Chapter 30 #3
My ears buzz with white noise, my despair weighing me down like lead. I’ve felt this before. It’s the ache of knowing I should have done more. But this time, it’s indisputable: Natalie’s death could have been prevented.
And Jack walked away the moment she stopped serving his ambitions, when care became inconvenient. It was his neglect, his selfishness, that drove her to the brink.
She was fragile, trying to save herself, yet he abandoned her.
The revelation carves into me, slowly, mercilessly, each slice cutting deeper until it hits the guilt that’s been festering and lets it escape. Jack caused her death, and nothing will ever convince me otherwise.
“You still there?” Rebecca asks.
I clear my throat. “Yes.”
Her tone becomes lighter, more business-like. “Funny thing, though. Looks like Jack’s finally landed on his feet. I heard he sent a few demos over to Hilary last week. She’s thrilled.”
My tone sharpens. “What do you mean?”
“He wrote some great songs, apparently. Some acoustic stuff, real singer-songwriter vibe. It’s a bit of a shift from his usual style.”
I struggle to keep my voice calm. “Did Hilary mention anything else?”
“Not really. He’s got a girl singing on a couple of tracks too. Says he’s been mentoring her. How ’bout that? Dustin’s nephew is finally turning over a new leaf.”
Dread creeps in. “Can you send me a song?”
“Ha. You think she showed it to me? She’s as protective as a pit bull.
She’s still upset she hasn’t mastered the TikTok game—I’ve snatched a few good ones out from under her.
She’s a bit old-fashioned, you know. Likes to ‘discover’ them on the street.
” She laughs as if it’s absurd. “Anyway. Hilary thinks it’s Jack’s best work in years, but I’ll believe it when I hear it. ”
We say goodbye, and I lower my phone.
A girl with a great voice, mentored by Jack. It doesn’t take a detective. But it’s not proof.
Lily-Anne appears in the garden. “Hey. Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. My voice sounds rough even to me. I turn to her. “This might sound like a strange question, but did Jack ever record your music? At rehearsals or gigs?”
Her brows knit. “No. Why? Should he have?”
“No. Never mind. I just wondered.”
She stares in concern. “Brandon, what’s going on?”
My phone buzzes. It’s a message from Rebecca, accompanied by a link.
Rebecca: Looks like he’s posted his stuff. Thought you’d want to see what all the fuss is about.
Jack’s profile appears, the video preview showing him sitting on a couch with his guitar.
I tap Play. The sound bursts from the speaker—Jack’s voice, rich and self-satisfied.
“Just a little something I’ve been working on…” Then he strums a familiar progression and sings.
I don’t know this town
But it feels like healing
Though the streets are so strange
And the cracks are revealing.
“Wait—” Lily-Anne steps closer, frowning. “That’s my song. How did you get this?”
My jaw tightens. “He posted it. Someone sent it to me.”
Her frown deepens as she watches the video. “Why would he post this?”
The question ignites something. Blood rushes to my head, the phone shaking in my hand. He’s smiling through her music. Taking the credit. Turning her soul into his spotlight.
“Brandon?” Her tone pitches with worry. “You’re making me nervous…”
I brush past her without thinking and march inside.
The sound of conversation drifts from the living room, followed by the bright, rhythmic strum of a guitar. Jack’s playing Lily-Anne’s, his knuckles rapping a percussive rhythm as he strums, grinning.
The phone burns in my palm, scorching my veins.
Her song still plays in my head—her song in his voice.
I cross the room in an instant and seize the guitar from his hands.
“Whoa.” He laughs as I set it aside. “You alright?”
His voice breaks off in a strangled sound as I seize a fistful of his shirt and drag him upright, the fabric’s silkiness trying in vain to slip through my fingers.
I stand there, still as stone.
Jack stares at me like I’ve gone mad. “What are you doing—?”
I give him a sharp shake to shut him up.“You left Nova when she was vulnerable. She needed you—and you made sure the world knew you’d moved on with another artist.”
The room inhales as one. For once, Jack is speechless.
My voice stays level, each word placed with care. “She had to watch it online. That’s what broke her.”
“Rubbish. I have no idea what you’re on about—”
I shake him again. “Pandora.”
Understanding dawns on his face—and a flicker of fear. Too late.
I hit him.
My fist cracks against his jaw, the sound snapping through the room like a gunshot.
