“I’m sorry. I just didn’t think it was enough for him to be unhappy about it. I’d obviously tried.”
“So this is him retaliating, then? This is a nightmare. At least for now, no one’s seen the contents of the envelope. I think I managed to fob Molly off with a story about Will drinking. I’m okay.”
“Thank god.”
“Look, we can talk about this later. I’ve got to get back to my desk and you’ve got your meeting.”
“Oka—”
I’m quick with my next line. “Actually, I’ll be back a little late. I think I need to take myself off for a massage, maybe even a film or something on the way home. My mind’s racing. It will make me feel better.”
I almost feel guilty for lying to him. Almost.
“Sure, whatever you need to do.” A beat. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
The hours ticking down to home time stretch longer than ever. I’m usually one of the last to leave, but today, I’m the first, bolting out of my seat as soon as the clock strikes five. I notice Molly’s eyebrows shoot up as I shoot out. A question that approximates concern for my well-being chases me through the dusty office air as I race toward the exit.
Outside, my fingers jab at my phone screen as I pace along the pavement. I need to know how to get to Will’s new place without my car. An ugly idea is forming, half-baked but there. It relies on a lot of luck—more than I should be comfortable with—but I’m determined to make this work for me.
Before I know it, I’m out of the city and into the suburbs, knee almost tired from all the jostling it’s been doing while I’ve been sitting on the train. It’s only as I near Will’s street that anxiety begins to peekover the ledge of my anger. I’m very exposed here. If he’s out anywhere, I’m easy to spot outside the confines of my car. This is blatantly stupid. I wonder if Claire was as reckless as this, or whether she enacted her plans with more meticulousness and attention to detail. I wonder if I’ll ever know.
The anxiety is a very real knot in my stomach as I turn onto Will’s new street. It feels like everything in my life hinges on what I’m about to do. But at least this particular nightmare will have found a conclusion. At least I’ll be able to wake from it.
As I creep closer to the terraced house, I can see that the lights are off, ostensibly no one home. This offers some relief, but I wouldn’t put it past Will to be passed out inside somewhere, having started his day with a pint of Guinness. All the same, I can’t afford to dawdle; I don’t know what kind of curtain twitchers live on this street, but a Black person lingering outside a house too long means police getting called. On this occasion, they’d be right about my being up to no good. All the more reason to avoid them making an appearance.
Step one, slip fingers into plant pot. I’m relieved to find the spare keys still there.
Step two, unlock the door and go inside.
Inside, it smells a little like Luca’s old uni house. Stale. There’s a faint whiff of cigarettes, unwashed laundry, and festering bins. The living room is immediately on my right and I poke my nose inside. There are clothes, plates, and crockery strewn around, take-out containers still on the coffee table. Propped up on the windowsill is a photo, frameless. Will’s little boy and girl. Through an archway is the small kitchen, dirty crockery crowding the surfaces, rubbish spilling out of the overflowing bin. It’s a depressed man’s kitchen if ever I saw one. A flicker of sympathy threatens to flare into life, but I snuff it out.
I back out of the living area and into the micro hallway. It’s a small,square patch of carpet that immediately leads to a narrow staircase. Upstairs is also empty, which is good news. A quick look shows me there’s a good-sized bedroom and one bathroom. That’s the lot. I imagine what I need will be in the latter and so brave reentering.
And, yes, I mean “brave.” The room is almost entirely beige, but I can tell that the tiles, the toilet, the bathtub, should be white. I shudder at the thought of the thin layer of grime covering everything. My eyes lock onto the bathroom cabinet. A couple of steps forward and I’m there. I prize the door open and peek inside. I can immediately see what I’m looking for in two small cardboard boxes. The Valium.
I flip the flaps of the boxes up and slip the contents into my palm for a check. A smile cracks across my face. It’s like he wants to make this easy for me. As with everything else in his life, his blister sheets are a mess. The pills seem to have been taken sporadically across the packs, a couple of sheets still full, but most with at least one pill missing. It will be easy to slip out a few more without raising too much suspicion.
Eenie, meenie, minie, mo. I choose fourteen pills at random, popping them into my hand. I hope it’s enough to knock him out, and not so much he’ll notice their absence. Done, I replace the packs in the cabinet and close the door. I may need to wash them first, but there should be some spoons in the kitchen that I can use to crush up the pills. And then all I need to do is find the whisky. If there’s a lot in the bottle, I’ll pour some out first, swill the powder around in it, and then let nature take its course. I just have to hope that without his wife to clean the tub, he’ll still love his bath time whisky enough to enjoy this indulgence here, despite the grime.
It’s the perfect plan. Well, perhaps “perfect” is stretching it, but it’s something, and that’s enough to make the weight on my shoulders feel a little lighter. I’m doing it. I’m succeeding where James has failed. Where I’ve failed before, leaving Claire to swoop in for me. I’m takingcontrol of my own destiny for once—who needs my traitorous sister to rescue me? All I need to do is sort out the whisky, leave, and wait.
There’s practically a spring in my step as I descend the staircase. This couldn’t be going more perfectly. Will really thought he did something with that nasty little phone call, but he’s only sealed his demise. I’m sure James will mourn him for a while, but even he knows that we’re better off with Will dead. And it will be hard for Will’s kids at first, but they’re better off without the poison influence of a dad like that, too. Life is really going to be so much better for ev—
The front door swings open. I’m still sandwiched by the narrow staircase walls, feet almost at the base of the stairs. In fact, I’m so near the entrance that when Will blunders into the house, it feels like we’re nose to nose. There’s no hiding, nowhere to turn. His eyes immediately land on my frozen figure.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
38
Now
My mouth is dry, the pills suddenly growing claggy in sweat-slick hands. I am thoroughly screwed.
“I—”
Will’s eyes go wide; his mouth gapes. “Oh god. Oh god, oh god.”
