You Can Trust Me (44 page)

The same idea clearly occurs to Will.

“Kill me instead,” he says. “Take me. Save the children. Save Livy. Please, for God's sake.” Will glances at the knife again. “God, Livy, he was talking about his bike as he got in the car. I had no—”

“Be quiet.” Paul presses the edge of the knife harder against Will's side.

“He's lying about this choice,” Will says. “He's going to kill
all
of us, make it look like you went off the rails, just like he did with Julia.”

“Quiet,” Paul says again.

Will falls silent.

“Livy.
Now,
” Paul urges.

“I'll make a choice,” I say, keeping my voice steady. I have to keep him talking. Buy myself time to think. “Just tell me
why
you're doing all this?
Why
did you kill Julia? And my sister? She was only eighteen, her whole life ahead of her and you took it away.”

Paul tilts his head to one side. He seems to be seriously considering my question. “You wouldn't understand, Livy
Small
.” He sneers as he speaks my old surname. “I didn't want a limited life. I wanted to fulfill my potential.”

I stare at him. What is he talking about?

“You can't make Livy do this,” Will says through gritted teeth. “What d'you expect her to do? Kill them with that?” He looks down at the knife.

“Her hands,” Paul says. “Her bare hands.”

I shiver, looking at my hands. They are cold, numb. “Come on, Livy.”

I kneel down on the rock and gaze at Hannah. I put my palm over her face, letting my fingers trail onto her throat. Her skin is soft and pale, her pulse throbbing under my touch.

“She looks
so
like Kara, doesn't she?” Paul says.

Beside him, Will stiffens. I look up. What on earth am I going to do?

“You want me to make it her … Hannah?”

Paul's face darkens. “I want you to
choose,
you stupid bitch. Now, get on with it.”

I press my hands against Hannah's throat. For a moment I imagine what it would feel like to squeeze the life out of her. The thought is unbearable.

Impossible.

Please, help me.
I flash back to Kara's funeral. I prayed then, but stopped halfway through what I was saying: a request to some vague notion of a higher power.
Please, give me strength.

A new energy fills me. I stand up and look Paul in the eye.

“I can't,” I say. “I
won't
.”

We stand in silence for a moment. Then Paul sighs. He holds up his knife. “Say good-bye to your husband, Livy.”

“No!” In a second I'm across the rock, hurling myself at Will, trying to get between him and Paul to push the knife away. Taken by surprise, Paul staggers back. I fling my arms around Will. He bends his head, whispers in my ear:

“Get the knife.”

A split second later, Paul is dragging me off him, pushing Will away. He is angry now, his breathing fast and furious. He yanks me over to Zack, who is nearest. He forces me down, to my knees, then kneels beside me. He shoves the knife into my hand, keeping his own, gloved hand on top of mine.

“When the teacher is ready, the student will appear,” he murmurs.

I'm barely listening. My throat is dry.

“It's quickest if you cut the jugular,” Paul instructs. “Tip the head back, then side to side. He won't feel a thing.”

My fingers curl around the metal handle. It's warm from being in his hand. I can't stop shaking. I shuffle closer to Zack. His skin is so smooth and clear. The thought that I have the power to slice it open sends terrifying shivers through my whole body. I glance at Paul. He is tense with anticipation, those dark eyes fixed on me. Will is several meters away, on his knees, watching.

“I'm ready,” I say. Rain begins to fall. The sound fills the air.

“Good.”

I tighten my grip on the knife and reach for Zack's head. I tip it back and he moans gently. His hair is soft in my hands, already damp from the rain. I hold the knife in position over his throat. One slip now … Oh God, I'm so close. Paul loosens his grip just a little. He wants me to choose this, to take responsibility, to make the cut.

My hand trembles. I fill with hate and fury. It's now. It has to be now.

Paul crouches right next to me. I am looking down at Zack, but I still can feel the heat from Paul's body, his air of expectation.

Fast, I pull my arm across my body, away from Paul. He loses his hold on the knife. Lunges for it. I whip it out of the way and it flashes, bright, before my eyes. With a roar I bring it down, all my body weight behind it. I plunge it through Paul's plastic overalls, into his belly.

