by Susan Lewis
“Really? You’re a convicted killer,” Jules reminded her.
Amelia simply looked at her.
Feeling suddenly weak, Jules sank down in a chair.
Amelia was glancing around the room, reminding Jules of the first time she’d come to the pub to meet Daisy, when she’d seemed to drink everything in as though…As though what? What had been in her mind then? “So this is where you live?” she said.
Jules didn’t bother to answer.
“It’s different from before.”
Still Jules only looked at her.
“Where’s Kian? Someone said he left you.”
Jules tensed, ready to attack her with words, but before she could get them out Amelia was saying, “You didn’t understand what it was like for me when you shut me out. I didn’t have anyone to turn to. You and Daisy were my only friends. You meant everything to me. I was happy when I was with you, I felt as though I mattered to someone. Then suddenly you didn’t want me anymore, and that was that. You had each other and I had no one.”
Jules stared at her, unmoved, and unable to credit the bid for sympathy. “No matter how badly your feelings were hurt,” she retorted, “you surely can’t think it excuses what you did? You—”
“I was angry, upset!” Amelia cried. “I couldn’t think about anything else. I didn’t go out for months. I had nowhere to go and no one to talk to.”
“You have a father.”
“He doesn’t listen. No one does, not to me. I’ve always been on my own. I make friends, but then they end up pushing me away.” Her head went down as tears, real or fake, fell onto the towel she was holding. “You and Daisy were always the nicest to me,” she exclaimed. “I kept wishing I was a part of your family….Then suddenly one day Daisy told me I wasn’t welcome anymore.” Her mouth twisted as she tried to stop herself crying. “You used to listen to me,” she sobbed. “You were the only one who ever really did that. I kept wishing you were my mother, I even convinced myself sometimes that you were.”
“But I hardly knew you.”
“Yes you did. You understood me in a way no one else—”
“No! That isn’t true. Whatever you were telling yourself, then or now, I wasn’t—I’m not—the person you seem to think.”
“Yes you are. I know you care about me.”
“For God’s sake! You know what you did to my daughter, so how on earth can you think I care about you? I despise you. I want to see you back in prison paying for your crime.”
“So ring the police. Tell them I’m here.”
Jules met her steely gaze, knowing she should do exactly that, and not entirely sure why she wasn’t moving. “It’s time for you to go,” she said bitterly.
“But I want to stay here with you.”
Alarm raced across Jules’s heart. The girl sounded so pathetic, so convinced even that it might actually be possible…
“Don’t worry, I know you don’t want me,” Amelia ran on wretchedly, “and I understand that you’ll never be able to forgive me, but whether you like it or not, you’re the mother I should have had, would have had, if things had been different.”
Wondering how on earth she’d come to that conclusion, Jules said, “You had a mother. I’m sorry that she died.”
Amelia turned her head away.
Cautiously Jules said, “Did you know she was dead when you and Daisy first met?”
After a while Amelia said, “I kept telling myself it wasn’t true, but I knew it was really. Maybe she deserved to die.” She turned to Jules, her eyes seeming to flash a challenge.
Jules blinked. “Why on earth would you say that?” she asked, appalled.
Amelia shrugged. “Maybe some people do.”
Jules had no idea what to say.
“Daddy told me once that she’d committed suicide. If she did, it just goes to show how much I meant to her. Nothing. She’d rather be dead than stay with me. Not that I care. She should have learned to swim.”
In spite of reminding herself that she wasn’t in any way equipped to deal with this, Jules said, “You must have had some counseling when you were young, or even when you were in prison.”
Amelia shrugged. “Some, not much. Anyway, I know I’m different. I don’t need anyone to tell me that.”
“But a lot of people lose a parent when they’re young and it doesn’t turn them…doesn’t make them do what you did.”
Amelia’s eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t my mother’s death that made me do it,” she said, “it was you. You’re to blame for what happened to Daisy, not me. If you hadn’t made her push me away—”
Jules rose to her feet. “You need to go, right now,” she seethed. “Get out of my house.”
