Forever is Now

THE KILLER ON YOUR DOORSTEP

By Adelaide James

A s a society, we are supposed to be against murdering one another. It’s something we’re not supposed to do. We’re supposed to hate anyone who does, we’re supposed to lock them up, right?

Wrong.

We only lock them up if they’re not a beautiful white woman.

How do I know this? Well, Summer Taylor-Braddon is still out there. She’s living in Okehampton. At the top of Station Road, a little bird tells me. And she’s really got her life sorted now, hasn’t she?

First, she planned out her murders. She even wrote about them in her novels—perhaps that was a test of sorts, to see if readers would believe it? And it gave her an excuse to research exactly how to do it, with no one suspecting.

Second, she chose a honeymoon location where earthquakes and tsunamis are relatively common.

Thirdly, she just had to wait and strike while the iron was hot. While a tsunami was forecast. She murdered her husband, and she covered it up.

And now of course she’s raking in the millions from her book sales, using this all to get more publicity. She has even just signed a new book deal for three new thriller novels to release starting next year.

And I just have to ask myself, why are we so happy to let this killer walk free?

And who will she strike down next?

––––––––

A nonymous commenter : She’s so sick, that woman. She should be locked up.

Anonymous commenter : I can’t believe she’s still doing all these TV appeals, pretending to care for him. To be the doting loving wife.

Anonymous commenter : She’s a killer, for sure.

Anonymous commenter : Well, what are we waiting for guys, we know where she lives now!!!

##

S ummer Taylor-Braddon : And now, Adelaide—let’s bring you into all of this now. Remember that we’re only focusing so far on the events already narrated, but tell everyone why you were right to publish what you did.

Adelaide James : My job is to make sure that no wool is pulled over people’s eyes. Everyone was so sure at first that you were innocent. Tragic, they called you. But you’re not an innocent type of person, are you, Summer? You play the victim so well, but I can see through you. It may be that my theories were wrong—but I wasn’t wrong completely, was I? We all know what you did later.

Summer Taylor-Braddon : I already said we’re sticking only to events already narrated, Adelaide.

Adelaide James : Don’t the public deserve to know?

Summer Taylor-Braddon : And they will know. They will—when we get to that part. You’ve got my outline, so you know what we’re talking about when.

Adelaide James : You think you’re so clever, don’t you? You think that you can really script everything, don’t you? Talk people around. You may be a writer, but you’re not invincible. And no—don’t speak. Let me talk. I’ve got a lot to say.

And I know you’re not going to like this. Hell, you may even edit these recordings, and I know this is your project and there’s nothing I can actually do about that, except try. Try and get the truth across.

I am going to bring my first guest in now. This promises to be a very interesting conversation.

##

A delaide James : So, with us in the studio, we have Hector Beveridge. Welcome, Mr. Beveridge. So, Ms. Taylor-Braddon, I assume you remember who this man is?

Summer Taylor-Braddon : My primary school teacher. Year 2.

Adelaide James : Yes. [ She clears her throat ] Now, Hector, perhaps you’d like to start by telling us what Ms. Taylor-Braddon was like as a child?

Hector Beveridge : A tearaway! [ He laughs ] There were two classes per year in our school back then, and Summer was notorious. She was one of those children that today hundreds of emails would be sent about. I always taught year 2, which meant I also kept an eye on the year 1s, seeing who I’d have the following year. Summer came to my attention early on.

Adelaide James : And why might that be?

Hector Beveridge : She had a reputation. She was one of those kids who’d really test anyone she was with. You’d tell her “no” and she wouldn’t just say “why” but she’d do it anyway, right after you told her not to. She always had to have her own way. She had to be the center of attention, and really, it was dangerous if she wasn’t the center, because then you knew she was planning something. She’d bite other children, break their toys, and she’d scream so loudly if she wasn’t getting what she wanted.

But she was also clever too. Very intelligent. Not just academically, but even when she was playing up, she’d show she was clever. She did enough to get temporarily suspended, but never excluded. When she’d come back she’d be ever so nice. Good as gold. And I’d just know that she was planning something. She was like an alarm clock ready to go off, only just when you thought the alarm would blare through the room, it wouldn’t.

