The Spite Game

by Anna Snoekstra

  If I let her keep going I’ll never do it.

  “I came here to tell you something,” I force out, “about Mel. About what happened to her. About what I did.”

  We stare at each other, a little bit of the warmth drips from her face. It’s replaced by weariness. A crinkle between her eyebrows. I open my mouth to continue, to finally spill it all, get it out, find some sort of release, but she cuts me off.

  “Ava, stop.” She leans forward, the table creaks, she talks low. “Let’s be honest here. We all know, whatever did happen, that bitch got what she deserved.”

  * * *

  It doesn’t feel real to be leaving the police station, getting into my car, starting the ignition. The sky is deep and black now and the rain has stopped. The clock on my dashboard says 09:18. I’ve been in that station a very long time. I should feel free, the weight on my shoulders, the sickening clench of my stomach should be gone. I can’t forget, Mel made me feel this way once before. I’d felt this guilt those days of the exams back at school, and it had only made her laugh. Maybe, now, if she knew how I was feeling she’d only scoff, roll her eyes, sneer.

  I take the long way home, through the suburbs. There is construction all around the city, roads being widened, a new train station being built, apartment complexes shooting up everywhere. Outside my car, lights flash past as I drive toward home. People watching television together in houses, drinking glasses of wine in bars, rushing down aisles before the supermarket closes. I’m tempted to go past the café where Mel and I met. It’s not too far from here. But I don’t. I can’t. I force myself to keep going straight.

  She was late, of course. Even though it was her idea, even though she’d been the one who’d practically begged me to come. I’d waited for her at a sticky table in the corner, sipping at my coffee and wishing I had ordered tea instead because the caffeine had made my heart beat too fast. The place was busy; there were people waiting out in the cold. I had just decided that I’d leave when she walked through the door, a gust of freezing cold wind blowing in with her.

  She looked over at me and grinned. Still, after all this time, she had that magical edge to her. That gleam. She came over, pulled me to her and kissed each of my cheeks, like we were still in Paris.

  “Ava! It’s so great to see you. Sorry I’m a bit late.” She sat down across from me. “God, you look so good. Exactly the same as high school, you lucky thing. I’m getting wrinkles.”

  I knew what I was meant to say, but she was right. The lines that went from her nose to the edges of her mouth were deeper than before; the skin around her eyes looked fragile, like scrunched-up tissue paper.

  “I guess all that lurking in the shadows is good for your complexion,” she said, and held my eyes for just a moment. Then, “Anyway, let’s order. I’m dying for a coffee.”

  She caught the attention of the waitress, who barely looked at her as she jotted down her order.

  I had planned this conversation in my head the whole way there, but already it was swerving way off the script. I wasn’t there to keep playing, to try to mess with her life or to follow her home afterward. I really was done with all that. I was there because I wanted to ask her why. Now it doesn’t seem important. It seems almost laughable in fact. But in that moment, I thought that if I had an answer, if I knew why all that time ago she’d suddenly turned on me so maliciously, then my whole life might make a bit more sense.

  “Anyway...” She’d turned back to me from the waitress and grabbed both of my hands in hers. I’d forgotten how small and soft her fingers were. “You know what I’ve been doing. I want to know about you. Tell me everything, every little detail.”

  A car horn shrieks through the night. I jolt back to reality. I’m drifting into the other lane. I correct my steering and flash my lights in apology. The car speeds up next to me, the middle-aged man driving glares at me through the passenger window, shakes his head. I look back to the road, ignore him. I need to focus, get home.

  I drive perfectly the rest of the way. Signaling well in advance, sticking religiously to the speed limits. Finally, I turn off the road toward the gates. I press the intercom and a voice crackles out of the speaker. There’s someone there now; I’ve hired security. Maybe I shouldn’t have. If I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s that what is locked inside is far worse than the unknown. What is in the light is more dangerous than what is lurking in the dark.

  My car climbs the hill. There’s a few people awake. The woman who has moved in with a newborn baby has her light on. The teenage son who is living with his parents leans out of his window, smoking a cigarette. There’s a flickering light, maybe a candle, showing the curtains of the bathroom window of the newlyweds’ place.

  Finally, at last, there is my driveway; there is the welcoming yellow porch light. I pull in, put the car into Park, turn off the ignition. I take a breath, then get out of the car, lock it and go up toward the front door. I feel movement, look up. The man across the road, the one who we’d joked had killed his family, is standing in his window looking at me. I know what he is remembering. He’d seen me last week. He’d seen my tearstained cheeks and muddy clothes. It was dark, way past midnight, and I’d thought everyone was asleep. I’d made it all the way back to my house when I’d heard the sound. He was right there, a plastic bag full of rubbish in his hand as he stood next to his bin. But he was staring at me. I’d scurried away. Now I put up a hand to wave at him. He closes his curtains.

  Evan has left a lamp on for me next to the door. I put my coat on the hook, leave my bag in the corner and switch the lamp off.

