‘Look, I get it. You’re right,’ I said to Angus, surrendering to him. I didn’t actually mean what I was saying, but I couldn’t be arsed to argue with him any more. ‘But I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. As long as they’re walking around out there, they’re a threat. We need justice.’
‘Bullshit. Justice and vengeance are two different things.’
‘Justice and vengeance are like…Flakes and Ripples, basically the same thing!’ I justified.
‘Oh my…Fran, you’re doing it because you’re a sadist. You think I couldn’t tell how euphoric you were when you told me you’d killed O’Neill on the phone? I mean, you’ve kept his ring as a memento, despite it being obvious evidence that you slaughtered him. Who does that?!’ Angus growled.
Gosh, that hurt even more. Maybe it was because he wasn’t too far away from the truth.Euphoricdid seem a stretch, though. Ecstatic, maybe, but not euphoric.
‘They deserve to die, though, right? What, you think they deserve to have their happy little lives? Their happy little endings with their little glasses of homemade lemonade and playing tiddlywinks every other Tuesday. Is that what you want, Angus?’ I hissed. This was a different argument to yesterday with Gareth. This felt raw. I wanted my words to hurt Angus. I wanted him to get that kind of inner, surging jolt of pain like he had just given me. ‘And you’re telling me that every time you think about…’
I paused, bracing myself to say her name aloud.
‘…about Edith, you don’t think about killing them?’
‘I want you not to go to jail, Fran. All of these guys have – what – ten years left, if that, before they pop off? Then that’s it, they’re dead. You, on the other hand, have a whole life left to lead, and killing Clark – if that’s what you’re going to do – may just end with you rotting in some prison in Dartmoor or somewhere. It’s going to ruin you…and Gareth.’
‘Oh, my God!’ I shrieked, my anger finally reaching the surface, destroying any composure I had left. ‘I am not going to kill him!’
Angus looked at me like I was suddenly being the unreasonable one, his eyebrows launching up his forehead.
‘Okay, relax,’ he murmured. ‘I was just saying. I mean, don’t you ever just want to be honest with Gareth? Just tell him everything.’
‘No, I don’t,’ I said without missing a beat. I wished I could, desperately, but I knew, Gareth being Gareth, that if I did, our marriage would crumble in a matter of moments. I knew I could be obstinate at times, but it had become a running joke between me and my uni friends when Gareth and I had first started dating just how law-abiding he was. I once asked him who would care if he watched some bootleg copy of a film online. ‘It just wouldn’t be right,’ was all he said.
Angus and I both sat there in silence for a moment. At first, I thought it was a moment of mutual unspoken understanding; even though we argued and bickered, we would always be there for one another. That was something that didn’t need to be verbalised. But then, after a few moments of Angus shifting awkwardly, as if he was getting ready to speak, I knew he was going to say something stupid.
‘Have you ever thought about coming forward? Just telling the police everything?’
He was nothing if not consistent.
‘With what evidence, Angus? Do you not remember Clive tried going to the police about the fraud they were committing after the fire, and Macleod shut it down so fast? What makes you think it would be different now? We’ve got no evidence. The police, the system are always going to want to cover up what they did to us.’
He didn’t know how to answer that.
‘Any chance of justice is screwed because of Clark and his pals,’ I murmured. ‘He would never get what he deserves.’
‘The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice,’ Angus mused.
Wait a minute, was he quoting MLK?
‘It only bends if we pull, Angus,’ I clarified.
I offered to make a start on cleaning, but he began to not-so-gently shoo me out of his apartment before I could do so. I tried to argue – the mould festering on his dishes was giving me a tangible level of anxiety – but he kept corralling me to the door.
‘Don’t do anything stupid, like kill Clark,’ Angus grumbled before he slammed the door shut, and I heard the secure clunk of the lock.
Oh, I was definitely going to kill Clark.
ELEVEN
GARETH
I carefully ran my fingers through my hair, before pulling it as hard as I could from the back, and stared at my reflection. The strands jerked, fell back into place, and flattened as I leaned closer to examine my scalp.
‘Are you sure?’ I repeated, not truly believing what she was saying. Perhaps the stress of last week, with Mr O’Neill and the fertility clinic, had taken a toll on the total density of hairs on my head.
‘Yes, I’m sure, just at the front. But I think it would be best if you maybe just relaxed a little bit, Detective?’ Isla said to me, softly pushing her elbow against my face.
