In the end, it took six months.
For the stab wound to fully heal.
For me to enrol in university.
To find a therapist I finally trust.
And it’s been worth every moment.
The campus is bustling with young, beautiful people bubbling with anticipation for the lives they dream of. They’re collecting and connecting. When I’m with them, I look more like a teacher than a student.
“You’ll have so much life experience to bring to the table,” Sam had teased, after I’d come back home and told her everything.
It was hard to start a psychology degree. And I didn’t exactly have the most brilliant academic record until now. Younger Cat hadn’t exactly done older Cat any favours. But I took a couple of bridging courses, and here I am. For real this time.
The journey after the day that Neil and I shared an ice cream in the hospital was long and complicated. My mother had arrived a couple of days later from South Africa. We held hands, and we cried together for the first time in ages.
Because the stab wound was just a physical wound. The tip of the iceberg. The rest of the iceberg was my own issues and challenges. And I was tired of hiding and lying. I wanted to get it all out.
“How did you know Lisa had two phones?” a police investigator asked me while I was still in my hospital bed. “How were you so sure?”
“I wasn’t,” I said.
He nodded and said he’d be in touch. The interview felt cold and awkward.
A week later, I was released from hospital. Neil drove us to a hotel in Bilbao.
“Adiós, shithole,” he said as we drove out of town.
The investigator called a few days later while my mother and I were eating breakfast with Neil at the hotel.
“We found it. The phone,” he said. “And the sim card.”
“And?” Neil asked. He had the investigator on speakerphone.
“We managed to put it back together—used the sim—and it’s all there. The Gmail account. The InCheck profile. With Deborah’s confession, it’s all the evidence we need to wrap up the case. It also seems like her husband was laundering money,” he added. “A completely separate case from this one.”
“A real pair, those two,” Neil said.
“And what about InCheck?” I asked.
Neil gave me a look of caution. We talked about this before. If you’re not asked, don’t tell, he said. But I just wanted it all to be over with.
“It’s not in our jurisdiction. InCheck is set up in the United States. All I know is that there’s a pending enquiry,” said the investigator.
There was a flutter in my stomach. “What type of enquiry?”
“Fake accounts. One person holding more than one account. Seems you weren’t the only one pulling that stunt. If you ask me, the company will take the fall for their lack of security,” he said. He seemed almost disappointed that I was getting off so lightly.
Months later, InCheck filed for bankruptcy, suffocated under the weight of dozens of civil lawsuits.
“What about Lisa’s family?” I asked Neil on one of our last days in Bilbao. “Are they going to take me to court?”
I’d been stalking Lisa’s social media, looking for a sign of change.
Neil shook his head, eating a plate of eggs. “They got what they wanted. Deb is being charged with manslaughter.”
But there was still one loose end. The Instagram message.
I know you’re a fraud, Alice.
“Did you contact me anonymously on Instagram?” I asked Neil. “Before I came to Gexta?”
He looked at me blankly. “Nope.”
If he didn’t, then who did? Was it Deborah? Maybe I would never know.
“Relax. You’re off the hook, kid,” he reassured me.
I tried to believe it. But I could never entirely lose the nagging feeling that a storm would break over my head. That I would get the consequences of my actions.
But it didn’t happen.
So instead, I went back home to South Africa.
“Be good,” Neil said before we parted ways at the airport. He was going back to the UK—to his real life. I’d stared at him, afraid to say goodbye. To open the next chapter in my life. He hugged me, and all I could do was nod. A resounding yes.
It was a month later when I decided to try therapy again. My mother and I were sitting in the garden as David prepared the braai.
“Would you help me find one?” I asked her. “A therapist?”
My mother smiled, and our lips quivered together. “Of course.”
It’s a work in progress, my therapy. But the iceberg is slowly cracking into smaller bits, which are floating away on the currents of life. Leaving me with more space to breathe.
I leave campus at midday, and drive to the other side of town. My mother and therapist convinced me to put my father’s inheritance to good use—my psychology degree—but it wasn’t enough to sustain myself whilst I studied. Luckily, I had a friend who was all too happy to welcome me back to the world of work.
“It’s going to be a busy year,” Sam grinned when I asked her if I could come back to the academy. “I hope you’re ready.”
Somehow, the teaching gig feels less like a chore this time. Maybe it’s the therapy, the studies, the newfound freedom of just being myself. Or a combination of all of the above.
When I pull into the parking lot of the academy, it’s packed. I find a parking spot near the back, grab my bag from the passenger seat, and start walking to class.
I don’t notice the woman until she’s right in front of me.
She looks strangely familiar. As she gets closer, my heart starts pounding.
She takes a final step towards me, her eyes meeting mine. “Cat?”
“Yes,” I say.
She lets out a relieved sigh, reaches out to shake my hand. “Hi, I’m—”
“Eleanor,” I say. “You’re Eleanor. You’re Lisa’s mom.”