Алекс Баркли - I Confess

‘Patrick’s sober,’ said Murph.

‘And do ye have a clue what Terry was hit with?’ said Laura. ‘Or could Val’s dog be running around with it between his teeth in the morning?’

‘Can we at least confirm,’ said Murph, ‘that Val has a dog, because it’s been taking up a lot of head space that could be put to better use.’

‘Val has a dog, but it’s ancient, so it won’t be coming near the place,’ said Johnny.

‘Thank you,’ said Murph.

‘Johnny turned to Laura. ‘You don’t have to be here for this.’ He looked at Clare. ‘Either of you.’

‘So, we’re just trusting you, so,’ said Laura.

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Clare, ‘what else can we do? Do you want to sit around and have another big discussion about it? Do you want to help haul the body yourself? We’re no use to them at this point, and the less we know the better, to be quite honest.’

‘“Quite honest”,’ said Laura, ‘that’s our gold standard, now, for the rest of our lives.’

‘You are unbelievable,’ said Clare. ‘This late-breaking morality.’

‘I’m done with you, girl, at this stage,’ said Laura. She turned to Johnny. ‘Right — I’m going to bed, so. And, in case I haven’t made myself crystal clear on this... I’m trusting ye. So ye can fucking respect it.’

Johnny and Murph nodded.

‘So do you want to point me in the direction of a room?’ said Laura.

‘Where’s Edie, actually?’ said Johnny. ‘She said she was dropping something down to the office, and she’d follow us right in. She must be still down there. She’ll have the keys. You’re all out in the stables. Helen’s in eight, so take seven, six, five, and four and decide among yourselves.’

‘Not that it matters a fuck where we lay our heads at this stage,’ said Laura.

Murph grabbed her hand as she walked past, giving it a squeeze.

‘Do you want help with your bag?’ said Patrick. ‘If you want to come back up when you get the keys, I can walk you down.’

Laura frowned. ‘You’re fine out.’ She stopped at the door and turned to them. ‘You know something, lads — I’ve woken up to my fair share of strangers looking back at me on a Sunday morning. Just never from the mirror.’

Edie sat pale and hollow-eyed at the desk of the office, her hands resting on the notebook, her gaze fixed. She slid her hands on to her lap. Her shoulders slumped and she collapsed into sobs that wracked her entire body. She pulled open the desk drawers and rifled through all of them, eventually pulling out a red paper napkin. She gripped it in her hand as she waited for her sobbing to subside. Then she lunged for the same drawer, slid it open, pulled out a plastic bag, scrambled to untangle it, then vomited into it. She cried harder. She held the bag away from her, turning her head away, working hard to control her breathing. When she had finally calmed, she looked around the room, tied the bag in a knot and dropped it into the bin. She shuddered.

Then she stood up, grabbed the notebook and, clutching it, ran out the door.

‘Jesus Christ Almighty — you scared the fucking shit out of me!’ Laura was standing in front of her, booming into her face. Edie stepped back.

‘Edie,’ said Laura, putting a hand on her arm. ‘I was looking for you.’ She frowned. ‘Are you OK?’

Edie nodded. ‘Yes.’ She smiled but it trembled so hard, it didn’t last. ‘Sorry, I’m...’ She let out a thin sing-song breath. ‘I’m OK, ‘I’m... It’s... I... just... could you get me a bottle of water from the fridge?’

‘If you’ll sit down for me,’ said Laura.

Edie nodded, then lowered herself on to the bench.

‘Hang in there,’ said Laura. ‘I’ll be back.’

As soon as the sound of her footsteps disappeared, Edie kicked off her shoes and put on a pair of rain boots. She grabbed a torch and a rain jacket, and went out the back door.

She ran across the grass towards the stables. Instead of going through the arch that led to the courtyard garden, she ran the length of the unfinished buildings, down to the end where the eight finished suites stood, overlooking the sea, with sliding French doors that opened on to a private terrace. She knocked on the glass of Helen’s room. She knocked harder. Then she slipped the key in the lock, opened the door, and went inside.

‘Helen! Are you awake? It’s Edie!’ She closed the door behind her.

‘Come in, come in,’ said Helen, rolling on to her back.

Edie went over to her bed and sat on the edge of it.

‘What’s up?’ said Helen.

‘Mind your eyes,’ said Edie, turning on the torch.

Helen shielded her eyes with her hand. When she lowered it, she caught Edie’s face in the light. ‘Oh, my God — what is it?’

‘I need you to look at something,’ said Edie. ‘And give me your professional opinion.’

‘What?’ said Helen.

‘This notebook,’ said Edie. ‘It’s Patrick Lynch’s. From when he was sixteen. I found it tonight and it’s... I don’t know what it is. It was like... he hated all of us. He hated us—’

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa,’ said Helen. ‘What?’

‘I want you to look at it,’ said Edie, ‘I want you to tell me...’ She paused.

‘Edie,’ said Helen. ‘Edie, breathe. Breathe. It’s only an old notebook. What—’

Edie shook her head. ‘No, no, no, it’s—’

‘Let me take a look at it, OK? Has he given you any reason otherwise tonight that he might be a threat in any way?’

Edie paused. ‘No.’

Helen reached for her glasses from the bedside table, put them on, and opened the notebook. She pulled the torch a little closer, and started to read. Edie watched her, panic dancing in her eyes.

Helen looked up at her ‘Where is he now?’

Edie’s eyes widened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Where is he?’ said Helen.

‘I don’t know,’ said Edie. ‘In the bar?’

‘How did you get this?’ said Helen. ‘Does he know you have it?’

‘I found it. And then I walked right into him. And I told him how disturbing it was, but I didn’t know it was his.’

‘Whose did you think it was?’ said Helen.

‘Just — what do you think?’ said Edie, looking down at the notebook. ‘What do you think?’

Helen shook her head. ‘This is not good, Edie. This is... alarming.’

‘In what way?’ said Edie.

‘Like...’ she paused.

‘But he was only sixteen, though. ‘There’s no way he feels the same way now. I mean — why would he have come here tonight if he did? Why would he have helped me?’

‘He tried to burn us all alive,’ said Helen, looking up at her.

‘But he didn’t,’ said Edie. ‘He saved us. He must have changed his mind when the whole thing became real. He changed his mind, so—’

‘Reading this,’ said Helen, ‘I would be amazed if he’d changed his mind. I don’t know what happened that night, but... this reads like someone who...’ She looked up at Edie. ‘... won’t stop.’

‘What do you mean “won’t stop”?’ said Edie.

‘These are the writings of an extremely disturbed teenage boy,’ said Helen, ‘rage, violence, sexual violence...’

‘I know, but...’

Helen frowned.

‘I know, I know,’ said Edie. ‘I know. I know what you’re saying. And you know about all this. And... I know...’ She glanced down at the notebook. ‘But he was... sixteen. And look at his life... his mother...’

‘This is not about his mother treating him mean,’ said Helen.

‘And his dad not being on the scene,’ said Edie, ‘and—’

‘It’s not as simple as that,’ said Helen.

‘But what is it?’ said Edie. ‘What are you saying?’