because this place is so full of her father, his presence imbuing every tree, every river, every leaf. His whisper threads through the shadows, making threats that further sharpen her focus and hone her skills.
When she wakes, Bea can’t remember a single image but is left with an echo of the feelings evoked: courage, certainty, self-possession. She has ripped off her feminine casing. She’s free to be fierce, to rage, to act exactly as she wants.
8:33 a.m.—Scarlet
When she unlocks the café door, Scarlet steps over the envelopes on the mat without stopping to pick them up. But, catching sight of a letter addressed by hand, she bends down—thinking of the anonymous storyteller, wondering, hoping, that it might be another story. She could certainly do with the uplift to her spirits.
26th Oct.
Scarlet,
Hark at me, sending you an actual bona fide love letter—impressive, eh? Bet you didn’t think I had it in me. Yeah, well, neither did I. First time I’ve written one, in fact. Letter that is, love or otherwise. I’ve sent a few love texts in my time; strictly speaking, they were more about sex now I think about it . . . Anyway, I digress. Sorry I haven’t called etc. since we set fire to that hotel bedspread. How the hell did that happen? I was a little distracted at the time. It wasn’t cheap—they charged my card—but worth every penny. Look at that, digressing again. Did you think I’d done a runner, had my wicked way with you then buggered off back to the Big Smoke? I haven’t. I’m in London, but only because—since you welched on our deal—my boss called me back. I’ll be here a few weeks before I can get away again. Visit me? I promise I’ll make it very much worth your while . . .
Eli x
Scarlet reads the letter twice. Anger, desire, and fear swirl in her body until her hands are hot and her fingertips sparking. One spark ignites the letter.
“Shit!” Scarlet drops the paper as it burns. “Shit, shit, shit.”
She stamps it out, looking down at the scattering of ashes across the floorboards. It’s an omen. She must call him. Now. She can’t put it off any longer.
11:49 p.m.—Goldie & Liyana
I never thought that love and hate could be so fiercely entwined. I certainly never imagined that I could hate Leo like this. Or I thought it would only be if I didn’t love him anymore. By rights I shouldn’t love him now, I should erase all emotion, rip it out, flush my heart of every soft feeling. But I can’t. No matter how I try to will myself free, I’m still tied to him as tight as I ever was.
Perhaps it’ll simply take time for hate to set in and burn out love. I hope it doesn’t take too long. I can’t bear this alchemy of love and hate eroding me, as if my heart were spitting acid into my blood. All I want is to escape myself. And since I don’t drink or take drugs (now would be a good time to start), my only option is unconsciousness. Except that I can’t fucking sleep. So I call Liyana.
She picks up on the second ring.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I know you’re at work, I just—”
“It’s fine,” Liyana interrupts, sounding a little breathless. “I don’t start for ten minutes. What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
“I—I . . . I . . .”
“It’s okay. It’s all right. No rush, I’m here, I’ll wait, I’m not going anywhere.”
And my sister waits, simply listening, holding the phone as she might hold me if she were here. Knowing this uncorks me. Having her there, I feel safe enough to let myself sink into despair because she won’t let me drown.
My cries are long and keening, my breaths shallow and sharp, my pain pulled up from the depths of the earth. My cries are distended fingers of sound, trying to snatch back what they cannot reach.
Eventually, I start to calm, to float up to the surface. With each new breath my sobs subside.
“I’m here,” Liyana says. “I’m still here.”
I nod, though I know she can’t see. I can’t move my dry tongue yet, can’t find any words I want to say.
“Is it Leo?” she asks, tentative. “Did he do something?”
I nod again. “H-he . . . he k-killed my ma.”
“But . . .” Liyana’s voice is soft. “But I thought she died a long time ago.”
“She did,” I say, deeply grateful that she didn’t detonate. Right