Saturday

By the time I finish my coffee, the workshop is full of people. I'm glad I'm not alone today. A cold, syrupy dread has sunk into all the spaces around my internal organs. When I'm alone, it immobilises me. When there are people nearby, I have the motivation to put on my 'everything is fine and normal' face, and that gives me the strength to act like everything is fine and normal.

Labourer wages are being paid out for this by the day. I made certain that if Frances died before it was done, my friends wouldn't be out any more than a single day's work.

I'm not classed as a labourer, though. If Frances dies too soon, he'll probably find some way of breaking the contract in a way that means I'm left unpaid.

It's fine. I don't need this money. I just want it so he doesn't have it.

I want it so he can't use it to hurt someone.

Though perhaps that logic doesn't work. If I do a good job, then I'll be helping him make more money.

If I didn't do this, he'd just hire someone else to do it for a lot less than I'm being paid now. He'd be a lot better off financially if I refused the job.

I'm struggling to concentrate on anything. The design I'm trying to transfer onto an MDF panel looks like it was drawn by a very large two-year-old.

I fold up the pantograph and put it aside. I need a break.

There are some texts from Charles.

> I sent you a gift ;)

>

> She'll be there around midday

>

> It's your first chance to make a name for yourself

What on earth?

Whatever.

I cross the massive room, heading towards the front of the warehouse. There's a coffee shop out there. Caffeine will either make me more anxious or give me enough energy to keep going. Right now, I feel like it's worth the gamble.

I see an unfamiliar woman in a red and white pinstripe shirt outside in the car park, approaching the door. She waves when she sees me.

'Oh, hi! Did you see me parking? I'm sorry I'm a bit early.'

I guess this is Charles' gift.

'I'm sorry, who are you?'

'Oh, yes, I'm Maggie Lee, from Hard Clef Magazine? Are you Joanne Knight?'

'That's correct.'

'Mr. Pitch said you'd be available for an interview about his upcoming music video?'

I am grossly unprepared for an interview.

'Sure thing. Before we start though, I've got to get a cup of coffee in me. You want one?'

She looks surprised. I'm not sure if it's my overly casual tone, or the offer to get her a cup of coffee.

'Yes please.'

We sit at one of the café's tiny tables, waiting for our drinks. I ordered a sandwich as well. Anything to delay the start of the interview. I need time to gather my thoughts.

'So what kind of article are you hoping to write?'

'What do you mean?'

How do I word this...

'Is this a hype article? Do you want me to show you cool stuff in the workshop you can drop hints about? Are you looking for material for a more in-depth feature story? I mean, if you want cute personal anecdotes for a short puff piece about Pitch, and I give you some long emotional tale, it's not going to be much use to you.'

'Oh.'

She looks surprised again.

'People don't normally ask me questions like that.'

I shrug.

'I'd rather not waste your time. I'm happy to work with you, so long as I don't have to lie or break an NDA.'

She smiles.

'It's not just a hype piece. I'm supposed to interview you as the up-and-coming artist behind the set for the video. I'd prefer it to be a nice, uplifting story, but as long as it's interesting, I can make anything work.'

I nod, trying to look thoughtful.

'Sure. Let me think.'

I know exactly what to tell her.

'If you want uplifting, I think it might be worthwhile if I start from the first time I met Pitch... like, three weeks ago.'

It'll look like a cute story that flatters him, at first. It's going to lay a solid foundation for a future exposé. Facts. Events. A breadcrumb trail of evidence that can be used to corroborate future statements.

'It's only been three weeks since you met him?'

I'm going to drag him.

'Yeah. It's been pretty hectic.'

It's hard to believe he finally gave me a gift that I can really appreciate.

----------------------------------------

I sit in my heavily personalised guestroom, surrounded by notes. I can't leave any of these bits of paper here, where they might be found and read by a nosy cleaner. They have to travel with me everywhere. In consideration of that, I'm doing my level best to keep everything neat and orderly.

It's a losing battle.

These are a sort of... addendum to the original notes I made about my relationship with Jaq. Everything that has happened since I met Jaq's parents, paying special attention to every encounter with Charles or one of his suspected flunkies. This time I'm not desperate to manufacture nonexistent evidence. This time I just have to gather it, sort it, organise it, and store it safely.

That reminds me; my original notes are still in Jaq's car. Cars aren't too hard to break into. Any idiot can smash a window, flip the back seat forwards and access the boot. I need to move them.

Stop it, Jo. Focus on the task at hand.

There were photos Charles showed me on his phone that I never got copies of. There's security footage I wish I had access to. Conversations I wish I'd recorded.

Knowing the gaps is good. It'll help me design better means of collecting the evidence I need in the future.

I think I am going to have to pull a Nixon.

It felt stupid when it first occurred to me - like I was going way too far for something that probably wasn't anywhere near as bad as I imagined it to be.

I wasn't catastrophising though. It really was that bad. Worse.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

I never expected him to drug me.

