The Likeness

Justin shook his head, still staring down at his glass. “No,” he said. “It wasn’t like that.” He took a quick, hard swig of his drink and grimaced. “Then Daniel switched the torch on and swung it around-it was like a lighthouse beam, I was sure everyone for miles around would come running-and he stopped on that cottage. I only saw it for a second, just a corner of broken-down wall. Then the torch went out again, and Daniel threw himself over the wall into the field. There was all this long wet grass tangling round my ankles, it was like trying to run through porridge…” He blinked at his glass and pushed it away from him on the bookshelf; a little of his drink splashed out, staining someone’s notes with sickly orange splotches. “Can I have a cigarette?”

“You don’t smoke,” Rafe said. “You’re the good one.”

“If I have to tell this story,” said Justin, “I want a fucking cigarette.”

There was a high, precarious wobble in his voice. “Knock it off, Rafe,” Abby said. She stretched over to pass Justin her smoke packet; as he took it, she caught his hand and squeezed.

Justin lit the cigarette clumsily, holding it high up between stiff fingers, inhaled too hard and choked. No one said anything while he coughed, caught his breath, wiped his eyes with a knuckle under his glasses.

“Lexie,” Abby said. “Can’t we just… You’ve got the important part. Can’t we leave it?”

“I want to hear,” I said. I could hardly breathe.

“So do I,” said Rafe. “I’ve never heard this part either, and I’ve got a feeling it might be interesting. Aren’t you curious, Abby? Or do you already know this story?”

Abby shrugged. “All right,” said Justin. His eyes were pressed shut and his jaw was so tense he could barely get the cigarette between his lips. “I’m… Just give me a second. God.”

He took another drag, retched a little, managed to hold it. “OK,” he said. He had his voice under control again. “So we got to the cottage. There was just enough moonlight that I could see outlines-the walls, the doorway. Daniel switched on the torch, with his other hand partway over it, and…”

His eyes opened, skated away from us to the window. “You were sitting in a corner, against the wall. I shouted something-called you, maybe, I don’t know-and I started to run over to you, but Daniel grabbed my arm, hard, he hurt me, and pulled me back. He put his mouth right up against my ear and hissed, ‘Shut up,’ and then, ‘Don’t move. You stay right here. You stay still.’ He shook my arm-I had bruises-and then he let go of me and went over to you. He put his fingers on your throat, like this, checking your pulse-he had the torch on you, and you looked…”

Justin’s eyes were still on the window. “You looked like a wee girl asleep,” he said, and the grief in his voice was soft and relentless as rain. “And then Daniel said, ‘She’s dead.’ That’s what we thought, Lexie. We thought you had died.”

“You must have already been in the coma,” Abby said gently. “The cops told us it would have slowed down your heartbeat, your breathing, stuff like that. If it hadn’t been so cold-”

“Daniel straightened up,” Justin said, “and wiped his hand on the front of his shirt-I’m not sure why, it wasn’t bloody or anything, but that was all I could see: him rubbing his hand down his chest, over and over, as if he didn’t even know he was doing it. I couldn’t-I couldn’t look at you. I went to hold myself up against the wall-I mean, I was hyperventilating, I thought I was going to faint-but he said, very sharply, ‘Don’t touch anything. Put your hands in your pockets. And hold your breath for a count of ten.’ I didn’t understand what he was talking about, none of it made any sense, but I did it anyway.”

“We always do,” Rafe said, in an undertone. Abby gave him a quick glance.

“After a minute Daniel said, ‘If she had gone for her walk as usual, she would have her keys and wallet on her, and that torch she uses. One of us needs to go home and get them. The other one should stay here. It’s unlikely that anyone will pass by, at this hour, but we don’t know the full extent of her arrangements with Ned, and if someone does happen to pass, we need to know about it. Which would you prefer to do?’ ”