The Game You Played (33 page)

“Both ladders at once?” Bernice shook her head. “How could the safety lock on both ladders collapse at once? I put the ladders back up. They’re not faulty.” She exhaled, staring at us fixedly. “It had to have been one of you.”

Sass shook her head, shrinking back from Bernice’s stare. “Don’t look at me like that. All I remember is being in the living room drinking when the stairs fell. I was pretty smashed.”

“Hang on.” Bernice glanced at the store mannequin that was sitting in the armchair. “Phoebe, weren’t you videotaping at the time? I remember you sticking your camera on the lap of that dummy.”

I tried to think back. Was Bernice trying to pull a trick on us? Was she trying to make us think she hadn’t done it because she was prepared to have video evidence of the day shown? 

“Like Sass, I was smashed,” I told her. “I think that’s partly why we all made such a bad decision that day, in not going to the police. We were young, drunk, and not thinking clearly. But I know I couldn’t have been videotaping at the time it happened though. I was upstairs, with Luke.”

Bernice sighed. “Yeah, true. But maybe there’s something on the tape from that day that gives some sort of clue. I tried to talk to you about that, in the days after it happened. But you refused to listen to me.”

“The tape’s long gone,” I said. “Luke’s mother did the big clean-up in here. I asked her about the camera afterwards. She said she destroyed the tape that was inside it, just in case. And then she stored the camera away in a cupboard. The police were all over this house in the days after that lady died. I couldn’t come back for the camera. And I didn’t want to. This house just makes me feel sick every time I look at it.”

She knew the tape got destroyed,
I thought darkly. A memory pushed in. I
was
filming that day. I’d been (drunkenly) pressing everyone to tell me where they thought they were going to be by the time they were twenty.
Twenty
had seemed so far away. It’d only been a year away for Bernice, but over three years for the rest of us. The tape had run out. I remembered giving the camera to the dummy for safekeeping before I’d gone out to the kitchen for yet another drink. But I didn’t remember turning the camera off. A chill ran along my back. Whenever a tape would get full, then the on-board flash memory of the camera would take over. The camera probably didn’t have anything telling on it, but it might have
something
.

Sass was staring at me with a wary expression. “Phoebe?”

I turned to Bernice. “Have you seen the camera here?”

Bernice shrugged. “Yeah. I found it in the linen cupboard. I took it upstairs with the rest of my stuff. There’s no tape in it. I was hoping maybe you came back and took it.”

“Is the camera okay?” I asked her, my eyes locked on hers.

She gave a confused nod. “As good as a thirteen-year-old camera could be, I guess.”

“Have you used it?” I tried not to let hope rise in my chest.

Bernice looked at me oddly, glancing at Sass for answers but being met with a shake of Sass’s head. “Nope. What have I got to take video of? Why?”

I blew out a tense stream of air. “I can’t recharge the camera anyway. I threw the charger away.”

“You want batteries?” asked Bernice. “There’s sure to be batteries in some of the things upstairs. Maybe some with some charge left. What type of battery?”

“I never used batteries for it. I don’t even know what type it took.”

Bernice heaved herself to her feet. “Want to go check?”

“Don’t leave me here alone,” said Sass quickly. Her eyes shifted to me. “And don’t go up there with Bernice.”

“Yeah, fine. Keep hating me,” Bernice told her. “Who knows, maybe your hate is the glue keeping me together. Because fuck knows what else is keeping me going.”

With a shake of her head, she headed back up the stairs.

Sass and I met each other’s stare, neither of us volunteering our thoughts.

A series of knocks and dull bumps echoed down the stairs. Bernice returned with the camera, her eyes quietly triumphant.

I held my hand out for it.

“Fuck you,” Bernice muttered, fiddling with the buttons and refusing to give it to me. A light sprang on at the top of the camera. And then the viewing screen.

Bernice sat on the bottom stair, watching it herself, forcing Sass and I to move around to either side of her, Sass crawling sideways on the floor.

I felt my stomach lurch at the scene it showed. This house. On the day Grace Clark died. The position of the camera was fixed, people moving around in front of it.

God, there was Luke, taking me by the hand up the stairs. I watched myself looking back over my shoulder, half-dazed, continuing on to the top of the stairs with Luke. Bernice, Kate, Sass, and Pria were sprawled on the lounges. But it wasn’t a clear view. Just their legs. All wearing dark-coloured jeans. Someone got up. A person in black jeans and a hooded jacket. That person walked along the hall and disappeared into the dark space next to the stairs.

