She underlined the words, pressing so hard the pen almost shredded the paper. Did she really hate them, though? She wasn’t sure any more. In fact, she felt like she was trying to persuade herself.
It was time to go through with the plan. So why couldn’t she make herself move?
Drops of water splashed onto the shotgun’s burnished grey muzzle. Ruby looked up at the ceiling to find the leak – then realised she was crying.
She turned the page of her book and scribbled something else. After a few minutes, she had said what had to be said.
Like it or not, she knew exactly what must be done, and lifted the rifle in readiness.
* * *
Benjamin wiped at the tears. His dad would have told him he was pathetic, but finally Benjamin didn’t care about him. Creeping up his driveway towards his home, the moon and the cold white streetlights silvered everything. The harsh illumination gave him the look of a cadaver, wrinkles etched deep on his face. He held his breath as he eased through his front door, wishing he could move as quietly as Santa Claus.
Mission accomplished. Well, half, at least.
There had been no sound of movement from Kendra’s flat when Benjamin had slipped the note under her door. She would find it when she woke, by which time it would be too late. In his mind’s eye, he could imagine her seeing it, becoming excited, thinking it was a present, opening it and being broken-hearted. He had done that to her and there was no shirking his responsibility. If he could go back in time and relive his life, he would have steered clear of Kendra, so that she could be free to find someone her own age, someone who would treat her well, love her properly, and settle down to give her a family. Those were things he could never give her. Not even if he lived.
Time was up. He had reached the zero hour. He had contemplated waiting until Christmas was over, for the sake of the children, but he didn’t dare, in case he ran out of courage to act. The memory of their wonderful evening together of laughter and games burned bright, leading him towards his final destination. For them, he would find the strength to do what needed to be done.
In his study, he took off his Rolex and dropped it in the wastepaper basket. Then pulled out the old Sekonda his wife had bought him all those years ago, for their first Christmas. Turning it over, he read the inscription.
Time for love
Ran his thumb over the engraving, as if feeling it as well as reading it would help bridge the intervening years. He nodded as he fastened the strap. Paused for a moment and sniffed hard, then once again started writing; this time, to Dom. His hand shook.
* * *
Harry stared at the message from Ruby, and his heart hurt it was beating so fast and so hard. He read it again, forcing himself to go slowly, in case his rush led to misinterpretation.
She was going to kill herself.
No way could he let this happen.
He checked on his brothers. They slept peacefully in their bunk beds, despite the excitement of Santa coming to bring them second-hand clothes and third-hand toys.
His mum was on the sofa, sleeping soundly, too. Her forehead smooth of worry, mouth free of the pinch of pain it so often wore.
No one would be disturbed by him sneaking out.
Harry pulled his coat on and hurried into the night, determined to save his girlfriend.
* * *
Benjamin sat at the desk in his study. He had written and rewritten the letter to Dom and his children. It had taken hours. He’d had to abandon writing it by hand because the pen shaking with emotion made the words illegible. Using the laptop seemed cold and impersonal; yet another decision Benjamin regretted.
Finally, at around 2.30 a.m. he was ready to do what had to be done. He had spent the last hour tidying it, wanting things to be neat somehow, to order his mind. He didn’t want to make things any worse for Dominique than it was going to be.
Really, he knew he was shuffling papers trying to put off the inevitable.
The first aid box was in the kitchen, on a top shelf out of habit, even though the children were too old now to be at risk of thinking any medication was sweets. Benjamin opened it up and took out the stash.
A full packet of ibuprofen. That should do the trick. Plus, four paracetamols, and a handful of sleeping tablets prescribed to Dominique a while back, but she’d never finished the course.
Carrying them back to his desk, he laid them out in front of him. The first pill felt abnormally large on his tongue. He gagged, body rebelling against intention, saliva filling his mouth. Forced himself to take a huge swallow of his favourite, ridiculously expensive whisky. Coughing and spluttering, the pill finally slid down. The next was easier. The third time, he grew bolder, swallowing a handful at once.
