Ben waits for me to get in front of him and I follow the path around towards the back of the house. There are more towering hedges here, dousing the lengthy garden in shadow. There is so much more land than I imagined.
‘Where?’ I ask.
‘Inside.’
I turn back to the house and shiver from the cold. There’s a large wooden plank across the back door, but the hook is empty. On the ground next to it sits the broken remains of a thick padlock.
‘I’d like to go,’ I say.
Ben moves quickly across to me and pushes the tip of the knife into my side. ‘Inside,’ he repeats, more firmly this time.
‘Ben…’
‘Inside.’
I do as I’m told once more, pushing open the back door and moving into the house. Dust immediately catches in my nose as the freshness of the air outside is replaced by throat-clogging mustiness. Ben is directly behind me as I move into what turns out to be a kitchen. The windows have been covered with paper and the only light comes through a patch that has been peeled away. It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the murk, in which time Ben has closed the door behind us.
The tiles on the floor are cracked and the fridge door hangs open. There is a bottle of washing-up liquid in the windowsill and crusty old dishes in the sink.
‘It needs a bit of work in here,’ Ben says. ‘New fridge and freezer, obviously. I’d probably rip out the cooker, but there’s a lot of room for something more modern. The piping seems solid, though. It’s got central heating, which I didn’t expect.’
He’s perched on the corner of a unit, speaking with his hands as if an estate agent trying to close a deal.
‘We could knock this wall through,’ he says, pointing to an area behind me. I turn to look where he means. ‘There’s a pantry through there,’ he adds, ‘but it could easily be converted into an integrated dining room along with this kitchen.’
Almost through expectation, I poke my head into the room beyond, which is a large cupboard filled with tins of food that are covered with dust. Aside from footprints in the dust, it doesn’t feel as if anyone’s lived here – properly lived here – in a long while. Ben’s clearly spent time here, though. I guess he was only using Jade’s flat to keep half an eye on me. It would explain why there was barely anything there.
He’s in another of the doorways and beckons me through into a hallway and then a living room. The wooden floorboards creak ominously as I head inside – and this room does seem more lived in. There is a sleeping bag on the floor, next to a large rucksack. The walls are lined with bookcases and there’s a rocking chair in the corner.
‘Nice, isn’t it?’ Ben says. ‘Probably wouldn’t need much work in here, other than a clean.’
I shiver again, it’s hard not to. He always seemed to have a life planned for us and now, after everything that’s happened, he still has. ‘Will you let me go?’ I say. ‘I promise I won’t say anything about you.’
Ben is blocking the door and there’s only one way in and out. He says nothing at first, but I can see his frame rising and falling as he breathes. He scratches his wrist and then rests his head on the door frame. I can see his silhouette; his Adam’s apple bobbing.
‘I did so much for you,’ he says. ‘It took a bit of luck, admittedly – but it was mainly planning. I wanted to surprise you on Bonfire Night, to make it right. I wanted to start again.’
‘I don’t want any of that.’
It feels dangerous, but it’s the only reply I can give.
‘You don’t want to be loved, do you?’ he says, harshly. ‘You want that stupid job. You want a piss-poor job serving groceries to greasy nobodies. You want your stupid friends in that stupid building with their stupid parties.’ Ben’s voice has been steady and controlled, but he gets gradually louder as he speaks. ‘You want to wallow in this mess you’ve made. You—’
‘This isn’t my mess,’ I say. ‘They aren’t my debts.’
It’s the years of frustration that makes the words come out. It’s one thing to take responsibilities for things done wrong – but when they are other people’s errors, it’s a lot to accept.
Ben’s frame rises and falls once more.
I’m in too deeply now.
‘Did you kill Jade?’ I ask. The thought has been creeping up on me.
The words seep into the corners of the house. Buildings like this have a personality of their own. Quirks and creaks; a history that is hard to match. This has to be a new thing for it.
Ben doesn’t reply at first. He pushes himself up from the door frame until he’s standing straight once more and takes a step into the room, towards me. I shuffle backwards, trying to put the rocking chair between us.
‘I told you,’ he says. ‘I did so much for you.’
I gasp and the sob nearly comes. ‘You killed her for me?’ I manage.
‘To be close to you,’ Ben replies, his voice not wavering. ‘I wanted to show you how much I care. But you didn’t appreciate it, did you? You never did. I was away for five years putting things right. I plan this massive surprise and you don’t even acknowledge it.’
I wonder if I there was a part of me that knew I was his obsession instead of his girlfriend. Perhaps I knew that and liked it? Everyone wants to be wanted. But then he never really wanted me, not like that. He used me to get the money he wanted. Our dreams for the future were always his. If it hadn’t have been for the train, I’d have found out his true nature so much earlier.
I slot in behind the rocking chair, but Ben reaches forward and jolts it to the side. It’s only me and him now and there’s nowhere for me to go. He slips the knife from his sleeve and I can see the shape fully. It’s much longer than I thought; the type from a kitchen that’s serrated and viciously sharp.
‘Well,’ he says with a sigh, ‘if you don’t appreciate me, what use are you?’
His eyes widen as his arm straightens.
‘I do appreciate you.’
My voice cracks as I speak, but it’s too late anyway. I’m in the corner and Ben takes another step forward.
‘No,’ he says, ‘you don’t.’
Chapter Forty-Three
There’s a clarity to my thoughts that’s hard to explain. Ben is still silhouetted by the light and, as he breathes in, I lunge forward and thump the side of my hand into his windpipe. I can picture the scar underneath his Adam’s apple – the old rugby injury on which he had surgery.
He gasps and creases forward and, in that moment, I’m past him. I race for the door as Ben roars behind me. With a skid, I’m tearing along the hall and into the kitchen. The back door is unlocked and it’s only a second until the crisp, clean air of the real world floods forth. I half-run, half-stumble onto the lawn. My legs are like a baby giraffe’s and don’t seem stable. Ben is right behind me, coughing and rasping. I race for the side of the house but have hesitated for too long. From nowhere, Ben slips in front, so that he’s blocking the route away. We’re facing one another as he holds his hands wide.
‘Where are you gonna go?’ he croaks, voice husky.
I step away, but there’s only the garden that backs onto the park behind us. The hedge is too tall to climb and there are no overlooking properties. I keep moving backwards and Ben follows. His eyes are wide and wild, the knife clutched tightly in his right hand. I’ve never seen him like this before.