Who I Am: A dark psychological thriller with a stunning twist

by Sarah Simpson

  ‘These feelings, they seem to have changed more recently?’ Eve asks, not being able to empty her mind of the anonymous phone call, Camilla. Who was it? Someone who knew Andi. Someone with bitterness nibbling at their soul.

  Andi nods. ‘At least before I felt fear, now I feel nothing.’ She twists her ring around her finger. ‘Nothing. Empty. I can’t distinguish between my thoughts, my memories or my dreams. It’s all one big muddle.’

  ‘You’ve burned yourself out, Andi.’ Eve is reluctant to mention; this is also the result of too much alcohol, Andi will close up and probably leave. ‘Has something happened, Andi, something we can talk about? I’ll not judge you, I want to help you?’

  Andi avoids eye contact with Eve. ‘Even with my children, sitting on the beach with them the other day – I had to force myself to join in, my legs felt heavy, my voice, my words felt false. As if they didn’t belong to me. I could hear words and responses, nothing more.’

  ‘You’re describing the symptoms of depression, and a stressed to the limit mind. How are you sleeping?’ Eve asks.

  ‘I’m not. What’s sleep?’ Andi lifts her hand, tracing the skin under her left eye. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the bags? Touché éclat doesn’t stand a chance against these. You know someone once told me, these so called beauty products with fancy names and fancy packaging – they’re really all just little pots of hope, nothing more. Pots of hope. But what happens when you stop hoping, when you stop caring?’

  ‘What’s going on, Andi? What’s changed in the last few weeks?’

  She looks to Eve, then over her right shoulder towards the window, tears in her eyes glistening without falling.

  ‘The pots of hope have stopped working,’ she says, in a trance like state. ‘Looking back, I’ve always had oodles of hope, even through bad times, now I don’t care. This is what’s changed.’

  Eve raises her eyebrows, urging Andi to continue without breaking her flow. But Andi stares out the window, still rolling her loose ring around her finger. Moments lapse in silence.

  ‘You’ve lost hope, Andi? What were you hoping for, why has this changed?’ Eve lowers her voice, plugging at the sinking frame in front of her. The anonymous cool, rancorous, collected voice from the telephone call ringing through her mind, mingling with the articles found by Ruan. Must be a connection.

  ‘From the very beginning, hope has been my drive in life. That and independence. A mind for myself and the means to fulfil it.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘When you want something so desperately, then when you have it, you’re too tired to enjoy it, everything, once so important, suddenly…’ Andi bites her bottom lip ‘– isn’t any more?’

  Eve smiles. ‘When expectations are unrealistic, either we never quite achieve them or perhaps worse – when we do, it’s not as satisfying as we anticipated, we de-value what we’ve achieved. Either way, we’re never satisfied. Is this what you mean?’

  ‘At first, maybe, but it’s more – all that was once important to me, isn’t any more. The thing is, I’ve never lived without the rule of expectations. I don’t even know how to and I no longer have any.’ Andi smiles without sentiment.

  ‘So what’s changed, Andi? What has changed to create this shift in perspective?’

  She looks Eve square in the face, ‘I’ve done something… something so bad. So completely unforgiveable. I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Can’t? Or you don’t want to?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Okay, this is your choice but it’s difficult for me to help you, Andi, if I’ve no concept of what you’re dealing with. Maybe next time, give it some thought. Perhaps it’s time to share the burden, it may just—’

  ‘It won’t. It’s too late.’

  ‘Too late for what?’

  ‘Too late.’ Andi shifts in her seat. ‘This can’t be undone, I’ve nowhere to go with this… I won’t be coming again, Eve.’

  Eve cannot force her to come back. ‘In that case, let’s make the most of the time we have left, at least.’ She can only hope to make some slight difference today.

  Andi sighs deeply before placing trembling hands either side of her head, falling forward to rest her elbows on her knees. ‘I can’t do this any more,’ she says.

  ‘Talk to me, Andi,’ Eve says softly. ‘What can’t you do? What makes you think you don’t have anywhere to go with this? Whatever it is, there are always options. What is so awful right now?’ Emphasising, right now, hoping to stress that things change. ‘Nothing is forever,’ Eve inhales deeply then out, ‘is this to do with what happened when you were younger?’ She’s bursting to ask – are you one of the missing, presumed dead, girls?

