He slept as much as he could. During the day, he found he didn’t dream, or didn’t dream of Candice, which was the important thing. When he was awake, he read magazines or his old collection of Viz comics, or watched a bit of television, or stared into space. He didn’t bother ringing his workplace – work felt like another lifetime ago, something completely separate from his life now. He didn’t think, or he tried not to think – it was harder than it sounded.
On the seventh day, he woke up incredibly early, at sunrise. He lay in bed, listening to the early morning birdsong, and felt the grey fog that surrounded him begin to lift. He watched a sunbeam creep gradually across the wall of his bedroom and felt his own spirit begin a slow and gradual lightening. It was so obvious, what he had to do. He would go to the police. He would tell them everything, and they would come and take the body away and whatever happened after that, happened. It couldn’t possibly be worse than what he’d been going through. It couldn’t possibly. He would deal with it, he knew he’d be able to deal with it. He couldn’t go on living like this, not for anything, not another day, not another minute.
The resolution he’d come to brought him such relief, he knew it was the right decision. He leapt out of bed, actually leapt, and ran to the shower. Scouring a week’s worth of grime from his skin brought him intense pleasure. He didn’t even look out of the window at the leaf-hidden roof of the shed.
It’s the right thing to do, he told himself. The right thing.
As he was dressing, he heard the front door slam and a moment later, the roar of Carl’s car. Off to work early then. He had planned to go straight to the police station but on impulse, he decided to go to and see Carl at work. It was only fair to tell him. For a moment, his euphoria dipped. What would Carl say? What would Carl do? Jake began to dress, slowly, his fingers fumbling over zips and buttons, as if he’d forgotten how to fasten his clothes. But I have to do something, he said to himself. I can’t go on like this.
It felt strange to be out of the house on Fever Street, after more than a week of seclusion. He walked slowly down towards the entrance to the Underground station. The morning commuters were beginning to flock towards the trains. He saw the Evening Standard seller’s board outside the station and saw the headline London Wins Olympic Bid. In his earlier life, the life before Candice Stanton, he might have been quite excited about that. He took the Northern Line down to Kings Cross. More and more people crammed themselves onto the train at every stop. Carl’s office was in Holborn so Jake battled his way through the crowds at Kings Cross and waded towards the Piccadilly line. As he reached the southbound platform, he could see the digital clock flick from 08.45 to 08.46. His early-morning elation was dissolving. Could he actually do this? Could he really go through with his plan? He tried to think of the possible outcomes but his mind was a blank. All he came up with was a queasy montage of late-night crime shows, blue-lit police cells, confrontations on the steps of a court house.
There was a low rumble, a metallic mutter and clatter as a train drew into the platform. People began to struggle towards the doors. Jake edged himself into the carriage and moved between the seats. He clenched his hand around the cool metal of the bar above his head. The rattle of the train was like the beat of a drum inside his head. Christ, could he do it? Did he have the courage to do it?
The platform flickered past the speeding windows of the train as it passed into the tunnel entrance. Jake shifted his grip on the bar. He was surrounded by people but he could only think of three – himself, Jake and Veronica. Could he do it to them? Could he –
He never finished the sentence. In the next second, came the loudest sound he had ever heard, an ear-splitting roar, a wave of sound so powerful he felt the shock of as a physical blow against his body. The train jolted beneath his feet, throwing him across the carriage. There was enough time for him to gasp, just an eyeblink of time in which to feel fear before the heat and noise struck him and blackness descended. He fell forward into darkness, into silence.
PART THREE
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bella remained sitting on the bed after Jake had told her. She felt frozen there, chilled through to the bone, her hands placed either side of her legs, steadying herself but unable to feel anything beneath her palms. At some point, she’d closed her eyes, in a primitive attempt to ward off what she was being told. But the mental images that came flocking were too terrible to contemplate and she opened them again and kept them fixed on the carpet, seeing but not comprehending the dirt particles, and the hairs and the shoe scuff marks by her feet.
He sat opposite her, in the clothes-strewn armchair that stood by the window. As he’d talked, the light had faded gradually from the square of glass, and Jake’s anguished face had gradually become obliterated by darkness. Eventually, when he’d stopped speaking, they both sat in the dark room, not speaking. Bella could hear Jake’s breathing, jagged after the storm of tears.
“Do you hate me?” he said eventually, with a gasp in his voice.
“No,” said Bella automatically, although she didn’t know what she was feeling towards him. She didn’t know what she was supposed to feel. I’m too young to handle this, she thought inconsequentially.
“It was an accident. She just fell.”
“I know.”
“She missed her footing on the stairs and fell. It was an accident.”
“I know,” said Bella, again. “I almost fell myself once.”
She got up off the bed and walked stiffly over to the bedside light. The click of its switch sounded harsh and condemnatory and despite the soft glow of the bulb, she saw Jake flinch back as if the light had been a powerful spotlight. Through the numbness, she felt a jab of pity for him. He looked down at the floor, his wet face shining in the soft golden light of the lamp. Bella stood by the bed. She couldn’t quite manage to touch him, not yet. She wavered and then walked to the dressing table. Her face in the mirror looked pale, her pupils wide and shocked. She ran a trembling hand through her hair. She was very cold, almost shivering with cold. She pulled a jumper from the drawers and hesitated. It was one of Jake’s. Slowly, she refolded it and put it back.
He was watching her every movement, still breathing raggedly. For a moment, she had an inkling of the toxic stew of emotions he must be going through. Bella found an old cardigan of hers and pulled it on, fumbling the buttons, as if her fingers had gone to sleep. She sat back down on the bed, her legs suddenly too weak to carry her.
“Are you okay?”
Jake was still watching her. She managed to nod.
“I’m okay. I’m just – “
She let the sentence trail off – it was too much effort to complete it.
“Bella? You look like you’re about to faint.”
“Mmmm…”
She blinked. The room began to blur slowly and there was a rustling sound welling in her ears, like the shifting branches of the beech tree in the garden, whispering leaves. The golden glow from the light began to swing slowly in her vision.
The next thing she saw was the carpet again, a foot away from her face. She struggled, trying to raise her head from between her knees. She could feel someone’s warm hand on the back of her neck.
“Get off – get off me – “
“Sorry.”
It was Jake. She brought her head up slowly, blinked dizzily. Jake was sat next to her on the bed and she felt a sudden pulse of alarm. He must have felt her tense beside him and he gave a sudden, gasping sob.
“Oh Bella, Bella, please don’t hate me – don’t be frightened of me – I would never do anything to hurt you, never, never – don’t run away from me, please…”