It was always the waiting, with Summer. Waiting to see what she was going to do next.

Adelaide James : That makes her sound like quite the difficult child?

Hector Beveridge : Difficult, yes. But she was still likeable too. That was the odd thing. Usually if there was a badly behaved kid in the class, none of the other children really liked them. And although Summer had made plenty of enemies in the classroom—the kids she bit and kicked, for example—she still had a lot of friends. She was liked, and she definitely had a spark to her. I was more fond of her than I cared to admit, at the time.

I knew she’d do great things, if only she put her mind to it. That was why I was so excited to see she was making it as an author. She was putting her mind to good use. And she’d always been good at literacy.

Adelaide James : Yes, tell us more about that, Mr. Beveridge. I understand that as a child, Ms. Taylor-Braddon was quite imaginative?

Hector Beveridge : Aye, that she was.

Adelaide James : But it wasn’t just in literacy and English lessons, was it? She’d—well, what other word for there is it, than lying ?

Hector Beveridge : This was a particular concern after Christmas, when she was in my class, yes. She was... imaginative. But she was also convincing.

She told me her family had got a puppy for Christmas. She told me its name—I forget what that was now—but she gave so many details, describing it. Telling us all in the class about what the dog was like, where they took it for walks. She even brought in its lead for show-and-tell.

It was only a couple months later when I asked her mother at parents’ evening how the dog was getting on. She didn’t have a clue what I was talking about.

Adelaide James : So, she was lying?

Hector Beveridge : She told a lot of stories about this dog.

Adelaide James : But it wasn’t just stories about the dog, was it? There were other lies.

Hector Beveridge : There were.

Adelaide James : Care to elaborate, Mr. Beveridge?

Hector Beveridge : I... Sorry, Summer, it doesn’t seem right talking like this, with you in the room. And all children do lie. We encourage creativity in school, and that was what it was.

Adelaide James : Mr. Beveridge, please . We are here to talk about the truth. Ms. Taylor-Braddon can handle hearing the truth about herself, for she is on a quest to reveal the truth to everyone.

Hector Beveridge : She was very imaginative, even then.

Adelaide James : And what was the worst lie she told? I assume it wasn’t this thing about the dog?

Hector Beveridge : It wasn’t, no. [ He takes a deep breath ] She told us her sister was missing.

Adelaide James : Matilda Taylor?

Hector Beveridge : Matilda Taylor. Summer came in one morning, very upset. Tears running down her face. She couldn’t be consoled. She’d already told us that her sister—I think Matilda was about seventeen then—she’d told us Matilda was a model. We were all excited for her. Most of us at the school, teachers that is, remembered when Matilda was in our classes. And that morning Summer said that Matilda was missing. In Paris. She’d gone for a photoshoot there, and she hadn’t been heard of for two days.

The thing about Summer was when she told her stories, she could be very persuasive. Given how upset she was, I had no reason to doubt her. And she was giving all these details—like the police looking for Matilda, and how officers had been round the house to talk to Summer and her mother—that I find it hard to believe a seven-year-old would know if none of it had actually happened.

I don’t know why she decided to make that up. But she had the school phoning home, us offering our support to her mother. We were even thinking about a fundraiser or campaign thing that we could do to help.

Adelaide James : But none of that was true, was it?

Hector Beveridge : No, it wasn’t.

Adelaide James : Thank you, Mr. Beveridge, that is all.

##

A delaide James : One thing that was very interesting just now, Ms. Taylor-Braddon, was watching your body language while Mr. Beveridge was talking. You’ve already told us that body language is an integral part of communication, and yours was full of clues. The tense posture, the way you kept fidgeting, and you really didn’t want to make eye contact with either me or Mr. Beveridge during that conversation, did you?

Summer Taylor-Braddon : I was fidgeting because I needed the toilet. That was all. And you’ll find I did make eye contact.

Adelaide James : But it’s never comfortable, is it? Hearing what you’re really like. Listening to people tell the truth.

Oh, are you not answering that? Well, that’s telling in and of itself, would you not agree?

