If You Only Knew

by Cynthia Clark

  I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Swallowing through my dry throat, I wet my parched lips with my tongue before trying again.

  “Hello?” It’s more a question than a greeting.

  She doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. She’s standing on the other side of the island, looking at me intently. I wonder how long she’s been in here. She must have got in through the window, although I never thought she’d be strong enough to climb up and over the kitchen counter. And how does she know where I live?

  “What are you doing here?” I finally ask.

  She doesn’t say anything, but her lips twist into an evil smile, the corners of her mouth contorting upwards. I don’t want to show her I’m terrified. Instead I need to remain calm and think what to do next, talk to this woman just like I did yesterday. “Mrs Larkin, what are you doing here?” I repeat.

  She continues staring at me, with eyes that look as cold as I feel, and I shiver under her gaze. “You know why I’m here,” she says. At that moment I realise that she knows. I know that she’s come here for revenge. And I’m terrified. For myself but above all for my family sleeping upstairs.

  I feign ignorance. I resolve to deny whatever she accuses me of. “What do you mean?” I try to keep my voice as steady as I can, but hear it crack in a high pitch.

  And then she laughs. It sounds sinister and so loud that it makes me wonder whether Miles will hear her and come downstairs. But I don’t want him involved. I want her gone. Surely I’m stronger than her and shouldn’t be afraid. I can ask her to leave, and if she doesn’t, I will simply push her out. I don’t want her in my house, certainly not while my children are sleeping upstairs.

  “Look, it’s late,” I start. “Why don’t you come back in the morning and we can talk properly.” I’m holding my breath for her answer, hoping that she doesn’t cause any trouble.

  But she doesn’t say anything. I start to take a step towards her, but she shouts at me. “Stop,” she says.

  Then she lifts her hand and I see the glint of a blade. She waves the knife at me menacingly. “Don’t you take one more step,” she says. Her voice is no longer that of an old woman. Instead it sounds like that of a person on a mission to get what she wants. Someone who’s thought about what she’s doing and is determined to see it through.

  My body erupts in goosebumps. My heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest. The fear that I’ve withheld for so long is bubbling to the surface. I don’t know what she’s going to do next and am terrified that soon I’m going to find out. This is my worst nightmare coming true. Standing still, I look at her, imploring her with my eyes not to hurt me. “What do you want?” I ask.

  She keeps staring at me, then she says: “I know you’re the one.” Her voice drops so low that I’m not sure that I’ve heard correctly. Shaking my head slightly, I try to let her know that I didn’t understand her. “I know you killed my son,” she repeats, louder this time.

  There’s no escape, I’ve been caught. But I cannot admit to it. “What are you talking about? I didn’t know your son.”

  “Don’t you dare deny it.” She takes a step towards me, her hand shaking slightly but her fingers tight around the knife’s handle. I take a step back and find myself wedged against the kitchen counter, with nowhere to go. “I know you did it. You heartless bitch.”

  I don’t know what to do. I’m shaking. After all these years, I’ve been found out. She knows I killed her son. Maybe she’s known for a while. Terry must have told her. She could have been the one sending me the letters. I wonder whether she’s going to the police or whether she’s already spoken to them.

  “You stabbed him and left him to bleed to death, alone,” she says.

  I want to tell her that it’s not true. That he died immediately. That I’d tried to look for help but it was too late. That even though he’d hurt me, I still didn’t want to kill him. I want to tell her that it had been a horrible accident. That I reacted without even thinking to stop him from hurting me again. And that I’ve never stopped regretting what I did.

  But I find that I cannot speak. She’s inching closer to me, the knife pointed in my direction. There’s nowhere to go and I feel as if my feet have been glued to the floor. I wouldn’t be able to run away even if I could get away from her.

