by Bella Mackie
Simon sat down and thrust his face into mine with a leer.
‘Man up, Harry, this is bonding right here. Act like you’re enjoying it, for fuck’s sake.’
‘I’m not though,’ I said with as much dignity as I could muster while trying not to throw up. ‘I’m not enjoying it. I want to go back to the yacht.’
He screwed up his face and mimicked me. ‘I want to go back to the yacht, Daddy, I’m bored of this. How quickly you’ve grown used to my lifestyle and my money, son. You could at least pretend you’re here for the company.’ He belched in my face, and roared with laughter. ‘But you can’t, can you? You’re just like your mother. She pretended to be all pure of heart too, but she was just looking for some rich mark to spread her legs for.’
I stood, pulling him up with me by his shirt, and I grabbed the disgusting wine bottle which sat next to him. I had but one thought in my head: I desperately wanted him to shut up. I smashed the bottle over his head with a strength I can only imagine came from all the pent-up rage I had. A familiar buzzing sound rushed through my ears before being replaced with a loud splash. I could make out an arm in the water and a loud, sickening gurgle. I put the torch on my phone and shone it down by the side of the boat. Simon was holding the side of the boat with two fingers, but the rest of him wasn’t moving. He had blood streaming down his head, pooling below his nose and flowing into his mouth. That was the sound, a wretched sound I can still hear when I think about it. He was trying to stay afloat as he choked on his own blood. I stood there watching him, readying myself to reach down and pull him out. But then an odd thing happened. You came into my mind, Grace. I thought of all you’d been up to, how hard you’d tried to get to this man. I knew how unlikely it was that you’d ever succeed now. I thought about our mothers and what they suffered at the hands of Simon Artemis. And then I thought of how much I was suffering now. If I pulled him out and took him back to the safety of the yacht, he might have me prosecuted. Or worse, he might hold what I’d done over my head for the next twenty years, keeping me close by forever.
It had been an accident. I would never be able to plan something so hideous or carry out violence in cold blood. But I’d been sorely provoked and we all have a breaking point, don’t we? I didn’t know that I was going to let him die, truly I didn’t. It all just sort of happened, as though I was watching it from a slight distance. I bent down towards him and prised his fingers off the side of the boat, before giving him a tiny push so that he bobbed away a few inches. His eyes widened but he couldn’t speak. Then I sat down.
‘If you try to touch the boat again, I’m going to drive off. So don’t. Just sit there for a few more minutes and I’ll pull you out. You need to learn how to treat people properly. Maybe this is what it takes,’ I told him as I rubbed a tiny speck of blood off my knuckles. He was in no position even to attempt a lunge towards the side by now anyway. It took three minutes for him to disappear, his sandy hair slowly dipping below the water. I sat in silence and stared up at the stars. When I saw that he was completely submerged, I cracked the bottle against the side and dumped it into the water, which was surely a suitable fate for Artemis wine. Then I waited for thirty minutes to be sure he wouldn’t suddenly burst from the water. You’ll remember doing something similar with our dear cousin Andrew, no doubt, it’s tricky to know how long is long enough, isn’t it? When I was satisfied there was no chance, I took the speedboat back to the yacht. I’m a shockingly poor navigator and it took me almost an hour to get back and raise the crew. I explained that he’d lost control as he sped up, and fallen overboard. With no signal, I’d been forced to search the area alone for an hour in the desperate hope of finding him alive but I’d failed. The captain didn’t seem that surprised; it helped my case that Simon had been absolutely sloshed when we’d set off. Search and rescue found no trace of him over the next twenty-four hours but I held my breath every time they radioed over an update.
And that was that really. My story was accepted as gospel, why wouldn’t it be? I was referred to as an assistant in the papers but I went unnamed, which was a huge relief. I wouldn’t like to upset Mum or make trouble for the girls at school. But Lara Artemis got in touch with me to thank me for being so discreet, and she was so nice about it that I told her my true connection to Simon. She wasn’t surprised, I must say. I supposed she’d known him long enough to greet an illegitimate child without so much as a raised eyebrow. And Simon’s DNA test was all the proof I needed. Lara is a lovely woman, Grace, I’m sorry you’ll never meet her. She’s in charge of the family fortune now and she’s been incredibly generous to me. More than I could ever ask for really. I cashed that cheque of course, and my family are all doing much better now. Lara has even been down to lunch a few times. It’s never mentioned explicitly, but I think she and Mum recognise the bond they share. Part of a select group of women who survived the Artemis brothers.