I could feel every beat of my heart as the person opened the door that led to the storage underneath the stairs.

The metallic sound of an alarm clock pealed out in the film.

Shuffling and shouts from upstairs.

Grace appearing on the stairs. Terrified and white-faced as she ran to the middle of the staircase.

And the stairs collapsing inwards, dust and splinters exploding in the air.

The door to the stairs had already been closed, the person running from the direction of the outside courtyard at the time that the others were running from the living room to the stairs. No one was looking up the hallway. All focus on the destroyed staircase.

Then I saw the face that emerged from the dark hallway.

Pria.

Unmistakably Pria.

Bernice set the camera down on the stair, her face chalky in the dark light.

In the long silence that followed, Sass and I looked to each other first, Sass’s expression a mirror of the shock and guilt flooding through me.

“Bernice . . .” Sass began.

“Don’t,” Bernice snapped.

Tears brightened Sass’s eyes. “It wasn’t you. I’m so sorry.”

My gaze fell to the rush of bodies on the camera viewfinder. All of us running in different directions not knowing what to do. All this time, it had been Pria that caused all that. My lips quivered. “There’s nothing I can say to make this better. We were so damned . . .
wrong
.”

“You can start by shutting the hell up,” said Bernice. “Do you think I want the soppy apologies of you two now? You can both go to hell. But I care about Tommy. So stop blubbering and start figuring things out.”

My mind began spinning away. If Pria had been the one to set the trap on the stairs, what else was she capable of?
What else?

Sass’s head dropped low, her blonde hair touching the floor. “Phoebe, some stuff about Pria is making terrible sense now. The night we went out to the Christmas dinner, it was my idea, but it was Pria who decided where we should go. She told me she’d read that a guy you’d met and liked at a club last year was going to be there. I thought it would be a bit of fun for you. I didn’t know who it was. I’m guessing now it was one of those men you were filmed with at the hotel. That Dash guy. Before . . . before we went out, she said we should call up The Moose. She said she’d be you for a night, to try to take some of the pressure off you. And that you should be me for the night. She’s a psychologist, Phoebe. I thought, of anyone, she’d know the best thing to do.”

I closed my eyes, knowing with all certainty who’d called the media when I was with Dash. I could see all of us, when we were kids, playing
Moose
at number 29. Pretending to be each other. It was a dangerous game to play with Pria, only none of us knew.

“And something else,” said Sass, raising her eyes to me. “When I was at Pria’s once, about five months back, Jessie told me that Pria was keeping their dog upstairs in the playroom, and that she’d never seen it. I thought that was strange. But Pria told Jessie to go and do her homework, and then Pria was kind of dismissive about the dog thing. As if Jessie was making it up.”

“Phoebe,” came Bernice’s cautious voice, “I swear to you that where I told you I found that nightlight piece is the truth. You can choose to do what you damned well please with that piece of information. But I think you need to find out a bit more about your good friend
Kitty
.”

TWO NIGHTS AGO

Monday night

KITTY SLID A LAZY LEG OVER my stomach and drew close against me in her bed. “Hate seeing you so stressed.”

Staring up at the intricate vintage rose on her ceiling, I stroked her bare waist and thigh. Outside the high window, fog pressed in.

She ran a finger along my temple, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “Maybe you were right before. About getting away. Why don’t we? Just sail away.”

I glanced at her in surprise. She was too close for me to see her face clearly. “Really?”

“Yes.”

I sighed, drumming on her hip with my fingertips now. “Wish I could.”

“Sometimes, the best choice is to run away. You’ve been fighting to stay afloat for too long.”

“Until the police have got her under arrest and this is all over, I can’t leave. They should have arrested her as soon as they got their hands on the last note. Not stuck her in a clinic.”

“I guess they have their procedures to follow. They need to be sure.”

“What fucking else do they need? That’s Tommy’s blood on that letter. My son’s—” Pain welled inside me, making my chest hurt.

“Luke . . .” She hugged me in silence for a moment.

“I need to know what happened to Tommy,” I told her in a hoarse voice that didn’t sound like my own. “What she did and who helped her. When they bring her in for questioning and rip the truth out of her, at least I’ll know. And I can finally start to grieve.”

“I know. Of course you want that.”

Leaning over, I went to pick up my mobile phone from the bedside table, but it wasn’t there. “Have you seen my phone? I need to check if there’s any updates. On the news or from Gilroy.”

