Love Me, Love Me Not: An addictive psychological suspense with a twist you won’t see coming

‘What about me?’

‘Robin, I love you, but I can’t do this anymore. Please. You have to let me go.’

I dropped the flowers to the ground and snatched from him one of the golden flutes, pouring its bubbly contents down my throat as I strode past my mother and into the marquee where all heads turned at my arrival. Seconds later a trumpet sounded and in the happy couple came, accompanied by cheers, whistles and rapturous applause. So beautiful. So touching. So fucking blah.

But still I looked. Still I watched as she glided through it all, like Jesus parting the waves. An ephemeral being so beloved by all. So utterly unaware of the damage she had done.

The crowd stilled as the bride and groom took their places at the top table, perched high above, where they could look upon their minions. Then murmurs of conversation floated between the tables as attention was pulled back to the free drinks.

‘Before the food arrives, I just wanted to say a few words.’ Elle remained standing, her voice laced with emotion I didn’t want to listen to. ‘I know it’s unconventional, but I need to say it now or else I’ll lose my nerve.’

It wasn’t part of the plan. Elle had never said anything to me about making a speech and I wondered what it was she didn’t want me to know in advance?

‘As some of you may know, my favourite song is “Ironic” by Alanis Morissette. Of course, words aren’t exactly my strong point, so I didn’t really understand what she was going on about until someone pointed out to me that it wasn’t sweet and romantic after all.’ A few polite laughs as she looked across at me.

‘But there’s one part of the song that has always meant so much to me, especially now. Especially today. “Life has a funny way of helping you out when you think everything’s gone wrong and everything blows up in your face.”’

She was still looking at me. They all thought she was talking about Patrick, were even ooh-ing and aah-ing in mock appreciation. But I saw her looking over at me with tears that threatened to fall and I allowed myself a moment to enjoy her attention once more. To remember what it was like when all she seemed to care about was me, only me and no one else.

‘I wouldn’t be standing here today if it weren’t for you, Jane.’

All eyes on me.

‘I’ll never forget that day at school when you ran through the showers naked, not caring what anyone thought. Teaching me not to be afraid to be yourself because that’s when love means the most.’

The last of her words were lost among a sea of mirth, of lewd comments and knowing looks from the women who had revelled in my humiliation that day. Who’d stared at me when I didn’t cover my breasts. Who called me a lesbian, pointed out the hair between my legs as if I were the unnatural one for not waxing it all away.

I lifted my glass to my lips, drank long and full, my own eyes never leaving hers over the top of its polished rim.

‘Because sometimes it’s the people you never expect anything of who end up defying all your expectations.’

She thought the memory was hers, that somehow it could be used to define her relationship with Patrick. That my torment, my utter humiliation, belonged to her. That she could embarrass me all over again because it was her right to lay claim to absolutely everything about me, past, present and future.

‘My world is a better place because of you.’ At this she turned to Patrick, shone her traitorous light onto his upturned face. Leant down to bestow upon him a lover’s kiss as the crowd called out in glee.

The stem of my glass split in two and I was left holding a jagged stick, like a fencer’s foil that jittered in anticipation.

Told you so.

I saw it all laid out in front of me. No one would question why I rose from my chair and made my way over to my best friend in all the world. No one would stop to think why I was bending forward to whisper something in her ear. No one would believe it possible that I could slit open her throat, covering the wedding feast in crimson waves. No one would understand what had happened until it was too late.

‘Jane.’ My brother’s voice slipped inside my fantasy, broke it apart before I could carry out my desire.

‘I have to go,’ I replied, releasing my weapon and pushing back my chair. He made no effort to stop me. He didn’t ask me to stay.

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_dbf24df8-8ae6-5668-95fe-019f7ac2ca7e)

Edelweiss: Deep love and devotion

Hong Kong, one year ago

I wasn’t going to come. Tried to ignore first the email then the message on my phone announcing his arrival in Hong Kong. Wondering whether I would be free to have dinner with him. He’d heard wonderful things about the Tin Lung Heen restaurant and knew it overlooked the harbour.

His voice. Winding through from thousands of miles away, as clear as if he were standing right beside me, the effect on my resolve the same. And so I replied. Of course I would meet him. It would be so lovely to catch up over dim sum and extortionately priced wine. Why not? We could even share opinions on the state of the economy and chuck in a few memories along the way.

