“That’s a little cruel. Is this the uncle in America? The one you went to live with?”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, the touch sending shivers through me. “Yeah. Just read them. They’ll paint a clearer picture for you. Then I’ll explain the rest.”
I look down at them again. “Okay.”
He smiles at me, sad and affectionate. “Come on. Let’s get you home.” Linking his arm through mine, he helps me up.
“Why do you look so sad?” I ask, stopping and putting a hand to his chest as I stare up at him.
His words are a whisper, a faint watery shine in his eyes. “Because I’m afraid of losing you. And if you decide you don’t want me, I’m not sure if I can let you go.”
Emotion catches in my throat. “Jay.”
“Just read the letters,” he pleads.
I gather myself, nod silently, and we walk back to the house. Jay stands on the doorstep as I put my key in the door. When I step into the hallway, I turn back to him, but he’s vanished, ever the magician.
Wanting privacy, I go straight to my room and undo the string that’s keeping the letters held together. I flick through them, noticing that they’ve been stacked in order of date. Carefully, I open the first one and unfold the paper.
Dear Killian,
I haven’t heard from you in months. I know you enjoy your solitude, but I miss our talks. We used to be so close as children. Do you remember? We made Dad move your bed into my room so that we wouldn’t have to sleep alone. I miss those days. Childhood feels so hard, but then you look back and realise they were the easiest days of your life.
We moved into a new house last year. It was a fixer-upper, but with a little TLC we managed to do it up nicely. It’s still nothing amazing, but the area is wonderful. So quiet. Peaceful. The neighbourhood has actually become quite sought after. Just the other day a property developer came and made an offer to buy the place. I invited him in for tea, and he told me about his plans to build a brand-new hotel right where our house is. He was a lovely man.
Sometimes I forget that there are nice men out there. I spend so much time with Luke that it feels like they’re all monsters. I’m not sure how much longer I can take being married to him. It’s not just me he hurts anymore. He’s started in on Jason and Jack now, too.
I want to sell the house, take my half of the money, and get away from him, take the boys with me. When I told Luke about the offer, he called the man up and told him he’d sell him the house for double. He’s being entirely unreasonable, and I really can’t see him getting that amount of money for the place.
God, it feels so good to tell you all of this. To vent. Please write me back if you have the time. I’d call you, only Luke still hasn’t had the telephone connected, and I hate using public phones.
Anyway, I heard about your new teaching job at the university. Aunt Moira visited a few weeks ago and told me. It must be very exciting. I’d love to hear about how you’re getting along there.
Your loving sister,
Phillipa.
Out of the whole letter, the part I fixate most on is, It’s not just me he hurts anymore. He’s started in on Jason and Jack now, too. Tears make my eyes grow watery. I read the next few letters. They mostly detail Phillipa, Jay’s mother’s, struggle with depression and dealing with her husband’s physical abuse. They mention the property developer coming over to the house while her husband is at work on several occasions. I get the sense of their friendship growing until it becomes something more.
Phillipa never mentions his name until the seventh letter. She’s terrified of her husband finding out, but the property developer is keen for them to continue their secret affair. And that’s when she finally does mention his name.
Brian.
I stare at the name for a long time, trying to figure out if it’s just a coincidence, or if this means something. Then I pull out my phone and Google “Brian Scott.” Sure enough, his Wikipedia page details how he came from a lower working-class background and that it’s rumoured he was a loan shark in his younger years before he ventured into property development, shortly followed by the launch of his newspaper, The Daily Post.
Christ.
Jay’s mother had an affair with Brian Scott.
I move on to the next letter, noticing how they become more and more desperate for advice. It seems that Brian is not the fairy-tale prince she originally thought. Apparently, he is now threatening to reveal their affair to her husband if she doesn’t somehow convince him to sign the papers and sell their house. She also mentions that Brian’s girlfriend showed up one day, shouting and screaming at Phillipa to stay away from her boyfriend.
It’s all becoming too much for her.
She tries to get her husband to sign the papers, but he’s a stubborn, greedy man, and refuses to sell the house unless Brian is prepared to pay an inordinate sum of money for it. Brian does not succumb to this. It seems that he, too, is a stubborn, greedy man. Philippa is considering taking what little money she has hidden away and leaving with her two boys. She cannot take much more of what is happening.
She wants to disappear.
And that’s when the letters end. My heart is racing. What occurred between Phillipa’s last letter and her death? Judging from the dates, they can’t have been written very long before Jay’s family died and he went to live with his uncle. I just have to know.
I slip on my shoes and call a taxi, instructing the driver to take me straight to Jay’s apartment. He gave me a spare key a couple of months ago, saying it was only fair since he still had a key to my place. I take the elevator up to the top floor and get out, walking down the hallway and stopping when I get to Jay’s place.
I don’t need to use my key, because the door has been kicked in.
My shock lasts only a moment before I force myself into action, taking out my phone and dialling emergency services. I whisper down the line just in case the person or persons who broke in are still there. The woman on the other end assures me that the Gardai are on their way.
I should go outside and wait for them to arrive. That would be the logical thing to do. But I’m not feeling very logical, it seems, because I step right past the kicked-in door. I still have the rape alarm, pepper spray, and Swiss army knife in my handbag. I dig out the pepper spray, which, might I add, is not exactly legal in this country. And when I say “not exactly legal,” I mean illegal. I had to order it online, deciding that breaking the law was a necessary evil in order to protect myself. There’s that phrase again. Perhaps Jay and I are more alike than I thought.
It’s quiet when I first step inside, but then I hear the voices, loud and desperate. They’re coming from the terrace balcony. Moving through the apartment slowly, I make my way to the door that leads outside, but stop just on the threshold, hiding myself behind the doorframe.
If my heart was racing before, now it’s catapulting into the stratosphere.
Jay is standing just by the railing that surrounds the terrace, and before him is a crazed-looking Brian Scott, a gun held out in front of him aimed directly at Jay.
“Why did you do it, huh? Why?!” Brian demands.
The professional way in which he’s holding his weapon leads me to believe this is not the first time he’s threatened someone at gunpoint. However, there’s a crazed air about him that is far from professional. I have no doubt he’s mad enough right now to use the gun.