“But you need to take some responsibility,” Amelia cried.
Snatching the knife from the drawer, Jules pointed it straight at her. “Get out now, or I swear to God I’ll use this.”
Amelia stared at the blade.
Jules stared at Amelia, shaking, breathing raggedly.
“See, we’re not so very different, you and me,” Amelia said drily. “You want to do the same to me as I did to Daisy. So how you’re feeling now, that’s how I felt—” She jumped as Jules plunged the knife into the table so hard the force jarred her whole body.
Their eyes met, Jules’s glittering with hatred, Amelia’s showing only surprise.
In the end Amelia got slowly to her feet.
Watching her, Jules tried to pull the knife free.
It was stuck.
Amelia looked at it.
Jules was still watching her.
“All I wanted,” Amelia said, “was for us to be friends.”
“Go away,” Jules said darkly. “Just go away and don’t ever come near me again.”
Putting down the towel, Amelia looked her straight in the eye as she stated, “My dad believes that we’re not all one thing, and I think he’s right. I might have killed someone, but I can do good things too.”
“If that’s true, then confess, take the sentence you deserve, and let Dean go free.”
Amelia’s eyes turned flinty. “I’m not going back to prison, not for anyone.”
“But it’s where you belong.”
Amelia tossed her head. “I should have known it would work out like this,” she declared, “that I’d push you even further away, but at least I tried. I’ve found it in my heart to forgive you for what you did to me, but it seems you can’t find it in yours to forgive me.”
Jules regarded her incredulously. “You need help,” she told her forcefully. “Get it, please, before you hurt someone else.”
Amelia turned away and started for the door. As she reached it she looked back. “I’m having a party,” she announced. “Will you come?”
Dumbfounded that she could even ask, never mind think she might get a positive reply, Jules said, “I’d rather use this knife on you than ever see you again. I hope that’s clear enough for you. We will never be friends and nothing you say or do will ever change that.”
Amelia regarded her intently. “Aren’t you afraid of what I might do to repay you for that?” she asked, sounding genuinely intrigued.
“Whatever you do, you can never hurt me as much as you have already, so no, I’m not afraid of you.”
Amelia’s eyebrows rose. “But you should be,” she murmured, and leaving the threat hanging, she walked along the hall and closed the front door behind her.
For several minutes after she’d gone Jules remained where she was, holding the knife, leaning on it, hands trembling, heart thudding as she absorbed the relief of being alone again, the shock of what had just happened.
She couldn’t understand what had made her let the girl in. What had she been thinking, expecting? Some sort of closure? Was she losing her mind? The way she’d been behaving lately suggested she was.
Collapsing into a chair, she dropped her head in her hands and began to sob uncontrollably. She’d sat across the table from Daisy’s killer and had allowed her to speak, to att
empt to justify her actions, and all Amelia had done was try to blame Jules for driving her to stab Daisy fifteen times until she was dead. She was clearly mentally disturbed, probably even clinically insane. She had no moral compass, no understanding of people or kindness or right and wrong. Even now, after the time she’d spent in prison, she seemed to have no comprehension of how serious her crime had been, or how devastating the consequences remained.
She shouldn’t be walking the streets. She was still a danger to society, a ticking time bomb, a toxic explosion that anything or anyone could set off at any time. Why hadn’t anyone realized that? What had happened during her assessment? How had she managed to persuade a panel that she was remorseful, ready to start life again, and above all sane?
We’re not all one thing. I might have killed someone, but I can do good things too, as if killing someone was no more serious than bumping into her in the street or forgetting her birthday. And what sort of good things? Did she even understand what good was? Or regret? Or compassion? Or shame? She’d seemed to understand that by coming here she was risking being sent back to prison; didn’t she realize that issuing threats would guarantee it?
