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‘Remind me.’
‘A scorpion wants to cross a river but he can’t swim, so he asks a frog to carry him across.’ My tone is relaxed, but I don’t take my eyes off Stacey’s hands for a second. ‘The frog hesitates, afraid that the scorpion might sting it, but the scorpion promises he won’t, because they’d both drown if he stung the frog in the middle of the river. So the frog agrees to carry the scorpion, and he climbs onto its back. And then halfway across the river the scorpion stings the frog anyway, dooming them both. The dying frog asks the scorpion why he stung him, knowing they’d both die, to which the scorpion replies, “It’s in my nature”.’
‘Are you the scorpion or the frog in this fable?’ Stacey asks.
‘You tell me,’ I say.
‘I liked you,’ Stacey says. ‘I reallylikedyou.’
‘I liked you too,’ I say. ‘Why did you set me up?’
She rolls her shoulders and stretches her long white neck from side to side. ‘Hypothetically speaking? Well, if I wanted to get rid of my husband, I’d be the first person the police would suspect. So I’d need a someone to distract them, wouldn’t I? Someone to provide reasonable doubt.’ Her lips curve. ‘Someone who had a motive to want Felix dead. And youreallydidn’t like my husband, did you?’
‘I assume that was your intention.’
‘You saw what you wanted to see.’
‘And Harper? Where does she fit in? Why did you try to kill her?’
‘WhywouldI try to kill her? What are you talking about?’
‘She saw you behind the wheel of the car that hit her.’
‘She’s lying,’ Stacey says.
‘Of course she is,’ I say. ‘But not necessarily about this.’
‘I think about you all the time,’ Stacey says unexpectedly. ‘I think about your hair, and the clothes you wear, and how you look when you’re sleeping. I wonder if you masturbate, and who you think about when you do.’ She leans forward, her breasts swelling against the edge of the bath towel. ‘I wonder what it must be like to slice into someone and watch their blood flow over your fingers and to hold their life in your hands. Literallyin your hands.’
‘I think about you, too,’ I say. ‘I wonder what happened in your family to make you the way you are. I wonder why you chose to have a child. I think about why you picked me for your little game. I think about what it’s like to go into a studio every day and expose yourself to the scrutiny of ten million people.’
‘Not quite ten million, but thank you. I appreciate the compliment.’
‘You’re welcome. I took the scissors out of your bedside table, by the way,’ I add. ‘Just in case you were tempted.’
Her hand stops inching across the duvet. ‘What are you going to do, Millie?’
‘Ah. Well, thatisthe question, isn’t it?’
‘You could just walk away.’
‘I think we both know that’s not going to happen,’ I say. ‘You took that option off the table when you told the police Felix had never had a nosebleed.’
‘Did you really expect me to take your side against my husband’s?’
‘I expected a littleloyalty,’ I say, ‘after all I’ve done for you.’
‘Are you going to kill me, too?’
‘Nice try,’ I say.
‘I thought we weren’t playing games,’ Stacey says, standing up.
‘Oh, Stacey. We’ve only just started.’
The air between us hums.Thisis what has been missing from our relationship: the dangerous, deadly rivalry that adds fire and blood to the charm of conquest. Our friendship was a fraud, but this,thisis real: the merciless struggle for survival, red in tooth and claw, honest and authentic. Strip away the lunches and the yoga and the confessional intimacy of any female friendship and this is what you’ll find: savage, brutal, ruthless competition. It’s the dark truth hidden away like a portrait in the attic, withered, wrinkled and loathsome of visage.
We circle each other like gladiators.
