my head, desperate to hold them back. Both of us can’t fall apart. Not now.
“Motherfucker killed my sister.” Connor clasps the top of his head with both hands, turning his back on both of us like he can’t take it anymore.
Like a lie by omission, Freddie’s crime is one of absence.
He could have caught Emily as she ran, could have taken whatever blow she offered and stood in the way of her demise.
But instead, he stepped aside.
He made space for tragedy, when he could have stood in its way.
And somehow, inexplicably, he’s managed to live with himself since then.
I think of all the times I’ve seen Freddie smile or laugh in the weeks I’ve been at Wickham. Jovial, at ease, puffed up with pride and his sense of self-worth. And all this time, he’s known. He’s carried the events of that day on this cliffside with him, and it hasn’t slowed him down one bit.
I didn’t know a monster could look like this, but maybe I should have.
“What happened next, Freddie?” I need to know.
Freddie rises to his feet, swaying a bit.
His face is battered, thanks to Connor’s fist. A bruise is already forming beneath his eye.
“The screaming! My God, Belinda, the screaming was immense. Isla stood right at the edge, yelling for Emily, yelling for someone to help, yelling for me to call someone. She wouldn’t shut the fuck up!
My head was throbbing from it all.” He touches the side of his face. “Quite like now, actually.”
He’s so casual about it all. He disgusts me. To my right, I can literally feel the frustration coming from Connor in thick, hot waves.
“And then?” I prompt, Connor turning to face us both once again.
Freddie frowns. “And then … what?”
I keep my voice steady. “How did Isla end up sprawled on a ledge thirty feet down? How did my sister end up in a coma?”
Awareness lights up his face, and he rears his head back. “Oh, that’s simple.” He pauses, that tiny smile reappearing on his smug face. “I pushed her.”