Page 46 of The Girlfriend’s Secret

THIRTY-ONE

SCOTT

‘Damn it!’ I cry before throwing the wrench at the wall across the garage.

It lands with a loud clatter on the concrete floor and I stare at it as if that tool is the reason for my bad mood today. But of course it isn’t. If anything, a trusty wrench is something that usually brings me comfort and solace from the struggles of the outside world. But not today. Nothing can make me feel better about what is going on in my life outside of this garage where I spend so much of my time fixing cars.

I wheel myself out from under the latest vehicle that I’ve been working on before grabbing a hand towel and wiping off some of the oil on my hands. It’s largely a futile task because I spend all day covered in oil, so I won’t be fully clean until I have a shower later tonight. I toss the useless towel to the workbench at the side and wipe my hands on my stained overalls, then go to retrieve the wrench from where it lies.

Losing my temper is not an uncommon trait for me. I’ve always been tightly wound, even if I have done a reasonably good job of keeping that side of myself from other people. I tend to reserve my outbursts of anger for here, in this garage, where I am mostly alone. But recently, my anger has been getting harder to control.

Things have been hard. Money is not easy to come by. Costs are rising and people are trying to save what they can. That leaves business owners like me being squeezed from both ends. Having an increasingly expensive mechanic business to run with an ever-dwindling supply of customers is not a healthy combination. But I should be happier now. I’ve gained an inheritance that should take all of the pressure off me. I can pay my bills, buy some new tools and still have enough money left over to treat myself to a few personal items. My grandmother’s money sure will come in handy around here. But will the price I have to pay to spend it be worth it?

I wish I could work. I wish I could concentrate. But as I pick up the wrench, I know it’s only a matter of time until I throw it to the floor again. How can I complete my tasks here when all I can think about is how my grandmother really died?

Valerie didn’t deserve what happened to her. But it happened and I thought it could stay secret. But now Haven is here, putting ideas in people’s heads, pointing the finger at me, threatening to destroy everything. If only my brother had never met her. If only he was still single then she wouldn’t be a problem. Or if she was just as naïve and well-wishing as everybody else who thinks that my grandmother just fell down the stairs in an accident.

But she isn’t.

She’s smarter than that.

Haven might be right that Valerie was murdered, but I’m hardly going to congratulate her on her powers of deduction and offer to drive her to the police station so she can share her story with them. Instead, I have to hope that she will just leave me and my family alone, as I have already told her to do more than once. If she would just listen then everyone could be okay. I wouldn’t have to worry about my life, and she wouldn’t have to worry about hers. We could all just move on and pretend none of this ever happened. But I have a feeling that isn’t going to happen and that’s why I can’t stop worrying about the police getting involved and what life would be like for me behind bars.

I would not do well as a caged animal. I cannot go to prison. I need to be free.

Pushing those thoughts out of my head as best as I can, I push myself back under the car. I resume work, using the wrench in the way it was intended to be used. This is a skilful tool, not just something to be thrown around. I feel bad for mistreating it. I also feel bad for mistreating others. But I can’t change the past. I can only try and live with it.

I know my parents are on my side, supporting me against Haven’s accusations. I hope my brother is too, although I appreciate he is in a very difficult position. But even with my family, it feels like I am on my own here.

This is a mess of my own doing.

So maybe I’m the only one who can fix it.

But just like this car, it’s not going to be easy.

THIRTY-TWO

LIANE

I stare at the earring in my hand, the one I found on the bedroom floor in my mother’s house and, as of now, the only thing of Haven’s that remains here after she and my son left this morning. I could throw it somewhere. Anywhere. But I am holding onto it. I guess it’s symbolic. I’m holding onto it because I know it’s not the last I’ve seen of Haven. Not at all.

‘How are you feeling?’ Frederik asks me as we walk side by side in the park he suggested we go to after the drama of the morning. After being shocked to see Haven in my house and then having a heated argument with my husband while Joel and Haven left, it was obvious I needed a break. So Frederik suggested we come here, to the leafy surroundings of this green space for a bit of fresh air.

I put the earring in my pocket. I haven’t mentioned to my husband that this is the same park where I met Haven’s brother. I hardly think mentioning something like that is going to cheer either of us up or prevent us from having another argument. So I’ll continue to keep it to myself. I really don’t want to argue with Frederik. He is my best friend as well as my husband, and I need his support. I need it now more than ever.

‘A little bit better,’ I say in answer to his question. It’s not really the truth. I don’t feel any better. But I don’t want Frederik to think his suggestion to go for a walk has been a complete waste of time either.

‘I think you should talk to somebody,’ he says then as we keep walking. ‘A therapist, maybe, or a counsellor. Somebody who can help you process the shock of your mother’s death.’

‘Is that all I talk about with them?’ I ask with a sigh. ‘Or would I mention Haven too, and how she thinks our eldest son is a killer?’

‘Maybe just start with the grief thing and see how it goes,’ Frederik says, and we both can’t help but laugh at that.

If only life was as simple as a walk in the park. Wouldn’t it be wonderful? But we both know it’s not, which is why we can laugh here but will soon be reminded of the grim reality when we get home to find Joel gone.

‘I don’t want to lose us,’ I admit then, which is also perhaps an admittance that I have been hard to live with in recent times.

‘Me neither,’ Frederik replies, and that’s comforting to hear.