Hello!  We’re in the seventeenth entry, but reviewing Chapter Eighteen.  Because that’s not confusing in the least!

“I’ve left him! Melissa sniffed.

“Surprised” is too weak a word. 

I know!  For once, somebody’s actually taken some sort of action against the villain!

(Yes, I know his wife leaving him isn’t going to do much to thwart his evil plans, but if Anja had been the one married to James, she’d still be glaring at the back of his head and hoping he’d self-destruct through her sheer hatred.  So I think Melissa’s done very well.)

Melissa had just charged into our house looking miserable (and terrified), then dropped the bombshell.  Cherry and I were wearing identical expressions of absolute dumbfoundedness.  Our mouths were so wide open that our faces looked distorted, and each of us was trying desperately to hide her joy behind shocked sympathy.

“Yay!  After six months of sitting around doing nothing, somebody else is doing our job for us!”

“Why?” I asked, though the answer was bloody obvious, “Had he been seeing someone else?”

“No,” Melissa replied, then looked at us imploringly.  “Listen, girls.  People will think I’m mad if they hear that I’ve said this, so I’m counting on you not to spread it around.  The fact is, when Joe died…  I’m beginning to think that the newspapers were right.  I’m even beginning to think that James might have had something to do with the accident.”  She looked down at the cup of coffee that Cherry had made her.

Before Cherry could stop herself, she blurted out, “Oh!  You mean because of the Sammy thing?”

Well, don’t act too surprised, Cherry.

“I think my husband might be a serial killer!”

“Oh yeah!  He did try to kill our friend’s husband that time, didn’t he?  I’d forgotten about that!”

Melissa nodded.  “Yes, Cherry, the Sammy thing.  And I can’t help but think that if I’d actually stopped to wonder why James looked so angry when you said you’d straightened it, Mark, Joe and Jean might still have been alive today.”    

Yeah…  Why didn’t you wonder about that?  It’s never actually explained.

She gulped back a sob.  “It’s Estelle’s baby that’s done it.  To think, that poor child will never know her father, and it’s all my fault…”

Now, that made me feel guilty if nothing else.  If only she knew, I thought, Jean Freeman’s dad is alive and well and ecstatic, and Melissa’s here torturing herself with guilt over his death…  I couldn’t let her go through all that unnecessarily. 

Pfft, why not?  You’ve already let your friends and family go through it unnecessarily for six months.  One more person won’t hurt!

It was bad enough dealing with Gary’s guilt over Topaz, Shell and me.

…You’ve completely forgotten about your parents at this point, haven’t you, Anja?

“Melissa?” I asked, “We need to tell you something.  Well, we need to tell you a lot of things, but we can only tell you if you promise that what we say won’t leave this room.”

Why not?  The whole reason you were being secretive in the first place was so that James wouldn’t find out you were alive, and she’s hardly likely to tell him now.

I looked at Cherry.  She must have worked out what I was up to quickly, because when our gazes met, she nodded.  We both knew that we had to tell Melissa, otherwise we’d regret the consequences.

Heh, Anja regretting something.  Or acknowledging the consequences of her actions.  That’s a good one.

“What is it?” asked Melissa.

*** 

By the time Melissa left for Jack and Emily’s place, she knew everything about what had happened over the past few months. 

She knew that Joe and Mark were still alive.  She knew that James had almost certainly tried to kill us, and succeeded in killing Jean.  She knew that Cherry and I were cousins, and that I was Anja Cleary.  Unless you’ve lived under an assumed name near people who you feel are bound to find you out eventually, you can’t imagine what a relief that was.

Oh, shut your face, Miss “This is so cool!”

“You’re that sweet little girl, Honour?” she asked, “Sorry, Anja.  Though I doubt I’d ever have guessed it on my own.  Never mind different hair colour, you’re far more mature than the girl they keep describing. 

