by K. L. Slater
I turn the corner and pull in again halfway down the next street by the small row of shops where I know she uses a cut-through to get to her own road.
A few moments later, as she nears my car, I get out and stand directly in her path. She almost bumps into me by the time she comes to her senses.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbles, making to walk around me.
‘Just a minute, Carla,’ I say loud and clear, and her head jerks up from staring at the pavement.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she says, her voice flat.
‘Yes. It’s me,’ I mimic. ‘Haven’t you been to work today? You’re usually not back until gone five.’
She bristles, her face instantly flushing. Then she says slowly, ‘have you been watching me?’
I smirk and take a step closer.
‘I’ve been doing more than watch you.’
Her features twist up into a tight knot.
‘It’s been you all this time?’
‘What are you talking about?’ I mustn’t let her distract me.
‘You know what: the hate campaign at work. Why would you do that?’
Incredible. Despite ruining so many people’s lives, she is still managing to keep up this indignant attitude and make up stories about hate campaigns. Not a shred of humility to be salvaged.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Carla.’ I take another step towards her.
‘I’m not Carla.’
She tries to push past me but I’m having none of it. I use my shoulder to thump hard into the side of her as she attempts to pass and she stumbles against a shop window.
‘I need to get back home,’ she raises her voice like she is in charge of the situation.
It is time to show her that’s no longer the case. I move in quickly, using my weight to squash her against the shop’s glass.
‘For God’s sake,’ she cries out. ‘What’s wrong with you, Anna?’
People walking by slow their pace, and I can see customers inside the shop moving closer to the window to get a better view of what’s happening outside.
‘You have never fooled me for a second, do you know that?’ I hiss. ‘I always knew there was something strange about that accident but you’ve even managed to dupe Liam until now. Was that always the plan: to take advantage of his trusting nature?’
‘What? Get off me.’ She struggles to try and make some space around herself. ‘I wanted to speak to you back at the house, Anna, there are things I need to tell you.’
I bring my face closer to hers.
‘You’d better start talking then, Carla.’
‘Who are you?’ she whispers.
‘Remember the eight-year-old boy you sacrificed? Daniel Clarke?’
Her hand flies to her mouth.
‘What happened to that boy, it was nothing to do with me.’ Her voice shifts up an octave. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘Is everything alright?’ The shopkeeper sticks her head out of the door.
‘Everything’s fine,’ I say pleasantly.
She makes another break for freedom, but I grab her arm and pull her roughly back.
‘Not so fast, Carla.’
‘I’m not Carla. Carla is gone,’ she yells, her voice descending into a coughing fit.
Silence for a few seconds.
‘She hasn’t gone just because you changed your name.’ I dig my fingertips into the top of her arm. ‘You can’t just conveniently forget what you did. It’s finally time to face the consequences.’
I’m aware of a small number of passers-by starting to linger now, taking an interest.
I call out to them, ‘I’m afraid we have someone here who caused the death of a young boy thirteen years ago. He trusted her and she betrayed him.’
Carla, predictably, starts to cry, her face a wet, shiny mess.
I look around the straggly gathering. Wide eyes blink back at me, unsure of how to react.
‘She nearly killed my boyfriend too, knocked him off his motorbike two weeks ago. Her name is Carla Bevin.’
Shouting out her name like that feels like airing the truth. It is like a drug and I want more of it. Carla looks at me, her face twisted up, her eyes wild and desperate.
I begin to feel very hot, despite the chilly wind. I’d like to take off my fleece but I won’t let go of her.
‘You’re crazy!’ she cries out, turning to the onlookers. ‘She’s nuts. Someone, please just call the police.’
I turn to see if anyone is taking her seriously, and she pushes me hard, managing to twist from my grip and take off down the road.
I bolt straight after her, and when I’m close enough, I reach out and grab her arm again. I yank it to pull her back, and she screams out. Her arm makes a sort of snapping noise, and when I let go it falls away, hanging uselessly at a strange angle.
I grab her hair with my free hand and force her down to her knees on the pavement. She’s sobbing in such a theatrical manner I start to laugh and can’t stop.
The crowd of people seems to have doubled now and have followed us to watch.
‘Leave her alone,’ someone shouts.
‘What’s happened?’ I hear another voice call out.
I ignore the crowd and Amanda’s wailing and bend down so my mouth is close to her ear.
‘Your nasty little game is finished,’ I whisper, still tittering to myself. ‘Everyone is about to find out what a conniving liar you really are.’
‘I’m not Carla,’ she utters stiltedly.
Her level of denial is staggering.
‘You can’t just say the words and make it true,’ I scream. ‘You are Carla, I recognise you. You killed Daniel and now you’re going to pay.’
Something in the way she looks at me makes me freeze. She leans towards me and whispers.
‘Carla was my sister. My twin. That’s why you think you know me.’
‘You liar.’ I tighten my grip on her hair and she yells out.
