"Didn't the police question you? After all, the crime has never been solved. The murderer - you - is still out there."
Simon shakes his head. "They came around, of course, to tell me that they'd found a body and that, after searching his flat, they believed it was my father's killer. This was confirmed later, of course. They said it was most likely a revenge killing. The file is still open. I don't think they are pursuing it too actively. The general consensus from the public is that the killer saved taxpayers' money that would otherwise have been spent keeping the monster alive. I'm happy with that consensus."
We sit in silence for God knows how long. Eventually, Simon looks up. His long, greasy hair covers his eyes.
"Do you understand why I did it?"
I nod. "Of course I do, you mad bastard."
His smile is sheepish, embarrassed. "Do you want me on your side, then?"
I lean forward and look him straight in the eye. "I can think of no better person," I say.
DAY TWENTY-EIGHT 28TH JUNE 2018
Rather than making the most of every second I have left till the end of the month, till the 30th, I long for the seconds to pass, to just get on with it, to accept whatever my fate may be.
The phone wakes me. My mouth feels toxic, like my gums are corroding. I have no idea what time it is, but judging by the brightness of the room, it is probably the middle of the day. My duvet lies in a ball at the end of the bed, but still my shirt clings like a second skin to my oven-like, glistening body. With the back of my head still engulfed in the pillow, I extend my arm and pick up the phone.
The red one.
I hold it above my head, my thumb navigating the buttons.
Good afternoon, Jeffrey. Only two days left. How very exciting! You'll find your invite in your boat. Don't make too much of a mess looking.
Fuck that. I just need to know what he has lined up for me, however horrific. I pull open cupboards, sweeping glasses and cups to the side. Glass clatters to the worktop. Blood smothers my fingers. I slam doors shut. Drop papers from files.
Standing in the centre of the boat, with my hands on my hips, I survey the colossal mess I've created. I don't know where else to look. Then I remember the first hiding place I always chose with Luke. I slide my hand underneath the bed, searching for something, hoping I'll know what it is when I find it. My chest tightens. There is something there. I'm reminded of the painting I slid under the bed when there was no room left on the walls. It isn't that. Too narrow. I pull it out. Hold it in my hands.
My jaw drops. I stare at the front cover of the book. I don't need to look inside. Reality has already hit.
I remember, during the early days, Erica sent Jenny messages from my phone. Told her to keep away. Said I'd moved on. Pretended to be me. Deleted the messages. When I found out, as I inevitably did, she showed no regret, only bravado. Reminded me what that woman had done to me, how she had torn my life apart. Told me she was looking out for me, that she did it because she loved me and didn't want me hurt again. I believed her.
Stood here now, book shaking in my trembling hands, it dawns on me that maybe I shouldn't have.
“What the hell is all this mess...?”
I jerk my head over my shoulder. Erica's eyes can't quite take in what she is seeing. “What, have you been burgled?” she asks.
I'm not interested in her question, barley even hear it, let alone register it. Right now, I'm interested in her.
I hold the book out, let her take in the title. “This is yours, isn't it?” I ask. “You know who I am, don't you? Who I really am? You've always known, haven't you?”
Erica takes a step back, hands held up to her chest. “What the fuck are you talking about, Marcus?”
I lunge for her, but slip on some broken glass. I look up at her from the floor, crumpled and beaten, like a rolled-up piece of paper.
“This is the last straw, you crazy bastard,” she says.
I don't see her leave. I only hear the door slamming. Sucking the blood from my cut hand, I wonder whether I'll ever see her again.
DAY TWENTY-NINE 29TH JUNE 2018
I return to my empty boat late afternoon.
I bend at the knees and pick up a couple of leaflets from the mat. Buy one get one free pizza. I now have a collection of cards for the same taxi firm. Not sure I'll look at a taxi in the same way after recent revelations.
Absent-mindedly running the tap and taking a few slurps of water, I gaze through a crack in the net curtain; my mind wanders. I think back to the last time I counted down the days until the end of the month. As a kid, of course, I counted down the days to my birthday, to Christmas. It wasn't that long ago though, surely? Of course, it was back when payday really made a difference, when it meant something.
With no qualifications or experience, I started in the city right at the bottom of the ladder. Officially I was a Junior Administrator, but unofficially I was the shit on everybody else’s polished shoes. It didn’t matter. I was there. I could have been