(gagging noises)

I suppose that’s one of the saddest things about dying young, not getting enough time to show your full personality to everyone. 

Yes.  That is the saddest thing.  Anja not getting to persuade the lowly mortals to worship her adequately is much sadder than her parents losing their only daughter.  Much, much sadder.

Are you sure that Joe…?”  It seemed like she didn’t dare to finish off her sentence, just in case the answer was somehow “no.”

Note that Melissa isn’t strangling them.  They’ve spend six months allowing her to believe that her son was dead, and she isn’t angry at them at all.  Nor is she demanding to see Joe, even though there’s no good reason why she shouldn’t.  I think Joe would appreciate the chance to talk to somebody who actually likes him.

“Yes,” said Cherry, “I’m really sorry you had to go through all this.  We would have told you bang at the start if we could have, but at times like that…  Well, you feel like you can’t trust anyone.”  I decided not to tell Cherry that she was quoting Mr. Daly.   I didn’t imagine she wanted to be reminded of his existence any more than I did.

“Yes, I understand.”  I wouldn’t have. 

Me neither.

I couldn’t imagine having to live in a world where beloved relatives could apparently die and then, a few months later, just when I was beginning to come to terms with the loss, it could turn out that they weren’t dead after all, and the people who might be construed as being to blame implied that I was too untrustworthy to tell. 

“Might be construed as being to blame.”  “Might be construed.”

I would have wanted to hit someone. 

Oh, we all do.

But I think, on the whole, Melissa was just a better person than me.  It wouldn’t be hard. 

YOU CAN SAY THAT AGAIN.

“I don’t think…” she added, “Well, that is to say, I want to see Joe again, sometime soon, but I don’t think I could face him just at this moment. 

Fifteen-year-old me, this is not how humans act.  Just because you get embarrassed by any strong emotion that isn’t Anja and Gary’s schmaltzy love doesn’t mean that Melissa does.

Not after everything that’s already happened today.  Tell him I said…” She paused, unable to think of something appropriate to say.  “Well, tell him I love him, and I’m delighted that he’s still here.  Just tell him that.”

The sad thing is, this is the nicest thing anyone’s said to Joe in six months.

Cherry led Melissa out, offering her a lift and being turned down.  “I’ll just take the train, if that’s alright with you.  I need some time alone, you know, to clear my head.  I mean, it’s a lot to think about, isn’t it?” she offered as a parting shot, “I’ve been through what many people would call a mother’s worst nightmare, and now it’s almost as though I’m waking up.”

*** 

Melissa didn’t tell her children why she had left their father, or anything to do with Joe.  She spun some tale about them “growing apart and needing space,” I think.  Despite the fact that Melissa had not yet found a flat, James relinquished custody of the younger children to her without an argument.  He knew that she could get him locked up for life if he upset her.

…So why doesn’t she?

The plans for Jack and Emily’s wedding, scheduled for June, went ahead without him.  Emily gushed out every last detail of it to anyone she could stop for long enough.  “It’s like, so amazing, isn’t it Honour?  I mean, I’ve always known I’d end up marrying Jack, even when I was little I did, but now it’s all happening and it’s not far off anymore!  Hey, tell you what- you and Gary could make it a double, eh?  Two peas in a pod, you are!  Earlier this week Jack said you two remind me of someone, and you know what?  I just figured it out- you remind him of us!”

Emily, please stop encouraging the spectacularly immature sixteen-year-old to make a lifelong commitment.  I mean, it’s going to happen at the end of the story anyway, because fifteen-year-old me had read too much V.C. Andrews, but there’s no reason for you to rush it along.

“She’s such a bimbo,” said Joe, on one of the rare occasions when he came down from his room (made even rarer by the almost constant presence of his relatives), “So totally vacuous.  If Jack really marries her, I wouldn’t blame him if he ends up with a bit on the side within a month.  No, make that a week.”

