Amelia started rummaging around in the wreckage of the kitchen for something drunkenly until she found her phone amongst the debris. She placed the bottle on the countertop and unlocked her phone. She walked straight over to me and grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, pinning me against the wall.
“I texted you, ‘What’s she like?’ and you responded, ‘I’ve no idea yet.’ What did that mean?” she snarled in my face.
“It didn’t mean anything,” I huffed.
The grip on my collar started to tighten around my neck, barely allowing me to breathe, let alone utter a sound. I recognised the look in her eyes. It was the same crazed look she gave me the last time she put her hands around my throat. I didn’t struggle this time; I just went limp, and we both slowly slid down the wall in a pile of limbs on the kitchen floor. She had landed on top of me, not allowing me to move. Then, she removed the hand from my collar and dropped her phone. She forcefully grasped my right hand with both of hers and every attempt I made to wriggle it free, she gripped even harder.
“You are going to leave me for her, aren’t you?” she cruelly whispered in my face whilst she bent my little finger back beyond its normal range of motion.
“No! I love you. Please don’t do this,” I pleaded as she continued to put pressure on the finger; I could feel the bone creaking.
“Just admit it, Harry. And I’ll stop,” she sinisterly whispered in my ear.
“No,” I mouthed silently. My display of meagre defiance is enough to push her over the edge, and she puts all her weight behind my finger, and it pops and snaps out of place. The sudden jolt of pain leads me to jump to my feet sharply, and Amelia is thrown off me, sending her flying towards the corner of the kitchen island. As I whimpered whilst cradling my broken finger, Amelia turned her head to me and was bleeding profusely from her nose.
“Now look what you’ve done to me!” she screamed.
“I think you’ve broken my finger,” I sobbed.
“You’ve broken my nose. Look at the state of me.”
“Amelia, I’m sorry. I just reacted.”
“This is all your fault. If you weren’t cheating on me at every opportunity, none of this would have happened.”
“Not once have I ever been unfaithful to you, Ames,” I yelled.
Amelia grabbed a cloth from near the sink, scrunched it up around her nose, and immediately left the house, slamming the door behind her. I did think about chasing after her, but I thought better of it. I was just glad it was over more than anything else. To be clear, I knew I wasn’t in the wrong, and I was only defending myself. But what Amelia said made me feel like I was to blame. That’s what she used to do. Whenever she would act up, somehow, I was always the only one who felt guilty afterwards. I knew all about gaslighting, but it just didn’t seem to apply here.
There was no ice in the freezer, and I ran my finger underneath the cold tap in desperation. It had already begun to swell and bruise. As I remained standing in front of the sink, watching my finger inflate into a purple mess, I couldn’t help but think how stupid I was only hours before. To go from the soaring high of the weekend and my first day at my new job to this crushing low was devastating. It wasn’t going to get any better, but I felt trapped. I didn’t even feel like I could go to Poppy for help. I’d already assured her it was going to be fine, and I was back in the exact same position. Amelia didn’t come home that night, and I barely slept for a few consecutive minutes. At any moment, I expected her to burst through the door in another sustained attack. I strapped my little finger to its neighbour, and just like my marriage, I hoped it would fix itself on its own.
I got to the office in the morning, and it was a completely contrasting experience to the day before. For a start, I looked like I’d just been dug up, and I was already late. I’d bandaged my finger up the best I could, but the empurpled swollen stump protruded from the end of the dressing. The warm greetings I’d received from my new colleagues the previous day before instead looked like concern about my conspicuous injury. I got in the lift and made my way to my personal office. I just wanted to get in there and lock the door. Susan was waiting for me when I got to my floor, and I was running a little late.
“Good morning, Harry,” Susan smiled before noticing my finger, “are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Trapped it in a door,” I lied.
“Looks nasty. Are you sure you are okay?”
“Honestly, I’m good. I just want to start work.”
“Perfect. Well, your new assistant is waiting for you in your office.”
“Fine.”
I’d forgotten about the first meeting with my assistant. Part of me wanted to turn around and get back in the lift and go home rather than face her. Although I didn’t know her, she was part of the reason why I had a broken finger. I felt almost guilty going in and meeting her, and Amelia had been so paranoid about her that I didn’t know what to expect when I walked through the door.
I recognised the voice in my head as Amelia’s rather than my own, and I decided I was being ridiculous, so I entered the office.
“Good morning, Harry,” she said.
“I don’t believe it. Kim?” I gasped.
XV
JUSTICE
AMELIA
After the fifth attempt at calling James’ number, which was written on the envelope, I gave up. I developed a splitting headache instantly, trying to work out how that phone number got into Harry’s deposit box. I checked the numbers about twenty times, and they were the same number. I pocketed the keys and the envelope, and I locked the rest of the papers back in the box. I grew impatient from ringing James time and time again and decided to send him a text instead.
How did you know my husband?
Given the number of times I’d called him unsuccessfully, I wasn’t expecting a prompt response. Every single time Poppy had brought up psychics and mediums, Harry always said the same thing: it’s a load of nonsense. The fact that he was in possession of James’ number didn’t make the slightest bit of sense. Could it be that he was somehow consulting with him prior to his death?
Harry had contacted me about his sister, Poppy.
And you didn’t think to mention that sooner?
We only spoke briefly. It wasn’t relevant.
What did he want to talk about?
He was concerned about her. That’s all I can say. It would be unethical.
Unethical? I couldn’t believe what I was reading on my phone screen. Even though James had been the only person I could trust through this whole thing, I was beginning to suspect he too may have been lying to me. I abandoned the texting and started calling him again persistently, but he wouldn’t pick up. I tried calling Poppy, and not surprisingly, she wouldn’t answer either. If she was somehow behind this, and she’d been tricking me the entire time, I don’t know what I’d do to her. The only reason I was put on this path was because of her recommendation to text James in the first place. The more I thought about it, the more enraged I got. It had to have been Poppy this entire time.