  She’s right in front of me now, and brings the knife to my chest. She’s shorter than me and has to lift her arm up to reach. The point of the blade digs into my skin and when I look down I see a bead of blood slither down the glistening metal. Perhaps I can grab her arm and twist it until she drops the knife and then hold it against her throat and scream for help. But I don’t want Julian and Leah to come down here and put themselves in danger. What if she’s not alone? What if there’s someone else in the house? No, this is my problem and I’m going to see it through.

  We continue staring at each other for what seems like forever. “I’m not going to kill you,” she finally says. And I find myself heaving a sigh of relief. But I’m not safe yet. Not while this crazy person is in my home. Not while she’s holding a knife so close to my throat.

  “I’m not going to kill you,” she repeats. “That would be way too easy.” Again she laughs and I hear my fate in her voice. I know that she’s not going to leave here without getting her revenge. I know that my time has come to pay for what I’d done so many years ago. “I want you to live and feel what it’s like to lose a child,” she says. “I’m going to take from you exactly what you took from me, and you’re going to watch.”

  The room is spinning so fast that I cannot keep up. I feel that my world is coming to an end. And the only thing that I can do is scream. Scream as loudly as I can. Until my ears ring with the sound that’s coming from inside me and surrounding me. But I continue screaming even though I’m out of breath.

  And then, when I can’t hold my breath any longer, I take in a gulp of air and start screaming again, my eyes shut so tight that they hurt. Until I feel my body shaking so badly that I fear I’m about to burst.

  Forcing my eyes open, I see Miles hovering over me. He has worry etched all over his face. His eyes are wide open and his lips parted. I see them moving but don’t hear the sound. “Where is she?” I ask him, turning my head to look around me, looking for her, making sure she hasn’t gone for Julian or Leah.

  But I’m no longer in the kitchen. Instead I’m surrounded by light blue sheets and I feel the soft pillow under my head. I look at Miles in confusion. “You had another bad dream,” he says softly, leaning over and placing a hand on my brow like a sick person.

  It was a dream, I tell myself. Just a nightmare. It wasn’t true. Mrs Larkin wasn’t in my kitchen with a knife. She didn’t threaten my children. It was just a horrible dream. I’m ok. The kids are ok. Miles is ok. We’re fine.

  For now. Once the detectives figure out who I am, it can’t be long before Mrs Larkin finds out that I killed her son. Then my nightmare might come true. She might come for my children. Maybe this wasn’t just a dream, but a warning. Perhaps my brain is looking into the future and telling me what I need to be afraid of, what to avoid. I need to protect my family at all costs.

  Miles lets go of me and takes a step towards the door. “I’m going to check on the children,” he says.

  I feel guilt and shame. If Miles heard me from the spare room, chances are that the children did too. And I’m also overcome with fear of being alone. “Please come back. I’m scared,” I say in a soft voice.

  He looks at me for long seconds. Then he nods. “Just for tonight.”

  Chapter 35

  “Why did you invite Chloe Wilson to go home with you on September the twentieth?” I ask Ben the following afternoon. He’d taken the stand earlier, answering the prosecutor’s questions with a well-rehearsed story about Chloe seducing him.

  Ben shrugs. “She looked bored and I thought she’d enjoy a quick trip.”

  “And when you got to your parents’ house you invited her ins
ide.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why was that?”

  “I didn’t feel like going back to the party and neither did she. I thought we could play video games.”

  “How long did you play video games for?”

  He shrugs “Maybe half an hour.”

  “Who was winning?”

  “I was,” he smirks.

  “And that was when you went into the bathroom and removed your clothes.”

  “It wasn’t like that…”

  “Mr Grant,” I interrupt. “Did you or did you not remove your clothes and walk towards Ms Wilson naked?”

  “They were dirty. I wanted to change.”

  “So why didn’t you take a change of clothes into the bathroom with you? Surely, you wouldn’t want a girl you’d just met to see you naked.”

  “I didn’t think.”

  “Weren’t you embarrassed?”

  “I didn’t have a reason to be.”

  “Quite the confident one, aren’t you?”

  “Objection,” George Winters shouts.

  “Withdrawn,” I say. Turning back to Ben, I ask: “What happened next?”

