It’s just a cold.
I roll onto my side and my mind drifts back into a memory that hurts; the first time I ever put an animal to sleep. There was a sour sting of bile at the back of my throat as Linda loaded the syringe. My hands shook violently as I stroked the coarse fur of Maud the golden retriever waiting patiently on the treatment table. My mouth was dry. Tongue thick, as I murmured to her: ‘It won’t hurt, darling. It’s for the best.’
‘You don’t have to do this,’ John had said. Linda had stood silently next to him.
‘I know.’ My voice was so quiet I could barely hear it. I had flattened my hand and when Linda placed the syringe in my palm I had closed my fingers around the cold plastic.
Linda liked all the veterinary nurses to be able to carry out euthanasia although they needed supervision to do it. ‘It’s not all kittens and puppies,’ she’d say. ‘If you’re not up to the bad as well as the good, you’re in the wrong job,’ and I’d nodded along, never letting on that my insides turned to liquid whenever I thought about witnessing those last breaths. Being responsible for those last breaths. But I did it anyway.
I push myself up. My borrowed time is running out. I feel progressively worse with every passing minute. Callie is leaving me. My body is rejecting her heart. I am aware of it with each weakening heartbeat but she’s clinging on, and I want to make it right for her. We’re almost the same person, Callie and I, and I know through my dreams that Nathan controlled her: he took away her phone and money and she was scared. Nathan was driving the car that night – he didn’t get a taxi home alone like he had told Tom and Amanda. I’m absolutely sure of it, but what about proof? No one will take me seriously. But everything I saw, everything I felt when I had my fugue at the crash site was so real. But what if I’ve got it wrong? The thought keeps coming and coming no matter how many times I bat it away.
It’s quiet. So quiet. I wish I had someone to talk things through, but who? Vanessa didn’t believe me, Rachel doesn’t want to be friends any more, and even Sam has given up on me. I have barely spoken to my parents since I found out about my dad and Linda. There is no one I can share this with. Even if I go through with my plan I won’t be able to tell Amanda and Tom that Callie’s death is absolved. But I will know, won’t I? What I’m about to do is the right thing, the same as it was with Maud. But what if I’ve got it wrong?
I drag myself to the kitchen and splash cold water on my face before swallowing my medication down. I switch the radio on low to keep me company as I stand and stare at my mind map. At the printouts of Cellular Memory. Of the photos of Callie and her family I downloaded from Facebook. There’s a picture of the old Amanda, face unlined, eyes crinkled with laughter and I know that if it wasn’t for Nathan she’d still be that woman. Not the aged shell sitting in the same chair, day after day, grieving for the daughter she’ll never see again.
The song changes on the radio. Ed Sheehan sings ‘Kiss Me’. Mine and Sam’s song, and for a split second I feel such a sharp, stabbing pain in my chest I double over, and I have to hold on to the edge of the chair to steady myself. I know it’s not too late to call a cab to the hospital, to ask for treatment, but as I raise my head I catch sight of Amanda again, and I know without a shadow of a doubt I have to do this.
I have to kill Nathan.
56
Nathan’s garden gate creaks as I push it open. My muscles are taut with tension as I rap the silver knocker. His shadow moves towards the opaque glass. Sweat beads on my temples. His keys jangle. My pulse gets faster and faster. The front door swings open. Nathan stands, shower wet, towel wrapped around his waist. Getting ready for whoever he spoke to on the phone and arranged to meet at ten, no doubt.
‘Jenna?’ He hesitates for a moment, confusion in his eyes. ‘Do you want to come in?’
Oh God. Can I really do this?
Nathan has gone to dress and I’ve told him I’ll sort out some drinks. I know I don’t have long before he comes back downstairs, but now I’m in his house I don’t know if I can go through with it. In the kitchen I stand at the sink, looking out at the garden. The sky is streaked red as the fiery sun dips. I feel as though I could race towards it with my hand outstretched and touch it. The world is so beautiful. It’s the people that make it ugly, and I want to curl in a ball and howl with the unfairness of it all. The prisons are packed full of rapists, murderers, child abusers – why should they live, their hearts strong and steady, while my life ebbs away? But if I kill Nathan aren’t I as bad as them? I just don’t know. I dig my fingers into my scalp as though I can silence the voice in my head telling me not to do this, and I think I should just go home, but the strains of Nathan whistling as though he hasn’t a care in the world drift down the stairs and it causes a spike in my anger. I make my decision.