He yells with pain. Shock fills his eyes. He reels back. I cling on to the knife. It slides out of him. In a split second I take in the blood that oozes out onto the white of his plastic suit. He doubles over and I whip round.

Will is right there. He turns, holding out his bound wrists. I fumble with the knife, trying to slice through the rope. Rain patters on my face. Hands grab me from behind. I turn. The knife falls from my hand, clattering onto the rock. Paul looms over me. He raises his hand. A second later he hits me across the side of the head. I crash to the ground, lights flashing before my eyes.

Paul staggers over me, holding his belly with one hand. He falls to the ground beside me. He is panting, bleeding, furious.

“You bitch,” he says. “You fucking bitch.”

I try to rise up, but he is stronger. He pushes me down, flat on my back. And suddenly he is on top of me, his weight bearing down, his knee heavy into my belly, his free hand forcing my shoulder back. Pain sears through me.

I scream.

His hands are around my throat, squeezing the air out of me. The scream dies on my lips. He's going to kill me. And then he will kill my family. Images flash through my mind. Zack wrapping his small arms about my neck, his breath smelling of chocolate, Hannah's fingers trailing over her makeup bag on the kitchen table. I see Will on the day she was born, his smile of love and pride and relief that the long labor is over and we are safe. I see Dad's mouth tremble as he walks away from Kara's body. I see Mum's gentle eyes. I see Julia, her hair falling over her face as she laughs. And I see Kara, my little sister, running after me as I walk to school, her blond hair tied neatly in plaits, her soft eyes full of an adoration I didn't want or understand until it was too late.

“You can't kill that,” I whisper. But my words make no sound. Blackness flickers around my vision. I am desperate to breathe.

From the distance comes a roar. Paul moves. Is moved. His weight is suddenly off me. Will has the knife. He is fighting Paul. They roll across the rock. I get to my knees. Will holds the knife, forcing it toward Paul's chest. Paul's hand scrabbles at the knife. Seizes it.

“No!” I lurch toward them. Paul swipes with the knife. Misses. Again, he brings the blade down. He's aiming for Will's face, but Will catches his arm. Twists it. I reach them and throw my weight against Paul's arm too. He struggles. But together we're too strong. The knife plunges down, into Paul's chest. The force of the movement pushes him over the cliff.

With a roar, he tumbles down, down.

Then silence.

*   *   *

Less than an hour later, and everything I have been through already feels like a dream. Even more so when the police sirens signal the arrival of cars and an ambulance and a kind paramedic who reassures me the children are unconscious but breathing and wraps me in a foil blanket and tends to the cut on the side of my head. Nothing feels real.

After Paul fell, Will scrambled a little way down the cliff to see where he was, but there was no sign of him. Logically we know he must have fallen into the sea. He was badly injured in the chest, and if the knife wound and the fall didn't kill him, the rocks or the current probably did. And yet … I can't stop thinking about the silver box and the way it felt. I can't stop thinking about Paul's dark eyes.

We moved the children into the little hut to provide some shelter from the wind. As dawn split the sky with pink light, Will searched our car for the keys, but they were gone. As Will said, they were probably in Paul's pocket, but again, the fact that he has not been found leaves me fearful that he is planning on coming back, that if he still has means to take our car, he still has power over us. I know that's illogical, but I can't help it, just as I can't stop shivering.

At least Will found our phones in the car, along with a bag containing several disposable plastic suits, and a bottle of a clear liquid that I'm certain will prove to be more GHB, the drug Paul gave us all earlier. Will called for the police and an ambulance. Together we stood over our children, waiting.

Now, in the hospital, we have been examined by doctors and interviewed separately by the police and, two hours after we arrived, we have been allowed back into the room where our children lie sleeping. The medical staff say both of them will wake up properly soon. And so Will and I watch and wait.

We haven't touched since I flung myself at him and he told me to get Paul's knife. You would think after everything we have just been through, that we would hold each other and not let go, but our shared purpose, survival, has gone, and I do not know what to say to him.

