by Amy Cross
“Who are you?” the woman asked, before pushing Jo aside and tottering unsteadily into the house. “Never mind.”
“Who are you?” Jo replied, turning and following her.
“Phillip?” the woman yelled as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “Phillip, where are you?”
“Who are you?” Jo asked again.
“Oh piss off, whoever you are,” the woman muttered as she began to make her way up toward the landing. “I'll find him. He's probably in bed by now. It's past his bedtime, isn't it? He should -”
Suddenly she lost her footing and slipping, falling back. Jo reached out and grabbed her arm, keeping her upright, but the woman brushed her away and started once more stumbling up the stairs.
“Phillip!” she yelled. “It's me!”
“Wait!”
Hurrying after her, Jo wasn't sure whether to try pulling the woman back or to just focus on catching her in case she fell again.
“Tell old fart-face to keep out of my way,” the woman continued, stopping at the top of the stairs to get her breath back. After a moment, she turned to Jo. “Who are you, anyway? You're not his latest girlfriend, are you? Let me guess, he promised you wealth and a life of luxury, and all you have to do in return is squeeze out a few heirs. Don't think you're special, he makes that offer to anything with a pulse.”
“My name is Joanna Mason,” Jo replied, “and I -”
“You called me!” the woman stammered. “Oh God, it was you leaving those messages at my office all day!”
“Are you Susannah Marriott?”
“Leave me alone,” she replied, turning and drunkenly lurching along the landing, heading toward the door to Phillip's room. “I have to see him. I know I've been drinking, but I had an idea and I think I know how to get through to him.”
Stumbling yet again, she had to steady herself against a half-table. Unfortunately, the table immediately tipped over, sending a vase crashing to the floor, but Susannah somehow managed to stay upright as she continued to make her way toward Phillip's bedroom.
“Get through to him how?” Jo asked, following her closely. “Listen, maybe we should go somewhere and talk. Phillip was tired when I left just now and you don't seem to be in any fit state to -”
“Don't tell me what I'm in a fit state to do,” Susannah slurred, stopping in the doorway and looking into the room, where Phillip was staring at her from the bed. “Phillip,” she continued with a smile, stumbling toward him, “it's me! Phillip, you remember me, don't you?”
Clearly shocked, Phillip scrambled out of bed and backed away into the corner of the room.
“I'm here!” Susannah continued, holding her arms open as if she expected a hug. “Phillip, you have to -”
“Get her out of here!” Phillip shouted, clearly panicking as he crumpled down onto his haunches and put his hands over his face. “Dad! There's a woman in my room!”
“Susannah,” Jo said cautiously, “please -”
“It's me!” Susannah yelled again, stopping in front of Phillip and crouching in front of him. Mascara was smeared around her eyes, and her lipstick was smudged on one side. “I know you remember me. I know you remember the time we had together.” She reached out to touch the side of Phillip's face, persevering even as he recoiled and tried to push her away. “Phil, it's me! It's Suzie! I've been thinking about it tonight, and I finally figured out how to make you remember me again! We're going to go down to the river, to where we used to sit when we were first dating. Do you remember that?”
“Leave me alone!” he whimpered.
“Just come with me!” she continued, trying to take his hand. He kept slipping free, but she persisted until finally she simply held his wrist tight. “I know you're still in there, Phil. I know about the damage, and I know you've forgotten most of your old life, but I know that deep down the real Phil is still in that broken head of yours somewhere. He just needs to be teased out, and I'm going to do that by jogging your memory. Phil, it's me! Don't you remember? I know you do. You have to. Your whole personality can't have just died that day. Let's go away together and I'll get you the help you need.”
With tears in her eyes, she waited for him to reply, but he simply buried his face deeper into his hands and let out a slow, persistent whimpering sound.
“Phil! Listen to me!”
“I don't think this is doing any good,” Jo said after a moment, stepping up behind her. “It's late. Why don't you come with me and -”
“Who the hell asked for your opinion?” Susannah snapped, not even looking at her but instead tilting her head to try to get a better view of Phillip's face. “Phil? Darling? I brought something for you, something that once meant a lot to you.”
Reaching into her pocket, she took out a silver necklace with a dangling half-heart.
“You have the other half somewhere,” she continued, as tears streamed down her cheeks. “Is it in this room right now? Is it hidden somewhere? Can you fetch it for me?”
Jo waited, not knowing how to interrupt as Phillip sobbed gently.
“I know you have it!” Susannah said firmly, wiping away tears. “Phillip, you remember! You have to! You gave me this necklace a long time ago. I know the memories are in there somewhere so please, think back to those days.” She placed a hand on his trembling shoulder, which only caused him to shake even more furiously. “I know you remember,” she continued. “I feel it in my heart, and I know you do too. Phillip! Remember!”
***
“Do you want to know the most pathetic part of it all?” Susannah asked half an hour later, staring out the window of Jo's car as they drove back into town. “Tonight wasn't even the first time. I do it about twice a year. I go to him, convinced I can make him remember, but...”
Her voice trailed off. Tears were welling in her eyes, and a moment later she had to wipe one away as it trickled free and tried to make a break down her right cheek.