  “She reached out and touched me. It was obvious what she wanted.”

  “Did she tell you that? What were her exact words?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Did she ever say that she wanted to have sex with you?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t remember exactly,” he says, his eyes darting across the courtroom.

  “Are you saying that you don’t have a clear recollection of what happened that afternoon, when Ms Wilson was in your bedroom?”

  “Yes.” He nods enthusiastically.

  “Perhaps then your memory of Ms Wilson touching you is also mistaken.”

  “No, I remember that.”

  “So, you only remember parts of what happened, the parts that fit within your story.”

  “Objection,” shouts George Winters. “Counsel is testifying.”

  “I’ll rephrase Your Honour. Mr Grant, how come you only remember parts of what happened that afternoon?”

  “I was injured, remember?” he says with a smirk.

  He’s been coached well, I think. “Mr Grant, the accident in which your injuries were sustained happened after the events in question.”

  My work phone flashes with the arrival of a text message, distracting me momentarily. It’s Luke Ross. I’ve asked the investigator to look into Nora Larkin, check her background, help us determine whether or not she’s dangerous. Knowing more about her is the only way the McBrides will ever consider allowing Maya to meet her.

  I’m on it

  it says.

  Turning back to Ben, I continue: “Mr Grant, do you distinctly remember Ms Wilson agreeing to have sex with you?”

  “Yes, definitely.”

  “And what did she say? Can you tell us her words?”

  Ben tries to look around me towards the prosecutor but I’m in his way. The seconds tick by, the clock in the courtroom tracking the stillness. Ben shifts in his chair. “Answer the question, Mr Grant,” I say.

  “I don’t remember the exact words.”

  “Mr Grant you said just now that you definitely remember Ms Wilson agreeing to have sex with you. How did she verbalise her agreement?”

  “I don’t remember, ok.” His voice is shaky, less convincing. I know that I have an in.

  “Mr Grant,” I continue. “Is it possible that Ms Wilson did not want to have sex with you that afternoon?”

  When Ben doesn’t answer, I continue. “Is it possible that she tried to get away from you, that she asked you to stop?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “So, you cannot be certain,” I say, looking at the jurors.

  “I think I’d remember that.”

  “But you’re not sure. So, it’s possible that Ms Wilson tried to fight you off, tried to push you off her, but you don’t remember.”

  “I guess that’s possible.”

  “No further questions, Your Honour,” I say, returning to my seat.

  *

  Jennifer follows me into my office when I get back. “Maya, your sitter, called about an hour ago,” she starts. “She said it was not urgent but I didn’t want the message to get buried among the others.”

  My heart is beating fast as I dial Maya’s familiar number, my mind filling with scenarios of Julian and Leah being injured, or getting into trouble at school. Or perhaps this is about Maya. What would she need to tell me that couldn’t wait until I got home?

  “Hello?” comes her voice from the other end of the line.

  “Maya, it’s Elizabeth. Is everything all right?”

  “Oh, hi Mrs P. Everything’s great, nothing to worry about.”

  “You called earlier, left a message.”

  “Yes.” She pauses and I feel the seconds dragging tortuously. “I was hoping I could come and talk to you in your office.”

  “Yes, of course, you’re welcome to come. Has something happened?”

  “No, no, it’s just that I’d like to talk to you.”

  “I can leave the office now. Why don’t we talk at home, save you the trip into the city?”

  She doesn’t say anything. I can hear Julian and Leah’s muffled voices in the background as I wait for Maya to respond. “It’s just that I want to get some advice,” she finally says.

  “Has something happened?” I ask her again.

  “No, nothing new at least. It’s just that I need to talk to you. In your legal capacity.”

  “I’ll still be a lawyer at home,” I tell her. Looking at my watch, I realise it’s rush hour and I will be stuck in traffic. “I’m leaving now.”

