Chapter Forty-Seven
Forty-seven
Once I am in the lobby, I break into a run.
I need to be quick now. Jack is not the type of person to allow such deceit to slide.
But even as I think it, I hear the door go behind me—know instinctively that it is him.
And I run harder, into the street, zigzagging left and right.
I’m horribly unfit. Those days that Jack forced me to stay in bed are catching up with me, and my breathing becomes ragged and painful too soon.
He’s getting closer. I can hear his own breath laboring in his lungs, his footsteps heavy. This must be what it feels like to be hunted. Which instinct is stronger? The hunter’s, with the promise of a reward at the end? Or the prey’s, whose only reward is their life?
My answer comes quicker than I expected. Embarrassingly quickly, truth be told. Jack’s fingers close round my arm as I’m about to dart round the side of the community hall. His fingers are so tight, my whole arm starts to tingle.
He wrenches me round to face him, and when I see his face I realize—with a thrill of horror—that he is going to kill me. I can see it in his eyes: fury, disdain, hatred. And beneath that, emptiness. A blank space where the soul should be. I’ve been dancing with the devil, and this is my prize.
“Make one fucking noise, and I will slam you so hard into the pavement you’ll never make a sound again.”
God, he’s vile. I can’t believe I ever felt a modicum of affection for this man. But I do as I’m told, and I’m not acting. The fear is genuine. The pliancy is genuine. When the chips are down, it seems I am just as helpless as every other woman who has been in a scenario like this.
He keeps his arm tight round mine as we walk toward his house.
To anyone else, we’d look like a happy couple, leaning against each other as we made the journey home.
We pass three people on the way, and with each one, I try to catch their eye, hoping my face—twisted in fear—will give them pause, but they don’t lift their heads.
Welcome to London, where the weather is shit, and the people even worse.
With one hand still wrapped round my arm, Jack fumbles for his keys.
He is so much stronger than me, I don’t struggle.
Inside, he pulls me roughly through to the kitchen, keeps his hand on me as he reaches into a cupboard for a bottle of whisky.
He unscrews it one-handed, then lifts it to his mouth to drink straight from the bottle.
I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down, up and down, and wonder if I would be strong enough to push the bottle into his open mouth, smash out his teeth, buy myself some time to get out.
To get away. But then the moment has passed, and he is dragging me toward the table.
Unsteady on his feet. On the way, he pulls a knife from the block.
It’s huge—one I’ve used several times when prostrating myself making dinner for Jack’s pleasure.
To align myself with a woman he was clearly abusing. What a fucking fool I’ve been.
He sits me down in front of him so that his knees are clamped tight round my own, so that any sudden movement from me will alert him to my intentions.
He sets the knife down on the table in front of us.
The blade glints in the dim lights. Could he do it?
Could he push it into my flesh as though I were nothing more than a piece of meat?
It’d be fitting considering that’s what I’ve made myself to him.
Could I do it to him, though? I think so. Should the need arise.
“So.” His voice is quiet, yet seems too loud at the same time. “You’ve been lying to me. All this time.” His top lip retracts so that he is baring his teeth at me, and it is so inhuman that I shudder. Yes. He could push the knife in.
I don’t bother with the Alice act. There’s no point now, not when I’ve been exposed. He’s going to kill me either way. I can see it in his eyes. And so I straighten my shoulders and stare right at him. My jaw juts.
“That makes two of us.”
“We’ll start with you, shall we? I’m sure a clever girl like you has got her story all lined up, all her ducks in a little row. Isn’t that right, Iris?”
“There is no story. That man was wrong. Freddie and I did have a relationship. Greg just never understood it.”
“It sounded to me as though that relationship was a little one-sided.”
“Not true. Freddie liked spending time with me. He kissed me.”
“Oh, he kissed you. Why didn’t you mention it before? He must have been in love, then.”
The sarcasm makes my fury bubble. “This is all a bit rich coming from you, isn’t it, Jack? Alice was going to leave you, wasn’t she?”
His legs tighten on my own and he grabs for my wrist. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up about things you don’t understand, you little bitch?” I twist away from him, and he composes himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, as though to recalibrate.
“And the engagement?”
Ah. This one will be difficult to wriggle out of. “That didn’t happen. No.”
There’s something quite satisfying about finally telling the truth.
Maybe I should do it more often. Assuming I get out of here.
Assuming I have the grit to take that knife and stick it in whatever part of him I can reach.
I’ve never killed anyone that way. Too messy.
Now I’m so angry I can practically feel the handle in my hand already.
I should have known he wouldn’t understand.
“Let me get this straight,” Jack is saying.
“You barely knew the man—no, sorry, you’d kissed him, and you thought that was enough to warrant going to a grief group, did you?
Under some misguided notion that you were in a relationship with him.
And then, to top it all off, you pretend that he proposed?
Do you know how mental that sounds? Do you know how mental you are? ”
Fucking outrageous, coming from him. I clench my hand until I feel the nail cut into the skin on my palm.
“I did know him.” Teeth gritted. “We were good friends. And more. Greg’s only telling one side.
But I’m not sure I owe you the full story, Jack.
Not when you’ve been telling so many lies yourself.
Poor, poor Alice. You made her life a misery, didn’t you? ”
“I gave her everything.”
“You isolated her from everyone she knew. You locked her in that bedroom—I’ve seen the scratch marks. She was never more than a trophy for you, was she? Someone to keep locked up until you wanted to wheel her out.”
He looks as though he’s choking. I hope he is. It would save me a lot of trouble later on. “That’s not true.” But the words are staccato and forced. He knows I’m right. I know I’m right.
“Then tell me,” I say, voice hard, unforgiving, so unlike that stupid, girlish lilt I’ve been putting on. “What is the truth?”
I don’t really expect him to answer me. I expect us to do this dance for a few more minutes before we both lunge for the knife. Before fate decides which of us will walk away from this. It’s closer to him. I’ll have to wrench my legs away, half stand to reach it.
But—amazingly—he starts to speak. In the tone of someone confessing their deepest, darkest secret.
And in a way I wish I hadn’t asked. Because I come to understand that now that the floodgates have opened—now that he is finally telling the truth—he expects me to take this knowledge with me to the grave.
“She was the best thing that ever happened to me. She really was. Everyone loved her. I’ve never really had that.
I managed to make people like me by changing parts of myself, but she just had this natural way about her.
And I think people liked me more just because I was with her.
I finally felt like I’d achieved something, you know?
I don’t know where it all started going wrong.
I’ve always been quite jealous, but with Alice it was…
well, it was worse than it had ever been.
I think I knew she was better than me underneath it all, and it terrified me that she’d work it out. But she was always so patient with me.”
For a moment, he looks genuinely vulnerable. A look I’ve never seen him wear before. It’s disconcerting—until I remember who he is. What he is.
“When I proposed, I thought that everything would be better. I thought that knowing she was mine—that she was going to be tied to me—was going to make me feel more secure. My parents were thrilled. They helped plan this huge wedding. And Alice was so lovely through all of it. She tried her best; I know she did. But I made mistakes. And after her treatment, I could sense she was pulling away. I hated it. I think that must have been around the time she met him.”
I lean forward. I have no idea who he’s talking about. “Who?”
Jack ignores my question.
“I knew something had changed straightaway. She was different. Secretive. I was convinced she was having an affair. It drove me mad. I locked her in the spare bedroom and went through her things, her phone. And I was right. She’d tried to hide his name, but I found the messages.
It wasn’t hard to find out who he was. That’s how I came to find you, Iris. ”
“What?”
He gives an insane smile. “You didn’t think we met by accident, did you?”