The girl looks confused and embarrassed. But she doesn’t deny anything or even protest. I feel sad for her. I hope she makes better choices than I did.

  38 Alex, now

  As I drive home my emotions shift from sadness to anger to fear. I can rule out Peter as being responsible for the threats. But I’m no closer to understanding who is behind them.

  Back at Peacock Place I spend several minutes just staring at my house. I have no desire to go inside. It’s ruined for me now. The sooner I can find a way to get away from this village, the happier I’ll be. I don’t think Mike will tolerate another move so quickly. I’m not even certain I will salvage my relationship with him. So I must contemplate starting again, alone. Reinvention. Something I’ve been so adept at, yet something I hoped I’d never need to do again.

  I pace around Olivia’s house. If Emma or Peter are not responsible for my torment, then who? There are still names from my former life who I’ll need to contact. None of these will be any less difficult to face, but I can’t wait. The threat against me has escalated from postcards, to fires, to an attack on Mike. Our relationship is being tested to breaking point. Procrastination will only increase my vulnerability.

  I look up the name of the theatre company I toured with after I left home. They’re still active and seem to have a strong presence on many social media platforms. Jonathan is still the director of the company.

  I look at their current production. They are touring Hamlet around Scotland. I frown. Surely the fact they’re in Scotland rules them out. After all, it would be near impossible to drive the hundreds of miles to my house and back to the theatre between shows.

  Besides Jonathan, the person I was closest to in the touring company was Alice Brotherton. I realise that I have been hoping that somebody else was behind the threats against me. Because contacting Alice will be hard. She is the person I hurt the most. The one with all the justification she could ever need to hate me. I killed her mother.

  I turn my thoughts to my time in Cornwall, with the Brothertons. They were similar in many ways to Mrs Hendricks and her family. Generous, loving, and I destroyed them.

  I think about Frank crying on the bathroom floor. Kathy making breakfast with eerie calm. The smell of smoke. The hint of petrol. I should have left when I had the chance. I close my eyes, remembering that day. Frank was beyond reason, ready to flee. I was trying to stop him. There was a struggle. Why did my fingers have to close around the knife? The silence afterwards. Kathy’s eyes staring at me as she sank to the floor. So much blood.

  A quick internet search provides the telephone number for the Brothertons’ business. If nothing else, it is still in existence. I step away from the computer and pace the kitchen, chewing my bottom lip, my stomach performing cartwheels. I had hoped the business might no longer exist, so I couldn’t reach out. I open the fridge and stare longingly at a bottle of wine. Perhaps a glass to settle my nerves. I close the fridge, knowing I likely wouldn’t be able to stop at one.

  ‘Hello. Brotherton’s Farming Experience.’

  My fingers are wrapped tightly around the receiver which is pressed hard against my ear. I recognise the voice immediately, and I have to fight the urge to end the call and drop the phone.

  ‘Hello?’ says Alice’s voice again. ‘Anyone there?’

  I swallow. ‘Alice, it’s Victoria.’ It’s the first time I’ve called myself by my given name in years. It sounds strange to say it. Almost as if I’m talking about someone else entirely.

  I hear a click and a dial tone. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I am circling the kitchen like a caged animal. I dial again. The phone rings and rings.

  ‘Hello.’ Alice’s voice. Flat and emotionless.

  ‘It’s Victoria,’ I say again, quietly. There is silence for several seconds. I can hear Alice breathing. I walk to the kitchen counter, push away from it and walk to the opposite counter. Then I repeat the action, bouncing around like a pinball.

  ‘What the hell can you possibly want?’ she hisses.

  ‘Just to talk,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry,’ I add. I know it’s not nearly enough.

  ‘You’re sorry?’ I can hear the disbelief in her voice. ‘You rang to tell me you’re sorry!’

  ‘Very,’ I say quickly. ‘More than I can put into words.’

  ‘Great. That’s all okay then. If you’re sorry. Now if you could just drop dead and never bother me again that’d be perfect.’ Another click, then dial tone.

