29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It had been a long three days. Alison had been through a lot in the last half decade of her life, but she couldn’t remember feeling this explicitly raw. Standing under the tree outside the party and watching Hope turn away and chase after the woman who was in love with her, Alison had felt something inside her crack. She knew, without a doubt, that if Hope ended up with Camille, Alison would torture herself for the rest of her days with the question, what if?
What if she’d had therapy earlier? What if she was just three small steps braver? What if she’d grabbed Hope’s wrist, stopped her flight, kissed her breathless and then let her on her way? What if she’d simply not insisted on the word friend, right there in that moment, when Hope felt so very much like she was hers?
She’d left the party, sick with anxiety, absolutely unable to stand there and wait for an outcome she had no right to be so deeply invested in. She’d heard nothing that night, lying awake, torturing herself as to all the possible reasons why - Hope in Camille’s arms, Hope betrayed by Alison’s apparent attempt to fuck her and run, god, even Hope not making it home safely from the damn party - until she’d caved and texted her.
Even the text had been a cop-out. A call would have been better. Not leaving at all was really the only option that would have been right. The text she sent was humiliatingly tentative, just checking that Hope had gotten home okay. The response she got back was the one she deserved: a simple confirmation that she had. Alison had stared at the message for far too long: proof of life, proof she wasn’t being ignored, proof - the longer she stared at it - that Hope wasn’t reaching out to her either.
Was this it for them? Alison couldn’t bear the thought. She’d give Hope her space for one more day - god knows she had a lot she had to work through - but if she hadn’t heard from her by tomorrow afternoon then Alison was going over to her house to face her fate in person.
On the morning of the third day after the party, the day she’d determined was reckoning day, Alison was restless. She paced around her house, staring at her damn phone and flinching at every sound until she switched the thing to silent, shoved it deep in her handbag and made herself go out. She pushed her cart aimlessly around the supermarket, filling her trolley with miscellaneous items she wasn’t sure she’d ever eat, nearly had a meltdown as she tossed up whether or not to buy oat milk, then packed her groceries into her car and drove home without even remembering doing so .
She unpacked slowly at the other end, ferrying the stupid number of pointless bags up the stairs to the main kitchen, feeling increasingly sick at the lack of contact until she remembered she’d put her phone to silent in the first place. When she grabbed it out of her bag, she saw multiple missed calls. None, to her despair, were from Hope. All were from a Melbourne number she didn’t recognise, likely someone chasing donations, but she couldn’t face listening to her message bank right now. She left the phone on sound, just in case Hope finally reached out.
She was unloading the cold stuff into her fridge when her doorbell rang. Heart in her throat, she ran downstairs, her entire body flooding with anxiety and relief when she ripped open the door and saw that her visitor was indeed the one she craved.
“Hey,” she croaked.
Hope looked desperately beautiful - hair tumbling over her shoulders, a soft grey dress that was basically a t-shirt draping over every single curve, cheeks flushed - and she looked pissed.
“Hi,” she said. Then she pushed her way into Alison’s house and stalked up the stairs ahead of her. Alison trailed behind her, feeling embarrassingly relieved. Hope wouldn’t have the space to be mad at her if she was blissfully entwined with Camille, would she? Alison would take almost any other option at this point.
Hope stopped still in the middle of Alison’s living room and Alison hovered three feet away from her .
“How are you doing?” she asked carefully. Hope’s eyes narrowed.
“Fucking great,” she said sharply. “How about you?”
“Not so good,” Alison confessed. “What happened at the rest of the party?”
“The party?” Hope’s eyebrows shot up. Alison’s phone began to ring from the bench behind them.
“Ignore it,” she said. Hope huffed and they waited for the ringtone to drop out.
“The rest of the party was a shit show,” she said. “Camille never wants to see me again. She also kissed me and Prisha saw it happen so now Prisha never wants to see me again-”
“Hope-” Alison could hear the heartbreak in her voice.
“And my ride ditched me. After she fucked me, that is.”
“Hope-” The phone rang again, cutting her off.
“Do you need to get that?” Hope’s tone sounded dangerous. Alison shook her head. “So anyway, I lost three of my best friends in one day and when it comes to Camille and Prisha, I at least understand why. But you -” The phone started again.
“Oh my god!” Alison whirled around to grab the phone off the bench. Harry had called four times in a row. “Harry,” she snapped into the phone, “not now.”
“Ali,” his voice was tight, “I take it you’ve heard.”
Something tightened in her chest.
“Jac?” she snapped out, terror clouding her vision. Jac was fine. Jac was on holiday, in fact, cycling in Vietnam with his girlfriend.
“No, darling,” he said immediately. “It’s Simon.” Alison sucked in a breath. “He’s alive, but he was shot at his home this morning.”
“Oh my god-” Alison was shocked to realise that despite everything, she still had it in her to care.
“Listen to me.” Harry’s voice was stiff. “Something’s going down. Simon’s conscious and talking. He said Devo Grant was the one that shot him.”
“Devo Grant,” she repeated numbly. She had a flash then, of the acne-scarred face of the man who’d threatened her in the darkened parking building, three blocks from the courtroom, her seventeen-year-old son in the passenger seat beside her.
“He killed three people this morning, all key members of the Grant faction. Police are scrambling. Either he’s going for leadership or he’s acting on orders from above.”