Every tablet in the house sat heavy in his stomach. All he needed to do now was wait. He hoped death would be peaceful, and that the sleeping tablets would mean he could drift off and never wake.
The study door was slightly ajar; he must remember to close it before his time was up. But for now, he wanted to sit down. Just for a moment. He’d get up in a minute.
His head lolled back, his breathing growing deeper and slower.
He was a selfish coward for taking this route. He knew that, and the knowledge only made him feel worse. Made him even less likely to swerve away from his destination. He wanted to die. At home. Surrounded by his family.
If only he could go back in time and change things, he would. If he could show his family how much he loved them, he would. If he could be given a reprieve, Scrooge-like, so he could live as a changed man, he would. But it was too late, he thought, as he stared at the ceiling, limbs growing heavier.
His fate was sealed. It was too late to turn back.
Ninety-Five
Something woke Dominique. A noise. She stared into the darkness, listening, instantly on high alert.
Benjamin wasn’t beside her. Where was he? He was never here.
The noise came again. A strangled sob.
Was she awake? Was this a dream? Dominique wasn’t sure. The clock read 3.45 a.m., but she didn’t trust it. She tried to take control. To turn the noise into laughter, to turn her fear into hope.
It wouldn’t happen.
She pulled the duvet back, felt cool air rushing over her body, making her shiver.
It felt real.
Planting her feet in the thick carpet, she concentrated on its texture. Warm, firm, authentic.
She rubbed at her eyes, then stood, pulled on a dressing gown. Heard the sound again, but still couldn’t place it.
Was someone in the house? About to hurt her and the children?
She fell to her knees and felt under the bed. Her fingers didn’t come into contact with cool metal. She bent down, peering. There was no sign of the shotgun.
By the door, she hesitated.
She didn’t dare open it.
Ruby lying in a pool of blood. Someone had killed her. Who? Why?
But that was a dream, and this was reality. She was sure it was reality.
She stood straighter, threw her shoulders back. Nodded in determination. Then opened the door.
There was no one on the landing.
The noise seemed to be coming from Ruby’s room. Had she got that boy with her again? Had he found a way to climb up to her room again, despite Benjamin ripping down the trellis?
Dominique pressed her ear to her daughter’s door, unsure of what to do.
No, the noise was of crying. Heart-rending sobs.
Her poor little girl. What on earth was wrong?
Dominique rushed to hold her eldest tight and tell her everything was going to be okay. She threw the door open, not waiting to knock.
Ninety-Six
The door flung open, making Ruby jump up in shock, automatically gripping the shotgun, scared. Raised against her shoulder the way she had seen her father use it, the gun seemed to grow suddenly much heavier. One finger was on the trigger, the other steadied the barrel, which was wavering.
&nb
sp; Her mum’s eyes looked like they were about to bug out of her head in shock. Hands up in surrender.
‘Ruby, what on earth…? Put that down right now.’
That familiar, imperious tone. Ruby had had enough of being ordered around.
‘Shut up, and sit down. From now on, I’m in control. I mean it; it’s loaded.’
Her mum blinked rapidly several times. The sight made Ruby feel stronger.
‘Okay.’ Her mum spoke slowly, and moved even slower. ‘Shall I sit on the bed?’
Ruby nodded. Adrenaline had well and truly kicked in. She had the shakes; the length of the shotgun bouncing around. It was so bloody heavy.
‘You’re in control, Ruby. But I’d really like you to tell me what’s brought all this on.’
She snorted her reply. Hilarious. ‘You really are as utterly clueless as I suspected. You’ve no idea, have you? Here, read this, maybe it will give you a clue.’
With nothing to hide any more, Ruby shoved her diary at her mum, whose eyes ran over the black lettering.
‘The “Book of Hate”?’
Ruby thought she could hear amusement in her tone. With some effort, she managed to balance the shotgun one-handed against her shoulder, leaning back slightly to hold it steady, while with the other she thumbed through to the entry she wanted.