  Chapter 36

  The drive home seems endless as I manoeuvre the car between traffic. At every stop I feel my heart start beating faster as I rack my brain to try and figure out why Maya would need legal help. What has she done? My mind goes through a myriad of possibilities, different types of trouble that she might have got herself into. Has she been caught cheating and is being thrown out of school? Did she steal something? Or is it more sinister, a secret like I’ve been harbouring for all these years.

  Tightening my grip on the steering wheel, squinting my eyes against the weak sunshine, I desperately try to convince myself to wait until I know more before starting to panic. This has to be about her adoption and a chill runs down my spine despite the warmth in my car. By the time I run inside the house, I’m churning with adrenalin.

  The scene that greets me calms me down a notch. Julian and Leah are sitting at the kitchen island, drawing. Maya is across from them, chopping vegetables. “I’m making dinner for the kids,” she says. “Chicken fajitas. Would you like some?”

  “Uhm, no, it’s ok.” Leaning over, I hug the children. Maya turns her attention to the red pepper she’s chopping.

  Sitting down next to Leah, I stroke her hair back, looking at the jumble of colours on the paper in front of her. “What are you drawing?”

  “A garden,” she responds.

  Julian is so engrossed in his work that he barely looks at me when I speak to him. As much as I’d love to spend more time with the children, I have work to do. Opening my briefcase, I take out a document and try to read, but I keep looking towards Maya, willing her to hurry up. I’m clawing to find out what she wants to tell me. “I’m going to the study to finish some work. Come and find me when you’re done.”

  Maya nods and I walk away. In the study, I go over my notes for Chloe’s testimony, reading my questions, tweaking here and there. I’m so immersed in my work that I don’t hear the door opening.

  “Oh, dear God, you startled me,” I tell Miles, who is standing right in front of me.

  “Maya said you’re in here. Is everything ok? You rarely use the study.”

  “Yes, yes. Can you shut the door?”

  Miles squints at me, but closes the door, before sitting on the other side of the desk.

  “Maya said
she wants legal advice. I figured the study would be more private,” I say. “I’m waiting for her to finish feeding the kids.”

  “Do you know what this is about?”

  “No, she wouldn’t say.”

  “Do you think she suspects who you are?”

  “I don’t know.” I raise my shoulders in a slow shrug.

  “Miles,” I call after him as he turns to leave. “Thank you for staying with me last night. I needed you.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he says, walking away.

  *

  “Come in.” Closing the file in front of me, I brace myself for whatever Maya has to say.

  She is still standing next to the door. Her face is flushed. She brings her right hand to her mouth and starts biting her fingernails. I motion to the chair across from me. She walks in small jerky movements, her head down, her long hair framing her face. Sitting down across from me, she finally looks up. But her eyes keep flitting away, seemingly unable to look right at me.

  “Is everything all right?” I ask when she remains silent.

  “Yes, yes.” The colour in her cheeks deepens to crimson.

  Still, she remains silent and for a few seconds I can feel the awkwardness intensifying. Miles’ words echo in my ears and I cringe at the possibilities of what might be going through her mind.

  “I need your help,” she finally says, her eyes firmly fixed on her lap.

  “Sure, what do you need?”

  “Will you be my lawyer?”

  “I already am,” I try a smile.

  She finally looks up and stares straight at me. “You’re my parents’ lawyer.” Her tone is harsher than I’ve ever heard it. “That’s different.”

  “Not really. Your parents are trying to do what’s best for you, making sure you’re protected.”

  She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, as if she’s frustrated. “See, that’s the problem. I don’t need protecting. What I need is to be told the truth instead of being kept in the dark. I’m not a little kid anymore. It took my parents weeks to tell me about John Larkin. Is it going to be the same when they track down my mother? Do I have to make do with snippets of information instead of the whole story? I don’t want to continue like this. I don’t want to look at every red-headed woman and wonder whether she’s my mother. I just can’t go on like this.” Her eyes look directly into mine. Her hands are clenched in fists on her lap. Her earlier timidity is gone and instead I am faced with a determined young woman.