Алекс Баркли - I Confess

Patrick looked at him. ‘Please, don’t,’ he said. ‘Don’t... embarr—’

‘You prick!’ said Johnny, charging forward. He swung wide with his fist and the force sent him staggering sideways. He lost his footing, his hand briefly hitting the ground, before he pushed himself upright. He stood in front of Patrick, heaving for breath, wiping the back of his hand across his brow.

‘Is that a nice Brooks Brothers shirt you have on you tonight, is it?’ said Johnny.

Patrick frowned. ‘No. It’s Tom Ford.’

Johnny blinked, put his hands on his hips, let out a few breaths.

‘Johnny,’ said Patrick gently, lowering his hands. ‘Your wife’s gone missing. I’m out looking for her and you’re... what? What are you doing?’

Johnny stared at him.

‘Deciding I’m “fucking” her?’ said Patrick. ‘Aren’t you concerned for your wife ? And her wellbeing? Or just your own? Someone has been killed here tonight. Nobody knows who did it. Edie has disappeared—’

‘Disappeared,’ said Johnny. ‘She’s hardly disappeared.’

‘Well, she’s been gone for the past half hour,’ said Patrick. ‘And you’re here asking me am I fucking her? How do you think that looks?’ He shrugged. ‘How could I not think that Edie is having some kind of breakdown tonight because she thinks — or maybe she knows — that her husband killed a man?’

Johnny stepped towards Patrick, stabbing a finger at him. ‘Edie knows damn fucking well I’m not capable of anything like that.’

Patrick raised his eyebrows. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure. Where has she gone, then? If she “knows” you didn’t do it, surely she’d “know” that there’s somebody out there who did. Would she run out into the night on her own if there was a killer on the loose?’

‘Why the fuck are you out looking for her?’ said Johnny. ‘And why did you come here?’

‘No,’ said Patrick. ‘She mentioned earlier she likes to come here when she’s under pressure. And while I was here, I came across a curious thing. Terry told you that the power to the site wasn’t cut because your fairy lights were still on, but your fairy lights are solar-powered. I’m just saying — if Terry installed them, then he was lying tonight. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.’

Johnny frowned.

Patrick levelled him with a look. ‘The reality is you’re coked out of your mind.’

Johnny stared at him.

‘You’re paranoid,’ said Patrick. ‘It’s been ramping up and ramping up all night, we all watched it happen, and there wasn’t a thing we could do about it, except try not to provoke the beast—’

‘Fuck you, you sanctimonious prick,’ said Johnny.

‘It’s not sanctimony,’ said Patrick. ‘Whatever you’re into. But, unfortunately, whatever you’re into has thrown a grenade into the group, and sent your wife running for cover. There’s no other explanation.’

‘There are loads of other explanations,’ said Johnny.

‘Well, hold on to those,’ said Patrick, ‘because Edie is still out there and the clock is ticking. So whether we need to save your wife from a killer or from losing her mind, standing here staring at each other because you can’t keep your nose out of—’

‘You’re acting like I’m some fucking—’

‘OK — answer this, then. Did you do some more? Did you come out to your special fairy house, put your little key in the lock and pick up your supply? Unless the well’s run dry. I heard what your neighbour was telling everyone about the dealer who’s going around trashing places when people don’t pay up. Is that what happened to your chapel windows? Did the penny drop when your neighbour was giving you that Neighbourhood Watch announcement? Were you thinking that when Terry Hyland’s body showed up tonight? That your “supplier” might have come back to teach you another lesson and Terry was in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or maybe it was you. Maybe we were too quick to dismiss your coked-up madness as coked-up madness and not a coked-up veneer over the blind panic of a man who’s beaten another man to death. Is that what sent Edie running for cover?’

‘I didn’t fucking touch Terry Hyland!’ said Johnny.

Patrick stared at him, his eyes flat.

‘Why are you still here, if that’s what you think?’ said Johnny. ‘Why didn’t you get in your car and fuck off out of here?’

Patrick shot out a laugh. ‘Because it’s too late now, Johnny, boy. Like all the rest of us, I’ve been sucked into the “Bail Out Johnny” Show. So while you were squealing like a pig as the Big Bad Guard was huffing and puffing at your window, myself and Murph were trying to change the fucking ending. And while you were welcoming her in to sit by the fire, we were heading out into the dark night for you to throw a dead man into your ripped-out confession box. And while you were prancing around under the fairy lights, deciding I’m “fucking your wife”, I was actually out trying to find her. Because the only person fucking your wife, Johnny, is you.’

Johnny stared at him.

‘Is there anything you won’t fuck up?’ said Patrick. ‘Is there any plate you won’t flip up into the air when there’s something being handed to you on it? Do you like the sound when they break?’ He paused. ‘Do you know what you’re like? You’re like a man with a container of kerosene in his hand, and there’s a hole in the bottom, and he’s walking around in circles by the light of a flaming match, trying to figure out why he’s in a ring of fire the whole time.’

Clare woke up and looked around the bar. Murph was asleep on the opposite sofa, his head back, his mouth open, two buttons popped on his shirt. Laura was asleep on his shoulder.

Clare got to her feet, and picked up her handbag off the floor. She pulled out a piece of paper and a pen and wrote:

She hung her bag on her shoulder, picked up her shoes, and left the note on the table in front of Laura and Murph.

Helen was sitting in bed with Patrick’s notebook open in front of her. Tears streamed down her face. She was staring at two pages — another face with Xs for eyes, this one with a big semicircle smile. There was a drawing of a sailboat beside it, just like the one Clare designed for her father’s company logo. There was a chain drawn from the top of the page to meet it. Underneath it was written:

YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO CARE ENOUGH

ABOUT ENOUGH PEOPLE

TO CHANGE THE NIGHT

YOU ONLY CARED ABOUT YOURSELF

Edie walked out of the bathroom, her eyes swollen and vacant, her cheeks streaked with mascara. She walked over to Helen and sat down on the bed. Tears were streaming down Helen’s face. Edie reached down and squeezed her hands, then slid the notebook out from under them, closed it, and pushed it to the other side of the bed.

Helen looked up at her, her eyes wide. ‘You have to go,’ she said. ‘Go now—’

‘I’m not leaving you!’ said Edie. ‘No way.’

‘Look at me,’ said Helen. ‘You have to. You have to get help. I’m so sorry, Edie, and I know you don’t want to hear this, and it’s unbearable, but...’ She paused. ‘Let’s think of Patrick as... a different person—’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Edie. ‘Say it. Say whatever you want to say. He’s Patrick, and I loved him, and I fell in love with him, and oh, God. What have I done? What have I done? To all of us?’ She held her hands to her face and wept into them.

‘Edie — listen to me!’ said Helen, her voice dropping to a low hiss. ‘Listen to me! For God’s sake!’

Edie, startled, looked up at her.