The Family Game(59)

Did Edward suspect foul play or did he think the overdose was fuelled by her unhappiness at not being able to be with him? People around the Holbecks seem to find life harder to deal with than most.

Robert had already lost one son; he couldn’t risk losing another. He drugged Gianna and made it look like an overdose while he sat back and watched.

I understand the predicament I am in now; I understand the terms. I cannot expose Robert because he will expose me. But I know why he has chosen me and what he wants – a favour.

I roll-call the dead in my mind: Bobby, Lucy, Gianna. Bobby started it all; he could not handle the weight of the Holbeck name and jumped, but something else happened there that day. And Lucy Probus knew too much. She knew Robert was in the house, and rumours can build and take on a life of their own.

But both Gianna and Lucy’s perceived crimes against the Holbecks are not worse than mine. I am a murderer who is trying to marry their firstborn son. I set a man on fire and watched him burn. It’s a wonder I’m still alive.

I suppose, as long as Robert needs something from me, I am safe.

Robert knew about me the night we met. He knew who I was, what I did. I recall the electricity between us, in his study that night, the intoxicating danger. The way he looked at me, the connection we had instinctive; he knew who I was and he was comfortable with me. But perhaps only a man like Robert Holbeck could ever feel comfortable with me. Edward can never know; the thought alone makes me sick to my stomach.

Laurence Fletcher was his name – the man I killed. He begged, but I was not listening. I took my chance and I made him pay, because men like him don’t change.

It would be a misreading to say I did what I did with the best of intentions. I did not. I wanted him to suffer; I wanted to see him suffer. I didn’t do it to protect the world, or others, or because I could sense he was a bad person. I didn’t know anything about him the day he died, except what he had just done to me, to us.

I got to know him over the years that followed, though. I’d find out all there was to know about the man who changed my life. His divorce, his addictions, lost visitation rights, harassment and abuse. Somehow, through it all, he’d kept his job; I guess he saved his worst for those he loved. He wasn’t a great person, it turns out, but that wasn’t why I killed him.

I killed him because I wanted to and because I could. And because, for a second, it took the pain away.

In that sense, Robert and I are alike. We are not on the side of the angels. The only difference between us is that I only killed once.

Once was enough for me – enough to put me in prison, enough to ruin my life. Enough to end a career. Enough to make Edward hate me if he were ever to find out. Once was already one time too many.

I cannot go to the police about the tape and I cannot tell Edward. Not if I want him to love me. If I want him to love me, he can never know who I really am.



* * *



I scour the apartment for traces of my search for Lucy Probus. I erase my computer search history and put Edward’s steel lockbox back on its shelf in his office, replacing the paperclip I took from his documents with a fresh one. When Edward returns it will be as if none of this had ever happened. And I will bide my time until I can work out what Robert wants.



* * *



Edward’s ‘hello’ from the hallway wakes me with a jolt. He’s back.

I sit bolt upright in the bedsheets, panic coursing through me as I try to remember my plan, or if I even had a plan, my thoughts ricocheting through my mind.

From the safety of the bed, I listen to him moving about the apartment, dropping his bags, removing his coat, and wonder how I am going to get through what is coming next without Edward, without anyone to share this with.

I force myself out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where I find him making breakfast. He looks up with a smile that I do not deserve and I head straight to him, squeezing him as tight as I can.

He leans down to kiss me, mistaking my silent embrace for a warm welcome home.

‘Hey, sleepyhead. How have you been?’ he asks. ‘Get up to anything exciting while I was away?’ I do not answer and when I unbury my head from his chest he laughs.

‘Let it be noted,’ he says, breaking away from me to flip whatever he is cooking in the pan, ‘that I am actually cooking.’

He’s happy; his trip must have gone well. ‘Listen, I love Chinese food,’ he says, by way of explanation, ‘but I have not been able to stop thinking about bacon and eggs for two days straight.’ He stops while pulling milk from the fridge, suddenly noticing I haven’t said a word yet. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks with concern. ‘You look a little pale, or something. Is the baby okay?’

I give him a half-hearted smile, the desire to tell him and not tell him almost unbearable. ‘No. I’m fine. Still half asleep.’

He slips a hand around my waist, resting it on my abdomen. ‘How’s it all going in there? When’s the next scan again?’

‘Day after tomorrow,’ I answer, as cheerfully as I can, the idea of bringing a baby into the current situation beyond terrifying. I tell myself it’s going to be okay because, somehow, I am going to fix all of this. I will make sure that we are safe and that Edward’s father can’t ever hurt us, that my past can’t hurt us.

Edward looks at me with so much love in his eyes I want to burst.