Page 14 of Anatomy of a Killer
‘In case you don’t remember, this house was never strange to me. Quite the opposite– for a long time I felt more at home here than with my own parents.’
‘How touching.’
She gives a slightly forced laugh. ‘I see you still bear a grudge for what happened with Nico.’
‘Rubbish! I’d just like to know what you think you’re doing in my house.’
‘My mother sent me in the hope that I’d be able to swing it and get you to come to dinner after all. She doesn’t want you spending Christmas on your own.’
‘Tell her you tried everything.’
‘As you wish,’ she says, turning to go. I put my hands up and massage the sides of my head. Listening to Eva’s footsteps, I’m relieved to hear them get further away. Until I realise they’re heading in the wrong direction. I rush after Eva, but don’t catch up with her until she’s already in the study, in the middle of all the papers and photographs of happy little girls.
‘Holy shit!’
‘Yes, exactly: holy shit. What do you think you’re doing, Eva? Just get out!’
‘What’s this?’ she says, bending down to one of the pictures. ‘Where did you get all of this?’
‘Doesn’t matter, leave it!’ I try snatching the photo, but she turns away with it.
‘Do you know I never actually came into this room? I spent half my childhood in your house, but this door was always closed. We knew we weren’t allowed to disturb your father when he was working, even though he never actually said that to us.’
‘Are you deaf? I want you to leave. Now!’
She looks at me– the face she presents today is swimming once more with childish features. Eva, my Eva, part of me for so many years. My fury writhes, flattened by the feelings from the storeroom jammed with rubbish.
‘You just left,’ I hiss between clenched jaws. It sounds pitiful and feeble.
The photograph in her hand begins to tremble faintly; it’s as if her smug smile has been wiped away. Has Eva got a storeroom like mine? Things she’s locked away for her own protection?
‘I know,’ she says softly.
‘You didn’t think I was worth a goodbye, an explanation.’ I purse my lips; I don’t want to sound like an injured bird, make myself small and vulnerable before someone who’s shattered my ribcage and squashed my heart.
She nods uneasily. ‘It was an emergency, wasn’t it? You were my second family, my better family.’
‘Is this something that’s only occurred to you now? After more than seven bloody years ?’
‘I buy every newspaper that reports on the case.’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t. It only makes me angry.’
‘At your father or the journalists?’
‘What? The journalists, of course! Come on, Eva, you know my dad! Surely you can’t believe he’s got anything to do with it.’ I point at the carpet of documents at our feet. ‘Somewhere in all of this there’s a mistake and I’m determined to find it.’
‘Ann. . .’ Now she’s the one sounding feeble. ‘Maybe—’
‘No, notmaybe. Go, get out of here. You’re no longer welcome in this house. When you packed your bags to bugger off with Nico, you discarded us and your past life like a redundant tool.’
Eva doesn’t budge an inch. Her gaze penetrates me effortlessly; my skin is made of cellophane and I’m transparent. Because the fact is, I don’t really want her to go. I’ve never stopped missing her. And I’m longing for support.
‘Who’s that?’ she asks warily, meaning the girl in the photo she’s holding. I crane my neck. It’s a portrait; the little girl has red hair and freckles.
‘I don’t know,’ I reply, moving my index finger in a circle. ‘Turn it around; the names are written on the back.’
‘Larissa Meller,’ Eva reads out.
