Siobhan holds her gaze, fighting the instinct to bolt.
Zara leans over the table, and Siobhan can smell coffee on her breath. “Were you really there, Siobhan? At the house? Is it actually real?”
Siobhan wishes she could give any other answer but the truth. She wishes she were nothing but a HexHead, obsessed with the idea of escape. She doesn’t answer Zara’s question. Instead, she says, “What does Willow want? Why is she writing toyou, telling you all this?”
Siobhan doesn’t miss the way Zara’s expression alters, darkening slightly before she recovers. Eventually, she says, “Now that Haina’s gone, I think she’s tired of keeping all the house’s secrets.”
Siobhan’s mouth is dry. When she swallows, it’s as though there are stones in her throat. The house’s secrets have been drowning her since the day she left.
“She told me that you recorded loads of footage when you were at the house,” Zara is saying, her tone light, expectant. “Is that true? You’ve got evidence it exists?”
“I’m not just going to hand it all over to you,” Siobhan snaps, “if that’s what this is about.”
Zara shakes her head, one hand landing softly in the middle of the table as if she’d been about to reach for Siobhan’s, then thought better of it. “Of course not. I just want us to work together, is all.” Zara takes a long sip of her drink, the mug knocking against her lip piercing, a delicate clinking sound. “I just want to know what you saw. I bet it was some wild shit.”
Wild shit, thinks Siobhan.That’s one way to put it.Zara is older than Siobhan, but all she can think is,You child. You have no idea. She wishes she were alone so she could pick at the scar on her abdomen, rip open the barely healed skin.
Zara casts a glance over her shoulder, then lowers her voice. “Willow also mentioned a girl called Elly Carmichael.” Siobhan feels everything inside of her still. “She said something awful happened to her when you were at the house, and that’s why you left. She said you might have… proof.”
Siobhan blinks. It’s as though the world is tilting. The rest of the coffee shop – its warm lights, its safe noise – seems to fall away, as if it had only ever been an illusion in the first place. It’s no longer Zara sitting opposite her, but Elly – Elly pregnant, young, almost unbearably fragile. When she blinks again, Elly disappears.
“Are you alright, Siobhan? You look a bit pale.”
“I’m fine.”
“We don’t have to…”
“I’m sorry,” Siobhan murmurs, stumbling to her feet and sending her chair clattering to the floor. A few heads turn in her direction, frowning. “I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.”
Zara stands, too. “Siobhan, wait…”
But Siobhan is already making her way out of the coffee shop, she’s already at the door, she’s already out in the cold air. She breaks into a half-jog without looking back, not wanting to give Zara a chance to catch up with her.
A wild wind has picked up and it fights against her as she makes her way over North Bridge, into the tangles of people walking down Princes Street. Every face shepasses is so blank, so unknowing. She wants to pry open each mouth and make them swallow her secrets, so she no longer has to carry them all. She wants to smash open their skulls and examine the contents; to remember what it would feel like to not know.
When she gets to the Showroom, she changes into her black slacks and burgundy polo in the toilets. The face in the mirror stares back at her, blank and pale. There’s a smudge near her chin that she rubs at unsuccessfully. When was the last time she had a shower? She forces herself to take a deep breath then leaves the toilets and sidles into the box office booth next to Sylvie. Today, Sylvie’s curls are slicked back, and she’s wearing magenta lip gloss. She looks poised, regal. Siobhan wants to reach out and touch her little finger to the surface of her lips, just to disrupt the perfect lacquer. Sylvie frowns at her and checks her watch.
“You’re early,” she says.
Siobhan shrugs. “I’m early all the time.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve literally never been early. Keith gave you a disciplinary last month for lateness.”
“Maybe I’ve turned over a new leaf.”
Sylvie rolls her eyes and returns to her phone. The cinema is quiet. The Horror Film Festival ended last week, and now they’re back to regular showings, booming action films with next to no dialogue, swooning romcoms starring ageing film stars from the 90s. Siobhan feels edgy, her body thrumming with excess energy. Keith passes by the box office holding a dustpan and brush. His hair is gelled up into improbable spikes, a spray of stubble across his weak chin. He gives Siobhan a surprised nod.
“You won’t get paid for the extra hour, you know,”he says. He turns to Sylvie. “Had some really great customer feedback about you, Sylvie.Kind and personable.” He gives her a beatific grin. “I’d have to agree.”
“Thanks, Keith.”
Sylvie waits until Keith has moved on before whispering, “Fuck, he’s weird. I cannot wait to get out of this place.”
“You’re leaving?” asks Siobhan.
Sylvie rolls her eyes. “Hopefully. Applied for a job at SunWolf, just waiting to hear back.” She eyes Keith, checking his hair in the mirrored bar, and shudders.
Siobhan pulls at a loose thread on her polo, staring at Sylvie’s perfect lips. The hollowness in her belly starts to yawn wider. She’d been desperate to work at SunWolf once, too. Before that letter from Haina, before Hex House.It can only be you, Siobhan. Would you like to come inside?If she had never opened that letter, would she be working at SunWolf now? Probably. Would she have immaculately made-up lips and own an Apple Watch and drink green smoothies instead of endless bottles of wine? Would she hate herself any less? It’s possible. She thinks about the offer in Zara’s original email.I just wanted to touch base and see how you’d feel about working together on this, or even coming on as co-director.