‘Careful,’ her mum begged, but Ruby continued anyway.
‘There.’ She pointed at the underlined words screaming from the page.
‘Today’s the day. I’m going to kill them all. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them.’
Dominique’s hand trembled as she held it over her mouth, as if trying to force back a scream.
Not so funny now, is it, Mother?
‘Why?’ The question was little more than an exhalation.
‘Because my life is a living hell, and you haven’t even noticed. This,’ she tapped her finger on the page, sending the barrel of the shotgun jerking around again, ‘is what I’ve been pushed to. I can’t take any more.’
Her mother’s eyebrows drew together sharply. Confused. ‘Because of Harry?’
‘No. For fuck’s sake, keep up, Mum. Harry is the only decent thing in my life. He saved me.’
‘Saved you? What…? I don’t understand.’
‘Saved me from this.’ Ruby pushed the shoebox of printouts towards her mother with her foot.
Dominique lay the ‘Book of Hate’ down on the bedside cabinet again, open at the page she had been reading, then bent down. Ruby watched her leafing through bits of paper. Lingering at first. Then faster, faster, faster, shuffling them in disbelief, eyes growing wide.
Finally, she looked up. Ruby recoiled. Tears made a mirror of her mother’s eyes, reflecting Ruby’s own pain. Her mum cared? She hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected her mum’s agony to open her own soul’s wounds again, weakening her as her hurt bled out.
Ruby wouldn’t allow herself to be taken in, though. Her mum was surely pretending, to save her skin. Wasn’t she? Anger began to slide away, replaced by equally familiar companions: confusion, hurt and hopelessness.
Dom shook a handful of papers at her.
‘I didn’t know. I’m so sorry… How long? How long have you been dealing with this?’
She didn’t wait for an answer, delved into the shoebox, searching for a date. She missed Ruby’s shrug. Didn’t notice her daughter sinking to the ground to sit cross-legged, the rifle still standing to attention against her shoulder. It was starting to sag, though. A wave of exhaustion washed over Ruby.
‘It started years ago.’
‘When you went to boarding school? You changed then…’
‘No one would have anything to do with me. I thought it would stop if I moved schools. But then Harry and me were beaten up and one of the people filmed it – a girl from my old school, called Poppy.’
Dom’s eyes narrowed. ‘I remember Poppy.’
Ruby’s laugh was short and wry. ‘Yes, she’s the sort of girl everyone remembers. Little Miss Popular.’
‘Hang on, why did she beat you up? And when? I’d have noticed if you were wandering around with a fat lip.’
‘You didn’t. Most of my bruises were on my body; I wore long sleeves. A bruise on my cheek was hidden under make-up.’
A hand flew up. ‘Wait – that’s why you and Harry started wearing all that gothic stuff? Eyeliner and,’ the hand waved, as her mother tried to think of a phrase, ‘and everything.’
It must have been the only polite word she could think of. Ruby knew how her mother and father felt about her make-up. They had never bothered talking to her about it, though, just nagged and shouted.
‘That’s right; I didn’t want anyone to see the bruises. It was something to hide behind.’
There was no point in trying to disguise the truth any more. Not now, when Ruby was so committed to death. And she was, she reminded herself. There was too much at stake for her to change her mind and choose cowardice. Let her mum know everything. It made no difference.
Mum gazed at her. ‘I thought it was Harry leading you astray with the music and the weird make-up. I’m so sorry.’
There was that word again. Ruby’s anger sparked and sputtered.
‘You’re only sorry now it’s too late; now I have a gun.’
Her mum didn’t even glance at the shotgun, continued to hold her daughter’s eyes. Ruby looked away first.
‘Why did you keep all of this? Was it to show me and your father? To give to the police?’
Ruby sighed, a huge sigh that shook her whole body. The shotgun’s barrel sank to the carpet.
