Chapters (60)
- Cover
- Books by Sheryl Browne
- Dedication
- KARLA
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Epilogue
- The Affair
- Hear more from Sheryl
- Books by Sheryl Browne
- A Letter from Sheryl
- The Babysitter
- The Second Wife
- Acknowledgements
They all knew. Fury explodes inside me. They… all… fucking… well… knew!
I snatch up my car keys and fly through the door, ignoring shouts from reporters as I scramble into my car. Careering it off the drive, not caring if I reverse over any of them, I thump so hard against the kerb that I bite the side of my tongue. The pain is sharp. I relish it, the salty, sour taste of blood in my mouth, hold on to it. It detracts from the unbearable pain in my chest. Does Jason know, now, that I know? Has he seen this morning’s shitty, trashy headlines yet? What will he do? Will he care? The questions keep coming as I drive, the knife – a Japanese stainless-steel chef knife, eight inches in length – comfortingly on the passenger seat by my side.
He won’t care. He never cared, another part of me, my sister, answers.
‘He did, once. I know he did,’ I say confidently. He did. No one can take that away from me.
But not any more. You tested him. He failed you. He left you.
‘He still loves me,’ I fume. ‘I just need to open his eyes.’
But he’s our brother. Forbidden fruit.
Wrenching the handbrake on as I arrive at my destination, I don’t acknowledge her last comment. I pick up my knife and climb out of the car. I haven’t processed this yet. The enormity of it. The impossibility of it. Of us. But it doesn’t have to be impossible. It wasn’t before. If we’d never known… I flail out for something to hold on to. But I am floundering, drowning in a dark sea of hopelessness.
The gate adjoining the park is locked. Locating the same footholds I used as a child, it doesn’t take me long to scale it. Finding the back door open, I swipe the tears from my face and step quietly in to slip through the utility and across the kitchen. I pause as I step into the hall and listen. I have no idea where in the house my father is. His study, possibly. I want to surprise him. I’m absolutely sure he will be surprised, once he realises the scared little girl he intimidated into silence isn’t scared any more.
Treading carefully, I walk towards the study, press my ear to the door – and then pause. Now I’m surprised. The wanderer returns. The hard knot of anger tightens inside me. My mother, it seems, is home. Come to clean up now the shit has hit the fan? I smile ironically. She never could stand a mess.
I swap the knife into my other hand and wipe my sticky, wet palm on my jeans. Then I swap the knife back and reach for the door handle. I’m about to push the door open when my mother’s voice, filled with venom, freezes me to the spot.