‘Lauren, call 999 again. We need an ambulance and the police as soon as possible.’

She is smiling at him, this Alice/Jade person, a lopsided grin that turns his skin to winter, ice flooding through his veins. ‘Well, well, well. The sad little man finally grew some balls and managed to pin me down. I’ll tell them it was you who did it when they do finally arrive.’ She nods over to his mother, the crumpled heap on the floor and winks at him. ‘I’ll tell them you turned on us all, that you’re a madman. Once they see the bruises on my arms and my body where you attacked me, then they’ll know who to believe.’

He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it, isn’t even sure how she has the temerity to talk such shit. Her thoughts are on a different plane, so far removed from reality that she may as well be on another planet, in another galaxy.

‘Stop talking, Alice. We’ve heard enough from you. Just shut your fucking mouth, okay?’ A dry bark from him. A lacklustre comment. He’s all out of energy.

Snot and blood trickle down from one of her nostrils, slipping over her top lip and dispersing over her gums and teeth, a glistening, silvery streak of gelatinous fluid. She grins, her face a mask of hatred. Twisted and perverse.

‘Shut my mouth? Oh, I don’t think I can. There’s so much to be said, don’t you think? So many secrets still untold.’

He shakes his head, unwilling to become embroiled in any of her stupid, warped games. He refuses to be manipulated by her any more. Enough is enough. God, he has been blind. So fucking naïve and blind. He should have listened to Lauren, should have removed those blinkers and taken a long, hard look at the situation, assessed it objectively, but he didn’t and now they’re all paying the price. His mother is dying and it’s all his fault. Alice is right about one thing – he was too childlike, too trusting. But not any more. He sees who she is now, this Alice person. This Jade Kennedy. He sees straight through her, knows exactly who she is, what she is capable of and will have no hesitation about sticking this knife in her neck to save his family.

46JADE/ALICE

They’ll be here soon, the police, and when they arrive, everything will be over. I will lose it all. All the things I’ve worked for over these past twelve months will vanish, everything I have clawed and strived, and fought tooth and nail for will be taken from me. And what will happen to Luke then? My little Luke, the boy I deserve. My boy. Who will take care of him then? What will become of him?

My options are rapidly diminishing. I can, however, do as much damage as humanly possible before they turn up with their rough ways and punitive measures. I can tell the Saunders family what I think of them. Tell them who I really am. Let them know exactly who and what they are dealing with.

Peter is standing before me, observing my every move. Lauren is on the floor with the older woman, whispering into her ear, smoothing down her hair. Trying to stop her from dying. It’s pointless. I felt that knife as it caught her, the satisfying swish of metal cutting through flesh. She can’t have long left. I wonder how long it takes a person to bleed to death – half an hour? One hour? Two? I once read that the battlefields of the Somme weren’t littered with dead bodies but dying ones; battered, torn men who took days and days to die, their blood slowly leaking out of their bodies. I don’t imagine Peter’s mum has the same strength as those soldiers. I imagine she will die pretty soon, her organs shutting down, her heart beating its last. But she isn’t dead yet. She is suffering and so are they, sitting here, watching the life ebb away from her. That in itself gives me a great deal of pleasure.

As if he can read my thoughts, Peter shouts over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off me. ‘Lauren, call 999 again. Hurry!’

I hear her scramble for the phone, listen to her speak, then catch the faint sounds of sirens in the distance. They are already on their way. Almost here.

‘I guess you’ve seen through me now, haven’t you?’ Gone is the sweet squeak of a voice I’ve used in his presence, replaced now with my usual, dull, dour tones. My embittered, gravel-like deliverance. It runs through me, that feeling of sourness, of being forgotten, discarded. Treated like dirt. A lifetime of it. I have suffered a lifetime of hatred and rejection and I am done with it. This is my time now. A time for revelations and revenge. ‘Well, this is the real me.’ I sigh, stare down at my feet, inspecting them. ‘Have you any idea what it is like to be viewed as worthless?’ No reaction. Not a sound. Just the hard stare of a man who thought he knew it all. A man who thought he had it all and now doesn’t. Serves him right. They deserve each other – him, Lauren, that interfering old hag laid on the floor. They all deserve one other, every single one of them, with their sad, insular little ways; their lives a thin veneer of gloss that radiated shallow, superficial sadness. They don’t understand real sadness, not the grinding misery I have had to endure. They have no fucking idea. ‘No, I’ll bet you don’t. Not you with your perfect little family and perfect house. What would you know about being ignored and cast aside, about being branded a failure? Life has always gone your way, hasn’t it? Even losing your wife didn’t dent your existence, did it? You managed to carry on with everything, holding down a good job, living here in this lovely house with your perfect child and textbook mother popping in every so often to make sure you’re both managing. How bloody marvellous for you, eh?’

