Page 13 of The Devil's Deceit

While I wait for it to boil, I wander back into the living room and flick on the TV, more for background noise than any interest in watching. Sunday mornings are slim pickings for anything interesting, anyway.

The newsreader is droning on about a train strike starting tomorrow, but a yellow ticker running along the bottom of the screen catches my attention.

Breaking news: Health and Safety Executive report no-fault accident in Nexus building collapse.

My legs give way, and I fall back onto the couch. Ice wraps around my heart, but it’s fire that fills my veins. I knew it. Somehow, that fucking family have buried the truth. They don’t care there’s a grieving family desperate for answers. All they care about is protecting themselves.

I grind my teeth. Any doubts I had after last night scatter. If revealing the truth about my parents’ death results in my own, so be it, but one way or another, I’m bringing that man to his knees.

He won’t get away with this. I’ll make sure of it.

I’m frozen in the same position when Arron clods down the stairs and trudges into the living room, his hair in disarray. He yawns, stretches, then flops onto the couch beside me.

“Morning. Was that the kettle I heard boiling?” When I don’t reply, he frowns. “What’s up with you?”

I can’t find the right words, so I point at the TV. He turns his head. It takes about a second for him to react.

“That motherfucker.”

“We were right.” I shake my head, simultaneously stunned and exonerated in the fierce belief I’ve held these past few months. The belief we’veallheld.

“Never in doubt.” Arron leans forward and slides his phone from the back pocket.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling Uncle Daniel. He mustn’t have seen, or he’d have called us.”

Pushing to my feet, I leave him to make the call and head into the kitchen to brew the tea. The British answer to everything is tea, although even a strong cup of Yorkshire’s finest won’t have the power to soothe the ache of having a presumption confirmed.

I’m relieved I hadn’t seen the news before I spoke to Christian. I’m not sure I could’ve kept the anger out of my voice so soon after discovering he’d used his power to protect himself and his family while throwing mine under the bus. This way, I get until Wednesday to swallow my rage, push it deep into my stomach, and calm myself enough to play the part I’m destined for.

I pour boiling water into the tea pot and set it and three mugs onto a tray. No doubt Uncle Daniel will want to come over once Arron tells him what the media is reporting. It’ll give me a chance to update him on last night, although now I’ve secured a follow-up meeting, I can skip the part where I ran from Oakleigh as though the De Vils had set the hounds on me.

Arron pockets his phone as I set the tray on the coffee table. “He hadn’t seen.”

“What did he say?”

“Apart from a string of curse words, not much. Why three mugs?”

“I expected him to come over.”

“He can’t. He’s got a big job on that means working the next four weekends. He said he’ll pop round tonight.”

I must say, I’m relieved. The last thing I need is Uncle Daniel here, ranting and adding fuel to a fire that’s already burning out of control. All staying angry will do is raise the chances of me slipping up. I need to stay calm and in control if I’m to see this through to the bitter end.

I pour the tea, add a splash of milk to Arron’s, leaving mine black, then let my body sink into the couch and take several deep breaths.

“Christian called me this morning.”

“What? When?”

“When you were doing your impression of a sloth.”

“Why didn’t you say?”

“Because I got distracted.” The yellow ticker is still spinning. I grab the remote and turn the TV off. “He wants to see me again on Wednesday night.”

“That’s good.” Arron sips his tea, then levels me with a stare. “You gonna be okay after finding out about that?” He cocks his head at the now blank TV screen.