Summer Taylor-Braddon : I can see what you’re doing—because that’s what you’ve always done. Made me out to be a liar.

Adelaide James : Oh, but Ms. Taylor-Braddon, we’ve just had an independent party confirm that you are a liar. He described in very convincing detail two different occasions when you lied. Do you admit those were lies you told?

Summer Taylor-Braddon : Yes, I did lie about the dog and Mattie going missing. But I was a child.

Adelaide James : Children who lie often become adults who lie.

Summer Taylor-Braddon : But they often don’t.

Adelaide James : That seems a very weak argument. But perhaps you’d like to elaborate on all of this and really explain why, when you introduced yourself at the start of this project, you didn’t mention any of this. Instead, you painted this image of yourself as an honest, nice girl. A girl your mother could be proud of. There was no mention of any incidents such as the ones Mr. Beveridge mentioned, and well, that just makes me question how reliable anything you tell us might be?

Summer Taylor-Braddon : I was seven years old then, as has been pointed out numerous times. Children lie, and they test adults with what they can get away with. But I grew up. I think it’s telling that you haven’t brought in any teachers from my secondary school. I didn’t lie there. And I haven’t lied since.

Adelaide James : I’m looking at you now, and you seem pretty relaxed. You’re leaning back, one leg crossed over the other. You’re not sweating at all. You don’t look nervous now.

Summer Taylor-Braddon : Why would I be nervous? I’ve done nothing wrong.

Adelaide James : You know who else doesn’t look nervous? A psychopath.

Summer Taylor-Braddon : Are you really saying that I’m a psychopath? [ She laughs ] Just earlier, you were saying I looked defensive, when you were talking to my teacher. Surely a psychopath wouldn’t look defensive there, if they—allegedly—thought they were being caught out? Aren’t they supposed to be super calm?

Adelaide James : You tell me, Ms. Taylor-Braddon. You appear to be the expert on psychopaths. But you have just brought up something interesting. That you think you are going to be caught out.

Summer Taylor-Braddon : I never said that.

Adelaide James : But I think everyone will agree that you know how to spin a story. Your success as an author is proof of that. How do we know that you’re not the ultimate unreliable narrator, even now?

Summer Taylor-Braddon : Look, Adelaide, your views and mine are never going to go off hand-in-hand with each other, into the sunset, are they? I’m telling my story, and you’re apparently telling yours.

Adelaide James : And now you’re being condescending. That makes you seem defensive. Like you’ve got something to hide.

Summer Taylor-Braddon : You want to know how I feel? How I really feel? I still feel trapped, because of what you and other journalists have done to me. It’s like the whole world is a prison now. I only really feel safe at home—but nowhere actually feels like home now. We’ve had to move so much, every time our location is published, we’ve moved.

My whole life has changed, and it feels like so few people understand.

I just want to escape.

Adelaide James : I guess that explains why you’re writing all the time now. Why you’re desperate to distract yourself. It’s a great form of escape, is it not?

Summer Taylor-Braddon : The only form I’ve got.

Adelaide James : And were you writing, during this time that you were talking about earlier? When you returned to England, after Ruari apparently disappeared?

Summer Taylor-Braddon : No, I wasn’t. It felt too indulgent to do it, even though I knew I needed to. I mean, I had books under contract. They’d sold on proposal, but I hadn’t yet written them. Only had maybe three chapters of two of them done. The third was just a vague one-paragraph pitch. So I felt pressure to write. But also, I needed to for my mental health—but my mental health was always going to be shot to pieces when he wasn’t there.

Adelaide James : You like playing that card don’t you?

Summer Taylor-Braddon : What card?

Adelaide James : The mental health card.

Summer Taylor-Braddon : Look, the whole time I’d been having these nightmares—so many different ones too. It wasn’t like it was the same one, because even that would’ve been better, been reassuring. A part of my subconscious would’ve known what was coming and I’d have been able to prepare.

But these nightmares were all so, so different. The unpredictability was the worst.

Mum wanted me to see a therapist. Deep down, even I wanted me to see a therapist. But I couldn’t face it.

