Before We Met(115)

‘What’s he done to you? Has he hurt you? He’s hurt you.’ He came towards her, arms out, but she twisted her body away from him, hands out, shielding herself.

‘No. Don’t touch me.’

‘Han . . .’ He reached out but she shoved his arm away, recoiling from the contact.

‘I said, don’t touch me.’

She flailed, trying to keep him off, but he grabbed her head and held her face between his hands, forcing her to look at him. At first she resisted but then she stopped struggling and stared back.

‘I know,’ she told him. ‘Patty, Hermione – I know everything.’

His hands dropped. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he stepped away from her. His body seemed to sag momentarily, as if she’d knocked the wind out of him. Transfixed, she watched his expression change from shock to regret and then, too quickly, to a kind of resigned acceptance that sent a chill through her. He looked at her with detachment for a second or two, and then, as if coming to himself again, he spun around. Nick was standing near the door, watching them.

‘What have you done?’ Mark said.

‘She needed to know.’

Mark shook his head as if he was actually pained. ‘You’re mad.’ He turned to Hannah. ‘See, I told you – he’s insane, crazy.’

‘I don’t think so,’ she said.

‘Will you kill her, too,’ Nick asked, ‘now that she knows? It would be a shame – you actually love her, don’t you? The first time in your life you’ve ever cared about anyone other than yourself. Except for Mum, obviously.’

Without warning, Mark launched himself across the room. He swung, aiming for Nick’s face, but Nick anticipated him, took a step sideways, then drove his fist into Mark’s stomach. Mark doubled over and Nick grabbed his collar, pulled him back and then hurled him against the wall. A dull thud – the wall was plasterboard, soft.

‘I hope you did better than that inside, pretty boy.’

Nick made a sound, half-groan, half-roar, and threw himself at Mark. He brought his knee up, aiming for his brother’s groin, but he missed and Nick caught hold of him by the hair, pulled his head down and dragged him across the room, feet scuffing against the flagstones. He threw Mark against the wall by the door and there was the crack of skull on stone. Mark started to slump but Nick’s hands went round his throat and pinned him against the wall. ‘You killed Hermione.’

‘You’re mad.’ Mark laughed as much as the hand round his throat allowed. ‘You’ve always been mad. Headcase,’ he said to Hannah, ‘that was what they called him at school.’

Nick took hold of the collar of his jumper and bounced his head off the stone three times, each blow harder than the one before. ‘Admit it: you . . .’ Crack! ‘. . . Killed . . .’ Crack! ‘. . . Hermione.’ Crack!

When he raised his eyes, it was a second or two before Mark could focus. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Yes.’

She’d known, she’d already known, but it still hit Hannah like a fist in the stomach.

‘You . . . It was you who threatened her,’ said Hannah. ‘It was you.’

‘I didn’t – I didn’t have to. She was scared of me, anyway. Because she knew,’ he said.

‘Knew what?’

‘That I was there. That afternoon.’

Nick stared at him. ‘How?’

‘Let go of me – I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.’

Nick bounced him backwards a final time then let him go. Mark staggered. When he’d steadied himself, he ran a tentative hand around his neck. Hannah saw the gleam of blood in the hair above his left ear.

‘She saw me leaving your place,’ he said, voice hoarse. ‘She’d heard about you leaving the club with Patty and she’d come to finish things with you. We bumped into each other on the street.’

‘Bullshit,’ said Nick. ‘If she knew then, why didn’t she go to the police?’

‘Because I sorted it out, you fuckwit. Like I’ve always had to sort everything out.’

‘How?’

‘I asked her what Geoffrey Landis and her employers at the hospital would think if they knew about the drugs she’d sold us over the years, all those dodgy prescriptions. What she’d do if she couldn’t be a doctor any more.’

‘You . . .’

‘I had to. All my life you’ve fucked things up for me. You’re a worthless piece of shit.’ He moved his hand to his pocket and then, before Hannah could even shout a warning, Nick gave a horrible cry and doubled over. Mark pushed, driving the knife further in, then twisted his hand and pulled it out. Nick grabbed for it but missed and Mark jabbed it in again, higher this time. Nick staggered backwards. Looking down, he saw the two roses of blood blooming across the lower part of his T-shirt. ‘What . . .?’