  ‘The guilt, yes. Loss, that too. But the truth is now I’ve no choice but to face these, I no longer have the strength. Then there’s Clara, she knows I’m sure, what I’ve done.’

  ‘Clara? Who’s Clara?’ Eve asks softly. ‘Was she a friend?’

  ‘If it wasn’t for Clara, I wouldn’t have killed her.’

  64

  God’s good, they say, what goes around comes around, they say.

  Who the hell are, they? What do they know, what gives them the right to have this higher knowledge?

  To think, I used to go along with this, believe in this but here’s the thing – it doesn’t work this way, not in my world. People don’t get their just desserts, they don’t get what’s coming to them. They keep on, on the edge, wreaking havoc without a care in the world. What goes around, keeps going around, spinning webs over and over – there’s no come back, only victims.

  You know I said, I hated self-pity, well – I do. You know I said, self-pity is so incredibly self-destructive, well – it is. There is no one I feel more pity for than me. Poor little me, and I’ll make sure for once, what goes around does come around.

  Just this once. I shall be, they.

  65

  Cornwall 2017

  Eve

  If it wasn’t for Clara – I wouldn’t have killed her.

  ‘Ruan, I’ve an important call to make, give me a few minutes please.’

  ‘Sure thing.’ He waves a hand in Eve’s direction.

  She pushes the door to, wanders over to her desk under the sash window, slowly easing herself into the chair. She has to be as sure as she can be. Otherwise so much unnecessary damage. With elbows finding the desk she cups her face in her hands, staring out on to the mottled sky. What to do? Thinking back over her last appointment, from the moment Andi walked through the door, something had changed, Andi was more unsettled than usual. Not so much unsettled, more unnerved yet resolute, calm even. Can this even be? To be calm whilst on the edge? It can, she’s been here before.

  If it wasn’t for Clara… too many unspoken words, hidden deep in the pile of mounting dirt. Words Andi was unwilling or unable to share. The alcohol isn’t the problem, it’s a consequence. Did it help her face her fears or to hide away from them? From the fact she was supposed to be dead? Andi, perched upright in the now empty tub chair, flashes through her mind. A slight hint of alcohol essence frosting the eerie air. The mood altered this afternoon. What was it? Acceptance? A knowing? Direction? That was it, direction. Andi had a new sense of direction, an air of someone who was confident in what needed to be done. The previous air of utter confusion, dazzled by headlights – gone.

  ‘Talk to me, Andi, what are you not saying? You believe you killed someone?’ Eve had asked her.

  ‘Yes. No,’ she’d quickly replied. Then, ‘you see what I mean, confusing my dreams with my reality?’

  ‘In what way?’ Eve pressed.

  ‘I must have dreamt I killed someone. I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘Are you scared you’ve killed someone, Andi, is this what your dreams are telling you?’

  ‘It was a nightmare, Eve, that’s all.’

  ‘I see. Then, why are you so afraid?’

  ‘You were right, sometimes it’s the – not doing anything, not making a decision
, the waiting and wondering, that’s the worst.’ She smiled. ‘I’ve made a decision. You said to me once, even if you make the decision to not make a decision, it’s still better than waiting, wondering, floating. Not doing anything.’

  Eve nods. ‘Then at least you’re taking control, in some way, however strange it sounds.’

  ‘Well, I did both.’ Andi said. ‘I made a decision to not make a decision…’ she exhaled, looking at the ceiling, then back to Eve, ‘about certain things, people attempting to interfere in my life. Then, I made a decision about what I was to do, regardless. I can’t control the actions of others, but mine I can, that’s what you’ve been telling me, isn’t it?’

  Eve nods. ‘We can only ever be accountable for ourselves, once we focus too much on the actions of others, we lose our own footing,’ she said gently.

  ‘In an odd twisted way, you know – I do feel better. More at peace.’

  The words, at peace, at peace – ricocheted around Eve’s mind. It was a strange thing to say, not a terminology she’d expect from Andi.