Four years and counting. Four years since I’d scurried away from their celebrations and cried myself to sleep on the plane before arriving in a city built on water, fishermen living alongside corporate bankers, tourists and thieves. Each of us drawn to the ocean in our own way. From the balcony of my high-rise apartment I could see both sides of the city – jutting shards of brick that rose from the ground like stalagmites, the stretch of ocean that cut through its centre. I would sit and watch the passage of ships, windows open to the sky and breathing in the night. Wondering what they were up to. If they, too, looked upon the stars and the moon and thought of me.

It had taken me so long to allow myself to simply be. Not to compete, not to worry about fitting in. It took so long to be forgiven by my brother for running away, to justify that it was what I needed both personally and professionally. It took me so long to start spending all the money I was making, to start creating a life for myself that didn’t include them.

And it worked. The darkness that used to consume me every night slowly subsided. The cuts on my skin healed because I chose to forgive myself for what had happened. Because I had pursued him. I had been the one to bring Patrick into our lives and it all would have been so much better if I had never met him.

For the first time in so many years I would wake in the morning and not wonder where he was. If he was happy. If Elle had replaced me too. For the first time I allowed myself to believe my father would be proud of who I had become.

We are our own worst enemies. Looking back, looking forward, brings nothing but sorrow and regret. I had learnt to live in the here and now, but one phone call from him and it was like an earthquake had gone off in my soul.

I arrived at the restaurant early. Sat with flushed cheeks and jittery limbs as I gazed across the harbour. There was so much opulence, so much money to be won and lost. But despite my capabilities, I didn’t quite fit. Single, rich and attractive, but not looking for a husband. The native women were as mistrustful as the ex-pats, sheltering their own conquests from me, drawing rank, keeping me at the very periphery of the circle.

So I took a lover. Then some more. Hiding my loneliness in the arms of faceless men, none of whom ever brought me either comfort or peace. All of whom disappointed when my eyes opened to discover they were not who I still dreamt of night after night when exhaustion finally won.

I found Patrick in the periphery of my vision, watched as he strode past the maître d’ to lift me from my chair and into an embrace I had tried to recreate with strangers. He was there. Real. Bone and flesh. So why did I taste remorse instead of joy?

‘You look really well. Life out here is clearly suiting you.’

‘So do you, Patrick.’ He didn’t – he looked like a well-trodden doormat, all sallow skin and melancholy eyes. I accepted the plate of scallops the waiter put in front of me, the sweet aroma of ginger and lemongrass reaching my taste buds.

‘I hear you’ve been climbing the ladder faster than they can carve the rungs,’ he said, and I watched as he dipped his head to inspect his own meal, revealing the curl of hair against his collar. ‘You made a great decision coming out here.’

‘It was a fantastic opportunity.’ Which was true. Hong Kong had provided me with a job I never would have secured in London. It’s amazing what you can achieve when you’re desperately hiding from your past. No distractions, no ties, just mathematical formulae I was able to translate into bucketloads of cash.

Money makes the world go round, and while Elle was trying to fill her womb with chubby offspring, I’d been adding zeroes to my bank balance.

‘Why didn’t you tell us you were leaving?’

‘Fear can do that to a person.’ I wanted it to be more. So much more. But the voice inside my head, telling me I wasn’t like her, that I wouldn’t be chosen, forbade me from taking that risk.

‘I didn’t think you were afraid of anything.’

He was so far from right it was almost laughable. But fear wasn’t my only torment, not anymore.It was like I could feel the devil on my shoulder, trying to claw his way back in. Part of me had missed his taunts, his malevolent ways. Part of me understood I could no more resist him than I could stop my heart constricting whenever Patrick looked at me. Part of me knew that to ignore my darkness only gave it strength.

‘How’s Elle?’

‘She can’t get pregnant. We’ve tried everything and, as much as I want to support her, it’s becoming a definite issue.’

There was more to this visit, this meeting of minds, than first suggested. But was he simply the messenger, the go-between, or something more?

‘You’re having problems?’ She hadn’t mentioned anything in her emails. It was all sunshine, hearts and flowers as far as she was concerned. Or at least that was what I was supposed to think, even though I could see through her carefully constructed comments all too easily. The observations about how many of her friends were now mothers, how her social circle seemed obsessed with the benefits of co-sleeping versus controlled crying. How dull their evenings out were now, as everyone was worried about pumping and dumping or the increasing cost of childcare.

How she tried not to think about creeping ever closer to thirty and wondering at the way her life had turned out. As if thirty were some kind of barometer by which we should set our goals in life.