Chapter 20
KC John Harrison called late morning to say the new ballistics report is back.
The findings are broadly the same, the shot was taken at a distance, but there are new anomalies.
The CPS decision is going to come this afternoon.
I put in a last-minute half-day of leave, although I might as well have put in a full day for the amount of work I got through this morning.
I packed up my things on the stroke of twelve thirty and now I’m sitting in the back of the Mercedes as Jackson drives us to the Shard, the tightness in my chest and the throb in my head more prevalent than ever.
This is it. Today is the day I pay for what I’ve done.
Retribution for my vengeance, Gregory’s vengeance.
Punishment for letting my desire for Gregory talk me into a hostile takeover and everything it brought on my father and my friends.
Whilst it’s scary as hell and I’ve got no idea what my future will hold beyond today, I have a sense of rightness, a sense that I’m about to do the right thing.
That’s who I am: plain, black-and-white Scarlett Heath.
And whatever comes, I’ll accept it knowing that Gregory is alive and that he’ll finally be free.
The CPS will make its decision and Gregory will understand that, despite his best efforts – efforts that I’m truly grateful for – he couldn’t protect me from this fate. He won’t be punished for a crime I committed.
He might never rid himself of his demons – he’s already spent thirty years trying to do that – but he won’t sit in a prison cell replaying that night over and over again for the next twenty-five years of his life.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries and congratulations for the engagement on my part, Jackson slipped into the driver seat in silence and we’ve moved through the city roads that way.
His attention fixed forward, not casting a glance at me in the rear-view mirror like he usually does, not looking for conversation.
He drives with one hand on the wheel, his other elbow resting on the window frame, his fingers pressing against his temple, a rare display of stress.
He cares for Gregory, I think more than he’s comfortable showing.
People move through the streets beneath the overcast sky, phones to ears, hands in the pockets of winter coats, some eating lunch on the move, some walking with purpose, files in hand.
I take it all in, absorbing the colours, the buildings, the sights and sounds of normal life.
I have the same sense of surrealism that I had the day of my dad’s funeral.
As Sandy and I rode behind the hearse, life altered, changed irrevocably, yet passers-by were oblivious, going about their business as if the world hadn’t slipped into a different realm, a darker reality.
And now, whilst I accept that today could be my last day of freedom, they don’t look on or stop to stare.
It’s like nothing’s changed, as if tonight, Gregory won’t be charged for murder then freed by my confession and tomorrow, I won’t be sitting behind bars, the public protected from my vengeful actions.
But Gregory will be free. And before I go to the station and make my statement, I’ll tell him that he has to move on.
Not from me – that much will be simple. But he has to take a chance on the next woman who falls in love with him.
He has to accept that it is possible for someone to love him, all of him, messed up, dark and all.
Otherwise, it’ll all have been for nothing.
Saving the little boy I see in my dreams, worthless.
‘Hi,’ I say when I open the door.
Gregory leans forward on the breakfast bar, resting his two large hands on either side of the worktop.
He’s already removed his tie, my favourite tie, the one he wore the first time I saw him.
The same crisp, white shirt is unbuttoned at the neck and the same navy suit rests perfectly on his broad shoulders, the way it did that first day in the boardroom.
A rogue hair hangs across one eye as he looks up at me: a sign his fingers have been pulled through his hair more than once.
He looks tired and troubled but still makes my heart race and my abdomen pull taut.
‘Tell me you’ve changed your mind.’ His voice is hoarse, desperate. ‘Please, Scarlett.’
I don’t answer at first. I stare, lost in his soul, drinking him in.
I want to remember every beautiful inch of him, the way he holds himself, the way he makes me feel when he looks at me, and the way fire ignites in my chest when he wants me.
‘I haven’t,’ I say and watch his head drop forward.
‘I don’t need you to like it, or accept it, but I do need you to respect my decision.
This is the right thing to do, Gregory.’
‘I don’t like it and I don’t accept that it’s the right thing to do. You know I never will. But I will always respect you, Scarlett.’