  I drop the handset. This is ridiculous. Whoever is behind this it can’t be Alice if she’s answering the phone in Cornwall. I should leave her alone. But if I don’t ask her and the attacks continue, then what do I do? I look at the fridge, thinking about the wine inside. I lean forward, resting my forehead on the fridge door.

  ‘Damn it!’ I yell, turning away from the fridge and grabbing the phone. I dial and begin to speak the moment Alice answers.

  ‘This is horrible,’ I admit, stating the utterly obvious. ‘I can’t pretend otherwise. But I’m in trouble.’ I quickly explain about the threats.

  Alice is unmoved. ‘I fail to see what any of this has to do with me.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been thinking about people I’ve met, particularly those who might have reason to hold a grudge, perhaps act on that grudge.’

  ‘And you thought of me?’ Alice sounds surprised.

  I hesitate. There is no good answer to that question.

  Alice continues and she enunciates each word slowly. ‘So, basically what you’re saying is because you came into my life and utterly destroyed it by killing my mother, you think I’ve waited all this time to make a few idle threats.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think they’re idle threats. I mean…’

  ‘Victoria, I am not responsible.’ Alice sounds eerily calm. ‘You know what the worst thing was?’ She doesn’t wait for me to answer. ‘I blamed myself.’ She laughs. ‘Isn’t that ludicrous? Because I brought you here, I thought it was my fault that my mother was dead. It took a long time to get past that, to realise that the blame rests squarely with you.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say again, but Alice is no longer listening.

  ‘I made my peace with what happened and I have rebuilt my life. I spent a long time wrestling with it. I wanted you dead. I wanted to ask you why. I wanted to never have met you. But over time, I got past it. You’re nothing to me now. A distant memory. You’re not worth the effort.’

  My eyes are closed. I am grinding my teeth, trying not to cry. ‘I should never have rung. I’m a bad person,’ I say, as much to myself as to Alice. ‘Everything I do just makes things worse.’

  ‘For God’s sake! Listen to yourself. You self-pitying bitch!’ Alice snarls with years of pent up venom. ‘Perhaps if you just thought a little before you act. You only ended up at my house because you took no notice of me in the first place.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I say, tears rolling down my face.

  ‘Bloody Jonathan!’ Alice cries. Her voice is so loud that the line is crackling. ‘I warned you about him, and look how it turned out.’

  Alice is right, of course. I know perfectly well that my decisions have generally led to misery of some sort my entire life. But I have never been able to help myself.

  ‘Do you think there’s something wrong with me?’

  ‘God, you’re so dramatic!’ Alice exclaims. ‘No wonder you were drawn to the theatre. Your whole life’s a play. You flit from one part to the next, and it all ends in tragedy.’

  I open my mouth to apologise but don’t bother. It’s far, far too late. I can hear Alice breathing heavily. When she continues her voice is quieter, but hard.

  ‘I hope you find them,’ she says. ‘I really do. I always felt a little sorry for you. Lost little Victoria. Tell me something. Is your life awful?’

  ‘For a long time it was. Then it was wonderful. But now, yes, it’s pretty awful.’

  ‘Good.’ She sounds genuinely pleased. I think of how close we were, close enough that she invited me to meet her family. ‘You deserve that. Please don’t contact me again or I’ll call the police. I’m sure you don’t want that.’

  Alice ends the call without further exchange. I drop the phone, rest my elbows on the counter and lower my eyes onto the balls of my hands. I did this to her. I deserve everything that has happened to me. But Mike does not. Dear, sweet, perfect Mike, who has given me everything. He is better off without me. I stand up and take a breath. Maybe everything would be better if I wasn’t here.

  39 Alex, now

  When Olivia returns home with the children she finds me on the stairs, hugging my knees. My eyes are puffy from crying and my skin clammy.

  ‘Okay then,’ she says to the children. ‘Darlings, off to the kitchen. Wash your hands, then get orange juice from the fridge, carefully. You can watch some television while Mummy talks to Alex.’

