Marina was about to ask another question, but Stuart kept talking.
He smiled. ‘And I know who I am now.’
96
Amy sat on the floor of what used to be the living room. Head against the damp, rotting wall. She had taken back her earlier thoughts. The house she used to know was still there. Even in the short time she had been back, the layers had peeled away, like the blackening wallpaper behind her, and the house had begun to reveal itself to her as it once was. As she remembered it.
She swung her torch round, the light illuminating only in patches. She kept trying to make out what was in the shadows, the darkness. She thought she could see things moving in there, jumping out of the way of the beam, trying not to be caught by the light. But they didn’t scare her. She welcomed them. Because she knew what they were.
Ghosts. Memories.
The ghosts were all around her. In the darkness, the shadows, when the light moved away from them. She could hear them, see them running from room to room. Feel the warmth from them. Almost touch them. The happiness. Like paradise before the fall.
Before it all went wrong. A dead mother. And a retarded boy.
Then the end of everything.
And this was the room where it had happened.
She looked to where she had once stood. And she saw the ghosts live again.
There was Michael standing in front of her, holding out the shotgun. Pointing it at her. He had already taken care of their father and his new wife. Now he just had to do her and Graham would do him and everything would be set.
‘It’s going to hurt,’ he had said.
‘Just do it. Get it over with.’ She had closed her eyes. Opened them again just in time to see the look in Michael’s eyes, the smile on his face. Just in time to realise that it was going to hurt a lot. That soon she would be as dead as her father.
She had tried to jump out of the way, but the shot still hit her. Michael had been right. It had hurt. And that was the last thing she remembered about that day.
She blinked, back in the present. Looked round again. Saw the house as it was now. Left to rot. To waste away. To decay. To die. Unloved and alone.
She knew just how it felt.
‘No … ’ she screamed. The sound echoed and died around the walls. ‘No … ’ Much softer, just for her ears alone.
No. It couldn’t be the end. It couldn’t. There was still one thing she could do. One more roll of the dice, as her father used to say.
Or two, actually.
She took her phone out. Dialled a number she wasn’t supposed to know but could never forget.
Waited. For the end.
Or the beginning.
97
Michael Sloane threw the last of his things into the leather holdall on the bed. That would have to do, he thought. It was only stuff he was leaving behind. He could always buy more stuff to replace it later. He could buy more of anything.
Dee was in the bathroom making herself beautiful. He looked at her bag next to his on the bed. Matching. His and hers. Two parts of the same being. Completing each other. That was how he had always felt with her. But he had felt like that before.
His thoughts were interrupted. His phone was ringing.
He took it out, checked the display. Recognised the number. He knew he shouldn’t answer. But knew he also had no choice. He put it to his ear.
‘Yes.’
‘Hello, Michael.’
The voice was ruined and ravaged, but still unmistakable.
Dee came out of the bathroom, looked at him, raised an eyebrow. Wanting to know who was on the phone. She saw the look in his eyes. Knew.
‘What d’you want?’
‘Is that any way to talk? To me?’
‘I’m in no mood for games.’
A laugh. Harsh. Bitter. ‘Then you’ve changed, Michael. You always used to have time for games. Didn’t you?’
‘What d’you want.’ Not even a question, just a flat sentence.
She detected the change in his tone. Knew better than to toy with him any further. ‘You,’ she said.
‘Goodbye.’
‘No. Wait. I want to talk. Please. We … we have to talk.’
‘Why does it have to be now?’
‘You know why … ’ She paused, seemed to be gathering herself up, stopping herself from unravelling further. ‘It has to be now. After everything that’s happened. We have to talk.’
Michael looked at Dee. Mouthed the words:
‘OK, then,’ said Michael. ‘We can talk.’
A sigh from the end of the line. ‘Good.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Guess.’
Irritation entered Michael’s tone. ‘I told you, no more games.’
‘Not a game, Michael. Guess.’
He knew. ‘The house.’
‘The house. I’m there now.’
‘See you soon.’ He hung up. Turned to Dee. ‘As I said. She wants to talk.’
Dee gave another smile. ‘That’s the last thing she’ll want to do when I’ve finished with her.’
Michael smiled. ‘I knew I could rely on you.’
‘I’ll go straight away.’
‘Take the Golem. He should be finished making our unwelcome guests disappear by now. Get her dealt with once and for all. I’ll finish up here. You know where to meet.’
She crossed to him, kissed him on the lips, biting down in the process. He pulled away. Smiled.
‘Later,’ he said. ‘Go.’
She went.
He watched her leave, then looked back at the bags on the bed. Side by side. Identical. Completing each other. But he had felt like that before. He thought of where he was going. Thought: it’s just stuff.
He could always buy more stuff to replace it later.