For a heartbeat, everything stops. Then voices erupt in alarm. People rise to their feet, shocked, Rupert lurching forward as if preparing to break us up with a “Gentlemen, please—let’s not make a scene!”
I release Jack’s shirt, and he staggers back, clutching his face.
“Ow—what the fuck?” he splutters, glaring at me. “Are you fucking insane—?”
“Oi,” Rupert barks. “No language like that in my house.”
Jack looks at him, incredulous as he gestures to me. “He hit me!”
Rupert folds his arms. “I don’t know you from Adam, but if Brandon’s hit you, I’m willing to bet he had a bloody good reason.”
“If he hit me?” He turns to Lily-Anne. “Can you believe this?”
She doesn’t answer. She just stares at him wide-eyed—and then, slowly, she looks away.
That’s when I step forward. My chest is still heaving, hands still clenched. My pulse hammers in my ears, but my voice comes out steady, cold and lethal.
“Be careful with her.” Then, colder still: “You don’t get to use her.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“No?” The room has stilled, all eyes on me as I speak. “I know what you’ve done.”
Lily-Anne stands frozen, eyes wide, colour drained from her face.
“Brandon…” Her voice wavers between shock and disbelief. She’s never heard me sound like this; never seen me like this. “What has he done?”
“I’d like the answer to that too,” Jack snaps, straightening his collar.
I lift my phone, my voice clipped and unflinching. “He stole your songs. That video you saw, Lily-Anne—he’s passing your work off as his own.”
Jack scoffs. “You’re off your head. Bloody mad.”
I tap the screen. The video plays.
His voice fills the room: “Just a little something I’ve been working on…”
Then the guitar begins, and once again, I hear her melody, her words, spilling from his mouth.
I talk over the top of the audio, every word heavier than the last, each breath scraping loose painful truths I’ve kept buried. “You used Nova. Now you’re using it again by stealing Lily-Anne’s music. But it stops here. Not her. Not this time—”
A new video starts playing.
I freeze. It’s Lily-Anne’s voice. “Hi, I’m Lily-Anne,” she says, smiling shyly at the camera. “This song’s really special to me. It’s about second chances, and the people who help you find them.”
It’s the same backdrop, Jack sliding into frame beside her on the couch. “And I’m Willoughby. Believe it or not, this one was inspired by a little ol’ place by the sea called Whitstable. How ’bout that?” He grins—one for the camera, and one for Lily-Anne, who smiles back.
And then they play together.
I pause the video.
Silence stretches thin as everyone stares.
Jack’s snigger cuts through the tension, still rubbing his jaw where his skin’s turned red and swollen. “Since when does hyping someone up count as stealing? Remind me never to tag you in anything, Brandon.”
Disoriented, I turn to Lily-Anne, holding the phone uselessly in my hands. “You said you didn’t know he was recording your music.”
But clearly, she did.
She looks apologetic as she whispers, “I’m sorry. I thought you meant proper studio recordings. Those were just short clips.” Then, to Jack, frowning: “You posted those without asking me?”
He lifts his hands defensively. “Whoa. I only posted them to promote our gig. I assumed you were fine with it. You know I post stuff for the café all the time.”
She bites her lip, unconvinced as her gaze returns to me.
“They’re not even the full songs,” he adds, the smoothness of his voice returning. “I even tagged your account.”
“You did? How? You know I’m not on social media.”
“That’s why I created one for you. And a business email address.
Well, I asked Daisy to. Remind me to send you the details.
We wanted to do anything we could to support your music journey.
” He smiles modestly, like they’ve done her a favour.
“And hey, you’ve already got a couple of hundred followers thanks to the clips we made.
I know it might not sound like much, but they love your music.
They’re engaging, sharing the videos… Some of them have even seen you perform live at the café.
” His voice softens. “This is how it starts, Lil. Word will spread. That’s the magic of social media.
Every career begins with just a few real fans—and you know I’m one of them. ”
“You’ve overstepped,” Lily-Anne says stiffly.
He instantly sobers, sidestepping like a seasoned fencer. “I know. And I’m sorry. I just want to see you succeed.”
His slick words have got her backed into a corner, and I can’t blame her for not knowing how to get out.
My throbbing knuckles aren’t anything to be proud of.
Ellenor comes forth to investigate. She takes my phone and scrolls. “Willoughby’s posted five clips,” she announces carefully. “Lily appears in four of them.” She glances at me. “She’s tagged in all of them.”
