“I never would have left like that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, looking at him sitting on the sofa. His arms rest on his legs as he looks up at me while my head spins. “We’ve had so many conversations; you’ve had so many opportunities.”
“What opportunities, Lucy? When could I have told you? We’ve been running ever since the gala dinner; this isn’t a conversation that could have been rushed, not after you told me—”
He stops mid-sentence and looks across at Maria frowning. Her confused expression, the way she looks between us, her eyes glassy, pain rips through my chest.
“That’s why you said she’s not the villain. She has no idea,” I whisper, putting two and two together and the fact he’s stopped the words on the tip of his tongue. She has no idea what James did to me. Owen stands, resting his hands on my shoulder, bending to meet my eyes.
“What sort of woman did you think she was, Lucy?”
“I—”
“Owen, what don’t I know?” Her voice is small, weak, and full of turmoil.
“Please don’t make me say it,” I say, tears filling my eyes, “please don’t make me tell her.”
He sees my pleading eyes, senses the distress in how I grip his shirt. I can’t believe we’ve gone from pinkie promises to havingmy whole fucking history being re-written in the space of five minutes and a custard fucking cream biscuit.
He nods and pulls me to his chest.
“You’re both really scaring me now,” Maria says, standing on the other side of the coffee table.
I can’t watch it, though. I can’t watch her reaction. The guilt, the remorse, the pain she will experience as Owen breaks her.
Because Maria will blame herself.
Maria, kind and soft. Her heart will shatter for me. Because she’s so kind, and caring, and was a victim, like me. Like Owen.
“After I left, James turned his attention to Lucy. He—”
“No,” she gasps. “No, no, no.” Maria’s voice shakes.
Owen steps away from me, and I wobble at the loss, but can see why he has moved so quickly.
All the colour from Maria’s face has drained. She falls forward into the coffee table and the China tea pot clanks at her sway.
“Easy, Mum.” He grips her elbow and eases her back to the sofa.
Maria looks at me, her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t, I had no idea—”
And I see it all play out on her face in real time. I replay the moments over and over again in my head, how he would sneak into my room after one of their fights. After she was likely knocked unconscious or already asleep.
“After Owen left…” I start. Nervous energy darts around my body, and I need to move. I start to pour each of us a cup of tea. Because tea fixes anything, right…
“After Owen left, James had no one to block him from me.” I shake my head and laugh to myself as my hands shake, the tea missing the cup, spilling. I give up and place the pot back down.
“I’ve spent years blaming you both,” I say quietly, looking at the brown liquid that has pooled on the biscuit plate. “Yearsthinking you were both to blame for what he did.” I look up at them both. “I’m so truly sorry for that.”
“You have nothing to apologise for, Lucy—” she starts.
“I do. I ran and left you there, Maria. And I hated you, Owen.” He sits next to Maria, holding her hand tightly in his. “I hated that you left me, when I should have known it was all a lie.” I swipe at an angry tear. “I know you think Andrews took advantage of me—”
“He did take advantage of you,” Owen mutters.
“But there is one thing that man did do right, by us all,” I say, ignoring his comment. “James got what he deserved, and the best thing is, I was the one to do it. I killed him. That man who took absolutely everything from me. From us. I killed him and watched the hatred dull from his eyes. The life. He didn’t deserve to breathe. Not after what he had done.”
“What?” Owen and Maria say at the same time, both their heads snapping up.