“That is such a chauvinistic thing to say,” I snapped.  Cherry walked in at that point, giving Joe an evil look.  That was the one thing that could crush Joe’s serpentine arrogance.

“You know, Joe,” she told him, “Maybe if you didn’t say things to deliberately rile Anja, she’d be more friendly to you.”

When has he ever…?  Oh, never mind.  Cheap angst, that’s all this is.

Joe laughed defiantly.  “I tried that, remember?  I tried all that months ago, and it didn’t work.  She’d just been freezing me out ever since Aunt Jean died.  She probably thinks bereavement is catching.”

Aw, don’t take it personally, Joe.  Smug drunk sociopaths get irrational grudges all the time.  It’s not you, it’s her.

“That’s it, Joe!”  Cherry turned on him, practically steaming with rage.  “I don’t have to let you live in this house, you know!  All you’re doing is being spiteful to my cousin and her boyfriend…

Pot!  Kettle!  Black!

…and you’re making them both miserable!

To be fair, it’s not that hard to make Gary miserable.  It’s kind of his natural state.

Practically the only reason I asked you in the first place is because you’re good with Ben, and you don’t even pay him any attention anymore!”

“That’s because,” Joe grunted, “the blessed Saint Gary has taken my place in Ben’s eyes.  I’m not good enough for him anymore, same as I’m not good enough for…”

“Joe Foster, you are a waste of space!  No, I’m wrong there, you’re worse!  At least wastes of space just waste space!  You contaminate it so nobody else wants to use it again!  You’d better buck your ideas up, Joe, because I’m sick and tired of having you around!”

SPOILERS- You know what?  When Joe goes psycho-killer next chapter, Anja and Cherry completely deserve it.  Out-and-out mental cruelty, that’s what this is.

As much as Joe had been irritating me for the past few months, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him when Cherry flounced out.  There was something in his face that suggested that his heart was about to tear to pieces.

It’s about six months too late for a twinge of conscience, Anja.

The telephone rang at that point.  I was glad of the excuse to avoid Joe’s gaze, but I wouldn’t have been so sure had I known who was on the other end.

“Hello?” I said.

“And hello to you, Honour,” replied James Foster.

 ***

I froze for the next minute.  The world obviously didn’t stop, but one thought erased my knowledge of anything else.

It’s James Foster.  He tried to kill me once and he can do it again.

But he’s only on the other end of the phone, I considered as he began to talk; There’s no way to kill someone when you’re not even in the same room.

He’d find a way, Anja.  If anyone can, it’s James Foster.

That’s ridiculous.  Nobody can murder someone using…

Once again- no idea where to put the comic relief.

“Honour?” asked my enemy, “Are you alright?”

“My enemy”?  So is this James speaking, or Joe?

“Huh?  Oh, sorry.  I just dropped something.”

“That’s alright.  I don’t expect you thought you’d be hearing from me?”

“No.  I…  I was sorry to hear about you and Melissa.  You always seemed to be such a close couple.”  It’s hard for me to tell a barefaced lie…

MWA HA HA HAAAAA!  Oh, Anja, you kill me.

…especially if I suspect that my life depends on it.

“Never mind it,” he assured me, as though I’d been talking about a stolen television instead of an impending divorce, “To tell you the truth, Honour, our marriage had been on the rocks for years.  Almost…  Well, I dislike saying this, but almost since Violet died.”

“Really?”  So, he was blaming Melissa for Vi’s death as well as Joe.  What a creep.

“I shouldn’t talk about things like that, though.  After all, I’d hate to live in the past, not when I should be considering the future.”

“How come?”

“Ah, Honour.  Sweet, innocent Honour.  How long have we known each other?”

And now begins the part of the conversation where a middle-aged bloke attempts to hit on a sixteen-year-old.  A sixteen-year-old he started fancying when she was fourteen, remember.  Somehow, the fact that he’s a serial killer is the least creepy thing about James Foster.