So why am I telling you all of this? You must be wondering. Well, partly it’s because I wanted you to know how he really died. I thought it might help you feel less of a failure to know that I took on the mantle and finished off what you started. In a funny old way, we were a team. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect really – given all your recent problems, you’d have had less opportunity to kill him yourself anyway. And if we’re being entirely honest, you would never have managed it. I know you gave it a good old go with the rest of them, and well done on that. But Simon was a different matter entirely. And it would’ve needed more than vague plans and luck. It didn’t really look to me like you were working with anything else. Am I wrong, Grace?
So that’s the gallant part. I hope it pleases you. But mainly I write this to let you know that you need to leave it there now. The revenge was your motivation, I understand that, I really do. And you’ve got it now, with a little help from yours truly. Expand your life, shack up with your old pal Jimmy – there are people in the world who want to love you, Grace, if you decide to let them. Write a book about your harrowing incarceration – publishers will be champing at the bit to sign you up. But all the other stuff stops here. I need to protect my new life. Along with a sizeable chunk of the family fortune, Lara has graciously made me CFO of the new foundation and we’ll be running it together. It’s not been announced yet, we’ve been building up to that, but it won’t be long now. She’s lost interest in the wildlife stuff and I’m glad, it’s not quite as grabby as the new endeavour. I won’t say I know much about refugee kids but I’m relishing the opportunity to hold gala dinners and invite the great and the good from the banking world to open up their wallets. There will be amazing corporate tie-ins and we’ll work closely with the financial world to make the foundation as big as that of the Rothschilds and the Guinnesses. It will be prestigious, a world away from Simon really. Certainly no Chic Chablis up for auction under Lara’s new reign.
Just to make sure you won’t come for me (I respect you too much to think you wouldn’t), I set up a little scheme while you were in prison. I hope you’ll forgive the slightly dirty tactics, but I’m sure you’ll understand the need for collateral here. When I found out you’d been sent to Limehouse I paid a fairly low-rent investigator to find out who you shared a cell with. It wasn’t hard as it turns out. Kelly had somehow told half of Islington that she was the lucky one chosen to bunk up with the notorious Grace Bernard. I wrote to her, asking to visit and explaining that there was money in it, and she agreed. Of course she did. I saw you at that first visit as it happens, sitting with your lawyer. You glanced over several times, perhaps surprised to see Kelly with someone like me. I must say I’m still surprised you didn’t find me familiar. Off the top of my head, I’ve been within three feet of you several times. Outside the Wildlife Centre, on the steps of St Paul’s, in the strange sex club (I’ll let you off there since I was in a mask), grabbing a lighter in Soho, in the British Museum café, in the visiting room. I guess having a slightly generic face works in my favour here. You looked a little thin, if you don’t mind me s
aying. I hope you make the most of your newfound freedom and enjoy some slap-up meals. Sorry, where was I?
Yes, Kelly. Not the kind of woman I’d come across much in my everyday life – I couldn’t stop staring at her astonishingly bright nails when we met – but I found her to be a lovely girl. Very helpful. I explained that I worked for a firm investigating your crimes for a private benefactor and wondered if she’d be open to keeping an eye out for certain things. I’ll say this for Kelly, it was refreshing to see how little detail she needed on me once financial remuneration was dangled. Through a contact of hers, which took me to a fairly insalubrious part of East London, I managed to get a phone to her. It had the all-important camera feature – what did we do before that innovation, eh? And Kelly, fair play to her, took to her new role like a duck to water. She watched you much more closely than you probably imagined, and texted me with much excitement when she realised that you were writing down your life story. She read it of course, I’m surprised you were so careless. And she photographed every single page with an enthusiasm I was in awe of. Then, just to be sure, she took a few choice pages for fingerprints and the like. I hadn’t even thought of that, but I guess when you’ve been blackmailing as long as she has, you learn to keep hard copies too. I have to say, you underestimated her.
