I have a secret, Ellie-Bee. When you were little, eight or nine years old, you wrote a story about a cherry tree which ate children from the neighbourhood. You won a prize for it and showed your story to Mum and Dad. You were so happy, your cheeks pink with pride. But our parents worked long hours, they were tired and busy. You left it on the dining table that night and after you’d gone to bed, I took Dad’s work pen from his bag, and wrote notes all over your work, telling you how brilliant you are. Because it’s true. You’re one of the most talented people I know. Every week after that, there’d be another story on our dining table. I read them all. I got lost in castles; I wished on magic spiders with cobwebs spun from silver; I hunted trolls through thorny forests. I think you thought it was Dad scribbling praise on your stories. It made you so happy, I never told you it was me.
As we got older, instead of nurturing your talent, I grew jealous of it. Flaunting my not-so-perfect life in your face, pretending it was something it wasn’t. There are lots of things we don’t tell each other though, aren’t there? I never told you how jealous I was that you went to university either. Mum and Dad gushed about it all the time, ‘Isn’t Elodie so clever?’ ‘Isn’t Elodie so brave moving to a new city?’ ‘Isn’t Elodie doing so well? Oh, Ada, don’t you wish you’d gone to university, love?’ I was jealous of your huge geographical melting pot of new friends, jealous of your wild nights out, jealous even of the crappy, damp student houses you had to decorate with fairy lights and bunting just to make them bearable. Beside my jealousy was pride, but I don’t think I told you that either. Between the moments of one-upmanship were pearls of sincerity.
If you’re in Wisteria, if I can save you, we will create more of these pearls until there are so many, we could make a dress from them, a tent, a house.
I let you down. I wasn’t the sister you needed. But that’s going to change. Like I said, I won’t stop looking for you, Ellie-Bee, not until my heart stops beating.
Chapter Fifty-One
161 Days Missing
Elodie Fray
Give myself to Jack to save my sister or don’t and let her die.
This ultimatum has wound itself around every moment like a steel cable, growing tighter and tighter until I can’t breathe. Letting him hurt Ada isn’t an option. It’s that simple. Only, it isn’t simple at all because to save my sister, I have to let Jack put himself inside me.
I am sitting on my bed. The clock on the nightstand tells me it is three in the afternoon. I haven’t moved from this spot since I woke at four this morning. My throat is dry and my eyes are sore.
Above me, the basement door is pulled open. My heart somersaults in my chest the way it always does when he visits. Jack descends, his footsteps stopping halfway down the stairs. The banister groans as he leans over it. I don’t look at him.
‘Get a shower,’ he tells me. ‘Do your hair. We’re having an early dinner.’
Then he is gone, the basement door locked behind him. Months ago, I’d have disobeyed, but I’ve learned to pick my battles. An hour later, he is back. He waits at the top. I am wearing a pair of his boxers and a baggy cream sweater. Even though I haven’t eaten since yesterday, I feel sick at the thought of food. Jack holds the door open and I have to squeeze past him and the cumbersome shelving unit to get through. He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I flinch. Then he steers me out of the utility room. Instead of heading to the dining room as I anticipated, he guides me into the living room and closes the door behind us. The curtains are open, and I blink in the withering winter sun.
‘Sit down.’
I do as he says, sinking into the cream sofa. Everything in this room is soft – the colours, the surfaces, the way the fire bathes us in a golden glow.
‘… on too long. It’s time to decide.’
I blink. Jack has been talking and I haven’t heard a word. ‘Sorry?’
His brow furrows. ‘Are you listening?’
I nod.
He stares at me a moment longer. I do not squirm.
‘I was saying this has gone on too long.’ He gestures between us. ‘This situation is hostile. I miss us.’
I don’t speak. Nothing good ever comes from interrupting Jack during one of his declarations of love.
‘We can fix everything if you make the right choice. Have you decided?’
I clench my teeth and breathe through my nose.
It takes me three whole breaths to push down the rage that rises in my body, the rage that makes me want to leap from the sofa and hit him until he is nothing but toothless, wet flesh. Three whole breaths before I’m capable of replying.
‘You want me to decide now?’ I manage.
‘I don’t see the point in dragging this out much longer.’
My palms are clammy. I thought I had more time. I try to swallow but it feels like there is a rock in my throat. ‘Sleep with you or you’ll kill Ada?’
Jack’s Icelandic blue eyes are cold. ‘I’m trying to help you. What’s your decision?’
He told me before that there is more power in making someone change their mind than there is in taking what you want by force, but really, what choice do I have? I clasp my hands tightly in my lap to stop them from shaking. ‘Okay.’
He jolts. ‘Really?’
I nod.
He stands, pulls me up into his arms and swings me off the ground. He’s thrilled. Setting me down on my feet, he says, ‘This is the right decision, I promise.’
My stomach churns.
His smile is wide. ‘I’ve got something for you.’ He takes my hand and leads me to the dining room where there’s a parcel waiting on the table. It’s wrapped in pale pink tissue paper. He tells me to open it. Jack is at my back, blocking my exit. With no other option, I obey. Inside is a white silk slip. A lover’s gift.
‘For tonight,’ says Jack.
‘How did you know I’d say yes?’
He comes close. His breath warms my neck. ‘Because I know you.’
‘I thought you liked me in green.’
‘White is more appropriate. We’re starting over tonight. It will be like our first time.’
I put my hand on the table to steady myself. It’s too much. Too real. I can’t. I can’t. He brushes my hair to one side and his lips find the soft space between my neck and shoulder. He kisses my half-moon scars and I remember his nails breaking through my skin. His hand slides up my legs and under my sweater. I am too scared to move. He grinds into me.
‘Fuck it, why wait?’ He spins me to face him then lifts me easily until I am sitting on the dining table with him between my legs. He kisses me. I am stiff beneath his hands. He doesn’t notice.
I spiral away from this moment and I’m back on the hill. Jack grinds me into the dirt, pushing his fingers into me. The weight of him is crushing and I can’t breathe, I can’t—
The angry vibrating of a phone brings me back to the moment. Jack reluctantly releases me and scowls at the caller ID.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.
Without a word, he grabs me by the wrist and marches me back to the basement door. ‘I need to get this,’ is all he says.
In my prison, I sit and wait. I need another shower. I feel grimy, like his fingerprints are all over me.
It’s not long before he returns, carrying the slip dress. He tosses it on the bed beside me. ‘I need to leave.’
‘How long for?’ I ask, trying not to sound relieved.
He is tense. Flustered. ‘Few hours.’
‘Who called?’
His eyes search my face as he decides what to tell me. His hesitation means the call is important. I smile up at him, hoping he’ll soften. He does. ‘The police,’ he tells me.
I sit up straighter. ‘Why?’
The anger is back. ‘Why can’t they just leave me the fuck alone?’ He starts to pace. ‘I’ve handed David over to them on a fucking plate, for Christ’s sake.’