Part of this is Will himself. He is angry, and trying not to show just how furious in front of me. So angry, that I suspect he is scaring himself. He paces up and down the hospital room, glancing at the kids, then looking up at the clock. After ten or so minutes, he goes to fetch coffee.

“Will?” I say, following him outside into the corridor.

He turns to me, his eyes blazing.

“You did what you could,” I say.

He nods. “It's just, when I think about how close he came…” Will shudders.

“I know.” I hesitate. This is not the time for us to talk, but I can't leave these words unsaid any longer. “Paul told me Leo lied about you being with Catrina,” I say.

Will looks at me.

“They wanted to distract me from looking into Julia's death, they knew you'd been unfaithful before.…” I turn away, feeling my cheeks burn. “I'm sorry I didn't trust you.” My voice is a whisper. “I'm sorry you've had to live with me not trusting you for so long.”

There's a long pause. A nurse passes, her cart of drugs rattling against the linoleum floor.

Will takes my hand. “You have to trust me now,” he says, his voice low and sad. “It's … I know I made a mistake six years ago, and I understand why it's hard to move on, but if we can't do that, then we don't have anything.”

“We have them.” I point to the room where Hannah and Zack are sleeping.

“You know what I mean.”

I nod. “Then we have to be honest,” I say.

“Okay.” Will pauses. “If you want the truth, here it is: When I went to Geneva, Catrina did flirt with me. She made it clear we could start things up again. I made it clear I didn't want that.”

I swallow hard. “Were you tempted?”

Will meets my gaze. “For a few seconds. Were you tempted with Damian?”

I pause, remembering our bus stop kiss. “For a few seconds,” I say.

We look at each other. “There are always going to be those times,” Will says.

“I know.”

And in that moment, I accept the past.

*   *   *

Another hour passes. Zack wakes, groggy and with a headache, but also hungry. Remarkably he seems largely untraumatized by the whole experience, but then, as the doctors point out, he was drugged for most of the night and has no memory of what he went through. Once we have reassured him that Paul has gone, he regains his equilibrium, polishing off two rounds of toast and a glass of milk and charming all the nurses who pass his way.

Hannah takes longer to awaken and, when she does, shakes with fear at her memories of the past night. Paul didn't rape her physically, but he whispered filth into her ear, terrorizing her. I fill with a new hatred for this man who has betrayed our friendship and violated my family in the worst ways possible. But my fury does Hannah no good. I try to hide it, just as Will tries to conceal his own anger, and we comfort our daughter as best we can.

We have each been interviewed by the police again. Piecing the information I have together, I learn that Leo has confessed to his lie about Will's affair but claims complete ignorance over Paul's true nature and actions. The same is true of Alexa Carling. Since being interviewed by the police, she has fled to the other end of the country, far away from Devon gossip.

I look at my own children and wonder how anyone could survive knowing that their own flesh and blood was capable of so much cruelty and violence.

I tell my mother that Paul was Kara's killer, that he confessed it to me before he fell from the cliff. She takes the news with her usual stoicism. After all, as she says, the knowledge won't bring Kara back. Paul didn't kill only Kara. The police have found that silver box—and his diary—and are currently tracing the contents to other victims.

In contrast to my own mother, Joanie has taken the news that Julia was murdered—and by someone actually present at the funeral—very badly. At least this is what I hear from Robbie. Joanie won't speak to me herself, having apparently decided that Will's return of Julia's ring is absolute confirmation that I must have stolen it—and that we're using Hannah as a smoke screen.

Robbie himself calls me on a daily basis for three days until I finally get so furious with his refusal to listen to my own requests for space that I pass the phone to Will, who tells him to fuck off and leave me alone.

It works. Not just with Robbie. In some way, it brings Will and me closer together again. He goes with me to Damian's funeral the following week, a sad affair featuring a large, weeping family and many ex-girlfriends. I take Julia's picture and leave it beside his grave. It's hard to understand other people and their relationships, but I believe they did love each other and in some romantic part of my mind, I allow myself to believe that they are together now.