Jules lifted her head and looked at the phone, knowing she should call the police. They would probably come right away, would want to know everything that had happened, and why on earth Jules had let her in the door. She could tell them how Amelia had virtually confessed to committing murder, that she’d intended to do it all along. If Amelia ended up denying it, it would be her word against Jules’s, and they’d surely believe Jules—or would they? She had no proof of Amelia even being here, let alone of what she’d said. Hearsay, they’d call it. Whereas Amelia could show them tapes of Jules Bright sitting outside the walls of Crofton Park, walking up to the camera and staring in. Amelia had witnesses who’d confirm that Jules had turned up at the wine bar, stared at Amelia, and walked away, as though she herself was issuing some sort of threat.
No, she wasn’t going to tell anyone what had happened. With her head being where it had been lately, there was too much that she couldn’t properly explain. They’d think she was losing her grip, that she shouldn’t be left alone at any time, that she might be a danger to Amelia rather than the other way round. And they’d be right about that, because she was a danger to Amelia; she just hadn’t figured out yet exactly what she was going to do.
When the phone rang just after ten the next morning, Jules felt sure it would be Stephie or Joe letting her know they were on their way. She wanted them to come quickly, to distract her from the anguish and fear she’d woken with and remind her that there were normal, decent people in the world.
To her amazement it was neither Stephie nor Joe at the other end of the line. When she realized who it was she sank down on the edge of the bed, overcome by too much feeling.
“Are you OK?” Kian asked softly.
It took her a moment to say, “Yes, yes I’m fine. How are you?”
“I’m good.” His voice was low, intimate, wrapping itself around her like a veil of tenderness.
Why is he ringing now?
Through the relief and surprise a stab of fear suddenly struck. “Is your mother…?”
“She’s OK. Sends her love.”
She allowed his calmness to reach her, yet she still felt afraid of why he might be calling. Everything frightened her these days. “It’s good to hear you,” she told him. “You sound…” How did he sound, from the little he’d said? Like his old self? No matter how hard she might wish for it, he’d never be that again. Neither of them would.
“It’s good to hear you too,” he said. “I miss you.”
A rush of unsteadying emotion stole her voice. He missed her. Did he have any idea how much she missed him?
She felt a sudden urge to tell him about Amelia’s visit last night and how badly it had unnerved her, but of course she couldn’t. It would upset and worry him, and there was nothing he could do.
There was a smile in his voice as he announced, “I’m coming over.”
Her mind whirled. How she’d longed to hear those words, to see him, to hold him and feel his strength returning to restore them both. Could she dare to hope? “Are you sure?” she asked shakily. “I mean, I…I—I’m not sure what I’m trying to say.”
“That you want me to come?”
“Of course. How could you even doubt it? I’m just…I…” She was suddenly crying so hard that the words wouldn’t come. She hadn’t realized until now just how desperately she needed him, hadn’t allowed herself to feel it, even think of it, although it was always there.
“Hey, hey,” he soothed gently, and his tone reminded her of all the times he’d tried to comfort her in the past, and succeeded. “It’s going to be OK.”
Was it? How could it be? Yet if he came and he was feeling stronger, everything would feel different, maybe even better. They could be a couple again, lean on each other, come to terms with this cruelly confusing world, decide on what sort of future they could share.
“I shouldn’t have left you on your own,” he said huskily. “I didn’t want to, I just didn’t know how…” He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry I let you down.”
“No, don’t be sorry. It wasn’t your fault. We didn’t know how to be with each other, what to do, where to turn…I still don’t know, but if you’re sure, if you think you’re ready, I want you to come.”
“I’m ready. I knew I would be one of these days; I just didn’t want to promise anything until I was sure I could carry it through. And I don’t want to take anything for granted.”
“Such as? You know I’m here for you.”
“Yes, but we need to talk, to make decisions that won’t be easy. We can’t go on putting them off.”
