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I picked up the blow-torch. Why should I spare my old friends, just because of their children? I had never had children, and why not? Because I’d never been able to get close enough to another human to even consider them.
But still.
But I would go to prison for this. For a long time.
But wouldn’t that be a relief?
But, no Neil. No last golden days with my dad.
Just because they deserved it, didn’t mean I had to do it.
I saw my mum dangling from the ceiling, swaying, lips parted, her beautiful hair hanging lank around her face covered in yellowing bruises.
And then I got my phone out of my pocket, found Lydia’s message with the video and pressed play.
92
BEFORE
‘Is it on?’ said my mum.
‘It’s on,’ said Tristan, his voice so young. He moved back from the camera. Mum stood, leaning against her desk. He dragged his chair towards her, towering over her, and sat down, too close.
‘Hey! Some space, please,’ said Mum, though she was smiling.
‘But we’re Romeo and Juliet,’ he laughed.
She frowned. ‘Tristan, we’re not doing… What’s going on?’ She crossed her arms, her head tilting.
He leant back. ‘I thought…’
‘Oh, dear,’ she said, easing forward off the desk. ‘Oh, Tristan.’
‘I thought you liked me,’ he said.
‘Of course I like you, Tristan. I like all of my students, and you’re one of my star actors. You have so much talent.’
He peeked up at her. ‘I do have a lot of talent,’ he said, his smile sliding back into place.
She laughed. ‘You’ve got courage. I’ll give you that. Come on now, let’s?—’
‘Would you like to hear about all of my talents?’
Her gaze flicked from side to side as she realised she was trapped between Tristan and the desk. ‘My dear,’ she said, her voice becoming stern. ‘I’m afraid you’re far too young to be talented at that. You’re just a little boy.’
‘Am I?’ He stood up, seeming twice her size again, his back to the camera, hiding her. ‘Wouldn’t you like to find out?’ He reached for her face with both hands and pressed his knee between her legs, just as he had done to me. ‘You must be hungry for a real man, with that pansy boy husband of yours.’
‘This has gone too far,’ she said, but he leant down and forced a kiss on her.
She writhed and worked her arms up between them, trying to push him away, and I closed my eyes as she said, ‘Tristan, stop.’
I opened my eyes, just a slit, and saw him reaching down, fumbling with something, his flies I think, and then he hefted her onto the desk and I closed my eyes again as my mum screamed.
How had no one heard that scream?
Then he yelled. When I opened my eyes again he was staggering back, his trousers falling, his hand flying to his face. And then he lunged at her as she slid off the desk and she fell back and hit her head, her eyes snapping shut instantly, her arm lying at an unnatural angle.
He knelt over her, stood up, knelt again. Pushed his hands through his hair, and then ran past the camera, knocking it over sideways.