She put her hand over mine. “I haven’t seen it. But you know that he’ll call you if anything comes up. I’m worried about you. You’re showing all the classic signs of someone who’s about to go under. Seriously, I didn’t want to say this, but I’m worried about your state of mind.”

I moved away from her a fraction, scanning her face. “I’m keeping it together.”

“No, you’re not. And you mutter in your sleep all night long. About . . . well, about murdering your wife. You’re actually scaring me.” She untangled herself from me.

I grasped her arm. “I know I talk in my sleep, but—”

A vague look of fear visited her eyes. “Last night, you were tossing to and fro, so restless. I caught pieces of what you said. You wanted to cut her into tiny pieces like what she’d done to Tommy’s toys. The next thing I knew . . . you were on top of me, your hands around my neck . . .”

“I did
that
?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck.”

“I told you I wasn’t Phoebe and managed to roll you off me. You didn’t do it again, but you kept making angry noises under your breath. I admit, I was a bit scared.”

I sat up, drawing in a deep breath. “That can’t happen again. I won’t come here for a while. Until I’m past this.”

She shook her head. “I’m worried that would make you worse right now. You’d be taking yourself away from the one person you turn to for support. At the worst point in your life. You’ve told me that your parents aren’t capable of giving you the shoulder you need. Look, I know what I’m talking about with this.”

I’d already come to the point of putting my hands on Phoebe’s throat and wanting the release of strangling her. Last night, I could have killed the woman beside me in the bed. Kitty was right that I needed her—more right than she knew. I could admit to myself that I’d always needed a cheer squad behind me. The cheer squad used to be my mother. In my teen years, it was the Southern Sails Street gang—it felt like I had a team of beautiful girls under my wings (even when they rejected me). And then it was Phoebe, even though she never quite knew how to wave the pom-poms.

I turned to Kitty. “So, what the hell do I do?”

“Trust your instincts. You wanted to get away, and I think you should listen to yourself. You’re a smart man, Luke. Look at the business you built up from nothing. You know what you need to do.”

“I just . . . can’t go right now.”

“Why not now? Everyone would understand. Your wife has been accused of murdering your own son. You need some time to get your head around that. Phoebe’s psychiatrist will probably be able to buy her quite a bit of time before the police bring her in. In the meantime, you’re here waiting and suffering. I tell you what. Why don’t we go away just until she gets arrested?”

“I’m not prepared to put you in harm’s way to help myself.”

“You need a change of environment, and you’ll be fine. That’s all. This street has too many reminders.”

I stared at her, thinking.

“I’ll get packed. You’ve got lots of your clothes here. Enough to take away. You don’t need to do a thing.” Her smile was warm as she left the bed and stood naked in the soft glow of her bedside lamp.

“Where would we go?”

“Why not the property I just bought?”

“Seriously?”

Kitty had bought a damned island, a tiny piece of Australia far off the windswept coast of Victoria. I’d negotiated the deal, but I’d tried hard to talk her out of it. She’d paid way more than I thought she could sell it for in the future. But she’d seemed set on it.

“Yes, seriously. What could be better?”

“That’s a long sailing trip.”

“It’s not that long. What, two or three days?”

“About that.”

“Just long enough to get your head in a different place. You love sailing. And I do, too.”

This was moving too fast.

“What about Jessie? And school?”

“She can have a week off. She’ll be so excited.”

“Kitty, Jessie doesn’t even know about us. This might not be the best way of telling her.”

“She has to find out some time or other. It’s been damned hard keeping you a secret.”

“It’s going to come as a shock to her.”

“Yes, but I know her. She’ll adapt. And she gets a trip away in your yacht. It’ll be an adventure for her.”

I laid myself back on the bed. “I think I’d better start calling you
Pria
. Might be an extra point of confusion for Jessie if I call you
Kitty
in front of her.”

“I like
Kitty
. You gave me that name. It’s special to me.”

“Suits you.” I smiled up at her. “But it’s going to sound weird to Jess. Trust me.” I was going to have to make myself think of Pria only as
Pria
from now on.

“I trust you. You’re the one steering this ship.” Grabbing some clothes, she headed into the ensuite bathroom to get dressed.

Maybe she was right about what she’d said earlier about my wife. Phoebe wasn’t in jail—yet—but she was locked away. There was nothing for me to do until she was arrested or until she admitted everything under police questioning—whichever came first.

Pushing into my chaotic thoughts about Phoebe were thoughts about the preparation of the yacht for the trip ahead.