I might not know this man, but I recognise his mannerisms. His rubs his thumb against a tattoo on his wrist when he’s anxious, as do I. He is holding back.
‘You didn’t answer when I asked if the fire was deliberate,’ I say.
‘They investigated it. Said it was likely a cushion set alight by a fallen candle.’
‘I don’t care what an investigation said. I’m askingyou. And please, no more bullshit.’ I hesitate before I ask my next question. ‘Did Mum kill herself because she knew what you’d done to those kids?’
Dad’s gaze leaves mine, which gives me my answer. My emotions jump back and forth like a needle on the Richter scale. After years of believing Mum’s death was suicide, I moved to grappling with the truth that she’d died because her only choices were to leap from a burning building or burn in the flames. Now I know he gave her no choice. He took her away from me. He might as well have pushed her himself.
Dad looks up and catches the storm escalating in my expression. I lose who I am and return to the person I became when I killed the man in the car park. It doesn’t matter how much larger and stronger Dad is than me. Adrenaline numbs the pain in my ribs and I rush towards him, tackling him by the waist and sending us both tumbling to the ground. The back of his head slams into the wooden television unit and I clamber on top of him.
I have never hit another person in my life, but here I am, fighting with my father. I punch him in the face. When I raise my fist again, he turns his head and this time I catch his brow. Nowthere’s a sharp, shooting pain burning its way through my knuckles, but I don’t give in to it. Instead, I hit him again and again, colliding with his nose, his eye, and then his mouth.
‘I fucking hate you!’ I scream. ‘Youshould be dead, not those kids or my mum.’
Now I raise both my hands and bring my fists down upon his face once more. He isn’t trying to defend himself. He is letting me hurt him. He wants to feel my pain for what he did, because somewhere inside him, he knows he deserves it. And I am all too willing to oblige.
The first time I killed was because I had to. This time it’s because I want to. I am a carbon copy of him.Bad apples never fall far from trees.
Then the expression on his battered face alters. It’s momentary: his eyes flit to something behind me. I don’t have time to process it or turn before something heavy crashes against the back of my head.
Chapter 63
Melissa
It’s been a long, fourteen-hour shift by the time Melissa returns home from work. It’s past six and she picked up a microwavable jacket potato and a tin of baked beans from a garage en route. She made sure to leave the empty full-fat Coke bottle and two Twix wrappers out of Adrienne’s sight in the car’s glovebox, because Adrienne wants them both to be as physically healthy as possible before they become parents. She has no idea the chances of motherhood are becoming more and more remote. And the further away they recede, the more Melissa craves the comfort of junk food.
Her stomach is still rumbling as she walks up the short drive to their detached home on a modern estate. She edges her way around the rocks and bricks that her dad excavated as he prepares to replace the stones with block paving. She curses him as she almost trips over a mallet and spirit level he’s left close to the porch. The house itself is a characterless copy of every other property in the neighbourhood, but it will do until they can afford something that suits their tastes better. After willingly leaving Damon with almost all their shared belongings, everything inside this house embodies the last, and best, years of her life.
Melissa locks the front door behind her, then makes her way to the kitchen and spots Adrienne’s handbag lying on the floor. She is supposed to be working a late shift tonight. Melissa finds her sitting at the breakfast bar, an iPad lying face down on the marble-effect worktop.
Adrienne’s head doesn’t turn to meet her lips when Melissa kisses her. There’s clearly a problem.
‘What’s happened?’ she asks.
Melissa lowers herself on to a barstool, and from that angle, the lighting reflects Adrienne’s eyes. They’re pink and puffy, as if she’s been crying. Which is unusual, because it’s Melissa who’s typically the more emotional of the two.
‘Babe?’ Melissa asks. ‘Are you okay? Has someone died?’
Adrienne nods.
‘Oh my God, why didn’t you call me?’ Melissa asks, now panicked. ‘Who?’
Adrienne turns to look her girlfriend in the eye.
‘Damon, apparently,’ she says. ‘And more than once.’
Chapter 64
Damon
‘Stop it!’ shrieks someone from behind me. ‘Get off him!’
I’m slow to react and I turn, just as I’m about to be struck again. I can’t move fast enough to avoid it and it slams into my head for a second time. The impact of what sounds like metal against my skull is so forceful, my vision blurs. I lose my balance and tumble off my dad. Then I’m hit once more, this time on the shoulder with a thwack so hard, I fear it might’ve fractured my collarbone. I try to roll away but come up against a wall.
My vision flickers on and off like a light switch, leaving me with barely enough clarity to register an arm being raised and the weapon about to fall on me again. I can’t make out what it is.
‘No, Mum!’ comes Dad’s voice.