Outside, the sirens grow closer. I don’t have much time left. It’s almost at an end.

I can hear Lauren sobbing, her hands draped over her grandma’s body. Long, slim fingers, hair floating. Head dipped. Her tears are futile. Futile and useless. We’ve all shed them in the past year, me included, but what is the point of them? A good bout of crying leaves you breathless and exhausted. So I found a better way, a more productive way. A way of venting my anger, an outlet for my misery. I worked out how to redress the balance, to show them how it feels to be lonely, to feel as if the whole world is against you. And I have done just that. Sometimes, it was in small ways like breaking the window and ruining Sophia’s books. And then there are times such as this, where I have had to really slap them in the face to get their attention.

Peter starts to speak. I sigh, turn away, close my eyes, suddenly exhausted. It’s been a busy day, a trying day. Fatigue swamps me. Everything begins to slip away.

I hear the banging on the door, the loud voices, the shouting. I feel the vibrations on the floor as they enter the house, the charge of heavy feet, the throb of energy as they push through into the room. And then Lauren screaming, Peter shouting, my own heartbeat ringing in my ears.

It’s happening. They’re here. It’s over.

47LAUREN

‘Oh, God, please help her! Somebody, please help her.’

I am ushered away, strong arms wrapping themselves around me. I see medics and police officers kneeling at Grandma’s side. I try to move back to her, shouting that I don’t want to leave her but I’m held in place and unable to move, their hands holding me fast, rooting me to the spot.

We’re all under suspicion. None of these people know what has taken place in this house. Officers cuff Dad and untie Alice. She struggles and tries to get away. I watch her through misted vision, silently willing her to show her true colours, to let the police see who she really is. She spits and fights, shouts and swears as they hold her down and place handcuffs on her wrists as well. Still, she squirms, still she protests, screaming that I was the one who did this, that I attacked Grandma and then attacked her. I almost laugh at the absurdity of it, the ill-thought-out stupidity of her claims.

My face flushes hot, my skin grows cold, a howling gale blowing through my veins as I’m forced to listen to her mad ramblings, the wild accusations of a woman unhinged.

Bodies surround Grandma, the hustle and movement of people trying to save her life. I close my eyes and pray, reciting the words I was taught in school and have never since repeated, saying them over and over until I feel movement nearby, hear the squeak of shoes against the flooring and then watch as she is strapped to a stretcher and carried outside.

Vomit and blood swill at our feet, the stench hitting the back of my throat with a swift punch, dragging me out of my stupor.

People everywhere, authoritative voices, shouts, commands barked out, bodies moving and pushing, and then the heat. So much heat. A wall of it. Yet I’m cold. Freezing, actually. I shiver. Sickness rises, swirls in my gut. I try to ask for help but nothing comes out. I try again but my words get lost amidst the noise and the confusion. My head pounds, crystals stab at my skull before I take a deep breath and everything goes black.

48PETER

It’s funny, he thinks, how the human brain works. And what can happen when it doesn’t. What dreadful atrocities can take place in the absence of all compassion and logic. He’s seen both sides of the coin, been married, in love, deliriously happy, and then subjected to the heartache that ensues when it comes to an end, when all life drains out of it and you are left bereft and rudderless. No sense of direction, no end in sight.

And then there was Alice. He put it down to grief and guilt, being sucked into her little game. Stupid. So stupid and blind and humiliating. A hard lesson to learn.

He feels foolish but is trying to get over it. He was deprived of all reason, pulled towards her by lust and a need to get settled again, get his life back on track. That’s what he keeps telling himself. He’s an educated man, practical and sensible, so how did he allow it to happen? He has no answers except to say, she was exceptional at spotting his vulnerabilities and exploiting them mercilessly. He has learned a solid lesson. One he won’t ever forget.

His mum is recovering. Still in hospital under observation and awaiting discharge, she is coming to live with him and Lauren until she is completely healed both mentally and physically. He anticipates nightmares and restlessness and fear. From all of them. It’s going to be a long road back to normality. Whatever normality is. It feels like a lifetime ago since their little family has led an easy, comfortable way of life without any heartache or acrimony, but he’s prepared to work at it, to restore a kind of loving routine back into their everyday existence.