Pulling two glasses and a bottle from the cupboard I glug Jack Daniels into one of the tumblers, sharp and sour. I can’t keep my hand steady and I try again and again to pull the stopper from the vial I’ve stolen from work, and the harder I try the more my hand sweats. The glass is slippery and my grip is weak. I yank the tea towel from its hook near the oven and try again. This time there’s a loosening, a give, and I tip the contents into the amber liquid and swirl it around with my finger. I slosh apple juice into my glass and for a second I am tempted to add a splash of alcohol. It doesn’t seem important any more if I drink, as I feel so awful I’m convinced I’m rejecting Callie’s heart, but I need a clear head. I pick up both drinks. It’s an effort to hold them. They feel the weight of bricks in my hands. I’m really, really sick.
It’s just a cold.
I’m ready.
In the lounge, I can’t settle. Above me, the floorboards shift as Nathan moves around his bedroom. In the photo, over the mantlepiece, Callie’s eyes appear to follow me as I pace around the room. She looks so joyful, standing on the bridge, laughing. There’s nothing quite like that feeling of being utterly loved, utterly happy, and in that moment I bet she thought she’d feel that way for ever. I think back to the last picture of her with her bruised and swollen face and think about the damage we do to each other when relationships crack and crumble. I pull out my mobile and text Sam ‘I’m so, so sorry for everything’ I’m not entirely sure if I’m apologising for what I’ve done or what I’m about to do. My eyes sting with unshed tears but I can’t cry. Not yet. Footsteps thump down the stairs; it isn’t too late to change my mind, I know, but as Nathan walks into the room I cross the cream rug and hand him his glass.
‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘You don’t look good, Jenna.’ He presses his palm against my forehead. ‘You’re burning up.’
I move my head back to dislodge his hand and pain pulses behind my eyes. The urge to have someone take charge, look after me, is overwhelming, but I call to mind the dread my heart has known. I want Nathan to feel that. To know what it’s like to feel helpless and terrified.
‘It’s a cold. It’s nothing. Sorry I haven’t answered your texts the past few days. I thought we could talk?’
‘I’d love to but I don’t have long. I’m going out tonight.’
‘Where?’ I keep my tone casual.
‘To meet a friend.’ Whoever he spoke to on the phone was certainly no friend but I shouldn’t be surprised at the ease with which he lies, and suddenly I am icy calm.
‘You’ve time for a drink, surely?’
‘Yes but I thought you meant tea. I’m going to be driving.’ He raises his tumbler to his nose and sniffs. ‘But I haven’t had a Jack Daniels for ages. I suppose one won’t hurt.’ He raises the crystal to his lips, but then lowers the glass before he drinks and I swallow back my frustration.
‘Something wrong?’
‘Ice. Do you want some?’
I shake my head – my throat is too tight to speak. Nathan strides from the room and I hear the chink of ice cubes falling from the dispenser in the fridge, and I sink onto the sofa. My legs feel as though they are made of rubber.
‘What are we drinking to?’
Nathan asks as he returns.
‘The truth.’ My voice is an octave higher than normal and I hope he doesn’t notice.
‘Truth?’ He takes a mouthful of his drink and grimaces. ‘There’s no water in this either – trying to kill me?’ He takes another sip, smaller this time.
‘Cheers.’ I down my apple juice in one and as the cool liquid hits my chest I splutter it back into my glass and tears stream as I cough and cough.
Nathan takes my glass and wraps his arm around my shoulders and I don’t have the energy to shrug him off. He passes me a box of tissues and I take one and wipe my eyes. While I’m blowing my nose he fetches a blanket and tucks it around my legs. I wish he’d stop being so kind. A wolf in sheep’s clothing – that’s what Mum would call him, but what if he isn’t?