  The children dispatched, she joins me on the stairs. I lean on her shoulder.

  ‘I’ve lost everything,’ I say wearily.

  ‘Oh, Alex, sweetheart. Everything is exactly where you left it. There are just a few hurdles to clear before you get back on track.’

  ‘Mike hates me.’

  Olivia shoves me playfully. ‘Shush. You know that’s not true. He’s obsessed with you. It sickens me how perfect you two are. He just needs time. You’ve thrown a lot at him in a short time.’

  ‘I do have a habit of making a bloody mess of my life.’

  She laughs. ‘Well then. You’ve clearly picked the right place to live. Look at the state of the rest of us.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, gripping her knee. It surprises me how comfortable I feel with Olivia, when we have known other for such a short time. I love her for being so supportive, and I know there is nothing I would not do for her. ‘For putting up with me.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Mike today?’

  I raise my head off Olivia’s chest and wipe my face. ‘Actually, yes. I ran into him this morning. He said he was worried about me. I said I was worried about him too.’

  ‘Why don’t you wander over and try talking to him?’

  ‘What if he slams the door in my face?’

  ‘Then try again tomorrow. And the day after that.’

  For several minutes I protest and procrastinate but, finally, Olivia propels me from her house. I walk cautiously across the road and am relieved to find the drive empty. Mike is still at work.

  I let myself in. There’s a postcard on the hall table. The latest one sent by my aggressor. I don’t even bother to turn it over so I can read the message. There seems little point now. I have already lost.

  It feels strange being in the house. It never felt like home. Never had the chance to become home, I suppose. I’m distracted by a message notification from my phone. I’m surprised to see it’s from Emma.

  Did you talk to Peter?

  Yes. He couldn’t help. Didn’t expect to hear from you again.

  Thank my mother. She adored you and would be disappointed if I didn’t try to help you.

  Dear, sweet Mrs Hendricks. Source of so much good in my life. One of my most sincere regrets is that I let her down so badly.

  Well, I appreciate it. I know I don’t deserve it.

  Ask him what happened after you left.

  What did happen after I left? I tap out a reply, asking Emma what she is referring to. Minutes pass. I click my fingernails on the screen of the phone, repeatedly hitting refresh.

  I grunt, annoyed by the lack of a response, and check the theatre’s website from my phone. There’s a performance tonight. If I hurry I could be there by the time it ends. I have nothing left to lose, and the thought of waiting here for another fight with Mike makes me feel sick. I grab my keys.

  I arrive at the theatre during the second half of the performance. I can’t believe I’m here again just a few hours after my last visit. But I’m desperate.

  The tall girl I saw earlier is behind the bar. She doesn’t show any recognition when I order a coffee. I find a seat away from the bar. It’s quiet now but I know from experience it will get busy once the curtain falls.

  After twenty minutes I hear applause, and seconds later people begin to filter into the bar. I remember this moment. Preparing for the sudden rush of customers, people keen to have a post-show drink before going home. The tall dark-haired girl is working with a shorter girl. They look to be of a similar age, though the shorter of the two has red hair in a short bob. I smile as I watch them work. It could have been Emma and I years earlier.

  Peter enters the bar with members of the cast and crew, chatting animatedly. Clearly the show has been a success.

  After a show, especially during the week, audiences generally stay for one drink before leaving. This is the case tonight. Peter, however, remains. As soon as he sees an opportunity he approaches the bar and speaks to the red-haired girl. I had guessed, incorrectly, that the taller girl I saw earlier would be more to his liking. He says something to her and she looks away, checking who is in earshot. Then she whispers something in reply and passes him a glass of wine.

  I know how this scene ends. I took part in it often enough. It makes for uncomfortable viewing. I have seen enough and stand up.

  ‘Peter!’ I call across the bar. He spins, surprised. I note that the smile remains fixed to his face. After all, there are still people present.

  ‘Victoria? Well, this is unexpected.’

