When he’s asleep, I slip into one of his shirts and go downstairs to make breakfast. All that’s left of the storm is a fine mist of rain and the egg yolk sun spilling lazily across the sky. I’m waiting for the panic of having slept with my best friend, something I’d sworn to everyone, to myself, I’d never do, but it doesn’t come. I’m giddy and happy and full of love. Being with him is as easy as breathing. I can’t believe it took us so long.
I gather all the ingredients for pancakes, but I can’t remember the flour to milk ratio, so I grab Jack’s laptop from his bag and google a recipe. Then, out of curiosity, I google my name. Until Jack changed the fuse the day he came back, I’ve been without TV, totally shut off from the world with no idea what’s being said about my case. I click on the first link. It’s a video … of Jack. His face is freezeframed. I stare at it. At the frown lines between his eyes, drawn in concern, his rumpled hair. Behind him is my house, cordoned off by tape. I see a flash of uniform in the background; a policeman standing by the front gate. Anticipation sours into trepidation because he’s lied to me. He said they’d asked him to film the appeal, not that he’d already done it. Why has he lied?
I hit play.
‘If Elodie was with me now, I’d hold her and never let her go, but we have no idea where she is. It’s the not knowing that’s killing us. Elodie would never take off, she’d never worry anyone like this. He has her somewhere and …’ He breaks off, looks down at the floor, visibly upset. I never knew Jack was such an excellent actor. If I didn’t know the truth, I’d eat up every word, every minor chord in his voice.
‘Allegedly, there was a man harassing Elodie weeks before she went missing,’ says the off-screen anchor woman. ‘What do you know about that?’
Jack looks directly into the camera. ‘I think it was him. The police had the right guy. He’s been following Elodie for weeks. She was terrified. He’s absolutely involved. As soon as they find some evidence, he’ll be locked up. We need justice for Elodie. For her family.’
Suspect … who are they talking about? There can’t be a—
‘And how are the family coping?’
He pushes his fingers back through his hair and shakes his head. ‘It’s been hard. On everyone. And now with Meredith in hospital … it’s all become too much. We just need Elodie home.’
Mum’s in hospital?
Gripped by panic, I stumble to my feet, knocking over the bag of flour in a dusty white plume.
He told me my family were fine. He said there was nothing to report. He’s lied and lied again. I take a deep breath, trying to calm down but I can’t. I can’t. I—
‘Elodie – what’s wrong?’
Jack stands in the doorway, wearing only a pair of black Calvins. Last night, this sight would’ve made my fingers burn to touch the hard contours of his stomach. This morning, it makes my fingers curl into a fist. ‘Mum’s in hospital.’
He frowns. Opens his mouth, sees the laptop on the counter, then closes it again.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I spit.
‘Why would I?’
‘She’s my mother!’ I yell. ‘I asked you how my family were, and you lied to me.’
‘Because I knew you’d overreact.’ He storms forward and slams the laptop shut. ‘She’s just dehydrated. Stressed.’
‘Because of me.’ I am cold. So cold. I wrap my arms around myself. ‘I need to see her. Just take me home.’
He moves towards me. ‘Elodie …’
I take a deliberate step back. ‘Take me home.’
‘No.’
My stomach drops. His mouth is pressed into a thin, determined line. Once he has that look on his face, there’s no reasoning with him. He can’t stop me from leaving.
‘Fine,’ I say. I walk away from him, around the kitchen island and stride into the hallway.
He calls after me. ‘What’re you doing?’
I take the car keys from the drawer.
‘Elodie, what the fuck are you doing?’
I shove my feet into my white trainers. ‘Going to the hospital.’
‘Think about what you’re doing. We agreed.’
‘We agreed I’d stay here until you filmed your appeal and you have.’
‘I said when it was broadcast.’
‘Semantics,’ I snap, even though I’m sure this is another lie. I wheel on him. ‘And it has been broadcast.’
‘I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I lied. You’re right. You deserved to know.’
I want to ask what else he’s lied about but there’s no time. I need to see Mum. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘I said I’m sorry.’
Ignoring him, I yank open the front door, but Jack grabs my shoulder and spins me to face him. ‘What’s the plan?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Think.’
‘I’ll tell them that story we agreed about the shack and the masked man.’
He shakes his head. ‘That story relied on it being dark. On you being disoriented and confused. Doesn’t work if you pull up to the hospital in my car.’
He’s right but the need to be with my family is overwhelming. I’ll figure the rest out later. ‘I’m going, Jack.’
‘Elodie, you’re smarter than this.’
And frustration that he won’t let me leave and the anger that he has lied to me, withheld information, rises like vomit. ‘What suspect do the police have? Is my stalker the same man you paid to take me? What’s his name?’
‘Without his name, you have deniability. I’m protecting you.’
‘Let me go, Jack.’
‘It’s you and me, okay? It’s you and me. We’ll sort this out together, if you just take a minute and realise how rash this is. Come on, Fray. You’re smart, be smart about this. Don’t throw everything away because you’re not thinking clearly.’
His charm is turned on full beam. Usually, it is a lighthouse in the dark, guiding me to him, but all his lies have swept in; roiling clouds blotting everything else out. He is right though; I am smart, smart enough to realise he’s manipulating me. ‘I’m going.’
‘What about us?’ The front door is open at my back, the misty rain patters onto my bare legs. I try to turn towards it, but his fingers dig into my shoulders. ‘What about us?’
I think about Mum lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines, needing me. I should’ve left after I saw my parents on the news the first time. ‘Let me go.’
He tries to wrap himself around me, but I push him away as hard as I can. Then I turn and jog down the steps towards the car. Jack is faster. He makes it to the driver’s side door before I do and stands in front of it.
‘We aren’t going anywhere until you tell me what this means for us.’
I am still smarting with the knowledge he deceived me, so I use my words like bullets. ‘It was a mistake.’
And he looks at me like I’ve just given him a week to live. ‘You don’t mean that.’ Barefoot and wearing only a pair of boxers, he shivers with cold. He looks vulnerable and lost.
‘Go inside, Jack.’
‘Look,’ he says. He licks his lips. ‘I’ll drive. Just wait, okay?’
‘I can drive myself.’