It was Bianka who killed Maxime, not me.
I feel a scream rising in my throat and a compulsion to leap from the bed and call the police, or the Dubois-Josephs, and tell them that I know everything, including exactly where Maxime is. But I can’t, because I’m more than complicit to the crime and I’m even less willing to go down for a murder I didn’t commit.
Like most people, I’ve known fury and rage but only occasionally. And never like this. It’s like a searing white heat tearing through me, burning my insides and exploding in my stomach. I want to kill Bianka, like Bianka killed Maxime, mercilessly and without hesitation. How dare she make me believe I’d taken a man’s life and then use it to coerce me? And why? Why did she do it? I can only think of two plausible explanations – she either totally snapped in the moment and acted impulsively, in which case she’s clearly straight-up dangerous. Or she did it more deliberately, as a way of ensuring a continued bond with me. We’re bound together now, she’d said. In which case she’s even more dangerous.
It must be the intense adrenaline rushing through me that provides the crystal-clear clarity that’s eluded me before. I’m not going to let Bianka take me down.
Forty-One
Bianka
Bianka feels like the walls are encroaching on her, like the world is closing in and will soon crush her. After the conversation with Fuentes she turned off her phone, took some American sleeping pills, and went to bed. All she can do now is wait for Charlotte’s perfect life to begin to crumble and then make sure it’s her who’s there to pick up the pieces. But waiting is brutal. And there might be a lot of drama before she gets her happy ending. But this time she will.
When she woke again it was just past ten p.m. and Bianka turned her phone back on. As expected, she had many missed calls from Charlotte, the last one in the late afternoon. She considered calling back but decided to wait until morning. She tried to go back to sleep, but the hours stretched out bleak and unfilled and now, at seven a.m., she decides to stop trying and get up. She’s about to call Charlotte and explain the reasoning behind what she’s done but decides it’s better to have this conversation in person. She takes a long shower and it feels good to cleanse herself of the long, dark night and its looping, scary thoughts.
As she’s about to leave the house, she checks her phone and notices a new message from Dr Matheson.
Bianka, you know I have to report when you miss more than one session. Our work together is mandatory, as per your sentence, you know this. Please get in touch.
Dr M.
She’ll have to deal with her later. Bianka gets in the car and drives the short distance over to Charlotte’s house and just as she parks outside, Andreas emerges from the gates, wearing a suit and carrying a sleek brown leather briefcase.
‘Oh, hi Bianka,’ he says, as she emerges from the car and gives him a brilliant smile. She can tell he finds her attractive, he’s the kind of guy who shows his feelings on his face. Poor guy, she thinks, he has no idea what’s about to hit him. The house, the wife, the kids, the swanky Wimbledon life, it’s all going to be gone.
‘Hi there,’ she says, offering her cheek for a kiss. ‘I’ve just popped over to see Charlotte.’
Andreas looks confused and awkward. ‘Oh, hasn’t she told you? She’s gone back to Ibiza. Last night. She was asked to, by the police. Apparently, a young man has gone missing under mysterious circumstances and turns out he’s the son of our neighbours, so they wanted to speak to her. He went missing while you guys were out there, apparently.’
‘Right.’ Bianka feels the hot impact of shock spread out in her stomach. She says her goodbyes, gets back in the car and picks up her phone to call Charlotte, only to find she’s just had a message from her. She opens it and it’s a selfie of the two of them taken that night at Benirràs; Bianka is standing behind Charlotte, hugging her close. Charlotte’s arm is stretched out in front of her to take the picture, the sky is a deep indigo behind them, and they are both beaming. Bianka stares at the picture in confusion. Why would Charlotte send her this now? A long message follows below.
Hey B,
I’ve tried to call you. Please call me back if you feel able to, we really need to talk. I’m back at Can Xara and I’ve been hit by the clearest of realizations – being here without you is unbearable. You were right all along. What we have is special. I’ve just been freaking out so, so much since everything happened. But we only live once and I want to do this life with you. Please let’s forgive each other. Let’s move forward, properly – together. I love you.
Bianka’s hand trembles violently and tears spring to her eyes. The hurt and confusion of the past week fades in her heart and mind and she wants to just scream with joy. Charlotte loves her. She knew it. It’s different this time, different from Mia. She wasn’t crazy; it did all happen the way she felt it did, and what could have been so beautiful was only derailed by what happened with Maxime. It should never have happened and Bianka has searched her own mind constantly since, trying to understand why she instigated it that night at Sa Capricciosa. The only answer she’s come up with is that she was high – on life, on Charlotte, on alcohol, on Ibiza; she’d felt truly alive for the first time in years and it had seemed like a fun, wild idea at the time.
She understood that it had ruined everything as soon as she saw Charlotte sitting in that chair the next morning, a look of pain and horror on her face. And then, the murder. Looking back, Bianka can’t believe just how much of a disaster she managed to create on that trip. But here in front of her, in the most beautiful message she’s ever received, is a second chance. She presses Call and this time Charlotte answers straight away, her voice full of warmth again, the way she was before.
‘I’m sorry,’ says Bianka, before Charlotte can even speak.
‘I’m sorry, too. For everything. Now, let’s fix this. Together.’
‘Do you want me to come out there? I know you’re in Ibiza. I could come now.’
‘I’d love that. Oh, Bianka, I’ve missed you so much.’
Bianka drives fast back to the house, with Charlotte still on the line, and while she packs a weekend bag, they come up with a watertight plan. Charlotte asks Bianka what she said to the police, and she tells her everything. Charlotte thankfully understands Bianka’s reasoning and they come up with a solid and coordinated story. They agree how they are going to move forward. Step one: get the police off their backs. Step two: begin a new and beautiful life together. Bianka finds a flight leaving in less than two hours from Gatwick and buys it in spite of its exorbitant cost. She looks back at the house as she leaves – they’ve only been there a couple of months and now she’s leaving forever. In leaving Emil, she’s leaving Mia, too. Finally. And it feels good.
Forty-Two
Storm
‘Your mother. Mia…’ The words don’t come. Storm softens when he sees his father’s knuckles grow white on the wheel. ‘She killed herself.’
‘No.’
‘Yes. Storm, I’m so sorry.’
‘But it didn’t happen like that.’
‘Storm. I can only imagine how much this must hurt. But I think you’re old enough, and smart enough, to hear it straight. Perhaps I should have told you years ago, but I, uh – we, felt that it would be harmful for you to know the exact circumstances. It was enough, to take in the loss of your mother at such a young age.’
‘It was Bianka, wasn’t it? She didn’t want me to know.’
‘Bianka is very protective of you, Storm.’
‘I think Bianka is very protective of herself.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That she’ll do and say whatever serves her. Even if it’s a lie.’
‘Stop it, I’m quite serious.’
‘How do you even know it was suicide?’
‘It was pretty obvious, Storm. You were the only people there. The weather was perfect; she was extremely used to mountainous terrain.’
