‘Guess I’m redundant now.’ Max and the laptop slid into the passenger seat.
‘How short are your legs?!’ Nella shoved the driver’s seat backwards, a shaky giddiness running through her body.
She drove them back through the town centre, Max giving the occasional inconsequential update that there was nothing of note in the section of footage she’d been running through.
The bakery CCTV had initially been neglected in the investigation because the owner had installed it illegally, looking onto a private property because he’d been certain the owner was throwing dog poo into his courtyard. Max and Grey had found it and promised to not bring up the poo-spying to the cops. But so far, nothing.
Nella’s new psychologist had suggested she distance herself from the Forrest Valentine case. Actually, her psychologist had a lot of very interesting suggestions. When Nella had finally confessed the secret she’d been keeping from everyone except Max and Eliza (because they’d been taking turns giving her driving lessons), the psychologist, a startlingly young hipster with a man bun calledFelix,had simply interlocked his fingers and said, ‘And tell me more about that.’
She complained very loudly to Max and Eliza that Felix’s sessions were a waste of time and so, so much money, but truthfully, she’d pocketed some of his little musings like bits of gum to chew on later.
The day she’d told Felix about Sally, she’d cried into her hands until her fingers ran with mascara. She kept saying over and over,I didn’t see it! Why didn’t I see it?
After she’d rocked herself into a dazed stupor, Felix had crossed his legs and said thoughtfully, ‘Because you saw what you wanted to see.’
‘I am not paying you half my weekly salary for wishy-washy tarot bullshit like that.’
Felix tapped his pen against his – most likely organic – loafers. ‘You’ve said you see everyone who has supposedly suffered more than you as “good” and deserving of happiness. Have you ever thought maybe by casting people like Daisy as heroines, it blinded you to their flaws?’
‘So that’s why I didn’t see it? Because I’m naïve?’
‘Why would you choose to use that word?’
‘I didn’t! YOU did!’
Waste of bloody time.
‘All I asked was if you’d thought about it.’
And on it went, Felix poking at her bruises, Nella snapping back. But eventually she started letting it all out and then she couldn’t be stopped. It was more comfortable than she’d expected, and something she figured she’d keep doing for as long as she needed. Which could be two more sessions or forever.
But Felix would have to get a new haircut.
Passing her office was getting easier. Clarkson’s death and Daisy’s betrayal had charred the place like it had been half burned in a bad fire. But Nella had worked hard for that office, for that perfect location; she didn’t want to move. So she’d started plans for a renovation. A fresh look, a fresh start. She’d brought in some local workers who needed the cash – guys who’d been in and out of rehab trying to get clean. Their resumes and background checks were spotty – it was almost impossible for them to get work – but Nella had been impressed so far; she’d never had such determined and punctual workers.
But it was things like this – little moments and wins and observations – that she only wanted to tell to one person. It was like storing pieces of gold inside her – they were okay for a while, but soon she’d start to feel the effects of heavy metal poisoning.
‘You sure you want to go alone?’ Max asked through a slurp of her chocolate thickshake as they pulled out of the McDonald’s drive-though. ‘Grey and I can always reschedule.’
Nella chewed her lip. She knew for a very secret fact that Grey would not be rescheduling their date night tonight. She just hoped the stupid oaf remembered to put the bloody ring she’d helped him choose in his stupid, giant pocket.
She didn’t want to risk giving anything away to Max, so she stuffed her mouth full of thin, salty fries and shook her head. ‘Nah, but I do have something I need to do before I go. Can you come, but wait in the car?’
Oliver was standing by the same pink coffee van they’d met at the day after Clarkson died. He wore a blue cap over his slightly longer hair and held an undrunk iced coffee with whipped cream. He raised the other hand in a quick, uncertain greeting before turning his gaze back to the silver surf.
She stood next to him for a moment, staring out at the water.
‘You really thought it was me, didn’t you?’ he said, finally.
She shielded her face from the sun but didn’t reply.
‘I thought you were cold towards me because you were grieving Clarkson,’ he said. ‘But it was because of that night, wasn’t it?’
She turned to face him. ‘Do you remember what happened?’
‘Not really. I was drunk. Did you read my email?’
‘Not really.’