  Upstairs, he is curled up, asleep in bed. I take my clothes off, all of them. They stink of anxious, fearful sweat. I get under the covers and wrap myself around him, push my flesh against his, try to absorb his warmth.

  “I’m meant to be big spoon,” he croaks.

  I nuzzle into his neck.

  “Your meeting went late, everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Good.” He resettles into the pillow and within moments his breath has become deep and even again.

  48

  I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep. But I did. I slept like the dead.

  I wake slowly; the sun has only just risen. Evan is a rock of weight next to me. I try not to think of her. This is over. I don’t need to think of her anymore. But I can’t help it. I can’t help but think how it could have been so different.

  Closing my eyes I try to return to unconsciousness, but it’s too late. She is there, on the back of my eyelids, laughing with her head thrown back as I almost reverse into a parked car.

  “God, how’d you get your license?”

  “Did you ever get yours?”

  “Nah.”

  “Then shut up. I’m a great driver.”

  “I can see that.” She grinned at me, her dark hair fluffing up against the headrest. Despite everything, I couldn’t help but smile back. I put the car in Drive and swerved out of the parking lot.

  “How long a road trip is this going to be?” she asked.

  “You’ve been there before.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s right. It took ages. We’ll need some tunes, then.” She leaned over and began fiddling with the knob of the radio.

  This was the last thing I had planned. I thought we’d have a very short and civil conversation over our coffee, then I would leave and never see her again. But she’d asked me question after question about the development and I’d ended up telling her all about it. I told her about what I hoped it could be, and how stressful I was finding it, how the mountain of work never seemed to stop. She said she wanted to see it. It was strange how quickly it felt normal to be around her again. How everything that had happened in the last ten years seemed to fade away and I felt like we were both just silly teenage girls again, like nothing really mattered and the day was long with possibility
. For one strange floating hour, we were friends.

  The radio whirred from hip-hop to pop but she kept on swapping it round.

  “Don’t you think music just sucks these days? I swear it’s just the same old crap being regurgitated again and again.”

  “Alright, Grandma.”

  “Oh fuck off, Ava. You’re the one who has become some kind of developer millionairess with your fancy car and handbag and shit. You look like you are trying to pretend you’re forty.”

  “Millionairess, are you joking?”

  “No way. It’s crazy, you know, that you’re already so successful that you’ve forgotten about little old me.” She looked up at me from the radio with overexaggerated doe eyes.

  I laughed at her again and turned onto the main road. She finally settled on a station and leans back.

  “Oh here we go, this one’s not so bad.”

  Miley Cyrus’s new song echoes upstairs and I wake with a jolt. I’ve overslept. I’m alone and naked in our bed. Downstairs, Evan is singing along. I can hear the clang of him cooking, smell the scent of freshly percolated coffee drifting up the stairs.

  I get up, shower, put on clean clothes. I go downstairs and wrap my arms around him from behind, kiss his neck.

  “Morning.”

  “Good morning, yourself. You’re in a good mood.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? A handsome man is making me breakfast on a Saturday morning.”

  He turns, pulls me to him. “It’s nice to see you smiling. You’ve seemed a bit off lately, like there was something on your mind.”

  I shake my head, kiss him lightly on the lips. “Just work stuff. It’s exciting to see it all coming together, but kind of stressful too. Just logistics. I feel better today because it’s the last of it all.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he says, turning back to the stove. “Finally we won’t be lying when we say the name of this place.”

  “Yeah, exactly.”

  The houses, the convenience store, the community center. They were all more or less finished. Today the lake is finally being filled. We are going down there after breakfast with Bea, Aiden and Layla to watch the final finishing touch.

  Sitting down to breakfast, I smile at Evan over my eggs. Miranda has given me absolution. This is my second chance.

  After we’ve finished eating, I take Evan’s hand and pull him upstairs. We make love, and it’s as slow and tender as the first time. A new beginning. As we lie, naked and tangled together, him softly stroking my hair, there’s a knock at the door.

  “I’ll get it,” he says.

  “You’re not going to have another shower?”

  “No way.”

  “That’s gross, Evan.”

  “It’s not. I like smelling of you,” he says.

  * * *

  I have my second shower of the morning, and when I turn the water off, I hear crying. I dress quickly, rush downstairs.

  It’s Layla who is crying, her blotchy face pushed against Bea’s neck. Evan is standing on a chair looking in the top cupboards. Even Aiden looks frazzled.

  “What’s happened?” I ask.

  “Kitty!” Layla screams.

  “She wants that ugly statue of Celia’s, but I can’t find it,” Evan is saying. “Do you know where it is?”

  Right where I am standing, one week ago, Mel was in this kitchen. I can see her now, holding the bronze cat in her hands. “Oh my God! I remember this! I can’t believe you’ve held on to it all this time. That’s wild.”

  I didn’t want her to be there; I was wishing I hadn’t invited her. Wishing she would leave. She’d gotten bored in the car, irritable. As we drove up the hill, she’d looked around with her face all puckered up.