She extends my phone back. I feel hollow as I take it, like the rug’s been pulled out from under me.
“Seems like it’s just a misunderstanding,” Jack chuckles, raising an eyebrow. “You really need to stop assuming the worst of me, mate. I know how to look after my girl.”
Lily-Anne shoots him a confused look that I wish I could decipher. My chest twists—a slow, helpless ache.
Rupert shifts uncomfortably. Beside him, Barbara worries the pearls at her throat between her fingers. As usual, they want to help but are at a loss for what to say. It isn’t like them to be quiet, and seeing them like this fills me with shame. I’ve done this—violence in their own home.
Blood roars in my ears. I can’t decide if I’ve overreacted. But I’m certain I’m being manipulated.
Calmly, I address Jack. “In your first video, you said you’ve been working on ‘a little something.’”
He shrugs, easy and innocent. “Because it’s true. Lily needed an interlude for one of her songs. So I came up with one. No big deal.”
“You implied the song was yours.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Actually, you kind of did,” Ellenor says.
Lily-Anne looks uncertain, eyes darting between us. She trusts me—I know she does—but she’s too gentle for confrontation, too careful not to hurt anyone. She would never pass judgement as swiftly as Ellenor. It’s one of the things I admire most about her.
And it’s the very thing that keeps me from reaching for her now.
“Well, if I did, it was unintentional,” Jack says regretfully, still rubbing his jaw. “I’m very sorry if I caused any of this, Lily-Anne.”
How clever of him to apologise while reminding the room that I was the one who caused this. I threw the first and only punch. A villain indeed.
My vision blurs for a second, heat prickling behind my eyes. I change tack.
“I know Hilary plans to sign you.”
Jack smiles sweetly. “Well, here’s hoping.”
“And you’ve no consideration for Lily-Anne?”
His eyes narrow. “Hilary will meet her tonight. She already knows me, and I’ll make proper introductions after the gig. I’m hoping she’ll sign us both. So maybe try not to fuck it up for her, yeah?”
I go still. He’s twisting the knife, and he knows it.
“Who’s Hilary?” Barbara asks.
“The scout,” Lily-Anne replies, her eyes never leaving mine. There’s pity there. Pity for me.
It’s almost unbearable. I can’t breathe in this house. I came in here contemplating revenge.
It hasn’t changed a thing. It hasn’t brought Natalie back.
And without proof, how can I make him desist in what he’s doing to Lily-Anne, circling her brightness, turning her spark into his stage?
He’ll always be who he is.
And suddenly, I realise what Nova’s ghost—what I—wanted me to see. It was never about atonement or about punishing myself. It’s not even about punishing Jack.
It was about recognising the truth.
I’ve spent years living in penance for a sin that wasn’t mine, confusing guilt for love, grief for duty.
But I understand now: Nova’s death was never mine to carry.
I glance at Lily-Anne, and my chest twists.
I want to save her, to warn her that Jack’s cruelty isn’t an accident but a pattern.
Except it would rattle her before one of the biggest nights of her life.
And whatever Jack’s contrived, this opportunity is hers too.
She’s good enough to make it without him.
I won’t risk destabilising her confidence before tonight—not more than I already have. I’ve said what needed saying. The rest will come in time.
So I leave the room.
Lily-Anne calls my name, and Rupert shouts for me to stay, about how it’s my party, I’m the host—but I cannot stay a minute longer.
The house is thick with smoke, the kind that clings to hair and skin, but as I fight my way to the exit.
An unexpected memory flashes in my mind, one that was lost to me until now: Nova laughing as we rode our bicycles down a narrow country lane in her hometown, eucalyptus leaves and bark crunching beneath our wheels, the sky blue, the air hot and dry.
I’m grateful to remember her that way. Joyful and carefree.
And in that remembering, something loosens. The last of the guilt finally lets go, and the smoke engulfing the house thins.
Then I see her, standing at the exit, bright light pouring in around her.
Not Nova, but Natalie.
Her face is free of makeup, her hair in a loose braid, her expression soft. She looks at me, eyes wet, and gives a determined nod before vanishing.
Deep in my heart, I know I won’t see her ghost again.
Outside, it’s another blue sky.
Once I’m in the car and on the road, the air clears.
The ache doesn’t.