So you see, this must be where your journey ends. You cannot kill me, because the history of your crimes will be released immediately along with a letter my legal chaps have detailing that any accident which might befall me would be nothing of the sort. You must not contact Lara, or said information will be handed to the police. We’ve both been through a lot at the hands of the Artemis family but between us, we’re free now. And it might not look exactly how you’d hoped, but you still won. We won. Tomorrow you’ll likely be released, so Kelly says. This email will be in your inbox by the time you get back to your little flat. Good sense keeping that on, well done you. Oh, and the message expires after it’s been read. A nifty bit of tech recommended by our mutual friend actually. Blackmailers keep on top of this stuff it seems. Now that I’ve told you that I’d better stop writing. It might initially feel as if a man has swooped in and taken your victory away from you, but that’s not it at all. I just had better cards. I encourage you to enjoy your life. Money isn’t everything, and you’re lucky to be walking free. Good luck, Grace, I will think of you often.
Your brother
PS
Don’t worry about Kelly, I’ve paid her handsomely, so I’m confident she’ll leave you well alone.
POSTSCRIPT
Hey roomie! It’s Kel. Hope the outside world is treating you well. Call me, there’s things we need to discuss. Don’t even think about ignoring this, I know where u live, LOL. PS – my mum loved the spoon but she was confused by the marks on it. I wasn’t though! I’ll keep it safe. Miss u! Xxx
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you to everyone at The Borough Press for taking a chance on my first novel. Most importantly, my editor Ann Bissell for picking up the draft when it was already halfway done and fully embracing it, meticulously editing it and for knowing and understanding the characters as well as I did. Ann tolerated my casual approach to deadlines and handled my occasional panic flare-ups with supreme kindness and grace. She made writing during a pandemic enjoyable, and she made the book infinitely better. I really couldn’t have asked for a nicer editor.
Thank you Fliss for actually getting the book out to people, for showing it off so well, and for working so hard to give it a good launch – not easy during the weirdest moment in our history.
Thank you also to Abbie Salter, Caroline Young, Sarah Munro, Margot Gray, Lucy Stewart and Suzie Dooré. What a team of women.
Thank you to my agent Charlie Campbell who steadfastly ignores office hours and has been there to help me at any time of day or night since I came up with the idea for this book. I can’t imagine anyone being more invested, more patient and more by my side throughout it all.
Thank you Aoife Rice, who has brilliantly handled all my other work, while knowing the book had to come first.
Thank you Nicki Kennedy, Sam Edenborough, Jenny Robson, Katherine West and their colleagues at ILA for selling the book in other countries. Hopefully this means I get to attend wine fuelled book festivals in hotter climbs sometime soon.
Emily Hayward-Whitlock and Fern McCauley, thank you so much for all your hard work on the rights side of things. I know how much you’ve put into it all.
Huge thanks to Owen O’Rorke, Nigel Urwin, David Hooper and Anthony Mosawi for all the gracious advice and guidance.
Thank you to my neighbour Robert, who gave me the benefit of his immensely detailed legal knowledge to help me through some of the novel’s plot points. You’re also a lovely neighbour, lucky us.
Thank you Max Van Cleek for helping me figure out smart homes and for taking my ludicrous questions about whether I could kill someone with a remote control seriously.
Josh Berger, you’re a true pal. Thanks for your counsel.
Pandora Sykes, thank you for being the first person to read a proof of the novel and provide a quote, it was immensely kind of you.
Janine Gibson, you read my first few chapters and laughed. Making you laugh was the encouragement I needed to carry on.
Archie, Maya, Miranda, Nesrine, Ben, Benji, you’re the best people. I love you all.
Lizzie, my dearest sister. Thank you for reading the book. Thank you for your notes, which helped me more than I can say. You are my en.
Linds and Alan, thanks for literally everything. You inspired this book (in all the best ways).
Finally, Greg. All the men in my book are complete bastards and you are the total opposite. You told me I was a writer long before I ever called myself one. I am so very lucky to have you by my side.
ALSO BY BELLA MACKIE
Jog On: How Running Saved My Life
Jog On Journal: A Practical Guide to Getting Up and Running
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