What if I’ve got it wrong?
But he’s already drained his glass, and I know it’s too late.
57
I pass the time with stilted small talk until Nathan says: ‘Jenna. I’m not feeling good.’
His pupils are dilating. He rests his head against the back of the sofa as though it’s too heavy to hold up. ‘I think I’ve caught what you have.’
‘I can promise you, you haven’t,’ I say. My tone is cool and clipped. I haven’t time to get emotional. ‘Let’s talk, Nathan. Let’s talk about Callie.’
‘Callie?’
‘Tell me.’ I slide his empty glass from his hand and slam it on the coffee table. ‘Tell me what you did to her?’
‘What I did to her? Jenna, you’re not making sense. You’re really not well.’
‘I’m not the one who’s sick. Nathan,’ I lean towards him and whisper in his ear. ‘I know.’
‘Know what?’
‘Know that you controlled her. Scared her.’ My face close to his. ‘Killed her.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ he snaps. His mask is finally slipping. ‘I loved Callie. I did nothing but protect her. Nothing. You didn’t know her.’ His face becomes redder and redder and I’m not sure if that’s his anger or the drug I’ve put in his whisky. ‘I think you’d better go.’ His words come slower now and he shakes his head as though trying to clear his thoughts.
‘I’m not going anywhere. Not until you tell me the truth.’
I stand over him. He pushes himself upright but then flops back onto the sofa, shakes his head and tries again.
‘Jenna. I feel really odd.’ His voice is slurred and he opens and closes his mouth once, twice, as if checking his jaw still works.
‘That would be the pentobarbitone I put in your Jack Daniels. It usually kills dogs pretty quickly but judging by the size of you, and the amount I put in your drink, you have at least twenty minutes. Give or take. It’s hard to guess.’
Nathan’s eyes widen and he grips the edge of the sofa and tries to lever himself upright but his legs must be numb and he sprawls to the floor, his head missing the coffee table by millimetres. His hand snakes towards my ankle and I step back, out of his reach, and stare down at the man whose horrific heartless actions inadvertently saved my life. and I kick him sharply in the ribs to keep him awake. ‘Start talking.’
58
Nathan lies on the floor, on his stomach, his body twitching as he tries to control his limbs. Tiny, helpless movements like a turtle on its back trying to right itself. He turns his face towards me, the veins in his neck protrude and his eyes bulge with fright.
‘What’s happening to me?’
‘Your body is shutting down, little by little. Organs start to fail. Speech is the last thing to go. Luckily for you it’s relatively painless.’
‘Jenna—’
‘Shut up and listen.’ Inside my bag is another vial and I pull it out and show him it. ‘This is the antidote. If you admit what you’ve done, I’ll give it to you and you get to live out the rest of your miserable life in jail. Understand?’
‘Yes, I—’
‘Not yet.’
I crouch down and dig my fingers into his shoulder and pull, once, twice, three times, but I can’t roll him over onto his back. Sweat is pouring from me as I kneel and this time I place one palm against his shoulder, one against his thigh, and I push upwards as hard as I can and as he shifts slightly, I wedge my knee under his bottom to stop him rolling back and I grit my teeth and push again. This time he flops over. I’m panting as I reach for my phone and I open the voice recorder app, and place it on the coffee table.
‘Now talk.’
‘Give me the antidote. Please.’
‘The faster you talk, the faster you’ll get it. Don’t worry. Despite how you feel, you’re not about to die. Yet.’
‘I don’t know what you want me to say. I haven’t done anything wrong. Please, Jenna—’ His eyes glisten with tears but they only fuel the anger inside me.
‘Did you listen to Callie begging as you drove her to her death? Did you show her any compassion?’
‘I honestly don’t know what you think I’ve done. Me and Callie were happy. Don’t let me die, Jenna.’
‘You took her phone away from her.’
Nathan blinks rapidly. ‘How did you…?’
‘You emptied her bank account so you could control her.’
‘It was a joint account—’
‘You followed her. Watched her. Didn’t leave her alone for a second. She couldn’t even get away from you at work, could she? When she came out for lunch you were there. Scared she would run off, were you? Admit it.’ I scream now. ‘She wanted to leave you, didn’t she, Nathan?’