Now, I feel justified in wanting body cameras that provide a constant 360° view of my surroundings.

Even without resorting to those extreme measures, I've managed to collect a lot that can be used to damn him. He gave me quite a bit of it himself.

I have phone footage of the creeps at the hospital - but we could have missed some of them. There could have been more that we didn't see at the time because we weren't being paranoid enough.

Some will be enough. Some trace of a money trail. Some incriminating message logs. Some photos. Some dash-cam footage. Some is all I need to begin to take him down.

I want all.

I want his destruction to be so complete that there is no future for him.

Does the punishment fit the crime?

I'm not qualified to judge.

I don't care.

I stretch my legs out, gently shifting things to make room.

Revenge tales are fun. The righteous gunslinger who's been horribly wronged singlehandedly taking down bandits, crooked lawmen and anyone else foolish enough to get in his way. Problem is; those stories usually end with a dead protagonist. I don't want to go down with Charles.

I'll only go down if he can prove I'm not Jaq's real wife. But, he can't. I'm literally Jaq's wife.

Jaq doesn't know that yet.

I don't want him to know. Ever. I want to be done divorcing him before he even suspects it might have happened.

It can't happen that way. That's not how marriage law works. I only made it this far without his knowledge because he's a gullible idiot.

I'll cross that bridge after I'm done with Charles.

Tap tap.

Was that the door?

'Who is it?'

The door opens a crack, letting Jaq peek in.

'Come in, you dummy. Shut the door behind you.'

'What's all this?'

I flap my hand dismissively.

'It's something I can't talk about. Get over here.'

I move some things on the bed beside me, then get up to rummage in the unsorted box of art supplies. I'm not sure if I'm pretending I think the house is bugged, or if I'm serious about it. I suppose it doesn't matter. I find an a4-sized whiteboard. I stole it from the theatre. I meant to give it back. We used it for cues when people were practising their lines at home. I'm pretty sure there's a whiteboard marker in here too...

Aha.

I scribble quickly, the half-dry marker protesting at its unexpected use.

'Pitch won't stop. I'm working out how to take him down.'

I show it to Jaq. He opens his mouth to reply, but I shush him.

I wipe the words off with my hand, then pass him the board.

'What's going on?'

He hands it back.

'He's after your money. All of it. He has a way to take it.'

'How?'

'Long story. Short version; I can keep it safe.'

'How?'

'Long story. Can't explain here. Trust me. I'll explain when it's safe.'

He stares at me long and hard.

'OK'

I start packing up the notes.

He writes;

'It's fine, I'll go.'

I shake my head.

I tuck the stack of paper into the pillowcase of a spare pillow. It'll keep it hidden and neat for now.

I need to give him a timeline for when 'everything will be explained.' I can't leave him hanging forever. He'll lose whatever tenuous scrap of faith he has in me, and start to make my life difficult. His own life would get harder too, but he won't know that if I don't tell him anything. I have to say something so he knows not to meddle.

Out loud, I say;

'When's the last time you went to the beach?'

He looks confused.

'I don't know? Years ago?'

I take the board from him and write;

'A beach is a good place to speak without being heard. Ambient noise, lots of open space to see people following us. Hard to plant bugs in advance.'

Out loud I say;

'I'd like to go to the beach sometime soon. We can bring your brother if you want. He probably needs more reasons to leave the house.'

Jaq looks like he's trying to work out what's safe to say out loud. I erase my message and write;

'Just say you'd like to go to the beach.'

He looks relieved.

'Sure, I'd like to go to the beach.'

'Next week?'

'Yeah, next week sounds good.'

I erase the board again and drop it back into the box it came from.

Now I have to work out how much of my plan it's safe to reveal to him. How much can I say before he tips off Charles through changes in his behaviour? How much before he openly says something he shouldn't in front of someone he shouldn't speak to at all? I honestly don't know. I haven't known him long enough. If only I could trust Lionel not to do something stupid. He's definitely the more reliable of the two, but... I'd be telling him he's illegitimate. His 'Mother' isn't actually his mother. That's a pretty extreme revelation.

Though...

If Charles thinks Jaq's found out what he's up to, I might be able to extort more out of him. He'll want me to string Jaq along with the prospect of a real marriage to protect his assets. So long as both he and Jaq don't know Jaq's already married...

Do I dare be that greedy?

What am I thinking?

Of course I dare.

'If you're free, we could even go tomorrow?'

'Uh, sure. I think I'm free. I'll ask Lionel.'

He steps out of the room.

I'm going to need to make sure he visits me in here with some frequency. I need staff members who haven't been bought by Charles to witness that we're spending time in rooms alone together and to make assumptions about the things we're doing. I need people who will corroborate the story that we really are married.

Sunday

The wind whips my hair about my face - it's in my eyes, in my mouth. I don't have my hands free to be constantly dragging it back behind my ear. I should have thought to put a hair tie in my little purse, full to bursting with all my stupid notes.

