Chapter 6
It’s Saturday morning. I wake up, and all I can think is, two more days!
Max grunts from outside. I get out of bed and stand by the window. He’s doing push-ups on the grass. He always does push-ups on the lawn in the morning, regardless of the weather. It must be three degrees outside, and I’m pretty sure he’s sweating.
I get dressed and go downstairs to make breakfast.
I find Holly already there, standing in front of the French doors, staring at her father doing his push-ups.
‘How did you sleep?’ I ask.
‘Good, thanks.’
I come to stand next to her.
‘Is he still going?’ she asks.
‘Yes. Monday.’
Holly doesn’t know about my plan. It would be too dangerous. She could let something slip, so I’m waiting until Max has gone to tell her.
She stands there for a long time, watching her father. ‘Can I go to the shops with Scarlett later?’
I turn on the radio. ‘Maybe wait a few days.’ I almost add, ‘We don’t want to poke the bear.’
Max is standing now, wiping his face with a gym towel.
‘It’s only two more days. Not even that.’
Holly walks away, grabs an apple and a small knife from the rack and slices the apple on a plate.
‘What’s got into you?’ I say, smiling.
‘Nothing, why?’
‘I’ve never seen you voluntarily eat an apple before.’
She doesn’t reply. She glances towards the French doors, then opens the fridge and takes out a bottle of milk.
…On Radio 2 – perfect for kicking off the weekend. Coming up next, ‘Summer After You’ by The Daylights. This one is bound to get you moving!
When I glance at Holly again, she is standing frozen, the bottle of milk still in her hand.
‘Put the milk away, Holly. Or he’ll think—’
‘HOLLY!’
We both jump. I was going to say, ‘Or he’ll think you’re drinking out of the bottle,’ which is something that triggers him.
Max walks in with the energy of a boxer warming up for a fight, his towel hanging around his neck. He points at Holly. ‘Were you drinking milk from the bottle just now?’
For Christ’s sake. ‘She wasn’t,’ I say. ‘She only just took it out of the fridge.’
I look at Holly. I expect her to deny it, but instead she stares at Max. Her face has gone pale, her eyes unfocused.
‘Holly? What’s wrong?’ I ask.
‘Oh my God,’ she whispers. ‘I remember.’
‘You remember what?’
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Max snaps. ‘Put the milk away! Jesus Christ!’
‘It’s the song,’ she says.
‘What about it?’ I ask. But I am also thinking, please put the milk away.
‘That was the song on the radio, the night Mum died.’
Time seems to stand still. No one says anything.
Suddenly, Max grabs Holly by the back of the neck, his face so close he could bite her. ‘What are you talking about?’
I’m next to him in a flash, my heart like a drum. ‘Let her go, Max.’
‘It’s the song,’ she says, her forehead butting against his. ‘That was the song on the radio.’
‘Max!’
He breathes through his nostrils, squeezing the back of her neck so hard his hand is trembling.
‘Max, that’s enough! Let go of Holly!’
Holly’s eyes fill with tears. ‘I remember.’
He pushes her away, punching the bottle out of her hand. It bounces off the wall, spewing milk across the kitchen floor.
‘Max! Stop!’ I shout.
He points at Holly. ‘I do not want your disgusting germs in my milk. Is that really so hard to understand?’
‘I remember!’ she cries. ‘It wasn’t my fault! She was leaving you!’
The next few minutes unfurl in a blur. Max grabs Holly by the hair and pulls hard. ‘You remember nothing.’
‘Max!’ I grab his shoulders and try to pull him away, but I’m no match for him.
Holly is crying, saying the same thing over and over: ‘I remember. It wasn’t my fault. I never touched it. It wasn’t my fault.’
Max is shouting into her face that she’d better shut her mouth or he was going to shut it for her.
I pull him back as hard as I can, yelling at him to stop, to let go of her. But then suddenly, I hit my head on the tiled floor, and I see stars.
‘Oh God.’ I try to sit up. I put my hand on the back of my head. But I can’t move because Max is on top of me.
‘Max! Get off me!’ I try to push him off but he’s too heavy, too slumped. ‘Holly! Can you—’
But Holly is just standing there, eyes like saucers, her whole body shaking.
‘—help me? Get him off me! Max! Cut it out!’ But Holly isn’t moving either. Finally, I manage to twist myself from under him, and I scramble to my knees. ‘What the hell?’
But something is wrong. Max’s eyes are open, but vacant.
I take his face in my hands. ‘Max? Are you all right?’
Nothing.
My heart is thumping in my ears. ‘Max? Can you hear me? Did you hit your head?’ But that can’t be. I’m the one who hit my head. I’m the one who broke the fall. He was on top of me.
I look up at Holly as I press down on his chest. ‘I think he’s had a heart attack. We need to call—’
But I feel it before I see it. The knife Holly was using to cut her apple minutes earlier.
It’s wedged deep in Max’s left side.