‘Just say it,’ I prompt him.
He nods and swallows, eventually making a start, his voice uneven, threatening to crack at any minute.
‘If you knew I’d done something wrong … could you still love me?’
‘If this is about Boyd, you didn’t do anything wrong. You had no choice. It was either you or him.’
‘I’m not talking about Boyd.’
Suddenly, I’m cold.
‘Then who?’
He closes his eyes, lowering his head back into my lap, clearly working up to an admission. Another bombshell … after all the promises that there’d be no more. I steel myself for the task ahead. Whatever it is, I’m simply going to hold my ground and hear him out.
‘Talk to me.’
‘I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.’
My stomach churns. Willing my body to behave, I take in a deep breath. If this is morning sickness, then it’s just about the worst time it can kick in.
‘That’s not going to happen.’
He lifts his head again.
‘I tried to forget, tried to block it all out, but I can’t. It’s eating away at me, Maya. It’s been eating away at me for years.’
‘No more secrets,’ I remind him.
‘No. No more secrets.’ He hesitates, and then he tells me something I already know. ‘I killed Boyd.’
‘We’ve been through that.’ I cup his cheek, wondering why on Earth he feels the need to plough through this again.
‘It’s not the first time.’ Keeping his eyes fixed on mine, he watches my reaction. ‘It’s not the first time I’ve killed a man.’ Finally, he gives me the beginnings of the truth. ‘She looks like him,’ he says quietly. ‘Layla.’
And that explains it all. I hardly need him to go on. Outside, the clouds shift, parting slightly, revealing a patch of blue, a glimmer of sunlight. And I already know what he’s about to admit.
Chapter Twenty-One
A shaft of sunlight falls across the apartment, breathing life into the picture of Limmingham. I urge him up from the floor, onto the sofa next to me.
‘I need a coffee,’ I lie.
Because I don’t need a coffee at all. I just need a few minutes to sort this out in my head. Leaving him in silence, I go to the kitchen and set about fiddling with the coffee machine. I have no idea what I’m doing – pouring water in here, coffee there, flicking switches, pressing knobs – but something gurgles and hisses, and by some miracle, dark brown liquid begins to appear in the jug. As I watch it dribble out, the facts congregate from two separate directions, linking together, one by one: the beating, the brain haemorrhage, an ambulance over the road; an emptied bank account, a life abandoned, a two-year disappearance. So now I know why he ran, and why he came back a changed man. He was the stranger in that alleyway. I should be shocked, but I’m not. I can barely believe I never saw this coming.
The hissing and gurgling come to an end. I pour out two mugs of coffee, and silently resolve to understand. He’s expecting me to take the moral high ground, but it’s a simplistic place, and for the second time in twenty-four hours I’m determined to steer clear. After all, we’ve come too far to jeopardise this, and he’s changing again, gradually reverting to his true self: very sweet, very kind, a little lost. Those were Lily’s words, and that’s the real Dan, the father of my child. Whoever he was when he turned up in Limmingham, he’s not that man any more.
I carry the drinks over, and hand him a mug. Curling his fingers around it, he stares at the floor.
‘It all makes sense now,’ I begin, staying on my feet. ‘How you reacted with Layla.’
He looks at me. I say nothing. Holding his gaze, I show no surprise, no judgement. I need to let him speak before I say my piece.
Finally, he nods.
‘Every time I look at her, I see him, his face, his eyes.’
‘I’ve seen a picture of him.’
‘Then you know.’
‘I thought she reminded you of what he’d done to you.’
‘No.’ The mug shakes in his hands. ‘It was after I left Cambridge, the first thing I did … I went back to Limmingham. I didn’t know how I’d got there. I didn’t know why I was there. I had no idea what I was going to do. It was like someone else had taken over.’ He closes his eyes against the memory. ‘I was angry, confused …’
‘Grieving,’ I add.
‘I suppose so. I’d lost my mother, my family, my adoptive parents … myself. I suppose I was looking for someone to blame.’ Eyes open now, he focusses back on me, uncertainty clouding his features. ‘He was the obvious target, the first link in the chain. If he’d never existed, then none of this would have happened. I suppose that was the logic.’
Leaning forward, he places the mug on the table, spilling a little coffee in the process. And then he clasps his hands, gazing at the floor again.
I wait for his explanation. It’s not long before it begins.
‘I rented a room, hung about town for a few days, went to the same pub, watched him getting pissed, mouthing off, full of himself, oblivious to all the damage he’d done.’ He pauses. ‘He looked at me, once or twice, but I don’t think he recognised me. I’m not surprised. I was a mess. No one would have recognised me.’ A frown creases his forehead. ‘I saw her one day, walking through town, doing the shopping, getting on with her life. It was as if I’d never existed.’
‘So that upset you?’
‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘I felt nothing. I had no feelings for my own mother. He’d taken those too.’ He blinks back
