His breath catches in his throat, and he tries in vain to relax his shoulders before he peers again at the image. Her hair is changed, as one would expect after all this time, but the name is all wrong. She looks different from how he remembers her …
He begins to doubt himself. Gently, his thumb slides over the slightly grainy photograph. The woman’s face is only half turned towards the camera as if she’s shy of the lens. But even through the poor resolution of the photograph, surely there’s no mistaking that smile, the same sly tilt to her head – it all rushes back to him in an instant.
It’s her. It could really be her.
Janey.
His stomach clenches. The fork clatters on to the plate.
His hand trembles as he grips the edges of the paper. His tongue is dry, his mouth sour.
It should have been her who suffered.
He stands abruptly, the chair groaning beneath him as he paces the room, the paper crushed in his fist. His breath comes shallow and fast as his heart hammers against his ribs.
It’s been years, but now his rage is fresh,alive. Fermenting in his gut, like something rotten and acrid.
Here she is, smiling for the cameras with her feckless husband. Winning a dream house, living the dream life.Living.
Meanwhile, the people he cared about are all dead, including his beloved cat. And now … Well, now he is truly alone in the world.
The newspaper trembles as he smoothes it out, his thumb pressing hard over her face.
His throat burns, his vision tunnelling as memories claw their way up, dragging him under.
He exhales sharply. This means it isn’t over. Not by a long chalk.
His fingers tighten, the paper crumpling. ‘Janey,’ he whispers, so softly his lips barely quiver. He’s been searching for so long but had almost given up hope of ever finding her again. She’d left so suddenly – vanished, really. Without a word. He’d been in the grip of pneumonia, fighting for his life in hospital. They hadn’t expected him to survive.
But he had survived and he’d never forgotten her. How could he when she’d single-handedly ruined his life?
At first, the ache of grief had consumed him for months. It had naturally waned over time, of course, but the hatred had lingered all these years. And now he could feel that same hatred invigorating him, easing his loss.
He stares at the man in the picture again –Dev– his arm draped casually around her shoulders. His jaw clenches.
Has he any idea who his partner really is? Or what she’s capable of?
A new house and a new life perhaps, but still the same selfish Janey.
His head buzzes with a strange mix of emotions – rage, curiosity, excitement. After all this time, the truth has finally surfaced, and he knows where she is.
Suddenly he has a purpose again.
When he looks down, he sees his thumb has ripped straight through the paper. Obliterating Janey’s face.
10
Merri
The house is stunning, even more beautiful than the photos.
The limo crawls up the hillside, its tyres crunching on gravel. I tell myself it’s just the nerves, but the driver has said barely a word since we left home, and there’s something about the way his eyes gravitate to the rear-view mirror … like he’s watching us, not the road.
Dev lets out a low whistle. ‘Jeez Louise!’
The place is like something straight out of a Hollywood movie, a glass palace that glows with warmth and promise in the afternoon light. Perched on a grassy knoll above Lake Windermere, it’s modern and vast, yet seems to merge effortlessly with the natural landscape. The glass façade reflects the blue sky, white clouds and the lush trees surrounding it. From outside, the large windows reflect nothing but endless trees and the dark stretch of water. It seems too quiet and still, as if the house itself has been waiting for us to arrive.
Ben from DreamKey is a tall guy with shoulder-length dark-blond hair and a surfer vibe. He’s waiting for us at the front of the house with a cameraman. He greets us and says, ‘Congratulations. Let’s show you around your beautiful new home.’