Adelaide James : Of course you couldn’t, because they’d know that you were lying about it. Not really having any of these “nightmares”. That it was all a lie, to get sympathy.

Summer Taylor-Braddon : I couldn’t leave the house. I was terrified. We’d had people trying to break in at the last place—this whole group of men showing up and trying to break down the front door. They broke one of the windows too. There was broken glass everywhere, and I called the police as I locked myself in the bathroom upstairs. I was so scared, just waiting for these people to hurt me.

The police did get there in time. Arrested the men. But it didn’t really stop that sort of thing from happening.

It didn’t make me feel any safer.

So instead, I wrote.

Adelaide James : Oh, what a difficult time that must have been—penning your next multi-million-pound book.

Summer Taylor-Braddon : It was therapy writing, actually.

Adelaide James : Of course it was. Anything can be a therapy-thing now, right? Therapy-writing, therapy-guinea-pig, therapy-sofa. It’s getting quite out of hand.

Summer Taylor-Braddon : Therapy writing is valid. It helps you take back control of your mental health. And the more I wrote about myself and the feelings and how I thought about the sea now, the more I realized this wasn’t what I needed to be writing.

Writing fiction helps me process and understand myself. Writing fiction opens up a part of my soul that lets light in, that heals. And so I began writing stories again. I opened my notebook and I chose a nice pen. I scribbled words—frantically, furiously at first, until I bled over the page, raw, acrid.

Adelaide James : You like being dramatic, don’t you?

Summer Taylor-Braddon : These are my words. This is my story. But after I had written for a while—yes, these silly little therapy writings —that night, for the first night in a long time, I didn’t have a nightmare.

I dreamed instead of Ruari in a calm way. A loving way.

And when I woke up, I knew it was a sign—a sign from Heaven, I believed. He was telling me he was okay. And so long as I wrote every day, continued writing my stories and trying to look after my mental health, I’d be able to live with him in my dreams.

But it was never that simple.

That, and there were sightings of him.

Adelaide James : Ah, the famous sightings.

Summer Taylor-Braddon : There were quite a lot, weren’t there? There were always going to be, with this being a high-profile disappearance. But it wasn’t just sightings of him. Men came forward. They said they were Ruari. It was cruel, you know. Because I’d always really hope. I’d really believe that my Ruari was about to come home. That we’d be reunited.

And I believed it every day. The disappointment, with each one, just got worse.

Adelaide James : Of course it did.

Summer Taylor-Braddon : It really did.

Adelaide James : You knew all along what was going on. You used the world as your page, and you tried to sculp a narrative that we’d all believe. These potential sightings were all part of your plan. You can’t lie anymore, Ms. Taylor-Braddon.

Summer Taylor-Braddon : I’m not lying.

Adelaide James : You’re a manipulative bitch.

Summer Taylor-Braddon : [ She takes a deep breath ] The police had to get involved in the end, given how many people were pretending to be him, like this. They issued warnings, said there’d be strict penalties. It didn’t really deter people. Because those first couple of years, there were thousands of people coming forward, saying they were him.

And I wanted to ignore each new one, but still a part of me hoped.

Adelaide James : Poor little Ms. Taylor-Braddon. This just sounds like torture.

Summer Taylor-Braddon : It was . I even phoned the Samaritans once. I didn’t tell them who I was and I couldn’t really give details of what was going on—that would’ve made me recognizable instantly—but I just told them that I felt like I was being played with. Told them how scared I was.

It was good to talk to them, even if I couldn’t go into details. It made me feel heard.

After about six months, I saw a new therapist. She suggested I try writing more therapy writings, to directly deal with my feelings over Ruari’s death—that’s what everyone called it. His death. Even though there was still no body.

I don’t really remember what else she said beyond that.

Except that I should write about my grief. I don’t know if she suggested that I write about Ruari—if maybe she meant to write our memories, or if it was what I did—writing a future for us. But I started writing. A story that began with us newly married, on our honeymoon. The bad thing still happened, but not to us—because we left Indonesia the day before it happened, in this version.

