Oh what? Oh, Christ. He knows.
‘Oh, Adam,’ I start.
Oh, God. To say, what to say, how can I say explain? Can I hug him? Can I kiss
Him? Do I kill him?
‘It wasn’t rape,’ I say, or I think, I’m not sure, I prostrate myself, I kneel before him, I see my hands clasped for forgiveness. But then my brain says, He might not mean him. He might mean Ally. Did I rape Ally? Did Luke rape Ally? Or did we have consensual sex, right up until when Luke killed her?
‘Ally?’ I beg, from my place on the floor.
‘What, that’s your sex name for me, is it? You give me a girl’s name? You really need to emasculate me that much?’
No, no, he knows about me and about him.
And I try to hug him, his legs, but he kicks me off, so I cannot even cling there.
I knew, I knew, I knew that she had called Adam.
‘Liar, liar!’ I shout at dead Nicole. ‘You called him, you called him.’
She doesn’t deny it.
‘What, you think I just found out?’ asks Adam.
He brings his head close to mine. ‘You think I’m so stupid that I know I have a friend who “loves” me and is a bit fucking odd; in fact so fucking odd he writes a book about loving me, has a key to my house, suddenly has a sick aunt, and that I can’t even figure out that he’s the one who raped me?’
‘But, then, you must have known for years, Adam. You’ve known and forgiven me. I love you. You’ve forgiven me and you love me.’
‘For years? Do you think I would have tolerated you in my home, in my life, if I’d known for years?’
‘You love me, you love me and you’ve forgiven me.’
‘I’ve read your book now, Dan. The one you gave me at the wedding rehearsal. I finally thought, Well, I’d better read Dan’s book, he’s a mate, he’s a friend, I’ll read what he’s got to say. Knew it would take me a while to decipher your crazy handwriting but, little by little I’d get there.’
‘I love you, that’s what I say, Adam. I kiss your feet, I kiss your feet.’ I try to kiss his feet, to bathe them in my sweat, but he is wearing thick black boots. I scrabble at them, I try to untie them, but he kicks me off.
‘Even then, Dan, it didn’t occur to me, at first, when I started reading. I thought, Oh how sad, how sweet, how pathetic, this guy who has been hanging round me for years, the unshakeable Dan, he loves me. Then at dinner that time, in Soho, you spiked me with a fork. At that moment, I thought: It could be true. Then I finished the book. Without a doubt, it was you.’
I must explain to him, he must understand the why. He must read book three, he will see the love that motivated it, the sensitivity with which it was done. I can do an author reading, I will fetch it, Nicole, for once, will not interrupt. I move to my feet, I move to the door.
But then Adam pulls the knife back out of Nicole. And points it at me.