The two of them came into the kitchen, looking curiously at Bella and Jake. Bella struggled to breath normally – she struggled to breath at all. The sudden wave of terror that swamped her held her rigid in the kitchen chair.
“What are you two doing up?” said Carl, at last, raising his eyebrows.
There was a moment’s silence. Then Jake said, in a voice Bella had never heard before, “what are you doing back?”
“What?”
“What are you doing back? You said you’d be away all weekend.”
Carl half laughed. “Thanks for the warm welcome.”
“You know what I mean.”
Veronica spoke up. Bella still had to strain to hear her voice.
“They closed the M4. It was awful traffic – so – we headed back. Didn’t we, Carl? There must have been an awful accident.”
Jake put his empty glass down on the table and the chime of it rang into the silence.
“Yeah, well – you two would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” he said.
Bella flinched. She watched Carl’s face, as it moved from flippant confusion, to surprise, to slowly darkening anger.
“What?” said Carl, too quietly.
Jake stared at him. He still had his whisky glass clasped loosely in his hand. Carl appeared to notice it.
“Is that whisky? Give me some, would you? I’ve been dying for a drink for the past three hours.”
“Get it yourself.”
Jake was beginning to shake. Bella watched him, horrified. She gripped her legs tighter under the table, seeking meagre comfort from her own body warmth.
“What the fuck’s up with you?”
Carl said it in a tone just this side of bored but Bella thought she could see faint signs of uneasiness in his face. She wanted to shut her eyes, stop her ears, remove herself from the cataclysmic words she knew were about to be said.
Carl picked up a mug from the pile on the draining rack and sloshed a measure of whisky into it. He drank it down in a couple of slow gulps, his eyes fixed on Jake. The tension between them stretched across the room: Bella could almost see it, a thick, twisted rope, shimmering with things unsaid. She barely noticed Veronica moving to stand by the stove.
Jake took a deep breath.
“She knows.”
Carl took his final sip of whisky and set the cup aside. He licked his lips before he answered.
“Who knows? Who knows what?”
“She does. Bella.”
Carl hadn’t moved his eyes from his brother’s face. He didn’t move them now but kept them fixed on Jake’s. He spoke slowly. Almost too slowly for Bella – it was if he was figuring out what to say before he said it.
“What are you talking about?”
Jake took another deep breath.
“Bella knows. She knows everything.”
Carl sighed. He turned back to the counter, reaching casually for the whisky bottle.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
Bella spoke before she realised she was going to. It was partly the sight of Carl’s face, wiped of all expression save bored incredulity. It was partly Jake’s face, so young suddenly, so young and hurt, shocked pale under his dark stubble.
“I know about Candice Stanton,” said Bella.
There was a sharp intake of breath from Veronica behind her but she scarcely noticed. She was too busy watching Carl, watching the sudden blooming of his pupils, the momentary contraction of the muscles of his face. Then she knew. Bella felt a sinking of her stomach, her own muscles slackening, loosening. She clutched the edge of the table.
“I know,” she said, shaking. “I know what you did. I know what happened.”
Carl poured himself another slug of whisky. The neck of the bottle rang out against the lip of the mug and his face contracted again, momentarily.
“And what the fuck do you think you know?” he said, not looking at her.
Out of the corner of her eye Bella saw Veronica’s hand go up to cover her mouth. She could hear the other girl’s quick, jagged breathing, just audible in the quiet kitchen. Above the terror, she felt a sudden flash of pity for her.
“I know – “ her mouth dried and she had to swallow and start again, “I know you pushed her down the stairs. And then you buried her in the garden.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth she felt embarrassed. She sounded absurd. Even with the tension pulsing through the room, Bella heard herself speaking with a sensation of disbelief. How was it possible that these things had been done, by these people? It was too late now anyway. She had to push on and say the rest of it. She took a firmer grip of the table edge.
“You pushed her. I don’t know if you meant to but you did push her. She fell down the stairs and hit her head and died. She died in this house and you wouldn’t go to the police. You dug a hole under the shed and you buried her there.”
Carl put down his mug. He was smiling.
“Buried someone under the shed?”
Bella flushed. “That’s what I said.”
“Well, Bella – “ Carl paused and his smile grew wider. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, darling… that’s quite a story. Let me guess – that’s what Jake told you, right?”
“I – “
“Am I right? It was Jake’s story?”
Bella floundered. “Well, yes – but – “
Carl stopped smiling. His brows drew together, less of a frown, more of a wince.
“I don’t blame you,” he said. “You’re too young to really know how to handle this – and I can’t pretend that I was hoping it wouldn’t happen.”
Bella stared at him, winded.
“What?”
Carl put down his mug.
“Bella, my love, you must know that Jake’s not been himself lately.” He threw a quick, anxious glance at his brother as he spoke. Jake hadn’t moved since Carl started speaking but Bella couldn’t bear to look at him. “Jake is – is not well. He’s not mentally well. I did try and tell you about this earlier. I did try and warn you. You remember; that time you slept in V’s bed? Jake had thrown you out of the bedroom, if I remember rightly?”
Bella looked down at the table, feeling a great wash of heat climb towards her face. She felt the hard edges of the table beneath her fingertips, the only thing she felt she could be sure was real.
Carl went on.
“I tried to warn you then and I’m truly sorry Jake hasn’t been able to share this with you directly. He’s really not mentally well. He’s had these – these episodes – before. I really hoped the last one might have been the last but, it seems not.”
Bella blinked a couple of times. She was conscious of her mouth hanging open and shut it as she groped for words.
“What?” she said weakly.
Carl came over to her and she flinched back a little. He took no notice, and crouched down on his haunches, putting his hands gently on her shoulders. She felt the warmth of his fingers as he spoke again, softly.
“I’m so sorry, Bella.”
She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She felt as if she were groping through thick fog, towards a light barely glimpsed in the distance.
“What are you talking about?” she managed.
Carl looked serious. He kept his hands on her shoulders, tightening his grip just slightly.
“God Bella, I’m so sorry. I was so hoping that this day was never going to come. You just have to accept it. I’ve had to, my whole life. He’s my little brother, you know? I’ve always had this, I’ve always had to take care of him. Ever since we were little. Ever since Mum died.”
Bella sat, unmoving. She was transfixed by Carl’s eyes, so like Jake’s, holding her gaze, unmoving. His large hands cradled the rounded bones of her shoulders. She groped for clarity, trying to make sense of the thoughts that were filling her head in a thick, swirling fog. Was it true? She thought back to Jake, his moodiness, his temper, his box full of secrets. Was it all a lie? Why would he lie? Why? Because Carl says he’s ill, she told herself. He’s mentally ill. Her thoughts thickened, like mud, like the ash-choked air of an underground tunnel. She was back there again, wading through the wall of heat and thick choking dust. Only this time, there was no Jake to take her hand and lead her out to daylight – because it was Jake that was causing the darkness. She put her hands up to her temples, pressing her fingers into her skin, holding together her aching head. What a fool I’ve been, she thought, and felt tears sting her eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked hard.