A single tear trickles down his cheek and I hold the recorder closer to his mouth as he whispers: ‘Yes.’
59
‘You couldn’t let her leave, could you?’
‘It wasn’t what she really wanted, deep down.’
‘It was. She was scared of you.’
‘How the hell would you know?’ His voice is marginally louder. ‘You didn’t know her.’
‘No, but I feel her.’ I yank down my T-shirt and show him my scar. ‘I have her heart. Have you heard of Cellular Memory?’
‘No. But please, Jenna, give me—’
‘Some scientists call the heart “the second brain,” and believe it can store memories, and when a heart is transplanted organ recipients can inherit the donor’s memories. I’ve inherited Callie’s memories. I’ve felt her fear.’
‘It wasn’t me she was scared of. I can’t believe you have drugged me.’
‘I got the idea from you. You forced her to take something, didn’t you? Was that the night she died?’
‘I’ve never…’ He pauses. ‘Do you mean the sleeping tablet? A couple of nights before she died I encouraged her to take one of the tablets she had been prescribed after her dad’s heart attack when she couldn’t sleep. She’d been awake for days. She needed the rest. Anyway. How do you know that? What do you mean you’ve inherited her memories? That’s ridiculous.’
‘How do you think I know all of this then? I dream about her. About you. About Sophie. You killed her. You killed them both.’ The random ideas that have been flashing through my mind finally take shape. ‘Callie wanted to leave you; Sophie was helping her. Were they going abroad?’ I’m thinking out loud. ‘You hid their passports to stop them going and took away Callie’s access to her phone, her money, but why did you break into Tom’s house during Callie’s wake?’
My head is thick and my forehead burns. It doesn’t quite make sense. Time is running out. Why the hell isn’t Nathan admitting what he’s done?
‘I didn’t break into Tom’s house during the wake. I came back here and drank myself into oblivion. I didn’t hide anyone’s passport. Jenna, I think you’re delusional. I think you need help and I’ll help you. I will. I promise. But you need to help me. I’m really not feeling good.’
Nathan pales and his lips are tinged blue. I’m worried about how quickly he’s going downhill.
‘Amanda’s necklace is upstairs, and the passports. I’ve seen them.’ I rub my hands across my ti
red eyes, as though trying to conjure up their image again. I had seen them, hadn’t I?
‘In the spare room?’
‘Yes! You admit it.’ I’m not going mad. I knew it.
‘Then you must have seen the list from the hospital?’
‘What list?’
‘Tom signed for Callie’s belongings at the hospital and handed them to me with the list of her possessions. He didn’t read it. No one could focus. They’d signed the transplant form and she’d slipped away and everything else blurred into the background. I brought everything home with me. She had the passports in her handbag along with the necklace and the money. She must have taken them the night we were at their house picking them up for the wedding. Tom and Amanda can’t have used the safe in the days in-between Callie’s death and her funeral. It was only when the police asked them to list what had been taken in the burglary they noticed.’
I hesitate. I’m not sure if he’s lying but I have to find out. I reach into his pocket and pull out his mobile phone so he can’t call for help. ‘Don’t move,’ I say, but I don’t think he can, and I make my way upstairs to the spare room and open the blanket box. I don’t check inside the envelopes I looked in before Nathan came home and disturbed me, but as I dig towards the bottom of the box, I find an A4 piece of paper with the logo for St Martin’s Hospital embossed on the top of the page. It’s a list of Callie’s possessions dated the night she died, and as I scan through them I see Nathan was telling the truth. The necklace, money and passports are all on the list.
Leaving the contents of the box strewn over the carpet I stand and black flecks flash in front of my eyes. I rest my palm against the wall to steady myself. It’s just a cold.
On shaky legs I make my way back downstairs to ask Nathan more questions, but the lounge is empty. Nathan is gone. I cross to the rug and crouch down, rubbing my hands across the flattened fibres where his body lay as though I can make him materialise. The rug is still warm. Where is he?
The Gift Page 22