‘Carla died!’ she gasps. ‘After what happened to Daniel. She didn’t want to live.’
I let go of her hair and watch her crumple dramatically to the ground.
I push my way through the crowd and head towards my car, disorientated by my thumping chest and shaking hands.
As I drive away, I look over my shoulder at people fussing over her.
She is lying. She is lying again, and I must not believe her.
She is trying to fool me like she fools everyone else. She just never stops.
And anyway, how can it possibly be that all this time I have been wrong? How could I have misjudged the situation so badly? I refuse to even consider it.
Focus.
Her little charade is over and she is fighting to the end. That’s all this is.
Chapter 70
Amanda
She fumbled in her bag at the front door with her one good hand, almost dropping the keys when she finally found them. The door yawned open and she stepped quickly inside, slamming it behind her without checking the road for movement again.
She was safe now, it was OK. She could breathe again.
Her mum was working the late shift so there was no TV in the background and no rosy glow from the hall lamp. The house felt cold, dark and silent.
With difficulty, she shrugged off her coat, kicked off her shoes and flicked on the heating.
In the kitchen she poured herself a large glass of white wine and took a gulp, although she knew no amount of warmth or illumination would relieve the pain in her arm nor the tension that still coursed through her rigid body.
The altercation with Anna had left her shaky and tearful. In fact, the right word was assault, not altercation. She ought to ring the police.
Anna had assaulted her in the street in front of lots of witnesses, and she’d done something serious to her arm.
Amanda gingerly lifted it and a sharp stabbing pain radiated around her shoulder joint. When she kept it still, the pain reverted to a dull ache and she could just about bear it. Anyway, it would
have to wait until her mum got back to have a look at it because there was no way she was leaving the house again tonight, not even for hospital treatment.
She rooted around in the drawer until she found a simple sling that formed part of her mother’s formidable first aid kit. After a bit of a struggle, she managed to manoeuvre it into place and felt instant relief as the sling took the weight of her arm and kept it reasonably immobile.
That mad woman had bullied her in the street like a mean girl in the playground, and Amanda’s toes curled in intimidation just thinking about it. At least a dozen useless people had stood and watched instead of calling the police.
Things had got so messy. First the accident and the police involvement. . . and now Anna knew about Carla, too.
Amanda couldn’t face explaining it all to the police, not at this precise moment.
Aside from Anna’s physical attack, the thing that had unnerved her the most was the fact that all this time Anna had known about Carla she had known about what happened to the boy.
How could that possibly be?
Amanda glanced around the room and her heart sank as she wondered how she had ended up living back here with her mum after leaving home and striking out on her own like a normal young woman in her mid-twenties.
It had been nothing whatsoever to do with her at the time, and yet what happened to Daniel Clarke had changed her life. It had changed all their lives. Anna wasn’t on her own on that score.
Despite Amanda running and hiding from the stigma for thirteen years, Anna knew the truth.
She took another large sip of wine and closed her eyes. This line of thought wasn’t helping one bit but it was hard to stay positive when you seemed to take one step forward and two steps back.
A relationship, travelling and all the normal things a woman of her age should be enjoying had proved beyond her. She just couldn’t seem to finally get over the hurdle of the past.
Amanda had felt her life was fairly stable for a time, had foolishly hoped things would even improve. Then there’d been the car accident and now her life was unravelling at a rate of knots.
She picked up her glass and her hand jerked nervously, slopping wine on the kitchen table. A noise outside like a slap or perhaps something breaking had startled her. She held her breath and listened.
The soft hum of the boiler, a dog barking in the near distance and. . . there was nothing else. She released her breath and closed her eyes.
She must be going crazy, imagining she was being followed and now jumping at noises that didn’t exist. She needed to calm down and get a handle on herself.
She glanced out of the kitchen window but could only see her own pale, worried face reflected back in the darkening glass. She stood up and flicked off the light switch and the garden came into focus.
Standing at the sink, she looked out. Past the glass at the dark cluster of sprawling bushes that scaled the fence, and the bare branches of the blossom tree that Mum had planted in memory of her dad in the bottom corner.
It occurred to Amanda that there could quite easily be someone crouched in there, watching her right now.
Some pervert or crazed stalker she didn’t know but who knew everything about her.
She laughed out loud at her thoughts. She was going bonkers, it was official. Anyway, if there was someone out there, it was more likely to be Crazy Anna, as she had started to think of her.
Of course, she had realised from the start there was something definitely not right with the woman, that way she looked at everyone so slyly.
Every word that left her mouth seemed to carry an unspoken subtext that only Anna herself understood and now, today, there had been a massive escalation of that. Anna’s aggression level had ramped right up and she had actually physically hurt Amanda in the street.
She couldn’t let it go; she had to do something about it. Just not this evening.
They hadn’t said as much but Amanda could tell that Liam and Ivy both thought Anna acted strangely at times.