It sounded almost as though he was flirting with me.  Suddenly, something that darling little Robbie had said to me on New Year’s Eve came back to haunt me.

“Since last November,” I answered, “Look, Mr. Foster, I’m not sure I like you calling me…”

“Call me James, call me James.  Honour, ever since I first met you I’ve entertained certain… feelings about you.  Was that so wrong of me, considering the age gap between us?”

Yes, I thought. 

I AGREE.

“No, Mr. Foster, I’m really flattered, but I should tell you that…”

“Would you come out for a drink with me tomorrow night, Honour?  I’ve been dying to ask you for weeks, but I’ve only just plucked up the courage.”

SHE’S NOT OLD ENOUGH TO DRINK.  ON ACCOUNT OF HER BEING SIXTEEN.  AND YOU ARE NOT YOURSELF SIXTEEN, YOU PERV.

“Look, Mr. Foster, I’m sorry, but I already have a boyfriend. 

“And also, you’re fifty.”

I…  I really love him, OK, so you can see how I can’t go out for a drink with another man. 

“Especially not one who’s fifty.”

Thanks for the offer, but I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Oh.”  For the first time in half a year, I noticed a resemblance between James Foster and his son.  James’ voice at that point had sounded exactly how Joe’s face had looked when Cherry had threatened to kick him out a few minutes previously.  “Well, one can’t blame me for trying. 

Yes one can!  And does!

Goodbye, Honour.”

At that point, he hung up, leaving me with a chilling (and correct) feeling that I had not heard the last from him.

Yeah, it’s strange how you always end up hearing from serial killers again after you don’t report them to the police.

I looked around, seeing that Joe had left the room.  Gary walked in, furtively checking every window as he came.  He’d been doing this for the past month, ever since he’d read about Shell.  As I looked at his hand, I saw that it was clenched around something, and trembling not only with his tight grip.  Gary looked even paler than usual, as though he was going to be sick with fear.  He looked, in fact, very similar to the way he had when we first met.  Unable to meet my eyes, he looked at the carpet.  It was almost as though he was afraid of me, or of something I might do. 

And so he should be.  You are, after all, a smug drunk sociopath.

He picked up a CD from the cabinet near the door, and put it in the CD player, turning the volume down so that the song that came on didn’t drown out what he had to say.

“Anja,” he asked, “I have something to ask you, and your answer could…  Well, just hear me out.”

I recognized the song as a romantic ballad that I had always liked.  It wasn’t one by a boyband, but by a respectable rock group who weren’t ashamed of being a little soppy occasionally. 

I love how sixteen-year-old me is attempting to differentiate Anja and Gary from those shallow people who like boybands, while, at the same time, putting together a sappy, clichéd proposal scene right out of a Westlife video.

As the chorus began, I guessed with a start what Gary’s question would be.

He was breathing so hard that any doctor would have wrongly diagnosed him as asthmatic immediately.  “Anja, I was worried in case I couldn’t ever get round to saying this.   I’ve never met anyone in my life who I’ve loved as much as you.”

And I was worried in case all this business with Jordan had caused Gary to panic and make sweeping generalizations.  “What about Topaz?” I asked.

He shook his head.  “Topaz wasn’t like you.  She just thought of me as her best friend.  To be honest, I don’t think she even noticed that I was a boy.  You, on the other hand…” Gary finally met my eyes and smiled.  “You’re a wonderful person, Anja. 

LIES!  LIES!  LIES!  LIES!  LIIIIIES!!!

I couldn’t have survived the past year without you.  I overheard Emily making a suggestion to you earlier this week, and I could have died happy only by considering it.  So I’ve got to do this before it’s too late.”

(vomits discreetly)

As he knelt down, Gary unclenched his shivering fist to reveal a plain, shining ring.

“Anja Cleary, will you marry me?”

Phew.  At least that’s over with.  Join us next time for the big wedding.  Be sure to bring your sickbags.