“I couldn’t see because you were shoving me into a wall.”
“I wasn’t shoving you! It was an accident.”
“Of course it was. Every horrible thing you do is accidental. None of it is ever your fault!”
And she could tell he had decided. He was going to strangle her. He came toward her with hate in his eyes.
This time it was Maeve’s voice that stopped him.
“It’s my fault.”
A jolt passed through Ellie. From the shock in Oliver’s eyes, she knew he felt it, too. Maeve was coming clean. About what she did to Mr. MacLeod. Her possible allegiance with Mr. Caskie. About everything. Ellie turned, ready to hear the rest of the confession, but then saw what Maeve was holding.
“‘ It’s my fault,’” Maeve continued reading. “‘It’s all my fault. I did it.’”
Ellie pressed a hand to her back. There was nothing there.
“‘ I went downstairs for a glass of orange juice,’” Maeve read from the diary. “‘ I was so thirsty. And when I came out, there he was and the phone was in his hand. He was going to tell them everything.’” She read the next lines in silence, then looked up and met Ellie’s eyes with her own. Maeve had given up when Lorna died, but Ellie could see what little strength she had return, hardened by twenty years of jealousy.
Maeve closed the diary. “You fucking bitch.”
Ellie ran for her, but Oliver grabbed Ellie and pinned her in his arms.
“Get off me. Get off me! Let me go! Let me go, Oliver!” She kicked at air. Wriggled against a brick wall. “Don’t touch me! I don’t want you touching me!”
Maeve showed him the page, the page Ellie had known all along that they wouldn’t understand.
“We don’t need to pretend this woman’s son is alive,” Maeve said. “We just need to give her Ellie. Isn’t that right, princess?”
Oliver
18 hours earlier
He knocked on her door. Three raps, then the drag of his knuckles down the wood. Just like he used to. He listened to her soft footsteps cross the room. Pictured her in slippers and a silk dressing gown, her hair braided and wrapped in a kerchief. It was prone to breakage, her hair. She thought he never listened, but he remembered some things, like their knock and the feel of her hair through his fingers.
“What do you want?” she whispered through the door. It pleased him that she remembered the knocks as well as he.
“I thought we should talk.”
“What do we possibly have to talk about?”
“You can’t be fucking serious.”
“Language.”
But he heard her hesitation, and then the door clicked open, just wide enough for him to enter.
“Quick. Before anyone sees you.” Ellie closed it behind him, so quietly he never heard the door shut. She was dressed in a nightgown, her hair in a ponytail. In his mind’s eye, he had pictured a golden glow about her, but the yellow lighting revealed the wrinkles around her eyes, the subtle sagging start of a turkey neck. She still had that figure, though. Oliver sat on the bed and stretched out his legs, flexing his knee to ease the subtle ache there. She remained standing, arms crossed at her chest, her body contained and bottled up.
“Go on then. What is it you wanted to say?”
“Hello.”
Ellie rolled her eyes.
“No, really. We never said a proper hello. So, hello. Hi. How have you been?”
Her eyes darted to the desk, where the letter containing her blackmail lay, torn into pieces.
“I suppose that’s a stupid question.” He sighed, self-deprecating.
She lowered her arms. “Very.”
“I know the circumstances are as far from ideal as they could possibly be. But I am glad to see you.”
“Tell me what you want from me, Oliver. I’ve played enough games tonight.”
“Fair enough. I want you on my team.”
“Your team?”
“We know how this is going to play out tomorrow. We’ll talk about Callum. And talk will shift to blame. Whoever gets the most blame will be the one at fault. And the one at fault will be the one turned over to our so-called benefactor. I don’t want that to be me, and I don’t want it to be you because we both know neither of us did anything wrong that night. But the odds are against us. Hollis sure as”—he moderated his language for her —“crap isn’t going to admit to anything. And Lorna will be on his side, easy. She’s never really liked either of us. Maeve—”
“Maeve is still infatuated with you,” Ellie said. “Did you see how she kept looking at you tonight?”
“She’s the wild card. But she and Lorna always got on. And Maeve tends to side with authority, which Hollis as a detective,” he sneered, “has in spades.”
“It would still be two against three.”
“Which is better than four against one.”
“And which of us would be the one?” she asked.
“Do you know why I came here? How I was tricked into coming here? I’m trying to get my life together, Ellie. I’m trying to be better. To be good again.”
She looked him in the eye. “You were never good. You were never kind. You played at emotions like that, Oliver, but you never felt them. Not once.”
He sat back, dropped his folded hands in his lap. “Want to hear about my little letter? This person knows I was stealing money from my ex-stepfather’s company.”
“Embezzling.”
“If you prefer the proper term. And if my sister finds out about that . . .” He sighed. “Let’s say I have very few positive things in my life right now, and if she knew, I would have zero.”
Ellie walked to the desk and poured a glass of water from the carafe. The bed creaked as he rose. She tensed, but he took a deliberate step back and chose his next words very carefully.
“I was wrong that night. We were both pissed, but I still had enough of my wits to know better. And I wasn’t ashamed then, you’re right, but I am now. And I know my words won’t mean much, so I want to prove it with my actions. Whatever happens tomorrow, I’m on your side.”
She stared into her water glass. “So long as I’m on yours.”
“I’ll leave that up to you.” He moved toward the door, not too fast but not too slow, giving her enough time to think and respond.
“Be nice to Maeve tomorrow,” Ellie said. “Flatter her. Don’t overdo it, but don’t be cruel, like you were tonight. She’ll have spent tonight, like we all are, thinking about Caldwell Street, so she’ll be thinking about you. Play into her fantasy of you, her need for affection, and she’ll bend your way. She can’t help herself.”
Oliver nodded and started to leave, but the hardness in Ellie’s voice gave him pause.
“You didn’t know we would be here, did you?” he asked. “You didn’t know what you’d find.”
She raised the glass to her lips. “I thought I won a contest.”
He returned to his room then, knowing she was lying, but not why or to what extent. But he also knew it wouldn’t matter, so long as he stayed in her good graces.
Present