‘At first, it was evidence compiled against everyone. I thought if I got enough to prove who was behind the comments, texts, calls, then I could show you and Dad, and it would stop. They’d be punished… But as time passed… well, it became evidence of something else.’ She shook her head, trying to see through the tears. ‘It’s absolute proof that I’m a hateful, awful person. I must be, because everyone thinks it.’
‘Love—’
‘No, Mum; the constant insults from everyone would only happen if they were true. Every time someone new meets me, I let myself hope, but every time, they end up agreeing with the bullies. The printouts, they’re to help me work out why I’m so awful. But I can’t figure out what’s wrong with me, Mum. I’m broken and I – I can’t be fixed. I’ve tried, but I can’t do it.’
Ruby caught a movement. Jerked away as her mum tried to come towards her, arms open for a hug. She couldn’t deal with that. With someone’s fake sympathy.
Mum got the hint, settling back onto the bed but leaning forward as if trying to close the physical distance between them. That wouldn’t change the emotional gap, though.
‘Is it that Poppy girl? We can go to the police; they can find the proof to prosecute her.’
‘No, Mum. It’s everyone. Everyone hates me. What’s the point of prosecuting Poppy or anyone else when they are always replaced by someone else who hates me just as much? For a few wonderful weeks, when I changed school, I was happy. Then people at my new school saw Poppy’s video; she didn’t need to do anything else. Someone else took over – a girl called Jayne is the worst. She made sure everyone at school saw the video. Now, she sends me texts and even set up a vile website about me. She doesn’t use her proper phone, she uses a different one when she sends me texts. They’re constant. I can’t sleep because they’re all night—’
‘Jayne’s the one you hit? Well, turn your phone off. Come off social media.’
‘You don’t understand.’ Ruby’s head and heart pounded. The shotgun snapped up with her temper. Hard and unforgiving, like she should be. ‘I knew you wouldn’t get it. Ignoring the messages doesn’t make them go away, Mum. Ignoring it just means everyone is still slagging me off, but I have no idea what they’re saying. It doesn’t change the truth. I’m a freak – why deny it?’
‘And so you… you want to kill us all? Really, Ruby? I know you don’t mean that.’
�
��Keep reading the “Book of Hate”, Mum. Read the last thing I wrote.’
Ninety-Seven
Harry lifted the broken catch on the window in the downstairs toilet and eased himself through it. He stuck. His jeans pocket was snagged on the latch. Wiggling from side to side, he fought panic and rising claustrophobia. He mustn’t get caught in this situation. He needed to reach Ruby and talk some sense into her. If anyone could get through to her, he could. Talking about slaughtering everyone they were angry with was all well and good, but actually doing it? No chance.
No one was dying tonight. Especially not Ruby.
On the way over he’d repeat dialled her. All he’d got was a message saying her phone was unavailable and to try again later.
He needed to get to her – fast.
Another frantic wiggle. He pulled and pulled and pulled and yes! It gave, making him lurch forward. He slithered onto the toilet. Good job he was skinny as a whippet because otherwise there was no way he would have got through. In a few years’ time, he knew he would have broad shoulders like his deadbeat dad, but right now he was still slim from shoulder to hip, long-legged and a little gawky in his tight jeans.
Good job, too, that the loo seat was down and he was able to put his hands on it and twist around until he was standing right way up.
Tensing every muscle, he waited, not daring to breathe. Had anyone heard him? There were no telltale creaks of floorboards, no sound of footsteps.
* * *
A maelstrom of emotions threatened to tear Ruby apart as she watched her mum reading the ‘Book of Hate’, full realisation hitting her. Ruby hadn’t wanted this complication, not after she thought she’d found clarity and peace.
Before her mum had burst in, while sitting on her bed, crying, she had realised that, for all her anger at her parents, she couldn’t hurt them. Ever. Truth was, she loved them to bits – even if they didn’t love her. Ruby wanted only to die herself. To slip away quietly, peacefully, and have the pain finished once and for all.
Her Last Secret Page 28