‘Greg,we can clean this up. Don’t be fucking stupid!’
‘I said no. This is my past and I’ll fucking kill myself before it haunts her. Call the police,Jackson.’
‘Motherfucker! What the fuck is wrong with you?’
‘Jackson,look at her. For Christ’s sake! She’s not like us. She’s better than us,better than both of us.’
‘That might be so,kid,but she can be better than us without anyone going to fucking prison.’
‘No one’s going to prison. It was self-defence. I shot him in self-defence.’
‘You’re crazy. I’m not gonna help you ruin your fucking life!’
‘Jackson,if we don’t do this, her life will be ruined and I’ll have another fucking life on my conscience. The only way she’ll get through this is if we do it through the police and she realises that what she did wasn’t wrong. I’ll be cleared. This will end and she can leave me if she wants to;she can move on knowing she did the right thing.’
‘Then I’ll make damn fucking sure you’re cleared,you crazy bastard.’
‘Right. But it has to be the police.’
‘You’ve known her two minutes,Greg.’
‘Enough. No matter what happens,she can walk away if she wants to but this way,she won’t have to wonder every fucking day for the rest of her life whether she should’ve done it. I know what it’s like to live with a shadow,Jackson,and she doesn’t deserve that.’
Jackson’s exhale is long and considered.‘Wipe down her hands in case they check for powder residue.’
I gasp as I’m awoken by a cleaner tapping on the door to my office.
‘Can I empty your bin, Miss?’
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘Yes. Of course. What time is it?’
‘Just before seven, Miss.’
Shit!
My phone screen is full. Twelve missed calls, three voicemails and a stream of text messages. He’s been awake all night.
Double shit!
Firing off a message to tell him I worked through the night and fell asleep is not going to cut it but I send the message anyway.
The phone rings almost immediately. I’m not ready to talk to him. My brain still hasn’t processed yesterday’s developments and now it has to decipher what’s real and what’s fiction frommy nightmare. They can’t be real memories. I don’t remember any conversation about police; I only remember Gregory telling me what I had to say to them, making me repeat his version of my statement verbatim.
The ringing cuts off then starts up again. With shaking fingers, I type a message.
I’m fine. I’m sorry I didn’t call. I just need some space.
They’re there again, those words, lingering.She can move on.
I drop my phone into my handbag and pull on my coat. I want to leave the office before people start turning up but Gregory won’t have left the apartment yet. Unlocking my laptop from the docking station, I slip it into my carry case and head to a coffee shop.
The barista brings a large latte with two extra shots and an almond croissant to my table and I mutter my thanks. I tear a couple of bite-size chunks from the pastry then push them around the plate.
I keep coming back to the same conclusion.He’s doing this for me.He’s putting himself through the uncertainty, the stress, because he doesn’t want me to live in a world where I feel trapped like he does. This isn’t about him wishing he’d killed his father or about him wanting to punish himself because he brought this on me. This is about him making sure that I can move on, without the weight of my conscience, without wondering if I did the wrong thing. Is that different to me moving on from him, leaving him?She can leave me if she wants to.Does that mean he won’t leave me?
My wandering mind snaps back to real time. He’s in my face, speaking through his teeth.
‘Never. Do. That. To. Me. Again. Do you understand?Anything could have happened to you. For fuck’s sake, Scarlett, I’ve had Jackson driving around the city; I’ve been to your office block. It was fucking irresponsible and selfish!’