Suddenly afraid of what he might mean, she said, “Do you want us to be together again? It’s what I want, more than anything, but if you feel the memories are going to get in the way…”
“It’s what I want too,” he assured her. “We’ll learn how to deal with the memories and everything that comes with them.”
He really was sounding like his old self, more capable, more positive, and ready to restart their lives.
Please God let that be true.
“Tell me,” he said after a pause, “have you seen anything of her?”
Though her first thought was of Daisy, she knew he meant Amelia, and all the softness inside her turned to stone. “Yes, I have,” she admitted.
“So she’s wandering around freely?” He didn’t sound bitter, but she knew he must be feeling it as deeply as she did.
“I’m afraid so,” she replied.
“It shouldn’t be happening.”
“I know.”
After a while he dropped the subject, leaving it to fester until they were ready to pick it up again. “Mum tells me Stephie’s with you,” he said.
“She will be later. She’s bringing Joe and his friend from the airport.”
“Joe and his friend?”
“They’re traveling around Europe for a month before starting their law degrees. Kesterly’s their first stop.”
He took a moment to digest this. “How long are they staying?”
“I’m not sure.”
“OK.” Whatever he thought of Joe’s visit he didn’t say, but she felt sure he’d be pleased to see the boy, in spite of how painful it would be.
“I’ll call again when I’ve booked a flight,” he told her. “Danny can pick me up.”
“I don’t mind coming.”
“You’ll have a houseful of guests, and I need to talk to Dan before I see you.”
She didn’t object. She was still trying to make herself believe he would soon be with her.
For a while she listened to him breathing, imagining his face, his eyes, his laughter that had always been so ready to gather everyone up in its joy.
“Did you ring off yet?” he asked.
“No, I’m still here.”
“It’s going to be all right,” he sai
d quietly. “Everything will be taken care of, I promise.” A moment later the line went dead.
—
By the time Stephie turned up with Joe and his friend, Ethan, Jules was so ready to see them that she tore open the front door and ran straight into Joe’s arms. He’d grown so much, had become, if it were possible, more handsome than ever, and even more powerfully built. How come young American men seemed to grow so much bigger than everyone else?
“He’s a god, isn’t he?” Stephie teased as Jules drew back to admire his day-old stubble and intense black eyes. The grief was still there, but his confidence was back. “I’ve been swooning all the way home,” Stephie added.
Jules laughed as Joe said, “So that’s why you were driving on the wrong side of the road.” Cupping Jules’s face in his hands, he gazed into her eyes. “I knew it was going to be good to see you, just not this good,” he declared.
Loving the quirk of his smile and roguish drop of dark hair over one eye, Jules couldn’t help thinking of how thrilled Daisy would have been with him, how much in love. “I have some good news,” she told him, “but first, are you going to introduce me?”
Turning to his blond-haired, blue-eyed friend, who was almost as tall and athletically built, Joe said, “This here is Ethan Calder, fellow pre-law student and all-round great guy, provided you don’t get on the wrong side of him on a football field.”
Clocking the way Stephie was flushing as she looked at Ethan, Jules took the boy’s large hand in both of hers and shook it warmly. “I’m so glad you came,” she told him. “I know we’re a bit off the beaten track down here in Kesterly, but we’ll do our best to make sure you enjoy your stay.”
“It’s real good to be here,” he assured her. “I’ve heard such a lot about you folks, so I’ve been looking forward to meeting you all.”
“We’ve been drawing up plans of where to go, what to do,” Stephie told her excitedly. “Joe wants to show Ethan all our old haunts, including the Mermaid, and we’re hoping, if you’ve got time, you’ll come too.”
“Oh, you don’t want me there,” Jules protested, feeling instantly resistant to sharing their memories with an outsider. But it had to be a good thing, she told herself firmly. After all, she hardly wanted Stephie and Joe to avoid, much less deny, the joy Daisy had brought to their young lives, especially when their companion seemed so good-natured.