“It's like a never-ending cycle,” she continued finally, taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady her nerves. “Now I'll go back to accepting his mind is gone for a while, but the seed of hope will still be somewhere in the back of my mind. And as sure as eggs are eggs, in a few months' time I'll get drunk and go right back to that bloody house and try again, with some fresh harebrained scheme to make him remember.”
She looked down at the necklace in the palm of her right hand.
“He's gone. I should just accept that this time.”
“Do you mind if I ask what exactly happened?” Jo said after a moment, as she slowed and took a left turn at the junction, heading along another dark country road.
“You mean the accident?”
“I saw the scars. They looked...”
She paused trying to think of the right word.
“Extensive,” she managed finally.
“He was riding his bike home from seeing me one day,” Susannah explained, turning to her. “His father, the great Lord Shitface, always hated the fact that we were together. I wasn't good enough. Too common. Anyway, one day Phillip and I had been at Skellin Cottage. The place was empty at the time, so we often snuck off to spend a few hours together. I waved Phillip away on his bike, and that was the last time I saw him. I mean, the last time I saw the real him. Just a few hundred meters from his father's house, he was going around a blind corner and a truck came the other way. The doctors said it was a miracle he survived at all. His helmet came loose, but it wouldn't have done much good anyway, not against a truck that size. His head...”
Her voice trailed off for a moment.
“Sometimes I think he died that day. His mind, anyway.”
“And you and he were dating at the time?”
“More than dating. We were going to get married. I'd found a ring in his pocket, so I knew he was going to ask me. It was just a matter of when.”
“I'm so sorry,” Jo replied, keeping her eyes on the road ahead. “That must have been...”
Her voice trailed off. She knew there wa
s nothing she could say, nothing that could possibly help.
“I can't shake the feeling that he's still in there somewhere,” Susannah continued after a moment. “Deep down, lost and frightened, trying to get out, the Phillip I loved is still in that head. I know you probably think it's the wine and the gin and the rum talking now, but you can ask me again tomorrow when I'm sober and hungover, and I'll tell you the same thing. He has to be in there. A person can't just disappear in the blink of an eye, leaving their body still wandering around. Besides, I see it in his eyes sometimes. Just a flicker, something that I don't think anyone else would recognize. It's the kindness that I remember from the old Phillip. He has to be in there.”
Jo took a right turn, and now the lights of Chelmsbury were visible in the distance.
“But you didn't call me all those times at the hotel to talk about Phillip,” Susannah continued, before taking a deep breath as if to reset herself. “You called to talk about Deborah Dean, and I deliberately didn't reply because I'm sick of talking about Deborah Dean. I'm sick of even thinking about her. Still, I suppose that was rude of me, and I apologize.”
“You and Deborah were friends?”
She waited for a reply, but now Susannah seemed lost in thought.
“Once,” she replied finally. “For a while. Not at the end, though.”
“Can I ask what happened?”
“It's complicated.”
“But you weren't talking by the time she died?”
“No. We weren't.”
“And you didn't go to her funeral?”
“I don't think many people did. Maybe just a priest. Sad, huh? She was in her thirties, and when she died there was no-one at the side of her grave. What kind of person is like that?”
They drove on in silence for a moment.
“Do you mind if I ask,” Jo said finally, “what happened between the two of you?”
“I saw the real her,” she added, a little defensively, “and I didn't like it. Nothing relevant to her death, and I didn't murder her, if that's what you're thinking. Let's get that out of the way right now.”
“Did she ever talk about her past?” Jo asked, trying a different tack.
“Not much.”
“Do you know where she lived before she came to the Chelmsbury area?”
“She didn't want to talk about it, and I learned to respect that. I'm not in the habit of trying to force people to discuss things that they'd rather keep to themselves. We're all entitled to our private lives, and to keep them private.” She paused for a moment. “I'm sick of getting mixed up in the lives of other people. It's boring, and far too tiring. As far as I'm concerned, Deborah Dean was just someone I knew for a short while, and someone with whom I eventually no longer cared to sustain a friendship. She might have seemed bland and inoffensive, but she wasn't...”
“Wasn't what?” Jo asked.
“She wasn't a good person.”
“In what way?”
Susannah hesitated for a moment, before shaking her head.
“Never mind.”
“But do you know about her past?”
“Nope.”
“Are you sure?”
“Are you accusing me of lying?”
“No, I just -”
“I'll get out here,” she added as they reached town, suddenly seeming extremely uncomfortable. “I'd rather walk the rest of the way to the hotel.”
“It's no problem. I can drive you to the -”
“Please stop the car,” Susannah continued. “You're not the police, are you? So I'm under no obligation to speak to you about any of this. Or do you intend to kidnap me? Because then the police actually might get involved. Is that what you want?”
Realizing that she had no choice, Jo brought the car to a halt. Susannah immediately unbuckled her seat-belt and opened the door.
“Please don't bother me again,” she said as she climbed out of the car. “Deborah Dean isn't my favorite topic of conversation. I'd really rather forget that I ever knew her.”
