32. Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Two
Afterwards, after they tumbled out of bed, Alison pulling on mismatched leggings and a t-shirt - which, had she ever looked so informal? - to chase after Harry and hug him while he wept; after they’d been interviewed by the police and neatly avoided mentioning Estella’s true involvement; after Alison had called her distraught son to comfort him… after all that, quiet rang out in the mansion by the lake.
Hope looked out at the darkened floor-to-ceiling windows of Alison’s living room. Alison was curled into her body where they both sat, limp and exhausted on the couch. She could see nothing but blackness behind the plate glass, an image of the low-lit living room reflecting back at her. She imagined that anyone standing on the jetty tonight could see right in. She shivered. For a moment she wanted to get up and draw the blinds, but she couldn’t imagine letting go of Alison for a second .
She glanced at the woman in her arms again, marvelling at the view of her up this close, marvelling at touching her, marvelling at the mess of her chestnut hair, the slight bruise on her throat from Hope’s mouth, the way she smelled, just slightly, like sex. Alison met her gaze, her eyes soft.
“Want me to close the blinds?” Hope asked her. Alison glanced briefly toward the open black night beyond.
“No,” she said simply. “Leave them.” And then she just smiled. “Kiss me.”
Hope did.
Jac flew into Melbourne two days later and Harry picked him up from the airport. Hope stood by, faintly dazed, as the tall, handsome young man all but flew from Harry’s Porsche and wrapped his arms tightly around Alison, scrubbing tears from his face.
“This,” she said, when she finally let go of her son, “is Hope.”
Hope shuffled from foot to foot. She’d never dated anyone who had kids before, and Jac was solidly not a kid but he was Alison’s kid and-
“Huh,” he said, reaching one hand up to scratch the back of his neck as he met her eyes. “I always figured it would be Dad that gave me an uncomfortably hot step-mum.”
“Jac!” Alison looked aghast. Hope pressed her lips together but the laugh fell out anyway and Jac grinned - a perfect echo of Alison’s smile when she finally relaxed - and it felt shockingly easy to hug him.
“This is weird.” Alison shook her head three hours later, when Hope headed to the kitchen and stole a quick kiss right after laughing helplessly at a TikTok Jac had just shown her from where he lazed on the couch. “Be honest with me. Are you my mid-life crisis?”
Hope laughed and kissed her again, deeper that time.
“Could be,” she said, with an easy shrug. “Or, perhaps I’m the love of your life. I guess we’ll find out.”
Hope took the whole week off work, telling herself that it was the trauma, but honestly, while she had woken once or twice, sweating after a nightmare where a gun glinted in the dark, mostly it was the other thing. The thing that was Alison, heady like a drug, wrapped around her body, moaning into her mouth, coming on her tongue, laughing into her kiss, skin melding into her own, hair tangled, teasing and scolding Hope in her kitchen like they’d never almost died together right there on the tiles .
It wasn’t walking on the beach exactly but Hope was determined to taste every damn moment of life with this woman.
Four days after the unraveling of the Grant clan, the rest of Hope’s own gang showed up. While the news of the Melbourne murders had consumed the media cycle, it took a couple of days for the revelation that the killer had breezed by Gold Hill before his body had been uncovered, dumped in the forest. Hope had barely paid attention to her phone - after a long day spent with her overwrought parents - so she jumped when Jac answered the doorbell and Flynn’s voice rang up the stairs.
Flynn pressed her practically into his armpits and Magnus squished in as well, the two of them squeezing her so tightly she could hardly breathe. When they finally let go, Hope looked to the stairwell and drew a breath.
“Hey,” Prisha said. It was nothing, but it was everything. Hope stared at her.
“Oh my god,” she raised her hand and touched her own hair. Prisha had lopped her long luscious locks into a pixie cut. She looked angular, rakish, desperately beautiful.
“I know,” Prisha grimaced. “I just needed… a change? I moved back in with my parents last week, so I guess I had to do something. ”
Hope tentatively dropped her arm, unsure if she could go to her or not. Prisha rolled her eyes and stepped in, sweeping her into a tight, clinging embrace. Hope breathed out, tears sparkling in her eyes.
“Preesh-” she started. “I’m sorry-”
“You fucking should be,” Prisha said into her hair. “Literally almost getting murdered just to one-up me in my drama, forcing me to cry like a hysterical baby at the thought of losing you. You could have just sent me some goddamn flowers.”
Hope wept and clung to her. She didn’t ask about Camille.
No one mentioned her absence. The four of them moved out onto the balcony: Flynn and Jac bonding over mojito recipes; Alison and Prisha sharing a sun-lounger, their shoulders pressed together as they talked. Harry ruffled Jac’s hair like a fond uncle - he’d driven Jac down to see his father on his last day in hospital before Simon hopped on a one-way flight to the Bahamas - and Jac’s mood lightened with every peel of laughter that rang out from the friends.
“Hey,” came a soft voice from the doorway as the afternoon light deepened, everyone loose with sun and watery cocktails. Hope’s head flew up. There stood Camille, slightly wan, her eyes on Hope where she was leaning back against Alison’s legs, fingers wrapped lightly around one ankle, gently stroking her skin. Everyone went quiet .
“Milly,” Hope said. She got to her feet, hanging back, unsure. Camille paused.
“Would you give me a damn hug, you asshole?” she said, her voice cracking slightly.
Hope had never moved so fast in her life.
“I’m sorry,” Camille whispered as Hope hugged her. “I’m so so sorry-”
“It’s okay,” Hope said back, “It’s okay, it’s okay-” Their words spilled over each other. When they pulled back, Camille’s smile was watery.
“It’s not,” she said. “But I think… maybe, it will be...?”
Hope’s heart cracked as she swallowed back her own tears. Camille gratefully accepted a drink from Magnus and turned to find a seat. Hope saw the second she clocked Prisha, her new silhouette, the angles of her face, her eyes huge and low-lashed under her short haircut. Camille seemed to stutter in her tracks, a confused flicker in her eyes. Heat tracked up her throat. She didn’t move.
Prisha looked back, her eyes steady.
“Hey,” she said softly .
Camille’s mouth opened and then closed.
“Um,” she managed, the flush hitting her cheeks. For a second there was silence. Magnus coughed at the thick tension, his eyes meeting Flynn’s, a look of deep understanding passing between the two of them.
Hope tilted her face up into the sunset sky and smiled and smiled and smiled.