I nod silently and make my way to the staircase.
‘But promise me one thing,’ he says.
‘What?’
‘If the decision is no charge, you’ll accept it; you’ll accept that the decision is ours. That we were on the right side of the law. And you’ll move on.’
Tonight we’re done, either way. ‘We need to prepare ourselves for—’
‘Just promise me, Scarlett, please.’
‘I promise.’
I don’t change from my black pencil dress.
I don’t know what’s appropriate to wear when you get arrested but as ridiculous as it seems, I want to look smart.
I want the confidence that these clothes give me.
I need the confidence, the strength to follow through on my convictions, no matter the consequences.
I drop to my knees in the walk-in wardrobe and for the first time, I ask my dad for strength.
He’ll know I’m finally putting right my wrong and I need him to look in on me and take my next steps with me, to carry me wherever I need to go.
I know that I was right to take that shot.
I know because I saved Gregory, I saved the little boy from my dreams and one day, I hope I’ll have saved the man I love, truly, in every way he needs to be saved.
But the black streak in me that took the shot in revenge – revenge for my dad, revenge for the deep-rooted pain I know Gregory harbours inside him – my dad wouldn’t approve of that.
That’s why the decision will be to charge Gregory, and later tonight, me.
When I’m done, I take an overnight bag from the top shelf of one of the wardrobes, the same bag Gregory packed when we went to the hunt.
It’s hard to plan for the unknown but I place leggings, jeans, a T-shirt and two jumpers into the bag.
Then I rummage through my underwear for cottons: plain, appropriate for a prison cell.
‘What’re you doing?’
He leans against the doorframe, watching me pack.
‘I thought I’d put some things together. I want to be ready to go to the police station. If I wait… I can’t wait. It has to be straight away.’
‘Scarlett, please, I’m begging you not to do this.’
I can’t look at him because I can’t see those wide, pleading eyes. My conviction is spent on going through with my decision; I don’t have a reserve to deny Gregory.
‘I need you to leave me to do this.’
He goes and I finish the bag, adding a toothbrush, toothpaste and face wipes. I zip it up and slump to the floor with it in my lap, suddenly exhausted.
Now we wait.
Time passes by; slowly but surely, the minute hand of my watch moves clockwise until my legs find the strength to make my way downstairs with my bag in tow.
The hallway is dark with the early night sky, the soft-blue floor lighting guiding me to the staircase.
I turn to take in the spot on the floor where Gregory made love to me, wild and delicious.
Then murmuring voices draw my attention.
At the bottom of the staircase, I leave my bag and walk into the open lounge, the floor heating warm under my stocking-covered feet.
Lara stands in the window, Lawrence leaning back in the chair closest to her. Sandy and Jackson hold hands on the sofa. Williams sits on a stool a little further out of the group at the breakfast bar.
‘We all care about him,’ Lara says, her sullen eyes full of worry and sympathy.
I don’t want them here but I understand that it’s not my place to tell them not to be. Instead, I nod and as ludicrous as it sounds, even as the words are leaving my mouth, I ask if anyone would like a cup of tea.
‘I can make tea,’ Sandy says, rising from the sofa.
I hold my hand up in protest. ‘I want to.’
As I fill mugs with boiling water from the tap, Gregory appears at the bottom of the stairs, putting the headphones of his iPhone into his ears, then pulling up the hood of his running jumper.
‘You’re going for a run?’
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he turns his glazed eyes away from me and leaves.
After making everyone tea – whether they asked for it or not and in whatever colour and sweetness combination I decided upon because their requests fell on my numb brain – I busy myself cleaning the benches of the kitchen.
Amy has been and gone, I assume because Gregory told her to leave, but I still clean the immaculate surfaces.
When I’m done, I decide to clear out the fridge, throwing things that are close to their use-by date and shuffling others: all completely unnecessary and thankless tasks.
Sandy tries to stop me but she takes one look at my face and goes back to sit next to Jackson.