He killed him.
DAY TWENTY-FIVE 25TH JUNE 2018
One day. That is all it has taken. One, solitary day and my approach has flipped. Total opposite. I’m no longer staying away from the boat. I don't want this misery to continue till the end of the month. Either I win or I lose, but I don't want it to be prolonged.
You can run, but you can’t hide.
The phrase keeps intruding my mind, joining all the others. There is barely enough room. One of them needs to roll over.
And the little one said “Roll over, roll over!”
The simple things are what I miss most from my previous life, the last one. Bedtime stories. Sometimes I'd try to skip a sentence, maybe accidentally turn two pages instead of one, mainly because I was tired, but it was a pointless exercise, for Emma always noticed. She knew the words of the stories better than I did, knew them off by heart.
And so, despite my better judgement, I’ve followed Richard’s advice, although it might be more accurate to say I've done so in spite of Richard. His words have played on my mind more than any others. They can't possibly make sense, can they? They're a paradox. The truth is that I'm not fighting because of Richard. I'm just tired of running. Better he comes to me rather than anybody else, maybe one of my family.
I'm not one for half-measures. Not only am I back at the boat, but I'm literally a sitting target, bare-chested on the striped deckchair, pink shoulders melting like an ice cream in the sun, feet dangling just inches from the discoloured canal water. He doesn't need to stab me. If he really wanted to then he could sneak up behind me, pick up the chair legs and topple me into the water. I dare you. Go for it.
Feet graze the tips of the overgrown grass behind me. The movements are subtle. Gentle. Familiar. I yearn to crick my neck. My eyes stay fixed on the water, on the delicate ripples, but my fists clench and my arms go rigid. I glance to the ground to my right. I can't resist. There is a shadow, the outline of a body. It is moving. Becoming larger. Getting closer.
“Finally caught up with you then...”
I swivel around; turn my pink shoulders to the water. “I made it easy for you,” I say. “I'm not exactly hiding, am I?”
I stand up, holding out my hands, feet pressed into the hard ground.
“No need to stand up on my behalf...”
Jenny kisses my cheek. Her face is reddened and shiny. She pulls the other chair from the side of the boat and carries it in her outstretched arm. Brushing aside the cobwebs, she sinks into the chair alongside me. The sun has lightened her hair, dark only at the roots, just as it does every summer. A light sprinkling of freckles on her chest have returned to enjoy the heat, to say hello. She stretches out her legs and she catches me looking.
“To what do I owe the honour of a personal visit, then?”
Jenny narrows her eyes, smiling. There really should be more creases to the sides of her mouth. “Well, I know you aren’t too fond of talking on those phones now are you?”
“I’ve been using my phone much more recently, I’ll have you know.”
I leave it there. I don’t tell her why, and she doesn’t ask.
“The truth is, Marcus, I’ve been worried about you. I know you went back to Wales last week. That call the other day really freaked me out.”
Was that really the other day? Ken was alive the first time I called her, just after I spoke to Dad. Ken was dead when I called her the second time, just to check she was safe, only a couple of hours later.
“I’m sorry about that, honest to God I am. I overreacted. It turned out to be something about nothing. Just me panicking. Hope it didn't worry Emma, too?”
I detest the thought of worrying Emma. It eats me up inside whenever she is even remotely hurt. I rubbed the grazes on her knees when she was a kid, just from playing in the garden, asked her again and again if she was okay. Still, now I crave reassurance. I want Jenny to tell me just how much my little girl loves her daddy.
“Didn’t tell her. What was the point? She knew something was up, though. You know what she is like. Has a sixth sense. I half expect her to tell me she can see dead people. I managed to make up some ridiculous lie. She didn't believe me, of course, but it was enough to reassure her that everything was alright.”
“Thank you.”
“So, are you okay? Really? You weren't okay at the Bowlplex, that's for sure. You saw something. Looked like you'd seen a ghost.”
There is no point lying. Jenny will see through it. The best option is to be diplomatic with the truth and then just hope for the best.
“Well, I can't deny I’m going through a shit time right now. You know, with things from my past. You know all about my past. But I’m working on it. Don't want you to worry about it. Think I can beat it.”
I expect her to tell me I’m talking bullshit,