“If you could just tell me why you -”
“Good night,” Susannah added, turning to swing the door shut.
“What about her novel?” Jo asked. “Can you tell me anything about that?”
“Never read a word,” Susannah replied, slamming the door and then walking away along the cold, windy street.
The lights of the hotel were just about visible in the distance, but the town center seemed completely deserted and Jo could only sit and furrow her brow as she tried to figure out why Susannah Marriot had suddenly become so prickly and defensive in the space of just a few minutes. She watched until Susannah was out of sight, and then she turned the car around and began the drive back to Skellin Cottage.
Chapter Fourteen
Six months ago
“Suzie? Hey Suzie, wait up!”
Hurrying out of the charity shop, Deborah had to wait for a couple of cars to pass before she could cross the busy street. She could see Suzie up ahead, walking quickly through the morning crowd, but so far she'd been unable to get her attention.
“Sorry,” Deborah continued, trying not to bump into anyone, while still trying to reach her friend. “Suzie! Hang on!”
She was a little breathless by the time she finally reached Susannah, and she couldn't help but notice that she'd still not been acknowledged.
“So I guess it's too soon to ask for your opinion?” she said with a faint, nervous smile. “I know it's not exactly a masterpiece, but do you see what I mean about there being something missing? I feel like I need a different way into the story, and I'm also worried about the main character. Do you think she's too unlikable? I'm starting to think that might be the problem. People are going to hate her.”
While she waited for an answer, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure there was no sign of Lucas Evans, and then she realized that Susannah had already begun to speed up, pulling away from her.
“Suzie! It's me!”
She had to jog to catch up, at which point Susannah suddenly crossed the road and began to make her way toward the hotel. Something about the way she was walking seemed very deliberate and determined, almost as if she was trying to make some kind of point by hurrying along and not acknowledging anyone.
“Is something wrong?” Deborah asked, struggling to keep up with her and this time tapping her arm. “Suzie?”
“I'm busy.”
“Sure, but -”
“I'm busy!” she said again, more firmly this time. “I don't want to talk right now.”
“Did something happen?”
Reaching the door to the hotel, Susannah turned to her and seemed for a moment as if she was about to say something. There was no hint of friendship in her expression, not this time; instead, Deborah couldn't help but notice a fresh harshness, perhaps even a trace of disappointment.
“Never mind,” Susannah added finally, clearly a little flustered. “I'm busy, Deborah. It's a working day for most people. Not everyone can afford to sit around, twiddling their thumbs and pretending to be a writer. That must be a really easy life you've got set up for yourself there.”
“Did I do something to upset you?” Deborah asked.
Susannah sighed.
“Tell me!”
“You've got some real nerve, haven't you?” Susannah replied. “Coming here to Chelmsbury and expecting to just start a new life, expecting to throw away your past and act like nothing happened.”
“Have you been -”
Deborah paused, her mind racing as she tried to work out exactly how much Susannah had figured out.
“Have you been talking to someone?” she asked cautiously.
“Look at you,” Susannah continued, looking her up and down with a faint hint of disgust. “I've got to admit, you did a good job of acting like a normal, decent human being. I don't blame myself for being fooled. You're obviously very good at lying. You've obviously had a lot of practice.”
“Did Lucas -”
&n
bsp; “I haven't spoken a word to your precious Lucas!” Susannah spat back at her. “Maybe I should, but honestly I don't want to get my hands dirty. I already figured out who he is. To you, I mean. Poor guy.” She hesitated for a moment, as if she was struggling to contain her anger. “You know, we're not that stupid out here in the sticks. We do have brains, and we can figure out when we're being played for fools.” She paused for a moment. “That book... It's a kind of confession, isn't it?”
“Suzie,” Deborah replied, holding back tears, “can we go somewhere and -”
“Talk?” The idea seemed to amuse her, albeit with an edge of real anger. “This is the last time I want to talk to someone like you. Ever.”
“Someone like -”
“I know what you did!”
Deborah opened her mouth to reply, before hesitating for a moment.
“I know exactly who you are,” Susannah continued. “I put two and two together and came up with four, thanks to a few little hints and nods in that trashy manuscript of yours. Jesus, you're so brazen, aren't you?”
“I can explain. I just -”
“You're lucky,” Susannah added, “that I don't go straight to the police and tell them about you. I probably should.” She paused for a moment, as if she was considering the possibility. “But don't worry, I'm not going to do that. I won't tell anyone your disgusting little secret. I'm just going to hope that you have the decency to leave Chelmsbury as soon as possible and to never come back. Because even if I don't tell everyone your dirty little secret, you need to remember that muck always leaks.”
“Suzie -”
“People like you,” she hissed, jabbing Deborah's chest with a finger, causing her to take a step back, “make me sick! And what's worse, you thought you could somehow tell your life story by writing it down as a novel? Seriously? When I read those first three chapters, they rang a bell somewhere in the back of my mind. I don't know how, but I remembered something I'd read in the news a few years ago, so I did some checking online. And sure enough, there you were. I mean, you look different, you've managed to change your whole appearance quite a bit, but as soon as I saw the photo, I knew it was you.”