Adelaide James : So, as if you hadn’t already made enough money on your books from Ruari’s disappearance, you then wrote another! This time, about it! It really beggars belief.

Summer Taylor-Braddon : It was therapeutic, writing it. Us on the plane back, getting to our house. A new house that we’d just bought.

I changed our names of course, but there was no doubt in my mind that I was writing about us. And I penned this whole love story. The love story that I’d wanted. The love story that I’d thought we’d have.

Adelaide James : Whatever. Let’s have a break. I need a stronger drink if I’ve got to listen to much more of this.

##

S ummer Taylor-Braddon : I saw Ruari, once you know. When he was missing.

Adelaide James : Of course you did. [ She laughs ] You just can’t remember all the lies you’ve spun, can you? Pretending he’s missing, that you don’t know a thing about where he is, and then you go and admit this.

Summer Taylor-Braddon : Yeah. I saw him. From my bedroom window. Just the once. It was dark, evening. The street lights were on but they were those weird bulbs. Like, yellow. Everything looked a dark yellow. Eerie. And I saw him.

He was standing directly below my window, looking up at me.

He smiled and he mouthed the words ‘it’ll be okay’.

And then he was gone.

Adelaide James : Okay.

Summer Taylor-Braddon : You can roll your eyes all you like at me. I’m not lying. I saw him—even though he wasn’t there. And I’m not crazy, either. Well, maybe I was. Or I am. I don’t know. But I took it as a sign. Another sign that everything was well, wherever he was, as well as it could possibly be. That I was doing the right thing by writing our story. And you know, when I eventually finished it, my agent loved this new book. She said it was different to my thrillers—of course it was—but she thought it would sell. I learned later it was more that she thought anything written under my name would sell. It didn’t matter what it was.

But I didn’t realize that at the time. I was so swept up in writing The Saga of Me and Him, the what could have beens. It was a whirlwind. The manuscript got longer and longer. Next I knew, my agent was taking it to auction.

It sold for seven figures.

Adelaide James : Seriously, drop the act, Ms. Taylor-Braddon. You knew it would sell. That’s why you wrote it!

Summer Taylor-Braddon : I had more money after that, yes. Mum and I were able to get some security in. We felt a bit more protected.

Adelaide James : [ She laughs ] So, tell us the next part in your masterplan?

Summer Taylor-Braddon : The years passed, and I kept writing. I couldn’t not. I had to write the three thrillers I’d been contracted for as well—I mean, these are the ones I signed the deal for in January 2017, before Swept Away released. The books were delayed in the end, with everything going on, but I did write them eventually. It was 2020 and 2021 when they finally released, right in the middle of lockdown. But my heart wasn’t in those books. I wanted to continue writing about me and Ruari—and that was what the world wanted too.

I wrote and wrote; writing was my drug, because I was now not only living with him at night, in my dreams, but on the page, too. I was writing our story. I was keeping him alive, keeping myself alive.

The Saga of Me and Him turned into an eight-book series. The books got on several bestseller lists. New York Times, USA Today, Sunday Times . Each new novel centered around a new couple—a couple that had been introduced in the previous book—talking of their epic love story, but it was always me and Ruari. Always.

We went through everything together, in those books.

Adelaide James : How lovely for you.

Summer Taylor-Braddon : Only it wasn’t. Publishing those books was so different. And hold on—I’ve got my notes here on this. On how I want to say it.

Adelaide James : And this is the woman who doesn’t plan to manipulate us, ha!

Summer Taylor-Braddon : Most authors have to do a lot of events. Publishers encourage it, especially when a new book is releasing. It gets more attention on it. I’d done a few events before—signings at local bookstores, a couple of conventions, and I’d spoken on panels at CrimeFest in Bristol two years running—this was before the wedding. The honeymoon.

But when The Saga released, I wasn’t doing events anymore. It wasn’t safe. Just the thought of exposing myself to complete strangers scared me, but I also missed the interaction on a deeper level.

Before, at some of my signings, readers would tell me their favorite scenes in the books, and I always enjoyed that. But now I wasn’t getting that, so I started paying more attention to the reviews. More and more, I was on Goodreads, which of course is not a place for writers at all.