  ‘I bet,’ I reply sarcastically. ‘Sorry to interrupt your little chat, but could you spare me five minutes?’

  He sits opposite me, placing his glass on the table. ‘It’s fair to say I was hoping never to lay eyes on you again. If you’re planning to harass me I warn you that will not go well.’

  ‘Believe me, Peter, I would much rather never see you again either. But I have new information.’

  He shrugs and lowers his eyelids, appearing utterly disinterested. ‘Go on.’

  ‘What happened after I left the theatre?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he asks gruffly.

  ‘The first time. When I left and joined the touring production. What happened?’

  ‘Well the world didn’t end, if that’s what you mean. We carried on. People come and go.’

  ‘Emma Hendricks suggested it was worth asking you again. Is there anything, anything at all?’

  He waves towards the door. ‘I’d really rather you left now, to be perfectly frank with you.’

  ‘Peter, I’m desperate,’ I plead.

  He stands. ‘My dear girl, you always were. That was part of the attraction. It always is.’

  ‘So you won’t help me?’

  ‘I’m not inclined to do anything for you. But that said, I’m really not sure I can. Not to be indelicate, but you’re asking me to recall what happened after you left this theatre when I can barely recall you.’

  I glare at Peter and have to fight the urge to bang my fist on the table. ‘Fine, thanks for nothing.’ I stand quickly, causing the coffee cup to wobble on the table. I sigh and look at Peter. ‘The man I love, his name’s Mike, was hurt because of me. I could lose everything that’s important to me. If you can remember anything…’

  Peter observes me and finally rolls his eyes. ‘Leave your number.’

  ‘Why on earth would I do that?’

  He gets to his feet. ‘Because if I think of anything I’ll let you know. Now if there’s nothing else, I’m going to chat to young Kelly about her role in our next production.’ He leans closer and lowers his voice. ‘She’s ever so eager to progress. Willing to start at the bottom, as it were, and work her way up.’

  He sashays to the bar and wiggles his glass at the young barmaid. She pours more wine, and their fingers brush. I pity her and wish I could save her from his clutches. But at the moment I am struggling to save myself.

  40 Alex, now

  ‘Are you awake? Alex, sweetie…’

  I open my eyes. My head is pounding. I stretch and sit up, trying to recall exactly how much alcohol I consumed when I returned to Olivia’s house last night.

  ‘Near enough,’ I call. ‘What’s up?’

  Olivia opens the door. She looks pale and anxious. ‘Chloe’s here. She’s just learned that she’s pregnant. John’s put two and two together and decided it’s Kevin’s. He’s going to the Carrolls’ house to confront Kevin. Chloe’s frantic. Please come, please.’

  I swear and throw on some clothes. The scene in Olivia’s lounge is tense. Chloe is marching around like a caged animal, tears streaming down her face. Olivia is sitting on the arm of the sofa. Her face is drawn, her eyes surrounded by dark circles.

  ‘What on earth’s happened?’ I ask, wiping sleep from my eyes and running my fingers through my untamed hair.

  ‘I made a mistake. I told John about the baby, thinking it might help. But he went berserk. We have to go after him.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Olivia says. ‘Maybe we should call the police.’

  ‘How long since he left you?’ I ask Chloe.

  She presses the fingers of one hand against her temple. ‘Fifteen minutes maybe.’

  I look at Olivia and nod eagerly. ‘We should definitely call the police. Look at what happened last time we went to their house.’ There’s no way I can go back there.

  Chloe flings herself to her knees in front of me and wails. ‘Please! I have to go. You didn’t see John. He’ll do something stupid I know he will.’

  I recoil a little. ‘Okay, okay. But that’s why we need to call…’

  Chloe jumps to her feet and stamps on the floor like a child having a tantrum. ‘No, no, no! I’m going. It might already be too late.’ Tears are streaming down her face and her eyes are wide with panic.

  Olivia glances at me. Her look says “We can’t let her go alone. Not in this state.” I respond with a “Let’s not go at all” look of my own.

 

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