  “God, how depressing that you’ve been living here this whole time. I can’t even imagine it.”

  We’d parked outside my house and I’d hesitated in the driver’s seat, trying to think of something to say, feeling stupid and embarrassed by everything I’d talked so excitedly about an hour before.

  She pulled open her door and stepped out. I followed, hating her and hating myself even more.

  “If you own this whole place why’d you choose such an ugly house? Although I guess they’re all sort of ugly. I guess I imagined you’d have built some really swanky place since you’re so rich and successful now.”

  “I’m not rich.” I’d already told her that in the car; I didn’t know why she kept saying it. I pulled out my keys. “I’ll be barely striking even until all the houses are filled.”

  She walked in ahead of me once the door was open. Surveying everything, giving her opinion. I was barely listening, just wishing I’d never let her back in, feeling myself sinking, feeling the pressure on my skull grow and grow. The toxic taste I’d long forgotten was clawing back into my throat.

  By the time she was standing in the kitchen, Celia’s brass cat in her hand, I knew it was time for her to leave. But I hadn’t had the guts to ask her yet, and I had to do it. Otherwise it would all have been for nothing.

  “Actually,” I told her, reaching out for the statue, “I knew the woman who owned it. She was—”

  “God, that night was so dumb, wasn’t it? Breaking into people’s houses. I would never do that now.”

  I took a step toward her and pulled the statue out of her hands. I didn’t want her touching it.

  “Okay.” She looked at me as if I’d done something strange. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to try to steal it again.”

  It was now or never, I’d told myself. If I was ever going to get an answer, I had to ask the question.

  “I want to ask you something.”

  “Shoot,” she said, leaning back on the bench. Cold light beamed through the kitchen window. I wished we could be having this conversation in the dark.

  “Why?” It had come out sounding choked. “I know it shouldn’t matter anymore, but I have to know. Why did you do it, that night at your party. What did I do wrong?”

  I braced myself, waiting for it. Waiting for the confession of an abusive home life, or of shame over Mr. Bitto, for passing on humiliation, or acting out because of an eating disorder, losing control of herself. I braced myself for tears, and pleas for forgiveness, for trying to work out what was true and what were lies, for what was just Mel acting again. But none of that came. She just shrugged.

  “Why not? It was pretty funny.”

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t even look at her. But I could still hear her voice, that mocking voice that had followed me around for so long.

  “God, look at your face. I did it because it was funny, and you were so pathetic and obsessed with me. I wanted to see what you’d do. Never thought you’d go full psycho—that was a surprise.”

  “I think you should leave now.”

  “Fuck, Ava. You want me to go so you can have a little cry? Oh no, the mean girls put poo-poo on my face ten years ago. God, you are still such a loser, it’s embarrassing.”

  Then there was a loud crack, and the statue was wet in my hand and Mel was looking up at me from the floor. She was looking at me the way I must have looked at the intruder who’d stood above my bed all those years ago, when I was still just a normal seventeen-year-old girl.

  It took a moment for the blood to start oozing down her face.

  “Ava?” Bea asks. “You alright?”

  I blink, look over at her and Layla, refocus.

  “Sorry.” I kneel on the tiles next to her. “I thought it was getting too dangerous having her play with something so heavy. You could probably really hurt yourself with that thing.”

  I stroke Layla’s hair. “I’m going to buy my very own real-life cat, okay? And you get to help me pick. How does that sound?”

  “We are?” asks Evan, stepping down from the chair.

  “Why not? It’d be nic
e to have a bit more life around here.”

  Layla looks between Bea and me, then grins. “Today?”

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Aiden says, wiping his daughter’s cheeks dry with his fingers. She sniffs and smiles up at him.

  “Nah, it’s okay. I want to. Anyway, we should probably head down.”

  We pull on our coats and begin walking down the hill. Evan and Aiden walk together, pushing Layla along in her stroller. Bea and I dawdle behind them.

  “You alright?” she asks. “You went really pale in the kitchen. I thought you might be about to faint.”

  “No, it’s fine. Just felt a little weird for a second.”

  “God, you’re not pregnant, are you?”

  “No way.”

  “Hey, there was another news report on that Mel girl last night,” Bea says, and I’m not sure if I imagine it but her voice sounds different. Strained, as though she’s practiced this before in her head. She’s never mentioned the disappearance before.

  “Any news?”

  “No new leads, they said. Have you seen her at all since high school finished?”

  “Nah,” I say.

  She doesn’t speak for a moment. We walk in silence. I look up at the sky; there are rain clouds forming. I hope they’ll hold off for another hour, just until this is done.

  “You know, I can see your house pretty well from my drawing desk,” she says.

  I stop moving. But no. It’s not possible.

  “You’re watching all my visitors coming and going?”

  “Coming,” she says, not looking me in the eye, “not always going.”

  I force out a laugh. “Are you worried I’m cheating on Evan? Having good-looking brunettes arrive, and then creep out the back way?”