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38

CALIFORNIA, 2011

I’m still reeling, dumbstruck by Zoe’s revelation, when the doorbell rings again. I can’t take much more and instinctively recoil away from the front door, but I can see the outline of the person I know to be my husband through the frosted glass.

“I didn’t want to use my key,” he says, when I eventually let him in.

“This is your house,” I say, my brow furrowing.

“But I don’t live here,” he says, dourly.

It has been only four nights, but I suppose he’s right. He doesn’t live here anymore, and a panicked sob catches in the back of my throat as I acknowledge that he may never live here again.

“How are you?” he asks, his eyes searching mine for the truth, rather than the empty retort he’s expecting.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly.

“Look, I’m not here to fight,” he says, opening his arms in surrender. “I want to understand what’s going on and how we can get through this. Together .” He looks at me like he used to. “But you’re going to have to trust me and believe that I had nothing to do with any of it.”

I want to. God, how I want to. And I could almost believe it, because how could he possibly have found the tape with Ben’s and my song on it—and then used Zoe to bring it to my door?

“I’m here to help you, not work against you,” he says, as if reading my mind.

“How can I be sure you’re not behind all this?”

He shakes his head in frustration, but tempers his response. “Why would I be?” he says, softly. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. We have a good life and I’m happy. I’m not going to destroy what we have for a quick fling, and I’m certainly not going to take our daughter away from the best mother I know.”

His words hit a nerve, and I can’t help but believe him.

“I don’t want to make matters worse,” he goes on, as I close my eyes and wonder how much worse it can get, “but I did some digging on the internet, just to get an idea of what happened back then.”

It’s something I’ve always avoided, knowing that it will only open a can of worms.

“And I’ve found an article that I really think you should read,” he goes on.

I look at him skeptically.

“I’m not claiming to know what’s gone on or going on—only you know that, and I trust you’ll tell me all in good time. But I think this might help you start to make sense of things.”

He opens his laptop and passes it to me. “Just take a look,” he says, encouragingly, sensing my reticence.

“HELP ME FIND MY DAUGHTER BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE,” screams the headline across the center of the screen. “One man’s final wish to be reunited with the forgotten victim of the Secret Oktober tragedy.”

A knife pierces my heart as a picture of my family, the only one I used to know, commandeers the double page. Happily posing for the perfect portrait, back when we thought a thousand more would follow. My face is so innocent and full of hope for what the future had to bring; blissfully unaware that my mother would be dead within a year and that a few months after that, I’d never see my father or sister again.

I stifle a sob as I trace my mum’s happy smile with a shaking finger. If she’d stayed with us—had defied the odds—there’s no doubt in my mind that the catastrophic events that hollowed out our family would never have happened. She would have made us all see sense before it was too late, before any of us had a chance to play a regrettable part in history.

“Your dad’s dying,” says Brad, his eyes downcast. “And it seems he really wants to speak to you.”

I turn away, unable to look at the pictures for a moment longer as the sting of tears burns at the back of my throat.

Brad takes the laptop back from me, his eyes scanning the screen. “He feels there’s so much more left to say…” He snatches a look at me before going on. “He doesn’t want to go to his grave without clearing the air.”

I stifle a sob. “It’s too late.”

Brad’s mouth drops open and he instinctively comes over to me. It’s only been a week since he’s held me in his arms, but with everything that’s gone on since, his embrace doesn’t feel as safe as it used to.

“How do you know?” he asks, his suspicions as close to the surface as mine.

“His lawyer has been on the phone. Apparently there’s a letter on its way, written by him…”

Brad’s arms tense. “What do you think it’s going to say?”

I’ve asked myself that question a hundred times already, but I’m almost too scared to answer. “I would hope that he regrets what happened and that he wishes he’d tried harder to find me when he had the chance.”

“But you didn’t exactly make it easy for him,” ventures Brad.

I toy with the idea of telling him why, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “It was better that way,” I say instead. “I didn’t want any part of what happened to follow me here.”

“But you denied yourself a father and a sister…” says Brad.

He has no idea what I denied myself.

“You didn’t need to do that,” he goes on. “Because what happened wasn’t your fault.”

My jaw spasms involuntarily and I bite down on my lip. “I know that,” I lie. “But I needed a new start, away from anyone who knew my connection to the case. It would have dictated the rest of my life if I’d stayed in England.”

Brad studies me as if waiting for the cracks to appear in my perfectly curated backstory.

“I get that, but you could have brought your family with you—in spirit, if not physically.”

An involuntary wail comes from deep within my chest, making my shoulders convulse and my face crumple.

“Hey, it’s going to be OK,” he says, wrapping his arms tighter around me, but his empty words ring hollow.

“Brad, I-I need to tell you something…” I sob, knowing it’s now or never.

He looks at me as if he’s been waiting for this our entire marriage, and I can’t help but wonder if the past twenty years have all been a sham. How can we have had a normal relationship when he knows nothing about the events in my life that have made me… me ?

“What is it?” he says, holding me away from him.

“I don’t want it to change anything…” I start. “I need you to promise me that.”

He scratches at his head, as if assessing the tall order.

“That woman Zoe, who came up to us at Tino’s… I-I don’t think she is who she says she is…” I half mumble.

“OK…” he says, waiting for the part that’s going to surprise him.

“I think she’s pretending to be a writer, pretending to be looking into Ben Edwards’s case.”

I pull myself up with a start, the sound of his name on my lips so alien to me after all this time.

“You think she’s got an ulterior motive?” asks Brad, his voice cutting into my guilt-ridden memories.

I nod and open my mouth, but my lips form around unspoken words.

“Which is…?” he presses, tempering his impatience.

Say it, Nicole .

“She…” I swallow to moisten my dry mouth. “She has a tape…”

“OK,” he says hesitantly.

“It’s me and Ben singing.”

His jaw tenses. “So, you made music together as well as being lovers?”

I nod. “It was a song I wrote for my mother, and it had a very special meaning. It meant a lot to me.”

His brow furrows as he no doubt wonders how this is relevant in the whole scheme of things. “So how did Zoe get hold of it?” he asks.

I can’t bear to look at him, knowing that what I’m about to say will change everything he ever thought he knew about me.

“She…” My heart is pounding so hard that the drumming is reverberating in my ears. “She…”

Say it, Nicole .

“She got it from her mother.”

“And who is she to you…?” prompts Ben, his patience wearing thin.

“She… she was someone I once knew,” I say, bitterly disappointed that I have passed on my chance to be honest. But it seems I’m no more ready to tell the truth now than I’ve ever been.