‘You want me to sit here and wait for the police to bang my door down when you explain I’ve hidden you here for weeks? The least you can do is let me drive us both home. Yeah, I lied to you – I thought I was protecting you – but if this is going to blow up, I don’t want to be a fucking passenger.’
The look on his face tells me I am not going to win. All I want is to see my mum, so, against my better judgement, I relent and hand him the keys. I keep my head down as he strides into the house. I’m wearing nothing but trainers and one of Jack’s shirts but there is so much adrenaline surging through my body, I don’t feel the cold.
Despite everything, I don’t want Jack to get in trouble; maybe he can drop me off at the shed like we planned, and I can hitchhike back to Crosshaven. It will take so much longer but it will keep Jack as far from police questioning as possible.
Jack returns, dressed in jeans and a jumper. He doesn’t look at me as he passes, but he hands me a coat. I don’t put it on, I just hurry to the passenger side and get in. The vulnerable, lost Jack is gone, replaced by something harder and angrier. He rips the car into first and slams his foot on the accelerator. We take off. Fast. His jaw is tense, his face carved into a glower.
In the silence, I hear the raging tempest of his fury.
We careen down the hill, the trees on either side a blur of green and brown.
‘Slow down,’ I warn.
He doesn’t.
We bounce along the pitted road, faster and faster. ‘Jack!’
The car swings left. Then right. He isn’t in control. I am pinned against my seat, gripping the door handle so hard my hand burns. He slams on the brakes and I am thrown forward before my seatbelt snaps me back. ‘What the fuck?’
His gaze is fixed ahead. His knuckles bone-white around the steering wheel. ‘I can’t take you back. Not until we’ve sorted this.’
‘We can talk about it later. I need to see her.’
‘Meredith is fine.’
‘People don’t just pop into hospital for a rest.’
‘I meant it when I said I’m all in with you. We aren’t over – we can’t be.’
‘Jack, please just take me back. Or drop me off somewhere so I can—’
‘I want to fix this.’
‘MAYBE IT CAN’T BE FIXED.’
His mouth tightens, rage coming off him in blistering waves. ‘You’re wrong. You’re fucking wrong.’ He punches the steering wheel. I flinch. ‘It’s taken you years to admit how you feel about me. It took us coming up here, away from everyone, for you to admit it and we had it. We finally had it and it’s so good, Fray. It’s right, and you’re ruining everything.’
He reaches for me, but I snatch my hand away.
‘Why’re you being like this?’ he demands.
‘Are you kidding me? You didn’t tell me about my mum lying in a hospital bed. You didn’t tell me you’d filmed an appeal. Jesus, Jack, it was broadcast days ago. When did you film it? I mean—’ I stop, realisation dawning. ‘Oh my god. It was you. You did do something to the TVs … you had to in case I saw the appeal. You—’
‘Stop.’
‘Locked me in Wisteria and left me with a key you knew didn’t work. You’ve been manipulating me this entire time.’ As I say the words aloud, another crushing realisation hits me. ‘Did you really hear my mum say she was grateful it wasn’t Ada who went missing or was that another lie to keep me here?’ I am furious and certain. I stare at him, daring him to lie to me again. I’m remembering what he said this morning, that if we had some time alone away from Crosshaven, everything would fall into place.
‘You think I’d do that?’
‘Yes.’ Then I’m out of the car and stomping down the hill. It’s raining hard now but I don’t care.
The car door slams shut. Jack’s heavy footsteps sound on the packed earth. ‘Elodie.’ He grabs my wrist.
‘Stay the fuck away.’
But he doesn’t let go. He yanks me to him and looms over me; a sour mix of anguish and anger. ‘Talk to me.’
I am silent and livid.
‘This isn’t just about you.’
I try to pull free; his fingers twist my skin. ‘You’re hurting me.’
‘I love you.’ His tone is desperate, pleading almost. ‘I’m in love with you, Elodie.’
I don’t know what my reaction is supposed to be – shocked, giddy, grateful? I am too angry to feel any of it. His declaration of love doesn’t touch me; it breaks like a wave upon the shore, reaching for my toes but never quite making it. All I can think is – why now? Why is he telling me this now?
‘Say something.’
‘I’m not going to tell the police you’re involved.’
He blinks, taken aback. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘If that’s why you told me you love me … I won’t tell them this was your idea.’
‘You think that’s why? I told you I love you because I fucking love you.’
He lets go of my wrist and cups my face, a parody of the embrace we shared last night; his fingers are not gentle, they are bruising. He’s not acting himself; he’s starting to scare me.
‘You love me. I know you do.’ I see resolve harden in his face and I know what he’s about to do.
‘Don’t—’ I start to object, but his lips crush mine. He kisses me angrily, roughly. I shove against his chest, but he adjusts his grip on me. Moving one hand around my neck and the other to the small of my back, he jerks me against him, trapping my hands between us – pain shoots up my pinned wrists and I cry out. He seizes the opportunity, forcing his tongue into my mouth. I struggle, but it’s useless; he is so much stronger, so much bigger.
I bite down, catching something soft between my teeth.
He releases me, fingers flying to his bloody mouth.
I stumble back.
We stare at each other through the pouring rain; it distorts his features; he is a grotesque reflection in a funhouse mirror. I expect him to jibber with apologies. I wait. There is blood on his teeth and tension in his body. He is not going to say he is sorry. An instinct older than time tells me to flee. Too late. He lunges. I leap back, but the earth is slick, and my trainer shoots out from beneath me. The air is pushed from my lungs as I smack the ground. I lie on my back, struggling to breathe. There’s no time to recover; he is on me, driving me hard into the dirt. I fight him, kicking and clawing. He catches my pounding, flailing fists. With one hand, he holds my wrists hostage above my head, so high up my shoulders burn.
‘Stop,’ I choke.
‘We’re in love. You felt it’ – his free hand grips my bare thigh hard enough to bruise – ‘when I was inside you.’
I squeeze my eyes shut and in the spinning dark I tell myself this is not happening. But I feel the roughness of jeans, the hardness of him digging into my upper thigh and I can’t pretend anymore; it’s happening. The realisation starts in the pit of my stomach and roars to life, rushing up from my gut and out of my mouth in a high-pitched, terrified shriek. Over and over, like a siren.
Mouth claiming mine again, he swallows my scream. His tongue is moist and warm, slug-like in my mouth. I want to turn my head away, but I’m trapped between him and the hard ground, shaking with adrenaline and exhaustion. Pinned beneath him, all I can do is whimper and pant as his fingers move like maggots up my thigh until they are wriggling between my legs, moving my knickers to one side.