Jeffrey and Kathryn ruined their son. But that doesn’t excuse what Jack’s done. Who he’s killed.
‘I’m not playing anymore. There are two choices here. One: put the knife down, come with me and we both leave here alive.’ He pauses for dramatic effect. ‘Two: don’t, and you can leave in a body bag with your sister.’
My heart thuds in terror which I hide beneath a taunting smile. ‘Really, Jack? We’re plugging for the old “if I can’t have you, nobody can” cliché? Thought you were better than that.’
‘If the shoe fits …’ He changes direction swiftly and I stumble. Amused by my skittishness, he smiles. ‘Choices, choices. Which will it be? Don’t worry, we’ve got all the time in the world. I’d decide soon though, I’ve got a body to toss into the sea.’
And his grin is so arrogant and cruel, I can’t help myself. ‘Or maybe I’ll just drag this out until the police arrive.’ I see just a flicker of surprise. ‘You think Ada came all the way out here without calling the police first?’
‘You’re bluffing.’
‘Why do you think I agreed to go upstairs with you? I was trying to keep you occupied until they got here. Shouldn’t be too long now.’
His eyes narrow, in hurt or suspicion, I don’t know.
‘What? You thought I wanted to fuck you?’
His face falls.
After everything, it’s still my words which cut deeper than the knife. I stick my fingers in the wound and twist. ‘It was a distraction. That’s all you’ve ever been. A distraction from grieving Noah, a distraction until the police rocked up.’ I laugh, filling each crescendo with venom and mocking. ‘You think you’re the only one of us who knows how to manipulate?’
‘You bitch,’ he spits.
‘If the shoe fits …’
He darts to the side, trying to grab me. I jab the knife at him, and he backs off. I scurry away, desperate to keep the island between us.
‘Option two it is then.’
Dread floods my body. ‘How’re you going to get away with it? How’re you going to explain away two bodies, Jack?’
He grins. ‘Easy. You were so desperate for a book deal, you came up with a scheme to get exactly that, you roped David into it, roped me into it, toyed with my feelings for you, convinced me to hide you in Wisteria. I was in London when you vanished, my alibi is watertight, it only stands to reason you came here willingly. After all, it’s the truth. But I didn’t want to go through with it, tried to talk you down, but you were unhinged, grief-stricken over Noah, crumbling beneath the pressure of the lies you told, the job you lost. And when Ada came looking for you, knew the truth, knew your abduction was all a lie, she threatened to expose you. You were deranged, you attacked her, killed her to keep your secret.’
I swallow and swallow again. ‘No one will buy that.’
He stops moving. I stop too. My back is to the sink, the cupboards. Jack is blocking the second exit again. ‘Won’t they?’ he quips. ‘It’s your fingerprints on the knife that killed her.’
‘And yours.’
‘Because I wrestled the knife from you.’
‘You bastard.’
‘When I found you standing over her body, I stepped in, tried to restrain you but you flipped, attacked me too. It was self-defence. It was me or you, and I chose me.’ His grin spreads like butter across his face. He has thought of everything. He will kill me and walk away with a narrative that will have him rise from the ashes of this house a hero. ‘Lies are easier to swallow when they’re wrapped in truth.’
This was always going to end in death.
I can’t choose whether I’ll live. It’s too late for that now. But I can choose how I die.
Fired with that furious thought, I cast around. Keeping him in my peripheral vision, I start yanking open cupboard doors. Even though my arm is shaking with the effort of holding out the knife, I don’t lower it. He’ll go for me the second I do.
‘What’re you doing?’ he hisses.
I spot what I’m looking for and snatch it up.
Jack’s eyes fall on the bottle of paraffin in my hand. I open it. He’s quick, rushing around the island to get to me. I squeeze the bottle, splashing his bare chest with paraffin. He backs up, yanking a towel from the handle of a kitchen drawer and angrily drying his chest.
‘What about option three?’ I spit, dousing the cupboard, the curtains, the island. I sweep cookbooks onto the floor and soak them too. ‘Neither of us make it out alive. We burn. Wisteria is already burning; can’t you smell it?’ I wet the floor, the towel on the side. ‘So let’s add some fuel to the fire. You wanted a love that burns. That consumes. Something exciting, unpredictable. Maybe even a little dangerous. Well, here it fucking is.’
I toss the now-empty bottle into the sink and pull open a drawer. And another. They’re mostly empty since Jack hid all the cutlery and knives, so it takes only a second to locate the polished silver flip lighter. Windproof, the one we used for the BBQ every summer.
His eyes widen. For the first time, he is scared. ‘You wouldn’t.’
‘You want to know how far I’ll go, Jack?’ I flip open the lighter. The flame springs to life. ‘All the way to the fucking end.’
‘Don’t you—’ He darts for me again, sliding in the paraffin.
I swing around the island, out of reach. He talked about me being unhinged, deranged; I didn’t know the girl in his defence story. I do now. She is wild and reckless, driven mad by grief. She is ready for this to be over.
Jack’s expression pendulum-swings from rage to terror. Fuck you, I think, now you know how it feels. For the first time in our entire relationship, in these thorny, dark months, I have the power and I am drunk on it. It will cost me my life. But the thrill, the glory, it’s worth the price.
‘Don’t,’ he growls.
I smile back. Hold out the lighter. Gather all the memories of my family, my greatest hits, and wrap them around me like a silk blanket. They’ll burn with me.
Jack lunges across the island.
The lighter slips from my fingers. He seizes the front of my dress and jerks me to him. The paraffin-soaked cookbooks go up in flames. A line of fire zips across the floor and sets the cupboards ablaze, the ceiling.
Jack is sprawled out across the marble counter. I try to pull away but his hand closes around my throat and I can’t move. Can’t breathe. He is screaming at me. I see flames in his eyes, feel them at my back. Hot. Too hot to bear. Jack squeezes hard.
Desperate, I swing the knife.
I blink. And blink again.
I expected Jack’s body to put up a fight, for him to be made up of more than just skin and tissue. Yet the blade plunged into his neck with ease, buried to the hilt. He lets go of my throat and his hand closes around mine. Around the handle of the knife. We are suspended here. He is stunned, as disbelieving as me that this is happening.
That I did it.
His hand falls.
I let go of the knife.
He slides off the counter and staggers back, collapsing onto the hardwood floor. Out of view.
I breathe in fire and smoke.
I cannot believe …
I cannot believe what I have done.