The way she was always round at their house, else trying to wriggle into their daily lives with her offers of cleaning or taking Liam to his hospital appointments.
Amanda had read a real-life story once in some trashy magazine. A woman’s account of her ordeal at the hands of a female stalker who pursued her for years after a minor disagreement at work.
Nobody, including the victim, took her antics seriously until the day the woman opened her front door and the stalker threw sulphuric acid in her face.
Maybe things could get even worse for Amanda than they were already.
Her eyes bored through the glass into the darkness beyond. Anna was quite a solidly built woman whereas Amanda was petite and weak. She was no match for her physically.
If Anna managed to get inside this house with ill intentions, there was no telling what she could do to her. And her mum wouldn’t be back for hours. It sounded dramatic, even to Amanda, but ignoring Anna’s behaviour today could prove perilous.
The back of her neck prickled. The noise, it was there again.
And over the other side of the lawn. . . a shadow moving by the fence.
There was someone in the garden.
Amanda’s throat felt dry and rough; she had to battle the urge to run upstairs and hide under her quilt like she did as a child when it was Carla’s turn to be the Bounding Monster.
A sharp rap sounded at the back door, and she gave a little cry out loud.
Amanda ignored the knock and crouched down in front of the sink so she couldn’t be seen from the window. Her arm protested with a flash of pain in her shoulder.
Another rap. And another.
Whoever was out there seemed determined to get a response. Amanda balled the fist of her good arm to try and stop her hand from shaking.
What if Anna had finally flipped and had come to finish the job?
Amanda’s heart sank when she realised her phone was still in her bag in the hallway. She should dash and get it right now. Then phone the police.
But then she might be seen from the window.
Another flurry of knocks on the door and then a voice she recognised. ‘Amanda?’
She stood up carefully so as not to snag her arm. Taking a breath, she blew it out long and slow. She didn’t want to speak to this caller but it was preferable to tackling a deranged Anna, and she had to face him some time.
Snapping on the light and sliding the bolt, she turned the key and opened the door.
‘Liam.’
He looked a little wild-eyed and dishevelled, as if he’d been running.
‘I just wanted a chat, you know, to get a few things straight,’ he said.
She didn’t really want him in the house. He was trying to worm his way out of her telling Anna the truth.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Amanda said, praying he wouldn’t hear the faint tremor in her voice.
‘It is.’ He pushed his way past her into the kitchen. ‘Believe me, it is a very good idea.’
Chapter 71
Liam walked straight past Amanda and sat at the breakfast bar. He had never been inside the house before but showed no interest in looking at his surroundings.
‘How do you know where I live?’
She waited for him to speak but he remained silent, staring at his hands. A small smirk played at the edge of his mouth. She was surprised at his boldness but she was the one in charge here, it was her home.
‘Liam, why are you here?’
‘What did you do to your arm?’ He glanced at the sling. ‘Is it repetitive strain from applying lip gloss?’
His voice was cold and sarcastic. He was like a different person.
‘Why are you here?’ She heard the tremor in her voice and hoped he hadn’t.
‘You should come out for a drink with me,’ he said, his voice strained. ‘You owe me, after all.’
‘Owe you? For what?’
‘For what you did. The accident.’
So, it sou
nded as if he did blame her for the accident after all. Up until now, he’d always brushed aside her apologies, never interested in discussing what had happened.
‘Liam, I’ve said I’m sorry a hundred times; I don’t know what else I—’
‘You can come out for a drink with me. That would be a start.’
He had asked her out a few times when she had visited him at home but so far she had declined. She wasn’t entirely sure why she’d always said no. There were times he seemed confused, frustrated. It made her stomach flutter and not in a good way.
‘I said I would come for a drink when you were better.’
‘I’m better now, better than I’ve been in a long time.’ His thin, dry lips looked on the verge of splitting, and his blue eyes looked darker than she remembered. ‘Thanks to Anna, my problems will soon be over.’
‘I don’t know what you’ve agreed with Anna but you should tell her about the debt. It’s not fair to lead her on, Liam.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ A sneer slid across his face. ‘I lost my memory, remember?’
‘Ivy told me everything. About buying the motorbike, the loan shark.’
She gasped as he grabbed her uninjured wrist, hard.
‘You shouldn’t listen to mad old women: they tell stories.’
‘Liam, let go.’ She pulled away.
Her breathing speeded up, like her lungs were trying to gulp in more air. She opened her mouth so he couldn’t hear it.
He let go of her wrist and reached inside his jacket pocket, pulling out a small box of matches. He took one out, struck it and watched the tiny flame in fascination until it burned down to a powdery black head.
‘Liam,’ she wasn’t sure quite how to phrase it so she just said it, ‘you’re scaring me. You’re acting, I don’t know – strange. Are you feeling OK?’
‘It’s not all about you and what you feel.’ He looked up at her then, his eyes burning. ‘It has never been all about you.’
She massaged her temples, trying to stop the buzz building inside her head. He was acting so weird.