  Now, Eve reaches for her mobile and begins to flick through her call logs. Andi’s husband called her once to enquire about the appointment. He sounded nice, a genuine concern for his wife. Luckily most of the numbers in Eve’s mobile were associated with listed contacts. She opened Andi’s notes still sitting on her desk, finding her first appointment date, remembering the husband’s call was the week before. It didn’t take long to locate it in her log, stored as, new enquiry, Kyle – (wife). With hands hovering over the number, she recalls Andi’s parting words. Something along the lines of, ‘thanks Eve, it’s been useful. I’m not sure I’ll see you again though. But, I will endeavour to put things right.’ Then, as she reached for the door, she turned and said. ‘You see, I think I appreciate who I am now, it’s taken a while,’ she smiled, ‘hindsight and all that. It only ever really comes, doesn’t it, when it’s all too late.’

  Eve hits the call button, feeling the shiver of someone walking over her grave as she listens to the ring tone. The voice from the phone call. When – it’s all too late, she said. It’s all too late. What was too late? Killed her. Killed her. Andi didn’t want to face the music, she wanted Eve to do it. Taking a deep breath in, then out, feeling the pressure on her chest at the sound of the unsuspecting male voice. Sometimes she hated her line of work. How do you tell an apparently doting husband that the mother of his two beautiful children, his wife, is thinking of taking her life? And that it may well be – all too late?

  Then, what if she has this all wrong?

  66

  2017

  Kyle

  Kyle blurs past images of cars, tearing along the M4, it’s been a nightmare leaving the city. At 15.50 he received the call from Eve, he was running through a pitch to his board of directors when he glanced at the flashing screen of his mobile. Eve – Psychologist, it flashed up. His heart skips a beat, thank God he saved her number in his contacts or he’d have ignored the call. Then what?

  Loosening his tie before yanking it over his head, he tosses it aside on the passenger seat. Using Bluetooth, he tries again to call Carol’s number – nothing. Slamming his fist against the steering wheel, twisting between red hot anger and pure fear. ‘Pick up your god damn phone, Andi. Please. Please pick up your phone.’ He shouts at the mellow tones of his wife’s voice. ‘Please, Andi, I’m desperate. Where are you? Call me back. Please.’ He ends the call. ‘Sodding voice mail. Sodding, sodding voicemail.’ Am I too late? He pushes the intrusive words from his mind.

  But then, Carol’s mobile is also switching to voicemail. Could this mean they’re together somewhere, somewhere remote without a signal? Not an unlikely situation in Cornwall, he often lost signal, especially on more coastal spots. Jesus, where are Trey and Dotty, who has the kids? Maybe they’re all together, that will be it, they’re at Maenporth Beach, there’s no signal, all having a fantastic time, oblivious. It’s perfectly feasible. Images of the children, squeezing damp clammy skin into bone dry, salty, sandy, skin tight wet suits flash by. Why not? Wouldn’t this be the normal assumption. If it wasn’t for the haunting tone of Eve’s call, he wouldn’t think anything of not being able to reach his wife.

  Switching the air conditioning on to a higher setting, Kyle pushes his hand through his hair, it’s damp, he’s sweating despite the cold temperature within the car. What was it she said, trying to recall the exact conversation with Eve.

  ‘Kyle?’ Her strong but gentle voice asked.

  ‘Yep, that’s me. Is this Eve?’

  ‘Yes, it is. I’m so sorry to call you, I appreciate you’re probably at work. But…’ It was this hesitation that prompted him to step the other side of the office door, holding his breath. ‘I have concerns, Kyle. Serious concerns about Andi.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘She’s not long left and I’m sure you’ll appreciate, I really wouldn’t break confidentiality, or her trust – if I didn’t have genuine concerns…’ another painful pause, Eve was clearly bracing herself, juggling with the appropriate words, ‘– genuine concerns about her welfare.’

  He knew what she was insinuating, but couldn’t stop himself from asking. ‘What do you mean. What are you trying to say?’

  ‘I’m trying to say, I have concerns that Andi may try and harm herself. I’m worried, at the moment she is not in a good place and I’m extremely worried about her being alone over the next few days.’