I really need someone who knows fancy-girl style better than me to tell me just how big a bag I can get away with in these flouncy dresses. I live in dread of people seeing my lack of style and assuming I'm some kind of lower-class poseur.

That those assumptions would be right is beside the point.

The flouncy dress is having its own disagreement with the wind. I've got most of it gathered together in one hand to keep it from flying up and showing everyone my knickers. Nobody wants to see that. Still, it constantly threatens to pull itself loose and resume its violent thrashing.

At least I have a good excuse to wear flat shoes when we're walking on sand.

The three of us walk along the waterline, the arm not occupied with maintaining my modesty linked with Jaq's. He's uncomfortable about it, but he's allowing it. I only had to gently remind him we ought to be at least somewhat affectionate in public. It's an enormous improvement on our first outing. He's trying so hard.

I glance back the way we came. It looks like we're probably safe enough.

'What I'm about to tell you is going to hurt you. Both of you. These are bombs I've got here to drop. You might genuinely be better off not knowing, and just trusting that I'm doing everything I can to protect you - but I'd rather give you the option of transparency.'

Lionel says;

'I want to know.'

Jaq nods, solemnly, his eyes downcast.

'Then, what I'm about to tell you didn't come from me. It's best if you don't speak about it until it's been revealed to you officially, but if you must, you found out all by yourselves when you went snooping in Frances' desk.'

'Sure, whatever.'

'Lionel; Frances isn't your mother.'

He stares at me.

'Isaac is your father, but Frances isn't your mother. That's at least part of why she hates him.'

'How do you know?'

'I've read Frances' will. She doesn't name your real mother, but she's very clear on the fact that you're not hers.'

I let the silence continue for a few paces.

'This means Frances' entire deceased estate is being left to Jaq - but there are some extremely problematic caveats.'

Jaq says nothing.

'Firstly, she doesn't think you're capable of managing that much money, so her assets won't be given directly to you. It's all being put into a trust, with a manager who would have such complete control that they'd be able to just take the money and run, and you couldn't do anything to stop them.'

Jaq says nothing.

'There are two options for the trust manager. One if you're unmarried, the other if you're married.'

Jaq says nothing.

'If you're married, it's your wife.'

Jaq says nothing. Is he listening?

'If you're unmarried, it's Charles.'

Jaq says nothing.

'Somehow, Charles knows he's in line to be your trust manager. Maybe Frances told him when she was drafting her will. He knows that if he's in charge of your trust he's basically inheriting all her money himself. That's why he tried so hard to drive me away when he thought we were a real couple. He saw me as a threat. He pulled right back when I told him we were faking it. The fact that you had a fake fiancée, and now a fake wife, works perfectly in his favour. It means Frances won't push you into getting a real one. It means there's no risk to his inheritance.'

Come on, say something. Show me you've heard what I'm saying.

'The weird job he gave me? I didn't understand it at the time, but now I've read the will, it makes complete sense. He's given me that as his own bribe to keep me quietly playing along.'

Please, say anything.

'This is why he sent people to collect the fake marriage certificate at the hospital. This is why he's putting so much effort into watching us. He's taking no risks when it comes to keeping his trust money safe.'

Silence.

'Frances must have more money than God if he's willing to hire and bribe this many people. I don't have a clue how much it'd cost to put this close a watch on us, but it can't be cheap.'

I watch his face; impassive and unreadable.

'He's not unstoppable though. There are some options to protect your money.'

Nothing.

'The first; You need to get your lawyer to secretly draft a pre-nuptial agreement that your wife will immediately sign over the entirety of Frances' trust to you the second she's made trust manager, and then you need to be legally married, and all that needs to happen before Frances passes.'

Lionel turns his head sharply. I suspect he understands what's happening.

'You absolutely cannot allow him to know you're doing this. We already know he's willing to hurt people. He might be willing to kill. On Friday, we saw that he has people in the hospital - the shady nurse, the goons outside - she's been safe so far because he felt secure just waiting for her to die naturally. There's a strong possibility Frances' life might be at risk if he finds out you're planning to get married for real.'

Finally, Jaq makes eye contact with me.

'If he finds out you've gotten married before Frances dies, then it's your wife whose life will be in danger. He needs there to be no wife when Frances dies. I don't like this option because I don't like the idea of being responsible for someone's death if it goes wrong.'

'What's the other option?'

'I'll need you to do exactly what I tell you, and ask no questions. What I'm doing will require precision and more subterfuge than I think either of you will be able to pull off. Jaq, you're not a good liar. Lionel, you're too loose-lipped.'

'What? I am not.'

'Yes, you are. Remember when you accidentally told me the identity of the woman whose clothes you leant me? The one you wanted to keep secret?'

His steps falter briefly.

'Oh.'

'Yeah.'

'...Okay.'

A jogger with a dog approaches us across the sand. I put on my best sweetheart smile and loudly ask Jaq;

'Where would you choose to take us if you got to plan your ideal honeymoon vacation?'