‘How could you, Seb? How could you go sneaking around my things when you promised me you wouldn’t?’ There are tears in my eyes as I vent my frustration, and I almost can’t speak properly, I’m so choked with rage. How could Seb betray me again after I was so open with him yesterday when we met in Covent Garden? We made a pact to wait, to ride things out, to see if the police investigating Dr Adams’s death come up with anything that might lead us to catching the person tormenting us. But clearly, he lied, is just the same as all the men in my life who have ultimately let me down. It was him who took my journals last Saturday after all. But how the hell did he access the safe? That’s what puzzles me.
‘Adriana, let me…’
I hold up my hand. ‘Save it. I don’t want to hear it. There’s no justification for this. These are my private thoughts, Seb. Nobody’s business but mine. How could you betray my trust like that? I know you’re hiding something too, I can sense it, but I agreed to respect your privacy. I haven’t gone snooping in your room, as much as I’ve been tempted to. You’re a bastard, just like the rest of your sex.’
Seb looks at me imploringly. ‘I’m sorry, Adriana, but if you could just let me explain—’
‘Explain what? There’s nothing to explain as far as I can tell. I caught you red-handed. Tell me, did Rick put you up to this? Was this a set-up from the start? Maybe you’re working for him? Maybe he’s paying you to dish up dirt on me, because he’s obsessed with the notion that his son was murdered, and he’ll stop at nothing to uncover the truth. Maybe Seb isn’t even your real name and you’re not a writer. Maybe you’re some undercover private investigator he’s hired who’s a pro at cracking safes, who the fuck knows, I don’t know what the hell to believe any more.’
I stop talking, shattered. My head is banging, my body literally twitching with anxiety. Not just because of Seb and everything that’s transpired these past few days, but because of something else that happened today. Something that freaked the hell out of me. It’s happened before, and I’ve ignored it. But I really don’t feel well, and the exhaustion only seems to have got worse. So much so I’ve booked myself in for a blood test tomorrow, before I go and see Dr Martin. I need to know what’s wrong with me, because I feel certain something’s not right.
Seb comes over to where I’m standing in the open doorway, my gaze still focused on my journals spread all over Charles’s desk. His eyes are fearful, his movements tentative, as if he expects me to lash out and tell him to get the fuck away from me. But I don’t. For one, I’m too worn out. And secondly, I can’t help being curious to hear his explanation. I guess it’s because I see a goodness in him, a vulnerability I recognise in myself, and a part of me is still desperate to believe he’s not like all the rest.
‘Adriana, I’m not here to spy on you, and Rick didn’t hire me. I really am a struggling writer, and I did grow up in Brighton and lose both my parents. But you are right about one thing. Seb isn’t my real name. It’s something I should have told you yesterday, but at that moment I had no idea it was relevant to what we were discussing.’
My heart judders at this last confession. ‘What do you mean?’
‘My real name is Lucas Stevens, but I changed it to Sebastian Walker before I came back to the UK from Nigeria. Three years after Mum received my dad’s suicide note. Well, when I say note, it was sent by email.’
Stevens? Suicide note? All of a sudden my legs are like jelly, a queasy sensation filling my insides.
‘Suicide note?’ I repeat, my voice frail. ‘So you lied to me when you said he had cancer?’
‘Yes, but with good reason. I was too ashamed to tell you the truth. A truth I’ve fought to keep concealed these past ten years. Plus I didn’t think you’d take me on as your lodger if you knew about my past.’
‘Knew what about your past?’ I again echo Seb’s words, the fear in my voice palpable. ‘Why did you change your name?’
I’m almost certain I know the answer, but I need to hear him say it.
He holds my gaze firm. ‘It’s a question I could ask of you. Scarlett.’
I feel my stomach lurch. But I can’t get sidetracked. Of course he knows my real name. He read my journals. ‘Don’t change the subject. Carry on.’
‘Dad wasn’t the person Mum and I believed him to be,’ he says. ‘He had a dark side, a separate life we were completely oblivious to. As were so many people close to him.’
Hearing the pain in his voice, for the first time since I caught Seb with my journals, I feel a pang of pity for him. ‘How do you mean?’
‘He did some bad stuff. Truly awful, unthinkable things that made me so ashamed. It broke Mum. Nearly broke me. It’s why we upped and left for Nigeria for a few years. Because of the backlash we faced at home.’
I say nothing. Walk to the chair opposite Charles’s desk and sit down. Because if I don’t sit right now, I will collapse.
‘I met an old friend of Dad’s today,’ Seb says. ‘A man named Trevor Carrington. He was one of the last people to see Dad alive.’
I frown. The name not ringing any bells. ‘And?’
‘Dad had dinner with Trevor and some old uni friends the Saturday before he emailed Mum his suicide note.’
I swallow hard. Ask faintly, ‘Where?’
‘An Asian fusion restaurant in Mayfair. Trevor said Dad went over to speak to you and Charles at one point. He remembered Charles, what with him being such a renowned businessman.’
The room is suddenly spinning and I want to be sick.
‘Dad told Trevor that his father was your father’s boss and that he knew you and your parents from when you lived in Devon.’
It’s all too horrifying. Seb moves closer and I instantly recoil.