  Kyle felt his chest tighten, a herd of elephants stampeding across it. He dropped the mobile from his mouth as Eve’s words choked in the chalky dryness, echoing around his frantic mind. How was he supposed to respond? How had it come to this? Bloody hell. Bloody hell.

  ‘Kyle?’ The calm voice asked. ‘Kyle, are you there?’ Kyle half grunted, half yelped into the handset. ‘I’m so sorry, Kyle, I can only imagine how awful this must be to hear. I had to tell you of course. Are you okay?’

  ‘What do I do? How sure are you? Could you be wrong?’ he blurted.

  ‘Well, of course I could be wrong, I truly hope I am. I can never be one hundred per cent certain of anything. But I’ve enough reason, intuition, to believe this is a strong possibility, for me to be broaching it with you.’ Kyle lets the incongruent soothing tones drift over him.

  ‘I need to get home. Now. I need to come home.’

  ‘I think you should, yes,’ Eve says. ‘But come carefully, please.’

  ‘Can you call her back in to you, Eve, you know in the meantime, or reach her some other way.’

  ‘Of course I will try, Kyle. I’m about to call your GP too. Why don’t you get yourself on your way, then call me back, maybe call around any friends? We must remember though, if there is a chance I have this all wrong, Andi needs to be able to face her world again, we don’t want to be involving people unnecessarily, only those closest to her.’

  He’d known for some time how he was losing touch with his wife. But never did he think she’d be capable of properly harming herself. Never. The drink was about as far as he thought she’d plunge. How has he missed this? Because he’s been so preoccupied, with work? With thoughts of Camilla? Sitting in traffic trying to escape the city, he’d banged out a short, almost curt text to Camilla, he wouldn’t be attending the residential. Not feeling the need to provide much of an explanation, other than his wife needed him right now. Guilt stopped him from offering any more thoughtful or forthcoming words. This situation with Andi had a lot to do with him. God, he’s failed not only his wife but his children too. Both of their smiley, then distraught faces came to mind, how would he ever make it up to them, live with himself? Jesus Christ, slamming his left fist into the steering wheel. ‘Call me back, Andi, bloody call me back.’

  67

  Cornwall 2000

  Andi

  This should be the best week ever, all my closest friends and friends of friends, a week of celebrations. Courtesy of my parents, who agreed for us to have the Cornwall home for our graduation party week. Guilt sits in th
e pit of my stomach with their generosity, I still haven’t broached with them – I do not intend to leave for Miami, I can’t, the very thought leaves me nauseous, unable to sleep for worrying about it. But there’s something else, a terrible atmosphere lingering all week. You’d be a fool not to notice. I angle my head on my pillow to check, Camilla is still sleeping like a baby. Butter wouldn’t melt. It’s the eve of the party we’ve arranged at Bedruthan Steps, but it’s completely tainted for me.

  My mind keeps drifting back to a few months ago at the Morningside apartment, we were all there. And Elliott. Is this when Clara took her intense dislike of Camilla up to another level? Did Camilla pick up on this? Forcing her to make plans? Did she believe me to be in cahoots with Clara? Then, Elliott only having eyes for Camilla with her pretending not to notice. Clara soaking it all in. I still can’t make head or tail of why Clara’s so entranced by him, despite the obvious good looks and charm, he’s a poor man. The very reason Camilla, I’ve since dragged out of her, the only reason why the obvious mutual attraction can never be. Camilla hasn’t fooled me, she adores Elliott, properly.

  All week, Clara’s eyes and sullen face have followed me like an abandoned puppy. Years ago, I accepted this, understood it, I became her surrogate sister. But now? She’s becoming suffocating, clingy. Oh, Camilla, why oh why, did you serve her what she sought on a plate? Clara couldn’t wait to tell me, she caught you stealing something from my parent’s study? At first I refused to believe her, thinking her claims to be yet another childish stab to have me dislike you. I dismissed her, chastised her. I didn’t later admit to Clara she was right, that when I searched the bag now swinging on the back of this bedroom door – there they were, as she’d reported, documents, all stolen from my parent’s office. I don’t get it, Camilla, if it was you? What are you up to?