But I wasn’t reading everything there that was being written about my books—and of course, there were things about me. A lot of hate. But I would also find stuff that was useful to me. Literary discussions about my books, my plots. And there was one comment that really stuck with me.

The Saga was romance. That was mainly how it was being marketed. But this one person was complaining there was no spice. They wrote something like, ‘Has this author ever even been laid?’ and that comment really got to me.

I wondered then if they could tell I was asexual from reading my books. Because I wasn’t writing about sex. I was only writing about love. Even though pretty much everyone else—it felt like—saw them as entwined. You can’t have one without the other, and all that.

So, with the final Saga book, I wrote a sex scene.

I had to read a lot of them at first, and I kind of got into reading these more explicit romances. So, soon I was able to write more sexy stuff.

After all eight of the Saga books were out, I got a deal for a standalone romance. A Christmas romance. This was Just in Time , which released in September 2023. The publisher wanted a lot of sex, because sex sells. So, I wrote it.

It was easier than I thought.

One day, Hana and Julia had come over. We were hanging out in my living room—Mum was out—and Hana had the last of the Saga books in her hand. She opened the sex scene—she’d bookmarked it—and she asked me why I had written it.

“I really loved that these books were closed-door,” she said. “That these were books you could tell your mother that you were reading, without getting embarrassed.”

I told her that I’d wanted to see if I could write it: sex.

“But why wouldn’t you be able to?” Julia had asked. “You and Ruari were living the greatest love story of all time.”

I don’t really remember a moment where I took a deep breath or anything, a moment where I knew I was about to tell them what felt like my biggest secret. It just came out, naturally. And these were my best friends, so I had no reason to think they wouldn’t be supportive.

“I’m asexual,” I said, and I said it so simply. Other than talking to Ruari about my sexuality, this was the first time I’d had a conversation with anyone where it was about me being asexual.

I recall that Hana just nodded. She’d already come out as a lesbian shortly after we left school, and she was pretty open to it all. But Julia just stared at me.

The thing about Julia is that she’s always had this viciousness within her. She and Hana were friends from nursery. Best friends. It had been the two of them for so long, but then in year 7, I joined them. I thought that we could be an equal trio. Best friends, the three of us.

Julia didn’t like me, then. She felt threatened, I can see that now. I was trying to take her best friend away, in her eyes. She didn’t like that at all. But she wasn’t mean to me or anything then. No, she was clever about it. She started a few rumors about me, among the other girls, and then when I’d been upset, she’d be my shoulder to cry on.

She was pretty manipulative, all things considered. Kind of like you, Adelaide.

But as we got older, we kind of came to an understanding. We became friends, more solidly, started hanging out just the two of us. It took us longer, because she was threatened by me. And because I knew she had this streak within her.

I was always nervous around her—I can see that now, looking back. Even when I thought we were close, I was guarded. I had to be.

“You’re writing romance and you’re asexual ?” Julia had looked at me with contempt then. “This whole series of books is lies?”

“The series is about love,” I said.

“But your love story is a lie.”

“My love story is not a lie. Love and sex are different,” I countered. “I’ve been writing about love.”

She looked at me with such disgust that it made her nostrils flare. Her nose ring glinted with the movement. “Doesn’t it make you feel like a fraud?”

Hana spoke up then, backing me, but I stopped listening.

I remember how sick I felt, how I couldn’t wait for Julia to leave.

She did, eventually. And the next time I saw her, she acted as if nothing had happened, but I knew that she held this disgust of me.

And then a month later, you found out about me being ace. You wrote a huge article about it, calling me a fraud, didn’t you?

I was convinced Julia must’ve leaked it. It wasn’t her place, or yours, to tell the world! And I didn’t want everyone knowing! I didn’t want that to be used as yet another attack on me.

I was scathing, going through Julia’s social media profiles, looking for anything she might’ve said. I couldn’t see anything, and I rang her. I was so angry.

She just snapped at me, “Of course I wouldn’t out you.”

But someone had.

And I knew it wouldn’t have been Hana.

##