Why do I have no shoes on? I can’t run twenty-six miles with no shoes. Everyone is looking at me like I’m a moron.
I’m coming up to the mileage sign. I’ve been at it for hours. I should be at the twenty-mile mark.
I can’t read it properly. Two miles? What the hell?
“Bonnie,” Jack calls from the sidelines, “you have no shoes on.”
I know that, Jack. I glare at him. Does he think I’m stupid?
I’m being shaken gently. Confused, I open my eyes and . . . it’s still dark.
Relief floods me. It’s just a dream.
All my dreams are unsettling these days.
I’m vaguely aware of a shadow hovering on the edge of the bed.
“Jack?” I bolt up.
He doesn’t speak. In the dim light, the hard lines of his jaw work.
He flips on my bedside lamp, blinding me. He has a wrench in one hand and something else in the other.
My eyes adjust and I see his face twist in confusion and shock. His body is rigid.
He knows.
Dad has been found out. The police identified him.
He holds something up in front of my face and my eyes catch up before my brain can.
No.
Fear explodes through me as I stare at the bag with his dad’s ring.
I had moved it around the flat a million times looking for somewhere no one would ever look. Jack doesn’t do laundry in his own house, why is he looking in my powder boxes?
Murphy’s Law. This is karma for being a horrible lying girlfriend.
The bed dips as he sits on the edge of the mattress. He rests the wrench on his lap but holds up the bag, studying it as if it’s nuclear waste.
“Why do you have this, Bonnie?” He fights to keep his voice low and controlled but his dark brown eyes tell a different story.
I can’t speak.
I can’t breathe.
The only sound is the pounding of my heart.
Jack’s waiting.
In the long, awful silence, Jack’s waiting for me to give a rational explanation.
His eyes bore into mine and I feel a panic attack threaten to rise.
I sit up straighter, gulp down a breath and try to speak. “My dad.”
“Your dad,” he repeats with a deliberate slowness. “What about your dad?”
“My dad,” I choke as the words die on my tongue.
He audibly swallows, his large Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Bonnie, sweetheart. I’m trying to be patient. But you need to start explaining. Tell me where you got this.”
My body trembles. “My dad was there that night.” It’s barely a whisper.
For a long moment he just stares at me. Did he hear what I said?
“What? What are you talking about?” The bed dips further as he inches closer. His hands come down to rest either side of me on the mattress. I’m trapped.
A shiver throttles my spine.
I can’t. I just can’t tell him.
“Bonnie,” he says, more desperately this time. He takes my shoulders and gives me a gentle shake. “What. Do. You. Mean.”
I suck in a breath. “He was there,” I say faintly. “My dad. He was one of the guys that robbed your dad.”
“No.” He shakes his head firmly as he stares at me for a long painful beat. “Are you fucking joking?” Jack has never shouted at me before. Not like this. “Do you think this is funny, Bonnie?”
I can’t look at him.
Through tear-stained vision, I see the exact moment he realises the truth.
“How do you know this? Did he tell you?”
I nod. With the back of my hand, I wipe away the tears dripping from my chin.
“Fucking hell.” The veins of his forearm flex as his hand forms a tight fist around the wrench. His eyes squeeze shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose with the other hand.
“Jack?” I whisper, hugging my knees.
“So, the second guy that ran away, the one the barmaid saw was your dad?”
I rest my chin on my knee to stop it quivering. “I guess so.”
“You guess so?” he hisses, snapping his dark eyes open to glare at me. “Do you fucking know or not, Bonnie?”
I shrink back towards the wall, clutching my knees tighter.
“Talk,” he snaps, nostrils flaring.
“He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” My voice shakes. “It was supposed to be a robbery to get your dad’s wallet. He lost his job and was about to lose the house. But he didn’t kill your dad. It was the other guy.”
“Are you making excuses for him?”
Yes.
“No. I’m just trying to explain why it led to the horrible tragedy.”
“So, what the fuck was this?” he snarls. “You thought if I fell in love with you, what? You’d get inside info on the case? Throw me off the scent? What was this, Bonnie?”
“No!” I cry. “I only found out two weeks ago.”
He looks at me like I walked over his grave.
“Why should I believe you?” he sneers. “You let me fall in love with you and you’re a fucking liar!” He fires the wrench resting on his knee across the room.
I scream as it hits the wall and chips of plasterboard fall.
“I’m trying to understand,” he growls, his chest heaving. “Trying very fucking hard to understand why my girlfriend would lie to me over something as important as this.” His voice rises. “I’m a damn idiot. You had me, hook line and fucking sinker. Who the hell are you?”
“Please, Jack,” I cry, grabbing onto his bicep.
He jerks away.
I feel it like a slap across the face. “I planned to tell you. I was scared. I was scared for Dad. I hate myself for lying to you. I’ve been begging him to go to the police but . . . he’s terrified of going to prison.”
“I don’t care how he feels,” he roars, making me jolt. “I care about my lying girlfriend.” He picks up the bag again and waves it inches from my face. “Why do you have this?”
I grip the pillow for support, bringing it to my chest. “I was worried Dad would throw it away. I took it from him. He doesn’t know I have it.”
He glares at me without blinking. “Have you had this since the murder?”
“No!” His question sucker-punches me. How can he think that? “I’m telling you the truth. I only found out a few weeks ago.”
“Why would I believe a fucking word that comes out of your mouth?”
“I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t want us to be over.”
“You watched me torment myself. Did you know all along it wasn’t Wicks?”
I meet his unrelenting stare with wide eyes. Does he really believe I’m that much of a liar? “No Jack! I swear. You weren’t supposed to find out like this. I was going to tell you.”
“I wasn’t supposed to find out at all you mean?”
“I was scared. I am scared. I didn’t know what to do. I asked Dad to go to the police. I wanted Dad to go himself.”
His eyes flare with fury I’ve never seen before. Fury directed at me. “How can I ever trust you after this?”
“But I love you,” I croak. “You love me.”
He stands to his full height, his dark eyes trained on me as his face contorts into a million different emotions.
“I don’t even know you.”
Taking the ring with him, he walks out.
“Wait!” I call after him, springing from the bed. “Please, Jack, wait!”
I follow him downstairs, tears streaming down my face.
“Please don’t leave,” I beg him as he shoves open the front door to the street. “Not like this. We can work through this.”
“Are you for fucking real? You don’t work through something like this.”
He covers his eyes with his hands as he tries to control his breathing.
People on the street watch us.
When he looks at me again, the haunted look on his face makes me sob uncontrollably and I don’t give a shit who’s watching the show, or the face I’ve got no shoes on.
Not even the person flashing the camera in our faces.