Hope was watching her, the anger all but faded from her face, concern flaring as she watched Alison’s tense face. Alison tried, pointlessly, to smile at her, but her face barely moved. She didn’t know why but the tone in Harry’s voice had the hair on the back of her neck standing up.
“Ali,” Harry said, his voice full of dread. “Simon’s a shit.” He hesitated.
“What is it?”
“There’s a reason Devo would want him dead. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it. I think you should get out of town.”
Fury swept through her.
“I’m not going to run,” she snapped. “Simon’s mess has nothing to do with me. ”
“That’s not true though, is it Ali? Devo’s had it out for you before. He’s used you more than once to get to Simon. Now Simon’s survived and under police protection, while Devo’s out for blood?” His voice cracked with tension. “You need to get out of there, Ali. Right now.”
Alison looked up. Hope was in front of her, her warm brown eyes round with concern, unable to hear the other end of the call, but scared enough by Alison’s words to look a little freaked out. Alison went lightheaded. She hung up the phone.
“You have to go,” she said frantically. “You have to go now.”
“Ali! What’s happening?”
“Out!” she said. The phone began to ring again and Alison slid it to silent, needing to deal with one thing and one thing only. “Oh my god, Hope, did you drive? Tell me you didn’t walk! Please, quick- you need to leave -”
“I’m not leaving you!” Hope protested. “You’re scaring me.”
“Something’s happening.” Alison began to push her towards the stairwell. “I can’t have you in danger, I can’t -”
“Well,” came a male voice from behind them. All the blood drained from Alison’s face at the sound of Hope’s sharp cry of shock. “Isn’t this adorable? ”
Very slowly, Alison turned around.
“Hello Devo,” she said quietly, not so much to the man in her living room but to the gun dangling casually from his right hand.
“Alison,” he said with a nod, like they were old acquaintances catching up. In a way, she supposed, they were. “Been a while,” he said, his voice relaxed. He wasn’t an especially large man, but somehow all the more terrifying by the way he acted as if he were. He’d always reminded her of a small dog: snappy, unpredictable, ready to throw his weight around to prove his superiority. Right now the triple murder weapon he gripped was a surefire way to make sure he came out on top. With a strange sense of detachment, Alison noticed a spray of blood against the khaki of his pants. “Few changes going on, I see.” He gestured at Hope with his gun hand.
The gun was dangling from his fingers, not in any way aimed, but Alison stepped in front of her anyway.
“She’s a friend, Devo. Local vet. She’s leaving now.”
“You know, I don’t think she is.” He stepped closer. “I’m kind of annoyed about the timing of that phone call; I think we were just getting to the good part.” He looked over Alison’s shoulder at Hope. “Did you say she fucked you and left you at a party? Poor form, Alison.” He shook his head at her. “Your taste has improved though, I’ll tell you that for free. ”
“She’s got nothing to do with anything.” Alison’s voice was shaking now.
“No, but she’s here, which is unfortunate,” Devo said. “Besides, it always helps to know you’ve got a weak spot,” he added with a petrifying shrug. He took a few steps to the left and Alison moved with him, keeping Hope behind her. She could feel her there, at her back, and all of a sudden Hope was clutching her fingers. Alison wanted to cry. She needed to release Hope, to pretend she was nothing to her, but Hope’s fingers were trembling and she couldn’t make herself let go.
“What do you want?” She forced her voice to stay calm.
“What does anyone want?” Devo lazily waved his gun arm again. “Money, power, girls.” He leered at Hope over Alison’s shoulder and Alison was going to throw up. “Mike’s cleaning up loose ends and I’m afraid it turns out you’re one of them. He was always suspicious of you. That piece of shit lawyer of his did you dirty and yet you lied to keep him clean. No reason to do that unless you had something useful on him. Something you shouldn’t.”
“It’s been five fucking years,” Alison choked. She’d always somehow known this day was coming, but why did Hope have to be there for it? Every single brain cell was firing, desperate to find a way out. “Why on earth would I hold onto anything for that long?”
“Your husband double-crossed everyone,” Devo said. “Sold out Mike for Estella, sold out Estella for his pathetic fucking life, ran shit for the Grants, ran shit for the Florellis, sold secrets to both, ran as a snitch for the cops. He’s in so deep he still doesn’t know who his arse belongs to.”
“He’s my ex- husband.” Alison was starting to see stars. She squeezed Hope’s fingers, desperately aware of the shuddering breaths from behind her. “I don’t owe that man a thing.”
“Oh, but you did. You lied for him-”
“Do you want to know something funny?” Alison interrupted him. Devo blinked. “I didn’t lie on the witness stand. I stood by while my husband had an affair for three fucking years and I believed him when he told me he hadn’t cheated.”
Devo stared at her, nonplussed. Then he laughed.
“Now I’ve definitely heard everything. Of all the reasons to have to die, being a stupid bitch is the worst of them.” He shrugged and raised his gun arm. Alison squeezed her eyes closed tight, all sensation fleeing her body ahead of the bullet.
“Jesus christ. Your views on feminism should never be the last thing any woman has to hear, Devon,” came a voice from the stairwell. Devo dropped his arm so fast that the gun banged against his leg. Hope’s head pressed in against her back and Alison could feel her almost sob with relief. It wasn’t relief Alison was feeling, even as her still-beating heart banged in her ears. Her eyes snapped open. The click of the high heels up the stairs could only belong to one woman.
“Well, hello, darling,” said Estella Grant.