Lauren has changed her mind about her studies, now preferring criminology rather than English. Both fascinated and repulsed by Jade Kennedy in equal measure, she has talked endlessly about what drove her to do what she did, what was going through her mind and mainly, how good she was at initially fooling them. At fooling him. Lauren had an inkling long before Peter did. He was too wrapped up in the idea of falling in love again to see beyond her charms. And my God, he tried so hard not to love her but a year of turmoil and sorrow had wreaked havoc with his senses and he lowered his resistances, allowing himself to get sucked in, crashing hard against the rocks when it all came undone.

And now, they’re being forced to go through the whole court process again. After doing their damnedest to avoid it the first time around, they’ve decided that they are going to attend this one. He wants to stare into Jade Kennedy’s eyes, try to see inside her head, work out what she is thinking. What drove her. See who she really is.

They’re on the mend, their little family. They still have some way to go but this journey that lies ahead of them will be easier than the last road they navigated. Smoother, easier. Fewer potholes and deviations.

The guilt is still the hardest thing to deal with. It follows him, trailing in his shadow, watching, waiting to bite at him, to take chunks out of his soul for what he did that night by the riverbank. But that is something he is going to have to learn to deal with.

49LAUREN

I’m sitting here reading about an antibody jab that works as a cure for peanut allergy sufferers. It’s not yet fully available for the general public but it’s a tiny ray of hope for people like me who, when faced with a plate of food of provenance unknown, take a tentative bite, unsure if it will be their last.

Jade has shown no remorse for her actions. If anything, she has apparently been intrigued by my condition, asking prison officers how much it would take to kill a person and how long it would take for them to die. I try not to think about that day, the possibilities of what could have happened had she not relented and given Dad the EpiPen. I try to not think about her at all but it’s almost impossible. Psychiatrists have assessed her, found her fit to stand trial after throwing out diagnoses like borderline personality disorder and schizophrenia.

Personally, I think that is bullshit and an insult to people who have those illnesses. I think Jade is just evil, her mind incapable of emotion.

How do I know that? Perhaps it’s because we are more alike than she will ever realise. We all have our flaws, our hidden identities, parts of us we would rather keep concealed. Until they’re required to show themselves, that is. I saw it in her – parts of me. The darkest parts. The uncontrollable parts.

I think that’s why Dad couldn’t spot it, her rotten inner core. He’s too unassuming, too blithe and breezy. So blithe and breezy that he couldn’t finish what he started that night all those months ago on the riverbank. The evening I followed him, a shadow darting in and out of the shrubbery, a ghost in the night.

He saw Mum with Phillip Kennedy, saw them argue, saw the push Kennedy gave her and then watched as he walked away. Mum wasn’t injured. No bruises, no bleeding, no broken bones. Only her pride was damaged as she picked herself up off the floor and tried to regain some of her dignity.

I wanted him to do it at that point: to end her life there and then. Is that a terrible admission? I wanted Dad to kill her. It needed to stop – her behaviour, the way she humiliated him, dragging his reputation through the dirt. I visualised him placing his hands around her neck and squeezing tight until her body became floppy and lifeless.

Except he didn’t. He moved, caused a rustling sound.

She turned, saw him, narrowed her eyes in disgust, called him a name. Something vicious, something demeaning. And then she spat at him. So he hit her across the face. She staggered, eyes wide, and fell back into a tree, her head smacking against the trunk before sliding to the ground in a heap.

He fled. I knew he would. Fear and guilt sent him running in the opposite direction. But not me. We are very different, Dad and I. I stepped closer, obscured by the dense foliage, was able to see that she wasn’t dead, her breathing gaining in momentum, growing stronger with every passing second. Her ability to resist would soon reveal itself as her strength returned. I did it quickly. Cleanly. The heavy branch was short and squat, more of a log, its end smooth and substantial. I held it tightly, swung it, catching her on the side of her face and then once more on the top of her head. Just to be sure. I heard the crack, saw the life drain out of her, and waited. No rising of her chest. No breathing. It was over as quickly as it began.

I’d like to say I was upset, nervous, sickened by my actions. Except it would be a lie. I wasn’t anything. That’s how I know Jade and I more alike than we care to mention.

With my foot, I rolled her down the bank, kicked the leaves over her body and left, throwing the log into the river, watching as it got carried away by the current before disappearing altogether. And the rest, as they say, is history.

My letter to Phillip Kennedy will serve as my defence should anything ever crop up in the future, should any prying eyes who saw me that night suddenly decide to speak up. Why would I write to him if I thought he was innocent? He’s as good as guilty. He was there that night. He started this whole thing. I may have killed her but he set the whole thing in motion. He’s in the right place. I feel no guilt. All I feel is relief.