‘I think you know who I’m talking about?’ he says. ‘And I’m guessing you heard in the news what happened shortly after? What the police found on Dad’s laptop in our house?’ Seb lowers his gaze, then slowly looks up again, his expression etched with guilt and shame as a tear escapes his left lower lid and starts to trickle down his cheek. ‘Dad said he couldn’t live with himself in his email to Mum. He never told her exactly what he’d done, but explained it would all come out before long. It puzzled her why he chose to email, rather than send her a written note or even leave her a voicemail. It puzzled me too. Still does. The police had no luck tracing the email. Neither did they ever find a body. It’s something that’s troubled me to this day.’
I sit here rigid, unable to believe what I’m hearing. Unable to comprehend that the son of the man who abused me as a child is standing right in front of me. Has been staying in my house. Has made love to me. I’m in so much shock, I can’t even speak.
‘I realise this is a lot to take in, and you must hate me for lying to you,’ Seb goes on. ‘But you have to know, I’m as sickened by what my dad did as you must have been. And everyone else who knew him. Or thought they did, at any rate. Mum and I couldn’t leave the house for a time. Her friends turned on her, I got bullied at school and my mental health suffered. It helped Mum going back to Nigeria, where she could be with family in a safe place, and where Dad’s crimes couldn’t follow us. Not a day goes by when I don’t feel guilty for persuading her to return to England. Because coming back just brought home what he’d done, the fact that Dad wasn’t the person she thought she’d married. That he had this evil side he hid so masterfully. The classic Jekyll and Hyde.’
I study Seb’s face and realise that despite there being more of his mother in him than Jason, he has the same jawline as his father, the same shaped eyes, although there’s a sincerity about Seb’s that Jason’s lacked. But when it comes down to it, he’s the child of the man who, together with my mother, ruined my childhood. He’s the reason Charles and I argued. The reason I suffered from depression and a lack of self-confidence for so many years. The reason I crave attention, crave sex, and yet at the same time, have moments when all I want to be is alone, the thought of being touched by a man repulsing me. It’s hard to look at Seb and not feel disgusted. Because now I know the truth, all I see is Jason.
‘What is it you want to know, Seb? You’ve been reading my journals so I’m guessing you know that Jason, together with my mother, abused me as a child. Well, not sexually, but in many ways, it was as good as. I hated him, like I hated her, and when I left Devon for Guildford I prayed I’d never see his face again. It’s why I made a point of never looking him up. I wanted a clean break. But then, as you correctly pointed out, I saw him that night in the restaurant. It was my and Charles’s wedding anniversary. A night that was supposed to be special for the both of us, but which, thanks to your father, drove us apart.’ I pause, as something occurs to me. ‘You didn’t just come to London to pursue your writing, or because you wanted a change of scene, did you?’
‘No.’ Seb shakes his head. ‘Around six months ago I found a business card for the then CEO of Female Aid, Frederica Bailey. It slipped out of one of Dad’s books that I inherited after Mum died. The name Scarlett was written on the back of it.’
So now I know for sure that Jason didn’t just come to London to see his friends and happened to bump into me. He came here seeking me out too. Perhaps having seen my photo in the newspaper. I always shied away from press photos, tried my best to keep my name and face as private as possible, hence my lack of social media. But I couldn’t stop that one photo from slipping through and it was enough to whet Jason’s appetite. Perhaps meeting me in the restaurant was a coincidence, but now I’m certain he was determined to find me that week, and if it hadn’t been that day, it would have been another.
Seb says what I’m thinking. ‘I think Dad looked you up, that he perhaps intended to get in contact while he was in London, but then ran into you anyway. But like I said, what I don’t understand is why he sent Mum that email and killed himself. He showed no suicidal tendencies when he left, but now I’m wondering if perhaps seeing you sparked something in him?’
I wince inside when he says this. Knowing how close to the truth he is. But I can’t let him see my fear. ‘Are you blaming me for your father’s death?’ I say angrily.
He doesn’t answer my question. Something that unnerves me further. His gaze drills through me. ‘I saw an entry in your diary. Where you talked about not being able to believe “he hunted you down”. I’m guessing by that you meant my dad?’
I say nothing.
‘In the same entry you said you hated lying to Charles, but had no choice but to keep the truth about what you’d done buried.’ Seb pauses, then says: ‘What did you mean by this, Adriana? Did you meet with my dad again? After that night in the restaurant?’
I don’t regret Jason’s death. Right to the last he was as narcissistic as ever. The consummate misogynist. A serial abuser. And I don’t for a moment believe he repented for his sins. But as I look into Seb’s eyes, I can’t help pitying him and his mother for all they have suffered. I hate that I am partly responsible for their suffering. That all these years Seb’s never been able to bury his father. And it’s for this reason that I know I must come clean and tell him the truth.
‘Adriana, please answer me.’ His tone becomes sharper, impatient even. ‘Did you meet with him? What did you mean in your journal when you said you had no choice but to keep the truth buried?’
I get up, with the intention of going over to Seb and confessing everything to him. But suddenly I feel so overwrought, so overwhelmed with stress, it’s like I can’t get enough oxygen into my lungs. I feel light-headed, my eyelids twitching. Like I’m overcome with an indescribable exhaustion. I start pulling at the neck of my sweater, in an attempt to ingest some air.
‘Adriana, are you OK, can I get you some water?’ I hear Seb say.
I vaguely see his face, his look of concern. Similar to the look Dr Adams gave me the last time I saw him, after I poured out my heart and soul to him. Told him everything I was frightened of.
But before I can say another word, everything goes black.